The Clockwork House

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

The Clockwork House

(of beauty and pleasure and pain)


She sat beside him, in the grounds of his large and beautiful country house.


 “This place is one of beauty and pleasure and pain. These grounds in which we sit, are grounds of beauty and pleasure and pain. All nature’s beauty here before our eyes; how intoxicating it is; how pleasurable to a part of it. Nature’s masterpiece however, sits beside me now. How could such perfection ever have been created; how proud mother nature must feel, when she looks upon the female that she has created. We take what nature provides, but use our own skill and innovation to make it in our own image. These grounds are of nature herself, but managed and cultivated, for that is how we wish to see nature. The female, although perfect in form, is adorned with beautiful clothes and jewels, her beauty is increased by our own hand, for that is how we wish to see her and that is how she wishes to see herself; we work with nature. We may put many beautiful flowers side by side and arrange to give the maximum pleasure, so we may put the beauty of the female side by asssss side. A single rose is exquisite in it’s beauty, a beauty echoed by a single female, but we so often arrange the singler rose with her sisters and what a beautiful display is made. Nothing gives greater pleasure than to gaze upon the beautiful rose, singly or together with her sisters and they likewise, in their bloom, wish to be gazed upon.”


She stood silently in the small hidden church, to which he had directed her.


 Lit by shafts of warm sunlight streaming through the stained glass, a feeling elevated her heart; her mind; her body. A feeling of the ultimate peace. There was no one present; no congregation  and on one to deliver a sermon; no one except herself. She thought not of religion, or her maker, for she knew, now that she stood in the small hidden church, that nature was everywhere and so must be religion and her maker.

 Such beauty she saw before her and such pleasure she felt in her heart. She felt the kiss of an angel and the touch of a nymph and knew them both to be of nature. She felt not the need to kneel and pray, or to repent her sins. To pray should be simply the feeling in ones heart and to repent should be simply to know the truth. It all became clear to her, as she stood in the narrow aisle, a shaft of nature.s light falling upon her.

 She fell to her knees, not in prayer, or to repent her sins, but to sob, to sob tears of pain. A pain at seeing for the first time, a beauty so overpowering that she thought her heart would be unable to hold it. A beauty that turned to pain and a pain that returned to beauty. All nature she had seen crowded into her thoughts and her heart. She was but a fleeting part of that nature and when her time did come, she would leave it still standing in its melancholy beauty and she knew not how she would cope, so she sobbed in beauty and pleasure and pain.


She left the small hidden church in its melancholy slumber and stood silently in the grounds of the estate.


 Her heart stirred and she began to undo her modest dress; the dress suitable for church. She felt nature take hold of her breasts. Those mounds of flesh that signified all that nature was and all that she was as a woman and a part of nature. She cared not that she may be seen, for she was a rose, a single rose that would take pleasure from the beauty it gave.

 She leant back against a large oak tree. How many fleeting lives had leant against that very tree; how much had it witnessed and how many of those fleeting lives had seen it’s painful beauty; it’s true beauty. She closed her eyes and felt her own pleasure; her breasts given to nature and as she felt deep into her own pleasure, she knew the large oak tree would support another fleeting life.

 Upwards against that tall trunk did her crys make their way; upwards towards the overhanging branches and through the deep green foliage; ever upwards, to join the never ending blue sky above. A rose joining nature and the pleasure of that painful beauty,

 She had been gazed upon; her beauty seen; her pleasure felt; her cries heard. Her eyes remained closed as she heard the approach. She knew all had been seen and that now she would be taken. She had shown her beauty and just as the rose may be taken from its place in the sun, to be used as an ornament in it’s fleeting life, so she would be taken from her peaceful solitude.

 To be taken so bothered her not, for her beauty would have been seen and admired; why else take the rose from its place in the sun. To give pleasure, is to take pleasure. It’s all there is, beauty and pleasure and pain.

 She put her delicate hands to the large oak tree’s sturdy trunk, as if surrendering herself to her admirer. She felt as the frail single rose may feel, surrendering to its own fate. Her delicate hands remained on the sturdy trunk, a single rose she would remain; a rose of virgin white; admired for its pureness  and beauty and taken for the same reason.

 The silence once again left that peaceful place and her hold on the sturdy trunk turned to a grasp. She felt the virgin white rose become a deep red bloom of beauty and pleasure and pain.


She lay silently in repose.


 The morning sunshine was already filling her chamber, streaming through the open sash. The birdsong made its way into her unconsciousness; her dream of nature and pleasure. She moaned gently, the physical felt in her unawakened mind. An angel stood beside her in flowing white; the angel of her dreams; the nymph of her bodily pleasure. The angel’s gentle touch slowly awakening her to a new day; a new pleasure. The angel’s touch going deeper, as her mind left the deepness of sleep.

 The angel’s face, as if with a halo of nature’s light around it, smiled down on her. No sudden start from dream to reality, but a gentle awakening. A smile to the angel and the nymph, as her eyes again closed, not to sleep, but in pleasure; deep pleasure, both of mind  and body. No sudden crying out into the stillness of the morning, just the deepest sigh, as she felt the pleasure her angel, her nymph, brought her.

 A stillness from nature, creeping in through the open sash; a stillness from the angel and the nymph, held deep inside her; a stillness in her mind and body, as she held the the pleasure there. And as the birdsong kissed all all nature, so the angel kissed her tender lips.

 Abandoned at last to the warmth of the morning’s sun; to the sweet birdsong; to all nature; to the angel’s kiss and the nymph’s touch, her cries finally broke through the stillness.


She sat silently at her looking glass.


 She looked at her naked reflection and studied the girl looking back at her; at those eyes that looked intently into hers and then down to the girl’s breasts; womanly nature; life sustaining and pleasure giving. Those mounds of naked flesh seemed to hold every secret. Her gaze left the girl’s expectant breasts and took in the figure to which they were a part, then back to those eyes, still looking intently into hers; such pretty blue eyes. The girl smiled and those pretty blue eyes seemed to sparkle. 


The World at large seemed to have become distant, so distant as to not exist. The place where she now lived seemed to her to be all the World. Her beauty and the beauty that surrounded her in this World within a World, she could now see with such clearness; nature had taken on a new meaning and she could now see her place within nature. A rose, a single rose, to give and take beauty and pleasure and to feel the pain of such a transient life, but a pain that was true beauty.



Submitted: April 12, 2020

© Copyright 2023 H W Lustre. All rights reserved.

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