The Heresy Ritual

THE HERESY RITUAL

By ContinentalPsyOp

The ritual begins in the blue hour before dawn.

The later arrivals find the earlier arrivals' cars, neatly arrayed one after the other in the parking lot. Waiting for the rest to arrive. Waiting for the dawn and the ritual to begin. But, of course, the ritual has already begun.

The waiting inside their cars is part of the ritual. The quiet contemplation. The solitude. The union in that solitude. For each car parks next to the ones already arrived, that is the pattern and the practice and of course, the rule, for it is what each of those people in those sensible driving cars seeks. Welcome. Belonging. Tribe. Inclusion. No spaces, no gaps. Next to. Gathered in. Tight.

Most mornings of the ritual, ten or twelve cars end up parked all together at the trail head.

Trails Open At Dawn, reads the posted sign.

When the first golden rays trickle down the hill, down the canopy of trees, the first car doors pop open with that fiber-glass sound of modernity.

Some cars have only one adult believer. Some have a couple, or three, or four. Ten or twelve carloads make a good size crowd of utterly noncontroversial hikers. Men, women, from twenty-six to seventy-six, with most somewhere in the middle. An enlightened group. They look like they have been educated, they look like they have educated themselves, too.

But as they set foot on the parking lot tarmac and close their car doors behind them, as they gather at the trailhead, it is already too late for their souls. Their sin is deep, their heresy has already begun. They are already Damned.

Yet, each one would tell you that at this point in the morning, they feel high, giddy, almost lightheaded with joy. It is like their birthday party has begun, each of theirs, each time they do this.

But they gather at the trailhead around Simon, who is well known to the Authorities as a Known Heretic. Simon is on lists, under all of his aliases, including the names he was born and registered under. But to all of those at the trailhead in the dawn dim, he is Simon only, except when they begin their walk on these holy dirt trails, and then he is Father Simon, as he was originally Ordained.

They greet each other with smiles and handshakes. Quiet voices, words of peace. Their cars chirping locked with modern efficiency.

Simon leads them around the first bend, so they are no longer in sight of the parking lot. There, they follow Father Simon to their knees, and in unison offer the basic prayer to the Holy Mother. Their words cleanse each other as they speak them softly aloud. Everything that happened in their everyday life before this morning, is now left behind. They are purified from other worries, they are lifted of those burdens by the love and wisdom of the Divine Maternal, the mother that is still a woman, the mother who still loves.

They arise with Father Simon from their knees, feeling lighter than they did before. Their eyes meet and their smiles bloom at the sight of each other. This stuff works, the newer ones marvel. Something magical is happening here, the ones who are here for the first time think. This is something very, very real.

Father Simon leads them onward and upward, along the hiking path to the summit.

It is not uncommon for the women to sing at this point. Easy harmonies with no showing off or attention-getting vocal tricks. They joy is in the blending.

The pace is easy but steady, the terrain is packed dirt and sounds good under the feet of the Devoted. Each step is sin, each step is heresy, but each of their steps is also light and easy and Holy. Their way has been made straight. Their path has been made smooth.

It is ninety minutes to the summit.

They reach the summit and take a break, admire the view. All the Majesty of Creation, spread out three-hundred-sixty degrees around.

When everyone has caught their breath, those needing to pee have a nice pee in the bushes just below the summit, along the approach. This is a casual time, after ninety minutes of watching each other ascend along the trail. After ninety minutes of admiring the taut behind in the jeans or tight hiking leggings immediately ahead on the trail, of feeling that tight lust restrained in the durable fabrics made to survive the outdoors, it is not uncommon for a lady, as she squats off the side of the trail on the side where the ladies are relieving themselves, to turn towards the side of the trail where the men are relieving themselves, and enjoy a quick flash of a semi-hard penis, finally and briefly released from its cotton bonds.

Ninety minutes of bumping into each other on a tightly-packed hiking trail, ninety minutes of hands and arms that accidentally and accidentally on purpose brush or graze or grope a taut behind, a hip, a bulge in the front.

Ninety minutes of breathing in each other's pheromones, invisible but deadly, while maintaining all formality and proper decorum.

But after ninety minutes of that in the dawn brilliance, it is too much, and some need to help themself to a glimpse of what was being denied them.

Some are even more bold, and the mixed area for men and women to pee in front of each other always has true exhibitionists and voyeurs and pee enthusiasts aplenty.

