A Night at the Cathedral

The emergency night time lighting shines dimly in the cavernous space of the cathedral, casting distorted shadows from the ornate pillars, pews and candelabras. Your strides are confident across the stone slabbed floor, leading the way. I follow, glancing this way and that, taking in as much as I can, while I try to keep up. I move clumsily, the rope you have already wrapped around my arms and torso setting my naked body off balance.

You slow as we go down a stone staircase and the light fades even further. Just candlelight now. Just enough for you to locate the brass keyhole embedded in the wrought-iron door. The key turns noisily, the click of the latch echoing around the carved walls. You open the door wide and propel me in ahead of you before turning your back on me to secure the lock once again.

Several candles flicker in the unused fireplace and, as my eyes adjust to this light, I take in the room’s sparse furnishings. One chair, high-backed and covered in dark velvet. A long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen good men (- or one very bad one). And, in the centre of the room, two large metal rings embedded in the stone floor, each with a rope threaded through.

You point to the rings and I reluctantly make my way over to them. I’d rather sit at your feet and worship you in your chair. Or even be instructed to climb onto the...