‘Hence the name Heaven’s Gate.’ Brother Christy stopped to admire the fine day, grasping his hands behind him. His blond hair shone in the sunlight, and his rounded brown shape brought to mind a kindly Friar Tuck. ‘How Father Luc located this patch of perfection, we don’t know. But we give thanks each day for the friendly weather and the bountiful crops we can raise, and the opportunity to carry out our purpose here.’
Was he implying that the abbot founded this mountaintop retreat? I wondered how that could possibly be, since the aged stone and style of the monastery suggested a structure dating back at least two hundred years. I was brought out of my ponderings, however, when the monk beside me resumed our leisurely stroll.
‘How are you and Sybil getting along?’ he asked, implying only the most respectable interest. ‘I had my doubts about that arrangement, because Sybil, in her way, is every bit as bullheaded as the abbot. And on some days, her temper makes Mrs Goodin seem absolutely sweet.’
I had no desire to reveal how my room-mate and I came to terms last night, so I considered my reply carefully. ‘We must dance to the tune the piper’s playing, until invited to play along — or until we can outperform her.’
‘Wisely put. Learning tolerance, as a preacher’s daughter, will serve you well here.’
I wondered if I were too tolerant; too willing to accept whatever my father had dished up as my lot in life. But I wasn’t of a mind to challenge Brother Christy’s compliment. The discrepancies I was beginning to see, between this monk’s interpretation of things and Father Luc’s view, would take hours to fathom. And, as we approached the orchard, an interesting sight presented yet another ripple in the picture.
I stopped walking, to stare. Monks of every size and shape stood naked around a pear tree, relieving themselves. Their streams of pee glittered in the sunlight, and every few seconds they took a step backward. From this distance I couldn’t distinguish their words, but I could tell they were enjoying themselves immensely.
‘I know how odd this must appear to you,’ said Brother Christy. ‘Our morning ritual not only fertilises the soil around the trees, but it’s an exercise in control, and a way to put such common elements as bodily fluids to a practical use.’
I fought a snicker. He was perfectly serious, yet this control he spoke of resembled a contest to see who could shoot the farthest and last the longest. And after the last monk peeing was cheered, the men tightened their circle again, each placing a hand on the arse of the man to his left while grabbing the shaft of the man on his right.
To say I was stunned was an understatement. I gawked, much like that village idiot Sybil had referred to, as the men leaned into their purpose and began to chant a single sound on a low, sustained note. They established a steady rhythm, and then I saw fingers flicking at puckery rectums and fists beginning to pump, slowly up and slowly down, with the entire ring moving a step to the right on every fourth beat.
‘I suppose this is another sort of ritual,’ I breathed, my eyes roving over the variety of body shapes. I’d seen only three men without clothing, and the sight of so many backs and arses, some hairy and some bare, fascinated me. There were twelve in this group, a few of them around my father’s age, yet a surprising number nearer my own.
‘A ceremonial cleansing, done each morning to rid the body of tension and inclination towards sexual indulgence — which, as you know, is expressly forbidden here,’ Brother Christy added matter-of-factly. ‘At Heaven’s Gate we believe the naked body of itself holds no shame, and that releasing our pent-up desires each morning, as a corporate act of joy and contrition, frees us to become the spiritual, productive people we were created to be.’
I considered this, while the men stepped more quickly and their music rose in pitch. Many of them had inserted a finger into the arse at hand, and the handling of hardened cocks was quickened, yet still controlled by the rhythm of their monotone chant. Perhaps an evening with Sybil had made me more jaded, but I couldn’t help thinking these monks had merely devised a method of jerking themselves off as a form of worship, perhaps because so few women lived here. Which brought to mind questions I didn’t dare ask Brother Christy.
‘If you look off in the distance, towards the vineyard,’ he said as he pointed, ‘you’ll notice a line of men performing a similar act along the grapevines. Our women, who assist Sybil in the kitchen or do the laundry with Mrs Goodin each day, have their own ceremonies. For obvious reasons, we keep the two groups separate.’
