Start of a new story

I suppose me being all tired and worked up has prodded my (seemingly dead) Erdric muse. Just something random I wanted to do. I think I’m going to expand and rework it into some righteous smut. I think it’s just begging for it, but as always, let me know what you think of the writing and give me some feedback.

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I always felt that I was a good religious girl: praying to my chosen gods, making the proper sacrifices. Being ‘good’, and ‘pure’, and ‘untouched’… that was all I was told to be; I knew no better. I was never told about the things that exist beyond my world.

Late at night, though, I know that these epithets of a ‘good’ and ‘pure’ really never fit. But I know, as surely as the sun breaks over my window and I lie in the tangled and damp bed linens, why I am a truly deficient. A ‘good girl’ wouldn’t enjoy this, let alone invite it back.

I know inexplicably that I am evil, tainted, for why else would my dreams and fantasies take control of me as they do? Why had he come to me?

Perhaps I should explain and you might understand what I say.

I was born into a religious family, in a secluded, albeit religious small town. They were set in their ways and life was always done according to ‘tradition’ and for ‘gods’. The priest ran the village with an iron fist, and put the fear of the gods into our very bones.

            When this first started happening, the window opening, the voice I would hear in my drowsy state, I asked my mother. This, however, was one of the worst things I could do. I had to sit in a confessional, say my prayers with the priests, and be sure to douse my body in holy water, especially when they publicly flogged me for having ‘carnal thoughts.’ It was to purify myself, they said. That, I never understood.

            I suppose, in a way, I was becoming that which they feared. I’ve allowed it to continue; I enjoyed it and began to pour my heart into clawed hands.

            At first, as I said, it started with simple things: the window open, my sheets crumpled, the caressing whisper, the warm hands…

            I fought, knowing I would be whipped for certain, if not punished more severely if I allowed things to escalate.

            I think you would be surprised at how persuasive they can be, but then I like to think it’s just him that is like that. After a while, I allowed him those liberties, let him touch and seek and awaken those parts of me that was considered wrong. It’s what I wanted; No, it’s what I needed. It is that which I still need.

            I am tainted, and I know it every time I sit beside Mother and Father in the church. I’m truly surprised that our gods will permit me access to their holy ground and that I have not yet been struck dead, as the priests say constantly.

            The smooth, incredibly warm skin that burns my soul; the hotness of his breath and the smell of his sweat and the dampness between my legs as soon as I feel that hardened nail scratch softly against the curve of my breast. All of this damns me to an eternity of torment, and yet, I care not for my afterlife, care not for my soul but care only for the fall of the sun, for that night to bring forth the demon that teases and torments me so well in the silence of the dark.