Of course, these teases only exacerbate, rather than relieve, the desire and lust that has built up inside these Acolytes, these Heretics, these Enlightened True Believers.

After the break, they meet again on the summit. They join hands in as large of a circle as their group forms, their backs to the center, facing out from the summit.

Usually there is one song, always different, sometimes they sing a second song, depending on the energy of the day. Father Simon guides them. He is in the circle with them, hand in hand, voice to voice.

They sing with joy. The ritual is nearly complete.

They go then past the summit, beyond where the trail has led them. They follow Father Simon and climb down the natural staircase that is there, covered over by brush and grass. But the footing is steady and the way is ancient, clearly ancient.

Over the summit, down the northern face of the mountain, in the rocky crags, is a large but hidden cavern, not too far down from the summit, but very hidden and very private.

The cavern is too accessible from the mountain side, nonetheless, for it to be anything other than a last resort for any large mammals up on these peaks. Doubtless they can smell the worshippers who follow Father Simon to this mountain cavern each weak, doubtless they can smell the ages and ages that humans have come to this cavern, to do exactly this. Father Simon taught them all; he read the diaries of those who encountered the older peoples in this region, who used this cavern for these same religious purposes. It was through these researches, Father Simon learned this cave was here.

All who came to the cavern for the first time were astonished, almost as astonished as they would have been had they been chosen to witness a true miracle. They had been searching, searching, risking rejection from their friends, risking Heresy and Damnation from their Church, all to find... this. The roots. The real traditions.

They all knew them, their knowledge and fidelity to tradition had brought them here. Their knowledge and fidelity to tradition made them now heretics.

It was properly traditional to find a cave to hide away with their Father together.

It made them feel like the Original Ones, the ones who knew their Savior in life and in Resurrection. It made them feel like the original martyrs, who went to their deaths singing, the miracle that inspired a Continent. The miracle that the Continent demanded every day, until they demanded it be stopped.

The Cave was vaulted and large, but cozy and dry, protected from winds east and west. A large chamber that they did not have to go deep into the mountain to enter.

Most followed Father Simon's example, who brought his clothes and boots with him, but still he entered the cave naked. Towards the back, out of the way, was where the boots and clothes were usually left.

Father Simon was always the first one to enter, and the rest disrobed then followed the tall, Holy Man's tight bottom into the darkness.

The thrilling feeling of mountain air on the skin, then the thrilling feel of cave air everywhere. Happy, sweet giggles, glancing around, seeing breasts bouncing, large and small, as women navigated the rocky footing. Penises, thick and thin, most well-trimmed of hair, stiffening at the sight of each other, and of so many sweet, womanly bottoms, following their hips and their thighs into the darkness.

Father Simon, after he places his clothes and boots in the safe place, takes the candle from his pocket and the lighter, and the one candle fills the cave with dim light. The light has no feeling on the skin of the Worshippers, and yet they all feel it like feeling the Holy Spirit has now become present.

They come to Father Simon, where he stands near the candle in the center, and they spiral up after him. The first stands next to him, shoulder touching shoulder, arms touching, warm skin on warm skin. Then the next stands the same to that first worshipper, skin to skin, person after person, forming a spiral with their bodies, wrapping around the candle, sending their shadows onto the cave walls around them.

Father Simon has begun chanting by now, holy words and incantations that are familiar to all of them, and they join in with him, chanting their prayers and their hymns and Swearing their Faith here in nature's cathedral, here in this ancient cave.

The stomping begins along with the chanting, as does the clapping in time, and this church is truly alive, this church is an organic thing all of its own now.

And now when the moving starts, it is hypnotic, as Father Simon takes the person to his right, wraps his arm around their hips, and that person now puts their arm around the hips of the person to their right, and on and on to the end of the spiral.

But by then, Father Simon has already started circling around the candle, and all those connected to him begin turning, too, and soon this entire spiral of naked adults is twirling a spiral around the candlelight, chanting and humming and singing and shouting, shouting and declaiming and proclaiming and rejoicing in their love for The Divine, for The Unity, for The Universe and its essential Goodness, a goddess that they are a part of, and a product of, everlasting until the end of Time and then Beyond Time.

