The Ritual
I always begin by cleaning the space, and myself. I clean the room, the bathroom, and make my preparations and gather supplies. I fast for these, so no dinner but I did buy roses for my nest and some good quality virgin coconut oil extra candles, and made some spiced wine with cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and cognac.
I set up my room with thick blankets of royal blue and gold from my bed and spare pillows and made a circle with votive and pillar candles placing a vanity mirror against two pillows at one end and spreading all but two roses around the blankets.
My house is small, built in the 1920s and the room I use for my bedroom is longer than it is wide with windows along the exterior wall. There is a fireplace at the end and wooden floors throughout. Beyond this it is sparsely furnished with bookshelves, a desk, and sleigh bed.
I light a fire, and turn off the heater, then I open all the windows in my room.
I set up my bath with candles, dried flowers and a mixture of powdered milk and raw honey and centered myself and set intentions, I then stepped into my bath and soak while I lather well.
I apply a honey mask to my face and proceed to shave everything. Once I have finished I wash my face, and get out of the bath. I then mix a warming cinnamon sugar scrub with ginger, and clove added. It makes my skin feel hot to the touch and increases blood flow. I apply the scrub to my body and focus on my breathing for fifteen minutes before taking as hot a shower as I can. I do not dry off. For this I enter my room and walk to the open window. I stand at the window letting the December air dry me until my nipples are fully erect. Rivulets run from the tips on my hair down my back like a lover’s fingertips tracing my spine.
Still partially wet I sit on the blankets in front of the fire.
I place my rose quartz wand close to the fire to warm and have a couple glasses of the fortified wine while I meditate on the sensory aspects of the room.
The cool crisp winter air from the window on my left, the heat from the fire in front of me, notes of rose and wood smoke mix in air, candles coruscating, casting shadows around them, the ethereal sounds of Hildegard Von Bingen playing low in the background.
I take the saved roses in my hands, and slowly begin tracing them along the contours of my body
Across the tops of my toes and feet, up the sides of my legs, over the knees and into my inner thighs
Let them waltz against my flower, their petals the kiss of my lover,
Over my mons, up the middle of my torso, ’round, under, and between my breasts, letting the soft petals skate across my skin
I bring one rose up and inhale deeply as I shake the other over my nipples like a feather duster
In the mirror, wreathed in a kaleidoscopic amber glow from the fire, I see myself
My shimmering skin nestled into a plush sea of royal blue trimmed in shimmering gold satin, the droplets remaining on my body scintillating in the firelight,
The soft petals flicking around my breasts, parallelling the thin delicate petals that frame the heart of my femininity
Spectral shadows from the candle’s flames lash in greyscale across my body
Mixing with dancing silhouettes along my walls
I am leaking now, slight streams of liquid lust weeping from my lips like tears of longing
Longing to be touched
Longing to be filled
Longing to be made complete
I reach for my wand, it’s translucent pink now more pearlescent before the flames
It’s hot, blood warm, I call back my hand and quench it in the pool between my thighs
Starting slow, I run the tip of the wand in oval patterns around my entrance, it’s waxen pink exterior fading into the softer pastels of my inner petals, both flashing and failing in the fire light
I can feel my wetness
Streaming now
I push the tip inside as a tender, almost sorrowful moan escapes my lips
I pause
Feel the warm weight
Fill me
Stretch me
I push in a little more
I pinch my nipple
Another, more urgent moan
Small gush of slickness displaced by the wand,
Both escaping my lips in concert
Deeper still, I hilt my lover
Cannot help but to arch my back
Draw my knees up to my breasts
My head low with bated breath
My wet hair, dark vines clinging to my face, neck, chest,
A combination of arousal and ambient heat cause my skin to flush in patches
Curious constellations across
My breasts, my thighs, my cheeks,
I adopt the rhythm of the walls
Moving in tandem with the shadows
Writhing in time with the flicker of flames
My body on fire
My pace quickening
Shallow breaths from heaving breasts
I grind into my hand
The stone deep inside me
Moving
Shifting pressure as my hips thrust off the blankets and
Back down
I slow
Myself
Spin ’round
Roll to my knees
Face down
Feel the wetness change course
Running down my hand along my forearm
I plunge in and out of myself
Lowing into the pillows my muscles made master
I’m on edge
Barely aware
Of anything but a driving primal need for completion
I sit up grab both breasts
Hard press, squeeze, pull at my nipples
Gliding slowly up and down on my wand
Pausing at the part of my lips
Move my hips in slow spirals feeling it twist inside me
And bring it down
Picking up pace
Slowing to a rolling hip grind
Again
Again
Again
I fall over
Grab one leg
Pinned behind my head
Work my pearl and my wand with feral focus
In the mirror
My once contrasting colors of skin, quartz, petals, radiant amber glow
Now a monochromatic palette of scarlet
Sweat and wet dripping
I feel my muscles tighten
My jaw set
My walls clamp down
A Flashpoint
A whisper into a wail
Tears,
Squeezed from clenched eyes and furrowed brow
Wild moans and convulsions,
Shuddering
Shaking
Breaking my being in two
Before
Subsiding into whimpering
Weeping
And waves of ecstasy
Exhausted I smile through the tears
Laughing at my own loss of composure