The Fern Tender (8 page)

     Lillian turned the ancient handles and looked upward as the creaking giant doors opened. The building stood three stories high above the ground, but had, at least as far as Lillian could tell, two more stories underground. The stone was cut from a quarry 500 years ago that didn’t exist anymore. The vein of light pink granite had been tapped and spent long ago, making the temple a unique building in The Capitol.

     Lillian said a quick hello to the parlor clerk, then was lead by one of the guards through the labyrinth of hallways and staircases to the third floor where the kitchen presided over the north-west corner of the back garden.

     Here in the kitchen, she found Ellen and two of her proteges relaxing and drinking hot tea. One of the most obvious things the public didn't know about Ellen’s was that she kept almost a dozen boarders, young women who paid her rent and lived with her for up to 3 years in order to learn the art of dark magic that Ellen enjoyed so much. They also did chores, odd jobs, and some of them worked the rooms as well.

     Ellen looked up over her reading glasses and exclaimed, “Lillian! I knew I would see you today, but I thought it might be later. I saw your sign this morning in the garden, a murder of crows! A perfect 5 pointed figure of flying darkness. My favorite symbol for one of my most favorite people!”

     Lillian almost rolled her eyes, but stopped herself, the drama that was Ellen could be overwhelming sometimes. Still it was cute, and Lillian did enjoy the contrast coming from the dry confines of the President’s office. “Nice to see your Ms. Ellen, crows are the smartest birds in the forest so thank you for your compliment.”

     “How is your life Lillian?” Asked Ellen.

     “Depends on what part of it we’re talking about.” Lillian answered.

     Ellen ignored Lillian’s whine and continued, “Well, you’re here child so I will assume there is some stress. Come here and sit, and let’s talk about fun stuff.”

     Not wasting any time Lillian quipped, “Thanks Ellen, I’d like that, been a long few months. I need the full circuit today, everything.”

     Noting her comment but still ignoring her request for the moment, Ellen called out to the house mother and chef, “Miranda, will you please pour Lillian a bowl of lime soup, and bring her a hot tea.”

     Miranda had been one of Ellen’s early proteges that ended up staying on with the Temple. She was a great cook but never that good with clients or magic. Her niche was the kitchen, and unlocking the magic of smell and taste. Her window sill and much of the cabinet tops, really all available space was over over run with fresh herbs, vials of various oils, and brightly colored vegetables. All of them strategically placed into rows of shields in between the man-made metal pots, and glass jars.

     Lillian had learned long ago from Miranda that man-made energy had to be contained so placing natural items between the metals kept the artificial energy at a minimum, allowing whatever natural energy she and Ellen deemed appropriate to come forth. Miranda had turned what was once a gloomy and sterile kitchen it into bright lovely gathering spot in the midst of darkness. Lillian had fond memories of coming here throughout the years and enjoying a bowl of whatever Miranda was brewing in the pots.

     Miranda found the ladle and dipped it into the bottom of cast iron pot, fishing out the larger pieces of chicken. The kitchen chatter had stopped after Ellen’s request, and in its place a soft respectful silence emerged.

     The full circuit meant visiting all the rooms in one day. It also meant Lillian would submit to black magic during her room visits. It was intense and could be dangerous. Black magic carried risks. The risk of wonderful experiences and also the chance something could go wrong. Everyone would have to be on their guard from here on out while Lillian visited. It was too late to change her mind anyway, she had already begun the process just by saying the words ‘full circuit’. The black magic was building and on its way, filtering into the kitchen from the second she said those words.

     “Soup is great as usual Miranda,” Lillian said thankfully.

     After a half dozen spoonfuls, Lillian looked up from her bowl and stared at Ellen, “I’m ready” she said.

     Ellen replied, “OK, God Bless. Miranda please lead Lillian to the room of crosses.”

