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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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Priestess of Hathor
by Wilma (wilma@stage.com)
***
A woman has an encounter with the priestess of Hathor.
(FF, fantasy)
***
Alone...
Floating...
Somewhere floating...
How had I come to be adrift in this fearsome place? Had
my soul departed? Was this the river that bore the dead
to the afterlife? Why did the crushing pain in my chest
not ease, then, and my breath not cease its tormented
gasping? Should a dead one suffer this raging fever and
this burning in her lungs? My head would not clear
itself. I rubbed my eyes and blinked them open that I
might lay hold upon my world and find sense therein.
My struggle became panic. There were no memories! I
possessed neither name nor history. I clutched myself
and felt my body and legs, naked but for the tattered
skin of an animal which covered only my loins. A female
creature with neither origin nor destination was I, and
I knew not else but pain and fear. The Wise Ones had
not said there would be crocodiles. They had not said
there was unendurable pain in the afterlife.
Wise Ones? How did I know that? I blinked as though to
see them better through the mist of my fevered brain,
but they were phantoms, intuitions that had not the
substance of a memory.
My planks of wood carried me now toward ominous reeds,
a capricious mood of the River Spirit finding diversion
in tyrannizing a lost and bewildered waif. I made
myself small as the sinister entanglement approached,
hiding my face in my hands and convincing myself Evil
could not befall an unseen soul who had departed
already her veil of tears. But the Wise Ones had said
the voyage of the unworthy to the afterworld was beset
with peril while the soul of the worthy was carried by
gentle waves and sweetly scented breezes to a land
where Evil cannot go.
And Evil was upon me! I heard it rattle and thrum, and
I shrunk the more and tightened myself into a tiny knot
of flesh. I was unworthy and would suffer unimaginable
agony in eternity.
But as I listened, I heard the forces of Evil opposed
by favoring spirits. The clatter became a rhythm of the
cestrum, and the wailing of the wind ogres through the
reeds were overcome by soothing voices of sweet song.
Healing forces of female spirits in the afterworld were
contending for my soul and driving away the demons of
the reeds. I prayed to Hathor for deliverance from the
monsters of Hate there to ravage me, and I sought her
strong hand to come with her entourage of feminine
spirits and carry me into the sanctuary of her sacred
breast.
In childlike hope did I reach out my hand to the
Goddess, and with the faith of innocence did I accept
without surprise the warm hand which took mine gently
and kissed it. I raised my head from its grave between
my knees and gazed upon the beauteous countenance of my
soul's Refuge.
Her smile was balm to my tortured spirit, her touch
magic to my body. Power flowed out of her being into
mine, and we merged in a communion older than
archetypes, a conjoining of aspects of the feminine
principle, she the stronger and I the weaker but we
together empowered by female forces beyond reckoning.
She saw my pain and felt it as though it were her own.
She came to me and kissed me, holding me in her arms.
In an instant I was whole! The woman had healed me with
her embrace and restored me with her kiss. The fire in
my lungs was quenched; my body's affliction and my
mind's tribulation vanishing with her caress and with
the profound kiss of her precious lips.
"Welcome, Little Sister," she said.
"My Goddess, my Goddess Hathor, I knew you would save
me."
"No, no, Little Sister," she said, touching my lips
with her finger. "I am Bethriah, High Priestess of the
Temple of Hathor. I saw your plight in my crystals and
willed you here for healing."
"Bethriah," I whispered reverently, her name a melody
to my becalmed mind as were her knowing eyes a song in
my soul sung with a devotion antedating our mortal
forms.
***
Bethriah was a wonderful teacher. Our time together
along the Great River and in the temple gardens were
cherished hours. She was warm and serene, often playful
and easily amused, a woman of good humor, uncluttered
in mind and spirit.
Her mere presence was therapeutic; her touch an
encounter with Goodness, and her kiss was rapture
supernal. Bethriah filled my thoughts and feelings. Her
moods and whims were reflected in my own, and it was
through experiencing Bethriah that I experienced life
itself.
In the evenings, she would bring the other priestesses
and me into her chambers where we would bathe her and
attend her as she taught us. There were readings of
praise to Hathor and poetic expressions in dedication
to the Feminine Soul, and Bethriah would guide us in
our meditations to see and feel things beyond the
senses and to enter one another with our minds.
