From the Diary of Jean Martin Samael: Isla de la Sangre, off the coast of Belize, 5th of March, 1929
After days and nights of fighting through the teeth of the wilderness, I came to the clearing where stood the Black Pyramid.
It rose from the floor of the jungle; its massive, chiseled blocks of black, volcanic stone wrapped in vanishing mist. The structure shimmered in the light of Luna, anticipated the evening ritual.
With failing legs, I ascended the steps of the exterior, leaving the sounds and smells of the untamed darkness behind me. The distant sound of drumming was lifted to my ears by the wind.
And from somewhere, I heard a wolf howl.
I paused for moment to take a drink from my canteen. The last swig of water contained within passed through my lips like a whisper. It barely touched the thirst that was within me. The dryness that spread throughout my body had less to do with sweat or dehydration and more to do with a need I did not want to put in words.
The guides and the witch doctors who had told me how to find this place had also warned me. They had warned me of the growing thirst in my body that would become a physical need. A need that had propelled me through the humid jungle nights to these steps. A need that could only met by the queen of the Pyramid herself.
I knew she was waiting there in the shadows of the main, upper chamber. The night air had the taste of her ritual and her madness. The heavy air bore the scent of her into my nostrils like an obscene perfume, damp and earthy, a touch of evergreen in the passing.
The memory of her scent brought renewed vigor to my tired legs. With a final surge, I made my way up the final steps to the Pyramid’s apex.
The rising moon’s light became muted as I made my way under the Pyramid’s archways. The semi-darkness that greeted me was punctuated with flicking flame from the torches on the wall.
I stood a moment to see my reflection on the surface of the smoothly polished walls. I saw myself bent and distorted by the curvature of the stone, like some underwater creature viewed from the surface of a turbulent sea. My brown hair showed a hint of grey at the edges and my eyes, usually the color of the sea, looked pale and washed out in the glasslike wall. A wild, stringy beard was forming on my cheeks and chin. A sad consequence of my journey away from civilization.
I marveled at myself. Only months before, I had been a respected, reputable man of industry having left my beloved Corsica to make my fortune in the newly reformed republic of Mexico. The new overlords of the country, eager to quench the smoldering fires of the revolution, rushed to embrace the progress that came with my building projects.
It was there where I first found her. In the ancient remnants of Tenochtitlan, underneath Mexico City, my workers and I found her chamber. It had waited buried and undisturbed for nearly five hundred years. The superstitious amongst my workers fear to enter into what they called in Spanish La Morada de Diosa de Bestia: The Abode of the Goddess of Beasts.
I dismissed their fears, entering into the chamber to prove myself a modern man, a man of reason. It was there I came into her presence. Not merely a feeling, but a taste, a smell of something forgotten and buried. Something ancient and primal. A presence that spoke of wild nights of bloody sacrifice and the sound of howling wolves.
For months I poured over the legends and the histories of the goddess, delving into a ritual that predated the landing of the Conquistadors by centuries. I forgot all other pursuits, my business concerns, my social standing, my family obligations. To me, the goddess was all.
The stories and rumors eventually lead me here to the Island of Blood, the last known stronghold of the Queen of Wolves. Here into the chamber of her worship.
In the side of my vision, there are glimpses of animal shapes, loping on all fours through the chamber’s corridors. This night she had gathered her children to her. To bear witness to the task for which I had been summoned.
A few more weary steps brought me to the altar. I stopped to run my hands over the smoothed stone of its black surface. The grooves and indentions all told a story to me. A story of pain and passion, of lives given and lives taken. A story old when the salons and cathedrals of Europe were young. A story written in bloody, dark stones.
All of it whispered to me while I stood there. Again in the rippling stones of its surface I saw myself transfixed by its power, seduced by its mysteries.
“What do you see there in the stones?” echoed a woman’s voice from the chamber’s darkness. “A man? Or a monster?”
The dry roof of my mouth almost prevented me from forming words.
“I… I,” I began. “I don‘t know…”
“Really, my love?” said the voice from the dark, lingering over the last syllables in her phrase with a mocking joy. “Do you know what means? To come to me in my temple underneath the fullness of the moon?”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
I heard the sound of footsteps moving purposely over stone.
“Are you truly ready Jean Martin Samael?” said her voice as it came closer to me. “Are you ready to give yourself upon this altar to me without reservation? Are you prepared to throw away your reputation, your standing, your veneer of civility to have me? Only me?”
The dryness in my mouth was unbearable. The sound of her voice alone brought my body alive with the touch of fire and ice, from the tip of head into the depths of my groin.
“Yes!” I heard my voice calling out into the humid air. “I give the only worthy sacrifice to your greatness. Myself!”
The queen entered the chamber in the fire light, her violet eyes piercing the shadows.
I saw her taught, sculpted body was covered only by the burgundy robe given to the Pyramid’s high priestess. Her hair blossomed dark against her pale creamy skin like dyed silk. Above the robe’s clasp was her string of pearls, which glittered as dark as the night skies above.
