Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Chapter Four

Chapter Four


Five ten A.M. Naked except for his boxer shorts, Paul Holcomb stirred a teaspoon of instant coffee into the steaming mug of hot water. As he lifted the cup to his lips, moist aromatic vapor drifted into his nostrils reawakening the dream.
Part of him instantly surrendered and floated off. Another part held back, struggling. His heart thudded. Sweat gathered in hairy armpits, bushy blonde eyebrows and ran down the back of his neck. His eyes strained, burned near to tearing, the lids jerking up and down and side to side.
Then that part surrendered, too and Paul stood becalmed, eyes glazing, mug suspended inches from his mouth.
He tentatively touched then caressed the rising movement in his shorts. His expression slid into a mindless grin.
"Oh. Ah. Aaah. . . ! Oh. My Godd. . ."
In a deep trance, Paul lowered the mug to the counter and slipped off his shorts. Completely naked, he knelt on the cool linoleum, now the shining marble floor of a vast ancient temple. Faint orange light from ornate high-mounted torches reflected from the polished surface and gleamed on the copper-colored flesh of the woman seated on the throne above him.
Her scent drifted into his nostrils borne on the warm wind moaning softly through the cavernous space. The Incense of Forgetfulness.
Hot and moist, it smelled sour and dirty like moldy cheese and fresh saliva but unbelievably musky, too. He inhaled it ravenously, pulling the jasmine kissed stench deep into his lungs.
Each breath narrowed the world to that smell; the feel of sacred oil, satiny, on his bare flesh, and the throb of his blood. Feelings, hot and deep burned away his mind, arousing and transforming him until. . . .
He was the sensuous movement of a sleek black panther, who, after awakening from a nap in the sunlight, its fur crackling with radiant warmth, languorously stretches itself at its mistress' bare feet, its belly barely touching the floor. So he, fully and unashamedly aroused, lithe muscular body gleaming with scented oil, stretched himself sumptuously before his Mistress, erect penis barely touching the cold marble floor feeling good to be empty that way, wanting only to please and be petted; waiting upon the gorgeous woman above him.
But she took no notice of him. Naked and at ease upon her throne, wearing only the golden belt, bra and diadem of an Aztec Goddess, she starred into the middle distance, unaware of the way his eyes followed the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts. Or of how the shifting shades of her flesh fascinated him as its ripeness gleamed first golden, then copper in the flickering orange torch light.
Paul ached with the fullness and emptiness of Her; of looking at Her and smelling Her. Everything about Her filled him with lust and adoration. Her regal posture, arms on arm rests, spine erect; long lustrous black hair lying luxuriant on bare shoulders. The thoughtless elegance of Her lush young body as it heedlessly crushed the red velvet covering the black onyx throne.
He imagined himself that velvet cloth, there, beneath Her warm buttocks. His face turned up, bearing Her weight, inhaling Her odor, touching Her moist succulent flesh.
Anything to please and serve you, my Lady.
He was filled with mindless obedience to sensual urgings.
I am yours, Mistress. You need do nothing and I am your adoring slave. You are my reality. I, your creature, your thing.
He wanted only to become empty by filling himself with Her worship, Her service, Her smell. Her mere presence sent feverish tremors through him. Oh, to be one with Her! Absorbed by Her flesh, sacred soul released unto Her, body abased before Her, forever.
But his prayers went unanswered. She simply sat and allowed Herself to be adored; a Goddess, serene and beautiful, the all powerful Female, sacred and above him.
His eyes teared from the incense.
I am a shimmering vapor of hopes and desires -- a pathetic worm beneath Her notice.
He whimpered with the pain of his throbbing erection.
How can I attract Her attention?
Thoughts and feelings had no effect. She remained as unaware of him, as She was of the rows and rows of other naked male and female worshippers stretching away into the dim vastness behind him.
Yet was he favored. He knelt closer to Her than the others, his face on the cool marble floor just inches from the plush stool supporting Her bare well-tended feet.
"Oh's" and "Ah’s" of appreciation rose from the kneeling multitude telling him the service was drawing to a close.
He knew the ritual by heart. In his mind’s eye he saw the beautiful blonde priestess step again from among the lords and ladies arrayed around the Goddess’ throne, her ancient Aztec garb swaying around her comely body. Taking a step forward, she posed, white arms raised above her head, allowing the multitude to adore her.
When the sighs died away, her clear voice rang out, commanding them to worship. As one, they obeyed, voices swelling, filling the cavernous temple with a low chant of praise.
Paul remained silent. The sound came to him as if from a great distance. Though he longed to join the others, he could not.
The priestess knelt near him. As the chant died away, she bowed herself down before the Goddess. From the corner of his eye, Paul saw her willowy body rising and falling.
Then she laid herself flat, face to the floor, arms stretched over her head. The Goddess had smiled upon her. A moment later, the priestess rose, turned to the worshippers and extend her arms at right angles palms facing them in the unspoken command to worship. A soft whoosh followed by the flat sound of flesh on marble, told him hundreds of glistening nude bodies were bowing down and rising up in heart-felt obeisance.
Still he could not join them. Erect penis straining at every chant and each command, he remained motionless, his face at Her feet. And She, magnificent and aloof, sat, indifferent above him.

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