The Magdalene Ch. 01: Part Two

This is part two of Chapter 1 from The Magdalene, a Gothic Erotic novel. Please read The Magdalene Ch. 01: Lavender first to fully appreciate this installment.

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He gently slips to the dusty floorboards, lowering me to my feet, pulling out of me. I won't lift my gaze off him, but I penetrate harder into his soul.

For me, on the other side of the vision, a cold spire pierces through the spinal cord in the back of my neck, chilling and weakening. A sickly haze like heatstroke on a frosty day.

I hold my thoughts, switching them off while the Divine power works through me. When I was younger my mind would interfere, muddling the revelation coming through. But now I am well practiced at keeping my mind clear of any distractions--over ten thousand, if counting--though, this priest is requiring a little effort from me to keep my thoughts under control. He has affected me more than I'd like... I'm wondering about him. I am human after all.

It is taking longer than usual----the Light passing through me is consuming my strength, but the priest hasn't succumbed to its power. Most would become a pool of groveling jelly by now. He holds himself up by his own might. I've never seen that before. There is always a first, isn't there?

Then suddenly, I'm drawn into the warmth of his eyes and the world within him opens up to me. I see the magnitude, the brightness of his celestial body. It's beyond my understanding, but I see it, experience it with my own body. I fall into the deepest awe...

The urge for me to blink is too strong to resist. I press my lashes down, soothing my eyes from the late night air. The power in me withdraws; the vision-chills pull away from my spine.

It is done, and I'm left with a sense that I've just forgotten a most important thing.

I gather my clothes and shoes into my arms. It's a long drive back to Florence, and I must be on a plane for New York in the morning.

It should be easy to walk away from the priest, leaving him to recover on the floor, but I turn back to look at him one last time. I can't help the smile escaping my lips evoked by the soothing pleasure still lingering in my frame. No man has been able to give me such a high in a very long time.

I almost miss him already.

But as I look upon him, the way his naked body is slumped, sucking in the air, I see there is something more to him. It could be his tattoos that have caught my eye, the way they shape around the contours of his back----I've always liked a painted man... But no, it's something else. And it will plague me until I figure out what it is.

I indulge in one last contented sigh, and I am gone.

Heading down the stairs, I keep to the walls, around and around. Before entering the church hall, I step back under the staircase, out of the light. The priest's silky cum married to my wetness spills out onto my thigh. The thought of him still between my legs elicits an irreverent flutter through my center. By the pad of my pointer, I stop our lust running away from me down my leg.

I just need one taste of him.

I slip my finger in my mouth and suck off our sex. It is too good. The smell of us on my finger is fresh, and not enough, but I shake it off. I'm just torturing myself. Pushing my desire back into its little box, I pull my bra out from the clothes bundled in my arm.

I dress into my peasant smock. It's my favorite. I like the lace embroidery and the cotton. Simple. Feminine. But somehow I never get to wear it for that long.

Walking through to the Baroque-eccentric nave, I reach the middle of the church aisle and turn back to the altar.

I can never ignore him, though I did try for a century or two.

Behind the brass and pillars, the prayer candles are still alight. A figure, nailed and bleeding, looks down upon me. Chest sunken, cheeks draw, sides open. It kills me every time to see him like that. If only the world knew that this was not how it was supposed to be.

I am haunted by the irony of it all.

I'm no less but doomed to walk this life knowing I wasn't strong enough... knowing I failed him.

I allow my feet to turn and travel me down the aisle again.

"Wait!" The raspy holler sends chills through me. Thrown off, and a little put out, I face the priest. How could he have the strength to make it down the stairs so soon?

Clutching onto the stone column, he pants for his breath to catch up. His will is strong, the poor thing. It never does them any good when they want answers.

Falling back to take another step towards the double doors, I'm ready to leave him unsatisfied.

"Wait!" He reaches out as if it would stop me by some measly power.

It does the trick. I'm not a Clement, but his naïvety charms me. "You will recover shortly, priest. A good night's sleep will have you right as rain."

"Who are you?" He swallows a gulp. "But more importantly, what are you?"

