The second time It was like drowning in an ocean of electric white that stretched on without end. She lay arched, sinuously stretched with head thrown back in a snaky ecstasy . She was Jesus on the cross, undressed, transfixed by nails exquisitely biting her skin. She was unable to tell if it were pleasure or pain. Laid bare to her fate, naked for the world to see. Beyond fear, caught and waiting for deliverance by the hand of the lord and my god, she was delivered. Her lovers fingers were slid into her, mouth gently pulling on her breast which she felt as a long deep pull. An electric thrum down her spine as if her nipples were speaking directly to the alter between her legs. where she ended and that tongue began was blurred as she melted. One being. One divine moment. Drowning in the touch of her lips, the heat of her mouth, her fingers within, her thumb on her rising throbbing pulse, the other hand roughly gripping her hair pulling her head back in worship, pulling her from the shores of reality until it felt as if being cast adrift in a vast warm heavenly sea and the deep rolling waves sucked her under. This is from a Novel I've been writing in my head. It is a kind of hot Post apocalyptic love story set in New Zealand about a time suffering the effects extreme climate change, and the wars that resulted. Note this is totally unedited, but happy to take constructive feedback.
I'm not religious, but I had been thinking about how Christianity is full of kinky symbology. Like the half naked Christ on a cross presented for all to see. Perhaps I read too much Anne Rice