Heavy Bondage: Osiris Ritual for the Winter Solstice

The scent of tuberose impregnates the penumbral womb of the Seraglio with walls draped in heavy crimson damask mirroring ad infinitum a slow process of mummification; the first step of the Ritual. The amber light of candles shimmer on the surface of the cling film coating your warm flesh. Your genitals, bound with a worn stocking, are the only part of your person remaining uncovered, emphasizing the vulnerability inherent of having one's organs of pleasure and survival, 'out in the open', so to speak. 

The voices of women rise in Plainchant as the light of the shortest day of the year wanes. I zip the black latex hood and tuck it under the collar of your cat suit, thus erasing your identity in shinny elastic skin. Your oceanic eyes disappear behind the leather blindfold. A life size onyx statue, you are an offering to the Goddess, a sacred totem kneeling in Nadu in front of your Maîtresse, your head slightly bowed and turned to the left ready to receive your collar.

Strings of echoing bells, sonar pulses float on the waves of a remote keyboard. Warm rubber, oily sweet and bitter wafts melt in the heady peppery aroma of the flowers and frankincense; the air is thick. I spin my net of hemp and silk rope: first a chest harness and then a very tight net from feet to hips, inescapable. 

You stand at the foot of my throne, your feet encased in the heavy rubber of the open body bag lying on the Persian carpet, ready to be engulfed. Inch by inch, you slide your arms in the interior sleeves, the friction slowing down the penetration as the last bell chimes.

Silence

I fasten the cock corset of minute spikes around your erection, loop the leather lace to your Prince Albert and hook the chain of your leash to the same ring before pulling the zip of the body bag. Five thick leather belts hold your reclined form, polished oblong stamps on the matt surface of rubber, like the seals of most guarded secret. I spin a final web of hemp and silk rope to finish your dark cocoon as synthesizer waves fill the room. Waves of low drones ebbing and flowing for the first part of the journey. The low lament of a conch shell blowing from the dark crimson shores of the sanctuary is the last reminiscence of a world outside your sarcophagi

A little background behind the ritual....

The Goddess Isis, after many years of quest, found thirteen of the fourteen parts of the remains of her brother and husband Osiris. She set to recompose his body and gave Osiris a Golden phallus to replace the virile member eaten by the fishes of the Nile. She gave him a second birth, balancing male and female energy, shadow and light. This second birth made him whole after having gone through the ordeal of Isolation in a coffin, dismemberment and castration by his jealous brother Set. A fabulous metaphor for the need in our lives for integration: psychic, sexual, emotional and spiritual to be free individuals.