What the worshippers see is a blur of light and shadows. Of bodies and hair and open, chanting mouths. Of skin and chests and muscles and bellies and breasts, flopping, motherly breasts that nursed her own born, elegantly matronly breasts with large areolae and bumpy nipples made to be found in the dark by greedy mouths, of light thatches of hair hiding mysteries and delights beyond, of men's organs, flopping and hanging less and less as the dance goes on. Round and round they go through the spiral of the universe and the blood flows to the pelvises and those men's organs begin to tighten and stiffen, women become aware of their clitorises, as their eyes become aware of the men's stiffening organs.

The chanting and the moving is getting everyone hot; warmed up and ready for more.

Father Simon, always at the right moment, gently begins to run out the spiral, holding the person to his right by the left hand now, following Father Simon to run the tight spiral from inside to out, like a naked conga line bending on itself.

The spiral is so tight, that the people following Father Simon are pulled tight against the next ring of the spiral as the spiral undoes itself, bodies brushing tight against bodies, flesh warm and healthy rubbing against warm, healthy flesh. Dancing to the end of the spiral, in the dark and near dim, feeling chests and breasts and bellies and cunts and cocks brushing against the body from all sides.

And every now and then, a hand, making its appreciation known, making its appreciation felt, and then gone, brushed passed in the spiral in the dark, in the orgiastic glory of God, of all Gods.

People are excited about their Faith now. The people are excited about Holy Fathers and Holy Virgins and Blessed Women. Their Faith feels alive, their Faith feels present with them, with all of them, here in the cavern.

There Faith is private, their Faith is personal, their Faith is Hidden Away, and yet their Faith is Oh So Public.

Theirs is a very Active Church. When they were bored with their previous explorations into Spirituality, they knew something better was out there. And to Father Simon, they were guided, each and every one. That would be their Testimony if asked. Something Special led them here, to these good people and to this good place.

Father Simon, once he has led the inside of the spiral of Worshippers to the outside, keeps the spiral tight against the inner ring of the spiral, still, as the spiral follows him, he wraps it tighter and tighter around itself; dancing, writhing bodies, dancing and writhing past dancing and writhing bodies. The feels of flesh, the feel of warmth, of skin and hair, of natural human body sweat as the lubricant. Keeping backs moving smoothly over breasts, bellies moving past butts, human connection with bodies of all shapes and sizes, albeit bodies all healthy enough to climb a small mountain at dawn in ninety minutes. That feeling of warm and open humanity, embracing, accepting, luxuriating in the sameness and the differences.

Father Simon winds the spiral wide again, wide enough to bend it on itself again, to find that light at the center, as three dozen nimble feet step lightly and carefully around it.

What those in the back and middle of the spiral do not see, what those who are simply feeling and enjoying the full-body touch sensations firing through their skin, is that Father Simon widens the circle so he can grab his Priestly Instruments, and as he winds the spiral tight again at its center, he slows the Worshippers so they can all slow and stop at rest on their knees, tightly packed together, humbly on the dirt floor of their cavern church.

Kneeling together around the small, frail candle in the center of their Order.

Father Simon but one of many, the one closest to the flame.

Ancient words of Latin and Greek, magisterial words of Essence, Father Simon speaks to the Chamber. Items he holds aloft, he offers to the Aloft.

"Take this and eat of this is my body," Father Simon says in the common language which they all whom gathered there speak every day. Then he turns to the person next to him in the spiral, and kisses that person, softly on their lips. That person then to face the next person, turns to their right and softly kisses the person to their right on the lips.

As the Kiss passes, those who were kissed and the kiss, reflect on the feeling of those kisses on their lips. Shortly, the spiral end is reached, and then that last person runs their way up the spiral to Father Simon, and kisses Father Simon softly on his lips, then runs back through the spiral to the end again.

"Drink of this, for this is my blood," Father Simon says, then turns to the person to his right again, and kisses that person in the French style, with a open and wet mouth and a penetrating tongue. That kiss is then passed down the spiral again, wet and sloppy and getting sloppier and wetter as it goes along, with prayers arising from the Congregants with words of "mmmmm" and sacred giggles and "oooooh" and "mmmmmmyyyyyeeeehhhhh," feelings of warmth and welcome and acceptance and loving multiply, ricochet off the ancient walls, resound in the cave's ancient depths.

There is much embracing and cuddling along the line, both before and after those Sacraments are passed. But only touches, Scandalous each one.

