Communion

(Throwaway account for this.) Communion

The old judge put his cold hand on his cheek, and looked at the girl.

While pens scratched out whispered rhythms, and coughs cleared quiet throats, the girl told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, with God’s help. Her small voice, a gentle cinnamon bristle, tumbled out of the monitors married to the microphone erect before her where she sat beside the judge, his hand still on his old cheek, still looking at the girl.

“And how long were you a member of what is known as the Congregation of the Magna Mater?” she was asked. “For five years.” “And how old were you during the time you were a member of the congregation?” “I was sixteen when my family joined the congregation, and I was twenty-one when I left.”

The girl remained quiet as a series of questions were marked for objection by the congregation’s attorney. After the judge ruled, he rested his cheek in his hand again and the state’s attorney proceeded. “While you were a member of the congregation, did you witness their ceremonies?” “Yes,” said the girl. “Can you describe the ceremonies?” “There were a lot of them,” said the girl. “Would you please describe the recurring ceremony before the end of the cult’s–” “Objection,” said the congregation’s attorney.

The girl listened as the attorneys and the judge decided the appropriate nomenclature for the body known to her, to the state’s attorney, and to the media as “the Magna Mater Cult.” The attorney rephrased the question. “Amanda,” the attorney said, “please describe the ceremony that occurred before the end of each of the congregation’s Saturday evening worship services.”

The girl shifted in the hard, wood seat beside the judge. Awkward in her skirt, she put her dank hands on the cold, angular knees beyond the skirt’s hem. She told the attorney that the ceremony in question was the congregation’s communion. During the ceremony, the flesh of a female congregation member of reproductive age, though still virginal, would be substituted for the approximated body and blood of Jesus Christ.

The selected young woman would spend the worship service seated beside the congregation’s leader, barefoot and undressed save for a loose white tunic and a thin white veil. As communion was called by the leader, the young woman would move to an altar modified counter to her modesty and the leader would remove the young woman’s tunic and open her legs.

The judge’s brow grew heavy, his gaze fixed on the young woman’s profile. The pens wound to silence. The quiet throats remained that way. The state’s attorney prompted the girl to continue, and she did.

“A rest, a velvet rest, for his knees–” “For whose knees?” “The leader, Joseph. A rest for his knees was in front of the altar. He kneeled down, his back to the people…” “Take your time,” said the attorney. After a moment, the judge said into his hand that the witness needed to answer. “And he put his mouth between my legs.” “I think the court gets the picture, your honor,” said the congregation’s attorney. “She’ll continue,” the judge said. “Go on,” said the state’s attorney. “Well, he would make a cross with his hands, in the air, in front of my private area. He said ‘Corpus Maria.’ And then he would kiss me. Down there. And he would touch me down there with his tongue, and his lips.” “How long would it last? That he was performing these acts on your body?” “A few minutes. I don’t know.” “And when he stopped, what happened?” “Then it was…the congregation’s turn. Starting with the Edlers: the men who had been in the cult the longest.” “Objection,” said the congregation’s attorney, which motion the judge overruled. “How many were there of the Elders?” “Twelve. Like the apostles.” “And each of them would do the same thing?” “Yes.” “And each for how long?” “Not long, each of them. Some longer than others. None for as long as Joseph.” The girl stopped the story and looked at the attorney. “Go on,” the attorney said. “Then the congregation, just the men in the congregation, got in lines, just like a regular communion.” “The women in the congregation were excluded from this ‘communion?’” “Yes.” “Go on.” “And it was just like communion in my old church, except it was me instead of wafers and wine. A man would come up to the altar, Joseph would say ‘corpus Maria,’ and…they would do the same thing that Joseph and the Elders did.” “And each congregant for how long?” “Not long–like the Elders. About the same, I guess.” “And how many men would there be in one of these…worship services?” “Everyone from the compound was there at every one.” “Our records say two hundred and eleven men and women in the compound. Of them, one hundred and fifty-six men. Does that seem accurate?” “It does.” “How old were you when you were first offered in this ‘communion?’” “I had just turned seventeen, and the girl before me had just graduated.” “Graduated?” said the attorney. “They have one girl at a time for it. They do it until the girl that came before them gets pregnant with an Elder’s baby or Joseph’s baby, then they go to Joseph and the Elders and the next girl comes in to communion, or ‘graduates.’” “And what happens to the girl who goes to Joseph and the Elders?” “Well, they have private ceremonies, each of them, with her. They have sex with her to try to get her pregnant.” “So she’s a sex slave for thirteen men, is that a fair explanation of the situation?” “Objection,” said the congregation’s attorney, and the rigid law flexed again under the weight of words, while the girl waited. Finally, the state’s attorney said “And did you want to do this, Amanda?” “I didn’t know I wanted to, or I didn’t know I didn’t want to. It was considered an honor, and my parents wanted me to do it. To us it was just like when my brother was an altar boy, or when I made my first communion in our old church. And no one really hurt me, hurt me; everyone was gentle with me.” To the attorney’s silence, the girl responded: “it was religious. And Joseph, I thought, was a holy man, like a father to all of us.” The state’s attorney shuffled among papers at the long table across from the girl, looking down. The court buzzed with wall clocks, pens returned to their tight circuits along the lines of legal pads; the old judge rubbed his hands and scratched his nose. He rubbed his brow with his thumb. “And so few girls got picked,” the girl said, too close to the microphone. The judge showed his hand to the girl, and frowned warmly. The girl looked down. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. The judge put his hand up again, not looking at her. The state’s attorney moved from behind the long table as the girl was taking a drink of water. “Amanda, on the occasions you’ve described, did any of Joseph, the Elders, or the congregants penetrate you?” The girl pointed to her mouth and said “with their tongues.” “With anything else? A finger, a foreign body?” “Joseph would sometimes put a finger inside me, before he knelt down and started the communion. But I’d seen him do it before, with the girls before me. He would clean his hands in holy water first, and then he would work his fingers in and move them around a little bit. They said it was because the girls were dry down there, and he didn’t want them to be uncomfortable.” “Now the girl who preceded you, can you describe her?” “Shaela. She was pretty. She was average height, with reddish hair and green eyes.” “Did she have a build like yours, similar, would you say?” “Yes, pretty similar.” “And did you know the girl before Shaela?” “Rosa.” “Yes. Describe Rosa, please.” “Rosa was pretty. Slim, average height.” “Hair color, eye color?” “I don’t remember her eyes, but her hair was red.” “Did Rosa have a build like yours, similar, would you say?” “I thought she was much prettier than me, but yes.” “And the girl before Rosa? Did you know her?” “I know that Alexa and Rebecca were before Rosa sometime, but I don’t remember…” “Do you know what they look like?” “Well, I never saw them in service–they were both graduated. But I knew them from the compound, and they were like me and Rosa and Shaela, I guess.” “Amanda, here are pictures of Rebecca, Rosa, Shaela, and Alexa. Can you tell me what color their eyes appear to be?” “Green.” “And their hair?” “Red, or reddish.” “And can you tell us what color your eyes are?” “Green.” “And your hair, though we can all plainly see…” “Red.” “Do you still wonder why so few girls got picked?” “Objection,” said the congregation’s attorney. “Withdrawn,” said the state’s attorney. “Thank you Amanda, no more questions for now.”