I huff. Sometimes it's hard for me to even fathom what I am. "Can't your revelation just be enough? Do you really want to spoil it by being another Socrates?" The reference will likely be wasted on him, but I use it anyway, to remind myself that no good comes from asking too many questions.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

It must be the musky scent of candle wax burning the dust on the floor keeping me, as I don't walk away. I should. There's no reason not to, but there's something in the priest's face. I don't like his high cheekbones, or his strong brow, his thick un-lying lips, or the way he looks at me with deep royal eyes. "Not every question needs to be answered," I slightly nark. "You should know that better than most, priest." The New Yorker is coming out--rudely blunt and aggressive--it's the one stereotype that suits me. "There is no point in giving you answers to questions that will be forgotten by the time the cock crows. Save your energy. You have more important things to think about. More important things to do."

Finally he takes his eyes off me, lowering them to the stone floor, but only for a second. "What did you do to me?" He fires out the accusation.

"I did nothing I wasn't commanded to do."

"Are you a messenger?"

"No, not really."

"Admonisher?"

His choice of word tickles my sides. "It does have a ring to it, but no."

"A demon from the bowels of hell?"

I curtly laugh at his seriousness and his gall. He doesn't seem to take it too well.

"In the name of Christ, woman, tell me what you are!" The trembling in his cry wakens me to torment. His insolence will not easily be forgiven.

I pause to bite my anger in, and to get my tone just right. My eyelids naturally lower, locking in my sudden disrepute. "Do not speak to me like I am a waif. You know nothing of the powers of the upper kingdom, yet you think you can call upon them at will to command me? What vain imaginations. Think before your selfish purposes taint your Priesthood.

I am Anathema no more. I am The Magdalene, and you have been chosen to fulfill a great purpose--though I am beginning to doubt your measure."

"You are Saint Mary of Magdalene..?" The gasp on his breath becomes all too real.

I am raw, and standing in his gaze, trapped in the moment. It has been a long time since I have revealed my true self. "Mary, yes. Saint? Well, that can be argued..." I catch a vague falter in the priest's stance. "What? What are you doing?"

His legs crumble beneath him and he lands on his knees, his naked form filling with innocent adoration; his face, contrition. "The Apostle to the Apostles," he whispers to the Heavens. "How can this be?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story..." I joke to myself so I don't have to cringe with embarrassment.

"May God have mercy on me. I have defiled the Penitent Woman." The priest draws a cross over his frame.

Oh, please. When they get like this there is no chance in bringing them to their senses. Religion serves many purposes, it gives words to the unexplainable, but it is also mortally fucked up.

Rolling my eyes, I huff, "Get some sleep, priest. You will need your strength." I don't know why am I wasting time with this fool. My job is done, I deserve rest. To return back to my apartment, and my cat, and order Chinese takeout from Wing Wa House down the road. I have no more time for this priest.

"I will not rest, when I must see you safely to New York city."

Controlled horror... I'm sure I kept my head clear of myself--my thoughts, my life--during his vision. How did New York get mixed up in his mind? My lust must have intersected the Light. Damn it. "Don't worry, priest, you'll forget me in a day or two," I tell him, to convince myself, but it doesn't work. Even though the priest's body is recovering from his state of transfiguration, his eyes are all too lucid for my liking. Well, I'll just have to help him forget all about me.

Backtracking down the aisle towards the altar, I pass the priest. At the base of the chancel, I pick up a heavy candlestick from the floor. The weight is good. I throw the candle back to the tiles----it is not needed.

Gripping around the coils of the brass, I lug the candlestick over my shoulder. The priest has the right mind to stumble back onto his ass when I approach him. This will stop him making any trouble or blabbing about me to anyone else. He'll wake up in morning thinking it was all just a bad dream.

Positioning myself for optimal impact, the priest's eyes widen. He knows exactly what's coming for him. "Wait. Wait a minute." He holds up his magical hand at me.

I stop, but only to humor him. "You say that a lot----'wait'. There's no point in waiting if you don't know what you're waiting for, is there? Hm?"

I swing a cracking blow to the back of his head. Like a giant, he falls to the floor, and blacks out.

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A/N: Hi, I hope you've liked the first chapter so far--Lavender and Candlestick. My chapters a usually long, but I have divided them up into parts to make them more appropriate for an online format. The Magdalene is a full novel and as such has a very strong story. You may not find sex on every page, but the Gothic eroticness is always there, and you'll experience a sexual journey like no other----I promise you that.

Racy Wilde.