Free The Fern Tender by A.M. Price Page B

and asked, “Would you please lean forward towards me.”
         Lillian complied and Miranda gently wiped a small swab of strong smelling oil at the base of her spine. “Steamed lavender oil, for your protection and also for your royalty.”
         Lillian was always amused by the ritual here, but still replied in a respectful tone, “Thank you Miranda.”
         Lillian stepped into the black and the elevator doors shut behind her, whisking Miranda away. It was too late now to go back. Her only way out was to complete the room and be released by the keeper when he felt she was done.
         “Clank!” The breakers for the lights were being thrown on, “Clank!, Clank!” Each of the three stations began appeared bathed in a dim yellow almost ancient light that reflected off the wet stone of the floors and odd seven walls that formed the room. She began recalling her lessons about the wheel and the significance of crosses to Christianity. Her mind began diving into the stories, her eyes now falling onto the most well-known of them all the way near the back of the room, the cross of Jesus’ crucifixion.
         What she found most interesting though were the origins of the other two. The irony of St. Peter’s cross, the inverted one. St. Peter was the gatekeeper of heaven yet his symbol was an upside down cross. Not feeling worthy of being killed in the same manner as Jesus, St. Peter was crucified upside down in a plaza in Rome at his request. For centuries crusaders wore St. Peter’s cross as a sign of respect, but it had taken on a new meaning in recent decades especially to burnt out high school kids thinking it was some kind of Satanic symbol, when actually it was a sign of heaven. 
          Within a split second she could feel the flames, and the vision of herself burning upside down upon the St. Peter’s cross while men in armour on horses lunged at her with drawn swords. Catching herself, she quickly stopped her thoughts. Realizing she was almost bent, a second or two of drifting was all it took to go straight to the edge. She decided wisely not to ruminate on the other cross, the St. Andrew’s cross to her left and got herself back to the moment.
         The mysterious figure in black moved towards her, his cloak covering his entire body and hood draped down over his eyes, Lillian suspected many years ago that he may not even be a man but maybe some type of spirit that Ellen summoned a couple times a month when she had visitors to the cross room. Another prop in her mind and of the magic, he could be amazingly sexy or like everything else in Ellen’s temple he could go astray and be her worst nightmare. It was up to her how this all went down and at what the mixture of force and pleasure would be.
         The cloaked figure was huge. He stepped to her and lifted her up over his shoulder carrying her to the foot of the cross of the crucifixion. If he was just a spirit, his shoulders sure did feel muscular and his hands warm and thick. Arranged in the center of the room was a five pointed star that hung from the ceiling. Keeping her eyes and her mind on the man, she watched him float just above the ground toward the iron star that hung at eye level to him. On every available surface of the star there seemed to be a hook at which leather straps, chains, hoods, whips, paddles, leg shackles, handcuffs, switches, canes, etc. all hung from. He carefully chose one of the blindfolds, three leather lashes, and a thin wooden dowel.
         Her mind seemed to skip some steps, and she began to feel totally dialed into the moment or whatever moment the magic was ceding to her. Time seemed to flutter back and forth and she immediately found herself strapped to the cross with her buttocks facing outward and her head and hands strapped to the wood. She wriggled her neck a few times and at least found a bit of comfort by placing her check on the wood instead of the bridge of her nose. She began to