I could not in my wildest imaginings picture the chief housekeeper throwing aside her bleak black uniform to fondle the females in her charge. And yet…she’d had no qualms about running her hands and that damn lye soap all over me. The memory made me twitch with embarrassment. Or was it the rising tide of passion in the men’s chant that made my clit tingle?
The voices sounded more urgent now, and the beat accelerated. The faces I could see tightened, the need for release becoming the lyric to their singular song. Would they each climax at will, or did the ritual demand utmost control — a unison shooting of their seed? I was beginning to fidget at the sight of so many cocks being pumped and so many arses wagging, so I tried to return to rational conversation.
‘And what about Father Luc? Does he participate in these rituals?’ I asked in a tight voice.
‘No, Mary Grace, we believe men who have achieved the status of abbot possess enough control and wisdom that they’ve risen above the needs of ordinary brethren.’
I looked pointedly at the monk, partly because I didn’t agree and partly because I wondered what his own answer would be. From what I’d seen, Brother Christy exemplified the Christian ideal — and the control and wisdom he’d just mentioned — in far greater measure than the man he answered to. But it wasn’t my place to point that out.
‘As for me,’ he replied with a knowing smile, ‘I felt I should escort you around at this hour, so you’d be aware of our daily practices. Coming from your background, I can imagine you find this rather foreign. Perhaps repugnant?’
Could he see how my upper thighs were squeezing in time to the men’s beat? How my nipples had hardened beneath the heavy weave of my tunic? Their chant had landed on a note that sent lightning streaking through my veins while making the moisture pool in my pussy. I suddenly wanted to stand in the centre of their circle and study each man closely…perhaps feel them releasing upon me. ‘It — it is a little different,’ I rasped, wishing I could relieve the pressure between my quaking legs.
‘And of course, now that you know about our morning exercises, you shall participate in them.’ Brother Christy flashed me a conspiratorial smile, lowering his voice beneath the wail of the men we’d been observing. ‘I understand your inclinations tend toward a sexual direction, Mary Grace, so perhaps you should engage in our acts of open cleansing starting tomorrow, before you begin your sewing. You’ll be a calmer, more spiritually attuned woman, if you do.’
I would also be free from the abbot’s arrogant stares, at least for a short time each day. And these exercises, though far removed from any religious practices I held dear, would acquaint me with the other women working here at the abbey. This group groping was sounding better by the second to my agitated body, even though it would require my disrobing before total strangers.
A glance at the rather perverted version of Ring Around the Rosie made me forget my fears — and pretty much everything else. With a triumphant cry, all heads fell back and all bodies convulsed. Streams of cream shot from one cock and then another and another, until the trunk of that pear tree ran with their gooey fluid. Some of the men thrust and spurted for an incredible length of time. I couldn’t take my eyes off them, and I was getting dizzy from the quivering I tried to hide from the man beside me, and from the musky scent adrift on the breeze.
‘Mary Grace? Oh dear, this was too intense for your first day, wasn’t it?’
Before I realised what was happening, Brother Christy led me towards the men who’d just spent themselves
. My slit was throbbing so hard I could barely walk and my juice flowed freely down my leg. I couldn’t imagine what was coming next, but I certainly wanted to come myself.
‘My brothers, Mary Grace was so deeply affected by your ceremony, she finds herself in need of similar release. I fear we’re too late for the women’s exercises. We should assist in her cleansing while the spirit moves her.’
Before I could protest, or simply ask for a few moments alone in the cottage, I had a naked man on either side of me. ‘Don’t be alarmed, dear Mary — we won’t let you fall!’ the younger one said. ‘I’m Brother Jack and this is Brother Gregory. Lean into us, now. That’s our girl.’
I fell back into a seat they made by clasping hands behind my shoulders and under my thighs. ‘But I’ll be fine — really! I don’t want to interrupt your work, or —’
‘The health and happiness of every member is our mission here,’ Brother Gregory said. He smiled kindly, making creases around his green eyes. ‘You’re pale and trembling, sure to faint if left untended.’
‘Let me help! There’s no time to lose!’ A third monk, very slim and sleek, with long brown hair, knelt before us to assess the situation. ‘Hold her by the knees.’
