I waited in place, as I knew I should, while the music played in the room past the door. I was both nervous and curious, as this would be my first time participating in a Rite of Carnal Communion. It was such an honour to be chosen. Only one Temple Slut was chosen to be a part of the rite each year and usually the honour was reserved as a reward and celebration of many years of exceptional service. So I was already euphoric. To think of the fate that awaited me beyond that door got my thighs warm, and my juices flowing.

I was wearing the sacred outfit of the lamb, as that was my role. This meant a leather corset shaped like a high-cut bodysuit. It broke down into two thin strips to loop around my legs so that my sex was entirely exposed. The top part of the corset ended just under my breasts, and the back was just as open as the front. On my face I wore the mask of the lamb, covering my eyes and nose with fluffy edges and lacey shapes. I left my mouth exposed and accessible. I had white lace half gloves and laced stockings that ended in stirrups and climbed up half my thigh. The final part of the ritual attire was a long white cape with fluffs of red-dyed wool around the collar and hem. I had seen myself in those clothes, during the fitting, and I had seen how my wavy red hair flowed down the mask and over the bright white wool, like rivulets of blood. I’d seen how my tear-drop-shaped breasts hung heavily over the open edges of the corset, and how the puffy labia of my sex, which always glistened with arousal when I was dressed like that, was visible clearly against my pale skin.

As the music died out in the room in front of me, I heard a bell. And then the doors were opened from the inside by two acolytes. A path had been made on the black marble floor between the doors and the centre of the space, black candles burning at ankle height on either side. And in the centre, the path went wide and formed a large circle, in which stood a man in a long red cloak. He was holding a silver bell. He rang the bell and beckoned me into the circle.

He repeated the words from the Good Books and explained to me the symbols behind each gesture and the meaning behind each pleasure. Now, he said, you walk as a lamb among the wolves.

He gestured to the crowd who surrounded us. They wore long red robes but unlike the man they had masks like the muzzle of wolves, black with pointed silver teeth. The wolves to my lamb. And as I walked, I felt their eyes following me, I felt their hunger for my flesh and the desire for my presence, my nudity. Men and women alike, it didn’t matter. The wolf always craves the lamb, and the lamb’s flesh is nourishment for the wolf. This rite was a reminder of the animal within and a reminder that nature cannot be denied, and that there is pleasure in surrendering.

I felt their ravenous eyes on me, I felt their lust thick in the air, but for now, their robes were closed and they didn’t speak or move. A small disc-shaped basin of volcanic stone sat in the circle, and under the direction of the bell, I approached it. I was already wet, the excitement was making me walk on tiptoe. The man with the bell rang it.

“Strip”, he commanded.

I allowed the cape to slip from my shoulders, revealing all of my flesh for those around me. They applauded at the sight of me. The man with the bell rang it yet again and placed a hand on my head and commanded me.

“Kneel”, he said and gave me a forceful downward push.

He didn’t need force, because I had fully consented already, but it is important for the rite that the power dynamic is clear. So as I dropped to my knees, I did it with my legs spread wide and the basin between them.

Holding his hand on my head, he started to proclaim the litany of the wolf’s desires. He told us the fable of the wolf and the lamb. How the lamb flees the wolf and survives, to find themselves returning to an empty life of grazing and fearing the wolf and never tasting joy beyond grass, and how the wolf’s hunger for the lamb drove him mad with desire. The story ends with the lamb offering the neck willingly and finding Bliss in being devoured, just as the wolf finds true pleasure in the flesh of the willing lamb.

As the story is told, I touch myself as I was trained to. My fingers rub up and down across my sex, and I finger myself, moaning louder and louder as we approach the climax of the story. I’ve rehearsed for this. I want to get my timing right. So right when the lamb in the story starts to cum from feeling the wolf’s teeth on its neck, my legs start to quiver, my hips jerk and I gush some of my divine juices onto the waiting basin underneath me.

And in a dramatic reenactment of the fable, the man with the bell sunk his teeth into my neck. He doesn’t draw blood, but it hurts. And I just loved it. I moan loudly. The pain is so sweetly devine, so good that it reminds me of all the range of sensations my body can produce, from pain to pleasure, all in service of the Church Of Carnal Knowledge, the spiritual home that I was blessed to have discovered. I play my part in the ritual in honour of the other template sluts, and our church Elders, I rub my pussy in shudders of pleasure and satisfaction, my heart skipping and my breath ragged, moaning the name of our church.

My moans echo through the sacred place. The audiences sits up and forward, craning for a better view. I’m so honoured to have it be my voice that they all hear today.

The Master of Ceremony sneaks a soft kiss on my neck on the spit where he bit me, showing some affection and care, before he rises and howls like a wolf. And as he does, all those present begin to howl as well. And they open their robs, showing their bodies nude underneath. Throbbing cocks and glistening cunts, and bodies of all shapes and sizes, baring their nudity to each other and to me. And the first of them approached from behind, sliding his hand under my hair and pushing me so that I would lean forward, and he drove his cock inside me with no warning. But it didn’t matter. I was already so wet, the mere idea of being fucked by a wolf had made my tight lamb cunt twitch in anticipation, so I let myself moan shamelessly. In the slave camps, they teach you to moderate your vocalisations of pleasure until your Master or Mistress makes it known to you whether they prefer a quiet or a loud slave. But I had been instructed before taking part in the rite that the lamb should never hide their pleasure. I was told the holy importance that the lamb never fakes it either. And so I did neither. I allowed myself to be true to my pleasure, and I was loud.