The Ceremony

The night air was frosty, and each exhaled breath filled the surrounding air with crystalline pockets of condensation. The moon was full, pregnant and bright in the clear sky, and countless stars twinkled in their heavenly canopy. Out here on the wild moor, there was no other light than that which the moon and stars could provide. It was the perfect site for the ancient ceremony.

For centuries, the ceremony had been taking place. Three warlocks, the decendents of the very first generation of priestly initiates, were tasked with calling Her down on this same night every year. The ancient druidic astrologers had long ago divined the moment at which the planets were perfectly aligned and the veil between realms was thinnest. In such ordained circumstances, they would have least difficulty in pulling Her through.

The three men, clad only in their coarse woollen ceremonial cloaks and with their heads freshly shaved, stood in a circle and joined hands. The ritual prayer was recited, the three men bowing their heads worshipfully, and immediately the air around them began to crackle with an eerie electricity. The Grand Master nodded to his fellows, and all three shrugged off their cloaks in unison.

The cold air felt brisk and sharp upon their skins, and six bare nipples grew erect at once. Each warlock placed his left hand on the shoulder of the man beside him, thus closing the circle. Each then took his own shaft in his right hand and began to stroke. Despite the brutal chill of the air, made worse by the growing gusts of wind that were picking up across the moor, the erections of all three warlocks grew steely and sturdy. As their members rose, they continued to chant, reciting Her divine titles, of which there are many. She is ancient, older than the ancestors themselves, and has been known by many names.

The men’s strokes increased in fervour as the wind began to howl and the atmosphere grew phosphorous with a powerful, rising energy. As each warlock’s arousal built towards its crescendo, droplets of seminal fluid dripped from the slit of his phallus. So cold was the air that each droplet erupted with a miniscule puff of steam as it emerged, and almost froze before it hit the ground.

Fists thrusting and twisting vigorously at their rigid pricks, the three men eyed each other, silently communicating how close they were to climax. The signals were passed between them; it was time now. The ceremony was reaching the apex. This was the moment to call Her down.

As three hot streams of ejaculate burst forth and danced in the air within the circle, all three warlocks shouted Her Name; her True, secret Name, the one known only to the Initiated. The one to which She had to respond. The one Name that could call Her forth and harness Her.

As the jissom hit the ground inside the circle, a bright ball of red light appeared and hovered in the air. It grew in size, a swirling mass of light and energy, and as it expanded it began to take the shape of a tall, statuesque woman. The warlocks held the circle closed as She transfigured before them; her power was of untold magnitude, being as it was the very essence of the Feminine Sexual Principle, the original Creatrix. Like all Goddesses, She could be benevolent Mother, but she could also be a dark Destroyer. There was no binary divide to Her energies, no perception of Good or Evil. Only Power.

As She took Her full physical form before them, She observed their puny protective circle and resisted the urge to roll Her eyes. Every year, since time immemorial, these men and their ancestors had sought to harness Her. And why? As a show of their own misguided notion of strength, and nothing more; the time-old need of the masculine to control and contain the feminine.

In truth, no ceremonial circle was sufficient to constrain Her. The power of the Feminine Sexual Principle, once bidden, could never be truly bound. She stayed in their circle only because She chose to do so. It both pleased and amused Her to watch them, little boys playing at being Gods, attempting to harness Sexuality. True initiates, she thought, knew that such power is far greater than any mere mortal could possibly ever comprehend.

No offence is meant towards the masculine amongst you, nor to the Male Principle! Nor is the Feminine Sexual Principle in this story envisaged as belonging to vagina-owners only! I speak only in archetypal binaries here, and I recognise that these can be seen as anachronistic and problematic.

Visit the Wicked Wednesday site. This Week’s prompt is “Ceremony”

14 thoughts on “The Ceremony

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