distance. The smell of fading
flowers yielded to an eruption of pungent smoke that reached down Ellie’s throat,
grabbed at her stomach, and yanked. It reeked of overcooked pork, rotten eggs, and rotten fruit. She dry heaved.
“Woreh!” René said, pointing toward the fire.
Ellie paused, trying to make sure she understood him. Worry? Yes, my old life was
marinated in worry. But I’m changing, and René seemed to have approved of the change.
So that couldn’t have been what he’d said. It must’ve been…
“Lori? She’s there, near that fire?”
René chuckled and patted Ellie on the shoulder. Was she to take that as a yes or as a
condescending no?
As they walked farther along, the glow grew in size and intensity, overcoming the
blackness. At first it seemed as though it might be a wasteland, a vast array of tall
bonfires. But as they marched through the strange night, ever closer, Ellie came to see it was a series of burning stone towers.
Fire flickered sporadically through their windows, at times revealing the silhouettes
of grotesque figures so deformed they made René seem like an Adonis. Fire thrived in a
constant, crackling roar at the very top of the structures – bathing each minaret and
battlement in flames. Along with the sounds of burning, she also heard desperate pleas
and sadistic laughs; animalistic grunts and orgasmic moans; the cracks of whips and the
clatter of chains–the sounds of suffering and its mischievous instigation.
The fire burned the creatures in the tower, but didn’t seem to be killing them so
much as changing them into more degenerate shapes. Rendering them more holy.
Purifying them . As René guided her ever closer, Ellie wondered what exactly would become of her once she stepped inside. But this question was overwhelmed by a sudden
surge of undeniable arousal that pulsed through her veins. I need to hurt her...I need to fuck her...I need to hurt her...I need to fuck her .
They arrived at a tower entrance – a stone archway. Tall, lit torches stood unsteadily
at each end, wobbling back and forth in the wind, belching foul black clouds into the air and casting chaotic light on the first half dozen steps of a wide interior stone stairway.
Ellie found them almost-comically redundant. Torches posted right outside an
inferno? It made no sense.
“Tack hew up,” René said.
The torches crept toward Ellie. Amongst their flames, she glimpsed boiling blue eyes
peeking out of carbon-black faces. They weren’t torches at all but rather living, burning men. As they approached her, the air started to boil and her brain started to boil and she let out a revolted wail.
René enjoyed a slobbery belly laugh as he insistently pushed her toward the
creatures.
Most of the burning men’s appendages were charred and weak, seeming as though
they might fall to the ground at any moment. Hence, their hunched-over gait that made
them look all the more strange.
Only their flabby bellies and hard cocks were left uncharred. The hairy, blistering
flesh of these two hungry parts–in flames but never completely consumed–reminded Ellie
of the burning bush that spoke to Moses.
The burning men each grabbed Ellie by an arm. Their flames galloped onto her like
small, rabid animals. Burned her clothes and burned her skin and melted the two together until there was no distinction between them. Then she, too, was a walking torch. She, too, smelled of overcooked pork, rotten eggs, and rotten fruit. They had spread their fire on to her, like a disease. Their cremation was a contagion.
By all rights, it should have been agonizing. But instead there was only a dull
stinging sensation, a crackling in her nerves as if they were finally waking up. As if
they’d been asleep her whole life – artificially sedated by her parents, her school, her church, and her husband.
By all rights, it should have been horrifying. At the very least, the smell of her own
burning flesh should have
flowers yielded to an eruption of pungent smoke that reached down Ellie’s throat,
grabbed at her stomach, and yanked. It reeked of overcooked pork, rotten eggs, and rotten fruit. She dry heaved.
“Woreh!” René said, pointing toward the fire.
Ellie paused, trying to make sure she understood him. Worry? Yes, my old life was
marinated in worry. But I’m changing, and René seemed to have approved of the change.
So that couldn’t have been what he’d said. It must’ve been…
“Lori? She’s there, near that fire?”
René chuckled and patted Ellie on the shoulder. Was she to take that as a yes or as a
condescending no?
As they walked farther along, the glow grew in size and intensity, overcoming the
blackness. At first it seemed as though it might be a wasteland, a vast array of tall
bonfires. But as they marched through the strange night, ever closer, Ellie came to see it was a series of burning stone towers.
Fire flickered sporadically through their windows, at times revealing the silhouettes
of grotesque figures so deformed they made René seem like an Adonis. Fire thrived in a
constant, crackling roar at the very top of the structures – bathing each minaret and
battlement in flames. Along with the sounds of burning, she also heard desperate pleas
and sadistic laughs; animalistic grunts and orgasmic moans; the cracks of whips and the
clatter of chains–the sounds of suffering and its mischievous instigation.
The fire burned the creatures in the tower, but didn’t seem to be killing them so
much as changing them into more degenerate shapes. Rendering them more holy.
Purifying them . As René guided her ever closer, Ellie wondered what exactly would become of her once she stepped inside. But this question was overwhelmed by a sudden
surge of undeniable arousal that pulsed through her veins. I need to hurt her...I need to fuck her...I need to hurt her...I need to fuck her .
They arrived at a tower entrance – a stone archway. Tall, lit torches stood unsteadily
at each end, wobbling back and forth in the wind, belching foul black clouds into the air and casting chaotic light on the first half dozen steps of a wide interior stone stairway.
Ellie found them almost-comically redundant. Torches posted right outside an
inferno? It made no sense.
“Tack hew up,” René said.
The torches crept toward Ellie. Amongst their flames, she glimpsed boiling blue eyes
peeking out of carbon-black faces. They weren’t torches at all but rather living, burning men. As they approached her, the air started to boil and her brain started to boil and she let out a revolted wail.
René enjoyed a slobbery belly laugh as he insistently pushed her toward the
creatures.
Most of the burning men’s appendages were charred and weak, seeming as though
they might fall to the ground at any moment. Hence, their hunched-over gait that made
them look all the more strange.
Only their flabby bellies and hard cocks were left uncharred. The hairy, blistering
flesh of these two hungry parts–in flames but never completely consumed–reminded Ellie
of the burning bush that spoke to Moses.
The burning men each grabbed Ellie by an arm. Their flames galloped onto her like
small, rabid animals. Burned her clothes and burned her skin and melted the two together until there was no distinction between them. Then she, too, was a walking torch. She, too, smelled of overcooked pork, rotten eggs, and rotten fruit. They had spread their fire on to her, like a disease. Their cremation was a contagion.
By all rights, it should have been agonizing. But instead there was only a dull
stinging sensation, a crackling in her nerves as if they were finally waking up. As if
they’d been asleep her whole life – artificially sedated by her parents, her school, her church, and her husband.
By all rights, it should have been horrifying. At the very least, the smell of her own
burning flesh should have
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