The lawyers and the judge agreed to a short recess before the congregation’s attorney had his opportunity to question the girl. She remained in her place beside the judge who rubbed his old hands and left the room. She stood up, peeling her thighs from the hard chair, and flattened her skirt and trim white blouse. She sat down again.

The congregation’s attorney left his long table in the care of the team of grey-dressed men and women who flanked Joseph, sitting there in a fat tie and underneath his white hair. Joseph breathed deep and looked around the room. He let his eyes stay on Amanda for little flashes. he looked without seeing, then looking away and remembered what he’d seen. A trick he’d learned playing quarterback in high school, in the pocket, with no time to study the defense and the position of his receivers. He would dart away from trouble, unseeing, and remember an open teammate, remember an errant or failing defender, in the map left in his mind. Now he let his eyes settle for longer rests on Amanda: the fullness of her, the freckles, the sullen crown of autumn hair that betrayed the pale curls beneath her tunic, the supple carnation lips that so well predicted the pink flesh just below those curls. Those marvels of thighs, with their childish little bruises and straight roundness. He stirred beneath his wool slacks as he recalled the pink folds that gave to his fingers, the greasy suppleness deep inside those folds, the little ridges he found that he knew soaked his fingers, the taste of her before she came to taste only of his mouth: that musk and flesh, the dizzying, holy intoxication, so brief, that made it so hard and fulfilling to breathe. But nothing about Amanda was as exciting as revealing her, giving her, unveiling her and exposing her young sex, her white thighs, her taut breasts, to the congregation. Seeing her, he remembered, given as ceremony and sacrifice, free, to his flock. Watching them, he remembered, climbing one at a time to taste her, devour her, share her, use her, know her in that biblical sense. Corpus Amanda.

I didn’t harm anyone, Joseph told himself. I needed it. Oh, those girls, with their ripe young bodies. And me, growing old. Impotent. I made holy men, good men; men with spiritual integrity, ready to follow their lord, to believe. That’s what I did: I made men believe. They believed there was communion with the holy mother in those little pink pussies, and with the holy father, the son, the spirit. We go to Bethlehem; we go to Nazareth; we go to Jerusalem. I led a pilgrimage closer to God. The house of that bread; the root of that branch; the very foundation. Even Jesus was inside a woman, once.

It’s just the way that power turns. The weaker you are, the more power you have. I’m the prophet, the anointed one, and I’ll leave this place in chains. The judge, he’ll put those chains on me. And that girl, that helpless little girl, she turned that judge against me. As though everything that was happening to her was a story to tell in court. It’s just the way power turns.

The recess ending, the old judge returned to his bench. “Your honor,” called Joseph. The judge looked over his glasses at him. “It’s too fucking warm in here,” said Joseph.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/24nu1z/communion