The end of spiral runs her way through the maze again, and slips her tongue into Father Simon's mouth with giddy pleasure. She holds his face there, so everyone can see her French kissing the Priest in the candlelight cave darkness. She holds him and enjoys slipping her tongue into his mouth, again and again until she's kissed him her fill.

The Congregants giggle as she finally steps, unsteadily, drunkenly dizzily, back through the maze to her spot at the spiral's happy tail.

They all know the feeling she's feeling, and they appreciate it. Her breasts are pert and full, her nipples were already hard and pointed while she kissed the Priest. The Congregants enjoyed watching the subtle way the Holy Spirit worked on her body, the subtle way her thighs caressed each other tightly while she held the Priests's handsome face in her hands. She, a short young woman, standing, the Priest on his knees and still the perfect height for her mouth and her forceful, young woman's kiss.

The "Breed Me, Father" Kiss, thought some of the matrons in the crowd. They could not blame her, Father Simon had put a few bonus babies into the nests of some of the couples there in the cave that night. A Saintly woman could not resist a fertile younger man, so radiant from walking in the Light of the Lord. The young woman at the end of the spiral was of prime age for a first child, her hips were wide and in her private times, it was becoming all she masturbated too, long hot erotic impregnation stories. Her bottom is soft and catches many admiring glances as her bubbles stroll back to her space, kneeling tight next to her neighbor.

The Blessed Wafers are held aloft and Sanctified, and they too, are passed down the spiral, this time by hand. Father Simon places one in the mouth of the person to his right, and that person then administers the wafer to the next, who does for the next, for the next. Then comes the tail again, and she places the last wafer in the mouth of Father Simon.

The Chalice is now held aloft, Father Simon takes a small sip, and passes it to his right. Each drinks on his or her own. The taste is sweet of dates and mushrooms, the original wine of poor desert shepherds and woodworkers. The dates give it sweetness, the mushrooms were specially grown and chosen to bring the Holy Spirit. Father Simon learned many ancient languages before he could decipher the recipe from the hand-written texts in the Deep Archives. He did an entire Ph. D course simply to be able to get access to the room where those texts would be found. He was not supposed to be looking at them, but he distracted his minders, after charming his minders, and when his minders slipped, he located what he had been searching for, and then the experimentations began. These many parts dates turned to wine, made in only this way that was pleasing to the Lord, these many parts mushrooms, from only these particular islands or mountain lakes. Tracking the genetic lineage of those plants, finding those genes in the modern day. Then the experimentations continued.

But as long as it took, truly on God's Path did Father Simon know himself to be.

The Congregants thought that what was in the Chalice was what brought them to the Altered State. But they could not appreciate that the Altered State began before they got out of their cars, now hours ago. The Altered State was what they brought their minds up and into, and the ancient Drink in the Chalice only worked because they were ready, in body and mind and spirit, for it to work on them. Plus, Father Simon had found that the Wafer was the key, and the effects of the Date Wine drink needed the tiny amounts of over-malted grain in the Wafer to bring about the full effects. His long experimentations focusing on the wine alone had been months and months of movement, all in the wrong direction. But the long and circuitous path was the one God chose for him, Father Simon knew. And he rejoiced simply and humbly each time he touched his lips to this Holy Chalice and passed it to his brother or sister to his side.

To Father Simon, each time it was a Miracle, a Miracle that such Love still existed and still was Free in this fallen, modern world. But each time, they were not in the fallen, modern world. Each time, they were here in this cavern. Each time, they were here inside the Earth, protected and surrounded by Nature. Each time, they had removed the fabrics and trappings of the world outside, each time they were naked with each other, each time they removed the things the outside world wanted them to use to make themselves unique, in favor of their basic selves, which were already unique, while being as nearly similar as they could be with one another, too.

And each time, the Holy Sprit found them, flowed through them, and joined them in Holy Unity.

The Scent in the cavern changes, now. Before it was the dry scent of nature undisturbed, then it was the warm scent of dancing and voices and music and Praise and Love for God, for the Divine, for the Universe.

Now it is the scent of arousal. Now it is the silent scent of the pheromones of lust, of touch, of love, of the love that is physical union. Now it is the strong scent of the Woman in Heat. More than two-dozen women at least, high-libido women whose bodies and minds and souls were made for love and for touch and for love every day. Women whose arousal can be scented and felt between their legs, as their bodies ready themselves to accommodate the penetrating lovers that feel like love indeed, the stretching, pounding lovers that need womanly bodies wet and ready to accommodate all that stretching, all that pounding, all that lusty, lusty fucking.