At the beginning, I was allowed only to be present and
attend them as they touched each other's nakedness and
developed their power to transfer their thoughts
without speaking. I was not brought into these lessons,
but I was allowed to brush Bethriah's long hair and
apply creams to her body and legs. It was also my duty
to treat the other priestesses with the Oil of Hathor,
an ointment of secret ingredients made by the High
Priestess herself and blessed by the Goddess.
One evening while the women were communing with each
other and I was watching them and attending Bethriah's
feet as she reclined on her couch, I received my first
message. I thought she had spoken to me, so clear did
it seem, but when I looked up at her, she was sipping
from her cup. I paused, baffled, and her gaze fell upon
me as she lowered the cup.
Again, I felt her speak: "Place your lips on my toes
and suck them, Nemra." But her lips were closed and her
only movement was to raise her foot slightly toward my
mouth. Her warm eyes and gentle smile reassured me, and
I swooned at the mysterious connection of our minds as
I lowered my mouth to her foot and kissed it lovingly.
A feeling of warmth passed through my body as I slipped
my mouth over her toes and sucked them. I caressed her
smooth, womanly legs and worshipped her.
"I know, Nemra," her mind said in response to my
thought of love for her. I thought my love again, and
she received it into her and communicated as though
through her flesh her acceptance of my feelings.
My tongue found delight on the underside of her toes as
I sucked, and she moved her foot to allow me to lick
the bottom of it and to feel it pressed against my
face. My hands explored her calves and her thighs, and
the pressure of her beautiful bare foot increased on my
face as I stretched to feel more of her.
She slid her foot across my swooning face and rested it
on my shoulder. I worshipped her ankle and the delicate
place below her calf. I gazed up into her adorable
visage and could hardly contain my desire as I massaged
her ivory legs with my face from her ankle to her inner
thigh. She opened her legs and reached down and took my
face in her hands.
Slowly, she moved my face into the wondrous glory of
her womanhood and sensuously rubbed her smooth, soft
thighs against my face as though pumping the pedals of
an unseen device. I nuzzled my face into her
femaleness, and I gloried in the sensations of her
womanly flesh push-pulling my serving face to and fro
in her moistening sex. She pulled me into her, and my
mouth found the precious bud of her exciting rose. I
incorporated it and tongued it and sucked on it, and
she worked herself sensually in my mouth. Moans and
cooing sounds came from above me as I sucked her down
there and basked in sensations of her movements and her
legs and her body and her breasts
and her hands and her feet.
Bethriah's cadence increased and I kept pace with my
mouth and tongue. Controlling me with her hands and her
copulatory movements, she moved my mouth to serve her
orifice of femininity and the sensitive flower of her
anus. Erratic woman-quakes began randomly interrupting
her rhythmic undulations. Her vaginal well produced its
copious nectar, and I drank the libation of her lust.
Bethriah nourished me with increasing amounts of her
juice while her coital movements became progressively
irregular.
Her breathing was punctuated now by feminine grunts and
gasps. She tightened her legs around my face and I felt
her feet moving on my back. Squeezing, rubbing,
releasing, squeezing, grinding, hunching, pulling,
tightening, pressing, releasing again and tightening
again. She began to vibrate and thrash, surrendering
herself to her pleasure and trusting me with her gift.
Suddenly she gripped my face tight and stopped all
movement. My mouth and my soul locked in her torrid
pit, I sucked and swallowed without moving my face or
distracting her.
She screamed uninhibitedly and tightened her grip even
more as she jerked in my mouth. Her legs pounded me
now, and her feet hammered my back, but I did not lose
my mouth-lock nor did I forget to suck and drink from
my beautiful tutor and priestess.
She regained enough control over her body to roll us
both over so that she sat fully upon my serving face,
freely using my mouth to complete herself again and
again and again. She gave and I received, she took and
I served. Beneath her I had found my rightful place,
and in service to her I had found identity.
Never again would I have to wander nameless and without
memory. The continual search for purpose and meaning on
earth had ended. I knew who I was and what I was
intended to be, and my spirit was freed in surrender to
Bethriah, High Priestess of the Temple of Hathor in the
reign of Nefertiti in the 18th dynasty of Egypt.
Yours in Fantasy,
Wilma
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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