Obsessions of a Shattered Psyche.
Chapter 5: Emancipation
Entombed. Within flesh does man’s immortal spirit lay constrained. Bound tightly in the shackles of shallowness while consciousness plods along, barely aware of its very existence, let alone its’ mighty grandeur. How could an outsider ever comprehend the sensation of the awakening, and the new realms it heralds?
To linger within the security of conservative society promised naught. Naught, but the slow agonising demise of his very being. In shadowy ambiguity, that which lay ahead held both ominous dangers and erotic delights. It drew him in.
Was this insanity? For if insanity be doing that which is harmful toward oneself, then surely to remain and suffocate would be truly mad. Nay, he’d no choice but to forge ahead, deeper along these shadowy, unknown paths, regardless as to where they would lead and to what dangers they might conceal.
On this journey, Nehemiah was alone. Only Mircala, his beautiful dark goddess, his one true soulmate, could understand. She could observe. She could empathise. She could assist, yet even she could not accompany him. For ultimately, we all must bear our own cross.
With each and every descent into the shadowy dominions, Nehemia’s soul soared toward emancipation from the mundane never-never of a prefabricated, clockwork society. Faster, ever faster, twisting and turning recklessly along the path of darkness. Hurtling into the unknown. Each shattered taboo eliminating another of the heavy chains of ignorance.
Sinister gothic make up hid the true despair that lay deep within, concealing the torment of all that went before. That which still lived in the feverish flashbacks often drew him back to nightmares of long ago. He’d obscured the pain his true countenance threatened to divulge and engraved upon it a new facade.
Each nimble twitch and flick of the liquid eyeliner brush told another of his malevolent parables. Black slashes, from delicate and ultra fine to grotesquely gaudy and thick. Wildly weaving a menacing portrait of pain, anger and romance. Only a twisted mind could conjure such a disturbing scenario. This manic image framed the necrotic glare of his eyes as his psyche transformed synchronously with his descent.
Nehemia’s vulnerable, bare back trembled. His mouth was dry. His body convulsed as muscles spasmed. Mircala’s long stiletto heel against his quivering naked buttocks menacingly threatened to enter him as she flayed the whip in frenzy once again across his burning red back. Each cruel swipe and shuddering jolt smashing another societal taboo and setting him one step closer toward emancipation.
The sturdy cedar wooden crucifix bore his weight easily and without complaint as his dead weight strained against it. Splashing his skin with its’ malicious acid kiss, like a thousand needles piercing his tender, raw flesh, hot wax dripped and quickly congealed. Burning hot lava, oozing into each open wound that Mistress Mircala’s whip had spawned. He twisted and writhed in agony. Straining against the tight manacles that embraced and tethered him to the cold timber frame. Slowly, his consciousness sunk deep into the murky void.
To dream, perchance to escape. For the truth will not set one free, nay. Merely insanity does it deliver. Lunacy by degrees. And only by journeying beyond the rational, through the world of madness can one emerge. Or so believed Nehemiah. For he was a survivor. But had he truly survived?
The grinding mantra of screaming industrial music surrounded and enveloped the two in a delightfully evil soundscape. Her two submissive gothic sirens caressed the underside of Nehemia’s trembling arms while they feasted upon his pain. They were Mircala’s, but she gave them no thought. Only he was worthy of her attention, whether it be good or evil.
“Whaaaaaaack! Ssssssshhhht!” She unleashed the full fury of the beast within her upon his conquered, bruised frame. First she caressed, then she attacked. Assailing him with the full fury of a ravenous tigress. Mircala explored each nook and cranny for his most delicate, sensitive gateways in her game of cat and mouse.
Whaaaaaack! Whaaaaaaack! Sssssssssshht!” He’d not escape. Each time, she’d lure him back with the tantalising light strokes of her long black nails. Sensously enticing him to reveal where his furtive pleasure spots hid, before again punishing them ruthlessly. “Whaaaaaaaaaaaack!” She revelled in the power that with but one thrust of her long, sharp stiletto heel, she could destroy his perceptions of where manhood truly lay.
Beautiful, dangerous and unpredictable. There was fire in her eyes this night! He loved the decadence she brought, and she, she was the embodiment of all the scene had to offer.
“Whaaaaaaack! Whaaaaaaaack! Shhhhhhhhhht!” Slashing and tearing. Layer after layer of masculine ego fell as she thrust him further down the path. Her two submissive gothic princesses voraciously lapped up each rivulet of blood she spilled. They were her inner circle. She always fed them well.
Lurking beyond the Blood Klub’s dungeon playground, the legions of the lost and damned continued, dancing, drinking, gossiping and losing themselves amongst the atmosphere of the night. Envious eyes, peering through the artificial mist. They waited outside, ravenous for a chance to mingle with a dark royalty that showed no interest in them. There was no loyalty amongst these minions. No love or caring for their champions. They craved something else entirely and would gladly kill their king and queen to acquire it. Jealousy and hunger for power lurked malevolently behind their sweet, sycophant discourse. They schemed and conspired for all they could thieve, and waited agog for any opportunity.
“Whaaaaaaack! Whaaaaaaaack! Shhhhhhhhhht!” Blinding white pain illuminated his mind. Surreal, strobing fireworks obfuscated all, uniting him with celestial serenity. The dark minions of the outer circles, Mircala’s submissives, even Mircala herself existed no longer. With each callous caress of the whip, she brought him nearer to the divine. She brought him redemption. Yet he…. he merely nourished her psychosis, leading her dangerously closer to the dark side of oblivion.