The men supporting me shifted their arms so my weight suddenly hung suspended, and the third monk shoved my tunic up my legs. All of this happened so quickly, I had no chance to protest. ‘Is this what’s called having one’s arse in a sling?’ I asked, feeling utterly ridiculous yet intrigued by their quick efficiency.
‘Brother Nolan’s a doctor,’ Brother Jack assured me. ‘He’ll have you at rights in no time.’
Indeed, a squeal of delight escaped me before I realised what this physician’s methods would be. He was licking the slickness from my inner thigh, inciting a riot of sensations as his tongue eased upward and his palms spread my legs. The monks who held me complied by each taking a knee in the crook of an elbow and stepping sideways, which left me hanging with my bare arse and my wet sex exposed. When I saw the other men gathering around, I shut my eyes. What would Hyde think? What if the abbot came out here and discovered these brethren indulging in this illicit game?
My reservations flew skyward with the first thrust of Brother Nolan’s tongue. In and out and around he drove it, thoroughly lapping the liquid hidden in my heated folds. Back and forth he moved me with the pressure of his mouth, until I was swinging like the pendulum of a clock…a clock racing against time and the urge to explode.
‘Is this what you’re needing, Mary Grace?’ Brother Gregory asked quietly.
‘Oh, yes — dear God —’
‘And will you promise to take good care of yourself while you’re among us?’ Brother Jack asked just as sincerely. ‘You must attend to your libidinous needs, or they’re sure to rage beyond your control.’
Control. With a nude man crooning in each ear while another one nibbled my clit, I hadn’t any idea how to regain it. I simply bobbed back and forth at the whim of Brother Nolan’s fine, flexing tongue, feeling those inner spirallings growing wilder with each expert stroke. The doctor knew how to cure what ailed me, all right, and I began to quake and quiver in earnest as he worked his lips into mine.
‘No act of contrition and cleansing is complete without a few heartfelt words, Mary Grace. A confession, perhaps,’ Brother Gregory hinted, and then he ran his tongue along the edge of my ear.
‘Dear Lord,’ I whispered.
‘That’s a good start,’ Brother Jack murmured, nuzzling my neck, ‘and perhaps the doctor’s methods will be even more effective if you tell him where it hurts…where you’re needing his attention the most.’
‘Right there!’ The tongue inside me curved to fit around my clit, and then delved in and out with an intensity that threatened to drive me insane. My muscles clenched, ready to spring me upward and into sweet oblivion. My head fell back and my hips thrust forward, beyond the point of no return…beyond the point where modesty or discretion meant anything. ‘Sweet Jesus, take me! Take me home!’ I called out.
As my spasms crested I was vaguely aware of men murmuring in approval, and perhaps in awe. Brother Nolan gripped my hips to bring me slowly back to grounded reality, and with a few final kisses and licks, he completed his treatment. Smiling almost reverently, he tugged my tunic over my legs again and assisted me to my feet.
It occurred to me then that I had willingly allowed three complete strangers — naked strangers — to bring me to climax while their friends and Brother Christy watched. I stood for a moment, dazed but, yes, feeling at peace. Nowhere did I see eyebrows arched in disapproval or hear men muttering that I was a slut who deserved punishment. In fact, they all introduced themselves to me with sincere smiles, and then agreed that it was time for the day’s work. As they headed to the little shed where they’d left their tools and their tunics, I stood amazed at their relaxed attitudes while watching their backsides wink and wiggle as they walked.
Brother Christy gestured towards the vineyard, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. I gazed at him, blinking, still slightly dazed.
‘I…I don’t know what to say,’ I murmured. Was he judging me? Finding me weak and wanton for falling prey to my newly discovered sensuality?
He smiled, adjusting his spectacles in that scholarly way he had. ‘Sometimes words are inadequate, Mary Grace. The moment we lose control is often the time we reach a sublime understanding — an acceptance of things that confused or eluded us before. May it be that way for you, sweet lamb.’
I nodded, feeling he’d given a sort of benediction.
‘Shall we proceed to the vineyard? Ahmad is quite eager to meet you.’