     Once again Lillian was taken through the corridor, being careful not to slip on the black and white checkered tile. Whether it rained or not there were constant drips of icy water that formed small puddles on the third floor. They rounded the final corner and the dim light of the elevator button illuminated the path to the elevator. Miranda punched the button with the cross on it and they began to fall gently inside the machine. Despite its age and appearance they made a soft landing at the very bottom of the temple.

     Lillian closed her eyes and began to focus on losing herself. This was where she came when she needed to be fully present, never thinking about the past or the present or her emotions. The most important survival skill she had learned at the Temple was to be completely in the moment. Almost like a bad acid trip, the magic could get confused if your mind jumped from one place to another or one part of your personality to the other. Full ownership over consciousness, including the subconscious was needed at all times for this to be fun. Otherwise, Lillian knew all she would feel or see would be the dark side of everything.  She also knew being in a room strapped to a series of crosses and flogged required her full attention and focus on the positive.

     When she was younger training her mind to enter the state of consciousness where both she and the magic worked together as amplifiers to each others power was hard work. But over the years Lillian had mastered it. And she was proud of that. Most women had no clue Black Magic even existed let alone the skill to use it to their advantage. Being overwhelmed physically, mentally, and spiritually was a beautiful thing, but one wrong thought and it could become a nightmare. They referred to it in black magic as getting bent.

     The last time this occurred years before, Lillian spent three days recovering in Ellen’s guest bedroom trying to exit a horrible dream, while Ellen stood guard over her and slowly expunged the magic that had penetrated her mind. Although she was experienced, it was always a risk. Lillian knew she had no time for it on this visit, she had to stay focused. Time was running out.

     Just as the doors opened into a pitch black damp cold room, Miranda looked at Lillian and asked, “Would you please lean forward towards me.”

     Lillian complied and Miranda gently wiped a small swab of strong smelling oil at the base of her spine. “Steamed lavender oil, for your protection and also for your royalty.”

     Lillian was always amused by the ritual here, but still replied in a respectful tone, “Thank you Miranda.”

     Lillian stepped into the black and the elevator doors shut behind her, whisking Miranda away. It was too late now to go back. Her only way out was to complete the room and be released by the keeper when he felt she was done.

     “Clank!” The breakers for the lights were being thrown on, “Clank!, Clank!” Each of the three stations began appeared bathed in a dim yellow almost ancient light that reflected off the wet stone of the floors and odd seven walls that formed the room. She began recalling her lessons about the wheel and the significance of crosses to Christianity. Her mind began diving into the stories, her eyes now falling onto the most well-known of them all the way near the back of the room, the cross of Jesus’ crucifixion.

     What she found most interesting though were the origins of the other two. The irony of St. Peter’s cross, the inverted one. St. Peter was the gatekeeper of heaven yet his symbol was an upside down cross. Not feeling worthy of being killed in the same manner as Jesus, St. Peter was crucified upside down in a plaza in Rome at his request. For centuries crusaders wore St. Peter’s cross as a sign of respect, but it had taken on a new meaning in recent decades especially to burnt out high school kids thinking it was some kind of Satanic symbol, when actually it was a sign of heaven. 

      Within a split second she could feel the flames, and the vision of herself burning upside down upon the St. Peter’s cross while men in armour on horses lunged at her with drawn swords. Catching herself, she quickly stopped her thoughts. Realizing she was almost bent, a second or two of drifting was all it took to go straight to the edge. She decided wisely not to ruminate on the other cross, the St. Andrew’s cross to her left and got herself back to the moment.

     The mysterious figure in black moved towards her, his cloak covering his entire body and hood draped down over his eyes, Lillian suspected many years ago that he may not even be a man but maybe some type of spirit that Ellen summoned a couple times a month when she had visitors to the cross room. Another prop in her mind and of the magic, he could be amazingly sexy or like everything else in Ellen’s temple he could go astray and be her worst nightmare. It was up to her how this all went down and at what the mixture of force and pleasure would be.