I could see the shape of her erect nipples against the fabric of her robe and her coal-painted fingertips hovered on her stomach just above the form of her trimmed vagina.
As she walked toward me, her lips beckoned a bloody red smile against her white teeth. Without the need of words, I heard my name whispered in her eyes.
She came to a halt in front of me, our bodies almost touching. With a single motion she brought the robe’s clasp undone and let it fall from her shoulders.
She stood a moment there in front of me, unveiled in the half-light, the perfection of her pear-shaped bosoms framed in my eyes. Against the nature my desire, I wondered about the fate of those who had beheld this sight across the centuries.
Her smile was wicked and her eyes danced with a darkly held desire. A desire chained and held to Earth by flesh of our bodies. Then her hands were at my chest, disposing of my coat and undoing my shirt with shredding of fabric and thread.
I felt her lips across my chest, lingering over my nipples with her tongue. In the next moment, her hand fell downward to my belt buckle and pants. With a girlish giggle, she slid to the floor on her knees.
With her nimble hands, she worked the belt and pants to the floor to reveal my erect penis. I felt the touch of her lips to its tip, joyfully rolling her tongue across its edges. With her right hand, she firmly stroked the base of it further into her mouth. Her left hand applied a light caress of my scrotum, following the course of my erection as it continued to grow against the top of her mouth.
The power of her action left me groaning and weak. I could myself building and surging towards letting go. But in manner of a woman who knew all the forms of erotic cruelty, she took her lips away from her task, sliding her body up against mine until our lips met in passion.
The same tongue that had given pleasure to one part of my body rolled and turned through my mouth like a tidal wave. Then, with a firm push to my chest, she moved away from me to lie on the altar.
Again, she exposed her full body to me, displayed against the cold stone surface of the altar. She held me in place with her eyes, reaching down again to touch herself, not allowing me to release my lust.
With the laugh of an imp, she turned herself over on the slab, showing to me her naked bottom and the wolfs-head brand on the small of back.
Arching her back, she brought her backside against me, letting the smooth texture of her bottom meet my penis. As I took hold of her waist, I felt the damp touch of her vaginal walls encircle my member. A sucking gasp escaped her lips.
“Fuck me,” she demanded.
I let myself enter her. The world became a sensation of thrusting and moaning, both hers and mine. The touch of her against my body spurred me faster and harder until the chamber came alive with the sound of our slapping bodies. The scent of damp evergreen rose in my nostrils until I could remember no other thing.
Somewhere underneath me, I heard her voice repeating the same two words of before, the form of them building and rising with her excitement.
Then I heard another voice joining in with her. A distant sounding man’s voice, almost like my voice but filled with a passion I had never felt before. And that voice was close to climax, meeting passion with passion, fire with fire.
I felt myself let go with a release of ice, surging past boundaries of flesh and gravity to enter into the core of her being. The queen’s body tensed, grabbing my organ with her inner walls, receiving my worship to her with an overwhelming joy.
I heard her cry out once more and then release me. The last of my strength gone, I fell to her side on the cool stones of the altar.
After a moment of gasping and heaving, I felt the presence of her lips next my ear.
“It’s done, my love,” she said with the wind of her breath against my face, her body damp with the sweat of our passion. “You, of your own free will have come to the queen of the Black Pyramid and worshiped her body and soul under the light of the full moon. Now, and forever, you are mine.”
The weight of my deeds rested alongside the euphoria of my climax. I knew what she was saying and I knew it to be true. But I no longer cared about that. I had found her. She was mine. And I was hers.
“Ven, mi amor,” she said, beckoning me to my feet with an outstretched hand. “Come and see what I have prepared for you.”
Rising, I followed her from the chamber into the adjoining throne room. There, on the raised dais, sat two thrones side by side, made of human bones. They shone like pale death in the filtered moonlight. Before the dais were the rows of her assembled subjects, the creatures of the night come to pay homage to the throne of the queen and her chosen mate.
We ascended the steps to take our place amongst our kingdom, playing the role master and mistress to the dregs of darkness.
“Now and forever, you belong to me,” said my dark queen as she stroked my cheek. “The outside world will no longer touch you. No longer will you fear or doubt. The only things that exist in your world now are the icy touch of my body, the sound of my voice, the caress of my lips.”
With that said, I took another taste of her red painted lips, the sharp taste of evergreen remaining in my mouth.
Before me on the floor of the throne room was the torn remnants of the night’s prey. Whatever it had been, human or animal now lay mangled in the half-light. It shone bloody in my eyes, the smell of it filling my nostrils and the copper taste of it already in my mouth. Against the sides of my tongue, I could feel tips of my incisors sharpening in anticipation of my lover’s feast.
“Now, my love,” whispered my queen. “Arise and eat.”
Somewhere in the darkness, I heard the growl of an animal which transformed into a howl. The sound of a beast full of rage and passion. A monster lost forever to the cold embrace of the Queen of the Black Pyramid.
Far, far too late, after my body was full of blood and flesh, I came to understand that the cry of the beast had been my very own.