Chapter Nine
Ahmad, The Prophet
When I saw him, I realised why Ahmad’s name sounded familiar: he’d been the one to find Hyde’s carriage parked in the orchard. He stood out because he was the only man of colour, and as Brother Christy and I approached him, other attributes set him apart, as well.
Besides a name that conjured up turbaned sages from far-away lands, Ahmad had a tangible presence — an aura of Eastern mysticism mixed with an earthy, rebellious demeanour. His height alone intimidated me, for he stood head and shoulders above everyone else. His smooth, coal-coloured skin contrasted sharply with his teeth and the whites of his eyes, and gave no hint of his age. His close-cropped curls fitted his head like a cap, yet didn’t detract from his ethereal beauty. A ruby sparkled on one side of his nose.
When he took my hand during Brother Christy’s introduction, a jolt of awareness shot up my arm: this man exuded a power every bit as potent as Father Luc’s, but of a different essence. Ahmad impressed me as a deeply spiritual man, a seer attuned to the mysteries of the universe who made no effort to disguise his blatant sexuality. His erection protruded from the folds of his Indian-style loincloth, like another hand awaiting my grasp.
‘Ah, Mary Grace,’ he pronounced in an accented whisper. ‘You have doubts about leaving Hyde to live among us, but let me assure you, my precious primrose — I knew of your coming long ago, and your arrival is but a fulfilment of prophecy. You have a purpose here, a place among us, like a much-loved guest for whom we’ve set a plate at the table. Be at peace within yourself.’
I tried not to stare at the coffee-coloured eye of his cock, which seemed to be watching me closely. Had it hurt when that little gold ring pierced his tip? ‘I — thank you,’ I murmured. ‘Although Heaven’s Gate is nothing like I expected.’
Ahmad focused his chocolate eyes on mine until I wondered if he were mesmerising me. ‘How so?’ he mused aloud. ‘How are we different from what Mr Fortune led you to believe?’
I sensed I should answer carefully while within Brother Christy’s hearing, because the rotund little monk seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare. I couldn’t tell them about the warning I received from that spectre at Mount Calvary, either, or both men would think me insane. ‘Oh, Hyde spoke quite highly of the people here,’ I assured them with a smile. ‘I supp
ose I just didn’t know much about monastic life. About your rituals, and such.’
‘You didn’t expect to find us fertilising the trees as a means of spiritual enlightenment?’
‘That was a shock, yes.’ I chuckled, recalling those naked men dancing in a circle.
Ahmad took my hand again, looking steadily into my face. ‘I shall tell you then, Mary Grace, that Heaven’s Gate will hold many surprises, some not as pleasant as others. But as your time with us passes, I hope you’ll ponder not only the unexpected realities around you, but the ones you find inside yourself, as well.’
He paused, including Brother Christy in his mystical gaze. ‘You won’t be the same woman when you leave here, my perceptive peach. You will have embarked upon an inner journey, where you encounter facets of your soul you never knew existed. It’s a wise woman who accepts the changes within herself as new truths, rather than doubting herself — or doubting the new path she’s chosen.’
Again I recalled that wraith hovering near my bed, warning me that I’d be lost if I came here. The old crone had spoken with such urgency I still couldn’t write her off as a figment of my imagination, and she was right: things at this monastery were not as they appeared. Yet as Ahmad stroked my hand with his long, pliant fingers, imploring me to understand the meanings hidden beneath this life’s surface — beneath my own inexperience — I felt reassured. I had the impression that neither man standing with me now would allow events or personalities at Heaven’s Gate to overwhelm me.
As if to reconfirm this, Brother Christy grinned. ‘You realise, I hope, that if I allowed anything vile to happen to you, Hyde would never forgive me? And where would we be if he refused to distribute our products? Of all the new residents we’ve received here, you, Mary Grace, embody the most responsibility. The most risk.’
Before I could grasp this, or ask why anyone here should be associated with risk, Ahmad rested his hand at the base of my neck to continue our tour. ‘So you see, my pleasant periwinkle, Christy and I consider you a sacred vessel entrusted to our care. No harm shall befall you. You should prepare yourself to see things in a different light, however — much as we expect the life after this one to present us new challenges, and mysteries we couldn’t comprehend while here on this earth.’
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