     The cloaked figure was huge. He stepped to her and lifted her up over his shoulder carrying her to the foot of the cross of the crucifixion. If he was just a spirit, his shoulders sure did feel muscular and his hands warm and thick. Arranged in the center of the room was a five pointed star that hung from the ceiling. Keeping her eyes and her mind on the man, she watched him float just above the ground toward the iron star that hung at eye level to him. On every available surface of the star there seemed to be a hook at which leather straps, chains, hoods, whips, paddles, leg shackles, handcuffs, switches, canes, etc. all hung from. He carefully chose one of the blindfolds, three leather lashes, and a thin wooden dowel.

     Her mind seemed to skip some steps, and she began to feel totally dialed into the moment or whatever moment the magic was ceding to her. Time seemed to flutter back and forth and she immediately found herself strapped to the cross with her buttocks facing outward and her head and hands strapped to the wood. She wriggled her neck a few times and at least found a bit of comfort by placing her check on the wood instead of the bridge of her nose. She began to picture the scene, her eyes racing out of her body and now resting on the rafter above where the cross was chained. Watching herself swing gently back and forth on the cross a foot or two above the cold stone. She searched for the figure, but he was not in the scene, A soft violin began playing and her eyes now found the hooded quartet in the corner of the room that were playing on of Bach’s early pieces. A nice goth touch she thought.

     The baroque scene and music was interrupted with the first snap of cane. The figure, brought her eyes and attention back to herself on the cross. Then again, then again, then again, she had no time to recover from the first hit let alone the the the next 5. He was hitting her with his initial signature - six times, then stop. Then six times and stop. Then harder another six times. After this she knew he would pierce into her mind and body, then hit as needed or as her mind began to drift. 18 thwacks in total just to start things off, an icebreaker she thought. It hurt. On the 19th hit she he began moaning uncontrollably, and tears began to show in her eyes. Taking deep breaths and counting randomly and then feeling herself exhale was helping. The stinging was strong but she didn’t think he’d broken her skin yet.

     Slowly she began to recover and the endorphins began to kick in. The figure could sense this and he began smashing the dowel back into her ass cheeks. With the latest hits, it was like her brain began to rewire itself, now thriving on the pain and the anticipation of each stroke. She was getting high. The music sounded beautiful. Her body began tingling and quivering pushing her internal needle into the pleasure scale. Another pop, another pop, it felt amazing. Her juice began to leak, then run down her thigh, down the swaying wooden cross, and trickling onto the floor beneath her feet.

      He could sense her now and knew her thoughts were of her husband. He was right, Lillian was gaining on the magic and her eyes had moved back up to the rafter. Black magic was fleeting and relied on focus. Whoever had more focus was the one wielding it. She had pinned the energy on the room down with her mind. It was hers right now.

     She could see her David now, watching her husband take complete control of her with a cane, owning her. He could never achieve this type of domination at home, but here some dark piece of his mind was standing naked caning her bare bottom, using her, using all of her. She  loved it. She had the magic and her David now in her grasp. Her cum began to turn into a stream as she watched David loving her with his cane. The magic was strong now.

     She could sense the figure wanted back in control and David out. Now her David was gone, and the figure stood paralyzed. Both Lillian and the figure were in some middle ground with the magic pushing and pulling looking for its owner.  The figure couldn’t strike her while they grappled for control. Finally, realizing his dowel was no match for her mind, he dashed to the star and grabbed the riding crop.

     Tossing the cane aside he lashed her again and again. When he saw blood he stood back and admired it slinking across her wound and into the crack of her ass. He had her now, and she knew it. She had to submit. He waited a few minutes, pacing proudly back and forth, watching his prey tied, bound, and bloody, sweaty. She could feel his power streaming across her bound body. She had lost the magic and there was nothing she could do now but bow to the stranger's domination of her. The lull in his method gave her time to enjoy the euphoria that was saturating her brain. “OK, this works too, you, David, whatever, I love it all,” she thought silently. When the magic turns to pleasure it doesn't matter who’s in charge. It just feels that good.