But before all that fucking starts, one more ritual takes place first. Father Simon leads the Worshippers back onto their feet, with singing, with chanting, with singing prayers, moving the spiral around and reshaping it, until it is a tight, long, oblong oval, meeting at Father Simon and whoever was the tail. But they too are but a part of the closed oval; in the case of this most recent Ceremony, that pert young woman whom everyone was enjoying watching, was the tail, and Father Simon knelt again in front of her, but getting much lower this time, so low that he could pull her waxed-bare sex onto his mouth, and take communion from her labia and her entrance, pulling her body weight onto his face and holding her plump ass in his hands, starting the next ritual of the Loving Kiss.

The person who had been on Father Simon's right, a fit and cute middle-aged man, was now paired with the person who had been to the left of the spiral's young tail, a finely aged, slender-hipped blonde in her late sixties. She slipped to her knees and took then middle-aged man's penis into her mouth, lovingly, expertly, saying "Amen" as she did, saying "Amen" the moment before his thick, swelling glans touched her tongue and she closed her lips around him, sucking him inside.

So thus in alternating sides they went, one side kneeling before another, and then the next pair reversing the order.

It was an even number at this Ritual, but an odd number is invited up to join Father Simon and his partner.

For some men, these hikes to the cavern are the first times they have ever knelt before another naked man and taken his penis into their mouths. For some men, these times in the cavern are the first times they have ever had a man kneel before them and take their penis in his mouth in a loving kiss. For some women, this is the first time that have ever kissed another woman "there," or let themselves be kissed and sucked by a woman's knowing, loving tongue.

But they can look around in the cave light and see that they are not the only ones.

They can look around and see cocks in mouths, they can see cunts in mouths and they can see mouths moaning and crying out in ecstasy, they can see mouths sucking and loving and receiving and taking and giving love's sweetest kiss.

The Oral Ritual lasts until the first male orgasm, which is encouraged to be forewarned, "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm about to come" style, so the penis can be dislodged from the mouth and the Congregants sucking on penises can watch the facial, as the first come of the Ceremony is sprayed on the first face.

The male orgasm is usually the first one, but a female orgasm is necessary as well, and sometimes is the first of the two required for the Oral Ritual to terminate successfully. But when she sings out her pleasure from her rigorous pose mounted atop a hungry face, her cries echo around the vaulted cavern, her pleasure in sound and as sound travels in waves, and bounces off stone in waves, waves of pleasure wash over everyone.

Then the orgy begins properly, and the several dozen adults gathered in the cave, fuck fast and passionately and with abandon. Making chains and piles of lovers and copulators and penetrators, sharing God's Love in the increasing dark as that lone candle burns down.

Animals, fucking in couples and triples and quadruples and in combination, animals fucking in the dark. Animals feeling the Holy Spirit coursing through them, feeling the love that is touch, the love that warms the skin and warms the insides.

Some times the candle burns down in a half hour. Some times the candle burns down in an hour. When it does, they are left in darkness, only the slightest shaft of light in the distance signals the path to the surface.

But no one here has any desire to return to the surface. Not when the candle burns down, and not for long after, in the dark, in a world of touch and sound, where all the touches are loving ones and all the sounds are of pleasure.

The orgasms multiply and gallons of semen ejaculate across faces, chests, backs; inside cunts, inside asses, inside mouths.

They are sinners and heretics, gathered in an ancient cave and worshipping like their ancient ancestors, loving their God and fucking like pagans.

In the darkness, the moans and the orgasms crescendo and fade into the afterglow, into the darkness. Soon, as the ecstasy has dissolved into the ether and the memory, the only sounds in the cave are the Congregants' breathing, and their hearts, all beating in unison and in Love for the Divine, which they all feel part of again.

In reverential silence, and with a small LED-light, Father Simon leads them to their clothes and then to the outside. In blissful quietude, dressed again, the Heretics descend to the trail and to the parking lot and to the cars again. Damned and cast-out they may be, but each time, they have never felt closer to the Truth and to the Source. Each time they descend from the cavern with their Fellowship, they are certain that their heresy is the only true way, and the corruption of the Authorities is not something than can even touch them now. Their God knows their hearts. They are not the Heretics, they are the True Faithful.