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Scent of a Goddess- Part 1
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Scent of a Goddess- Part 1 He wanted, he said, to be in a position to worship her. To be the supplicant to the goddess she embodied. And so she agreed, although not in so many words, just through her actions and the things they agreed to do. Under the circumstances, it was tricky; he lived in a very small community, the roots of which were in the settlement of an insular commune; she far away; he, of course, was a man; she a woman and I mention this because, for her, shifting from the behavior and attitudes that were the socialized norm - a woman was to be passive and obedient rather than dominant and powerful - was challenging but would be served well by a good dose of goddess worship. Under the circumstances, and in order to facilitate their temporary union, she rented an isolated and rather hidden cabin for the summer months, located on the small island on which he lived; the cabin's remoteness - even far from his small community - and "off the grid" aspect would give her long stretches for her creative spirit to grow, and the rich natural environment of the Pacific Coast would slowly soothe the scars left by her normally frenetic urban life. A long drive, and two ferry rides later, and a bumpy grind over a pot hole-ridden dirt road that went "nowhere" for miles, she arrived. The cabin, as I said, was "off grid" and by that I mean was not reliant on anything other than its own resources for its very existence. The clearing it was in was small; the understory of the old growth northern rainforest threatened to reclaim the site. Electricity was used minimally - the floor to ceiling windows that dominated most of the cabin's architecture let in lots of sunlight, syncing bio-rhythms to the natural environment - and produced by a system of solar panels. Fresh potable water was crystal clear and cold, pumped from an artesian well. Heat, when it was needed, was provided by the small wood stove that was frequently lit more to banish the dampness of being near the ocean than for actual warmth. She had felt the tension built by urban living slowly leave her body as she drove the miles to get to this place, and, now, as she unpacked the final box of<b> supplies </font></b>she had brought, she realized, finally, her muscles had relaxed, her breathing slowed, and she felt not just at peace but at one with who she was as a dweller in this female body. And with that inner awareness, she began to examine what she desired, deep down, from the existence she was about to embark on as a goddess with a supplicant at ready hand. So, she began with his attire. What did the goddess, what did she, most want out of this male supplicant. 'Hmmm,' she thought, 'well, of course, his cock.' 'His cock should be available to me when and where I want it. It will be, simultaneously, a symbol of his vulnerability - it will never be out of my sight - and his adoration - it will bow and then raise its head as it swells to erection and then subsides again. And, as the goddess, I will demand his adoration. He will please me when I command it,' her inner monologue concluded. Days later, then, when he too arrived at her cabin and entered the door, as the ritual they had concocted dictated, he immediately fell to his knees, hands positioned by his side with his palms facing up and his eyes downcast. He felt, rather than heard, her cross the room with her bare feet to stand beside him. All was silent except for the sound of their breathing for moments, until she spoke. "Raise your eyes," were her instructions, " but just a little." "Until you can see up to my waist," she clarified. And he did so, tracing her bare feet, then the contours of her slim ankles, the curve of her calves, the smooth skin of her legs, her thighs and resting on the slightly parted lips of her sparsely haired cunt, visible through the fabric of the translucent white silk sarong she had tied around her waist, before tearing his eyes away and concluding the path of his sightline on the sweet pucker of her navel, centering the hourglass shape of her torso. "Good, you have done well, supplicant." her voice had deepened in timbre as she was already beginning to revel in the power the role of goddess gave her. "I have prepared clothing for you to wear, " she instructed, " I am going outside for a short time, and when I return, I expect you to have changed into what I prepared. Do you understand?" "Yes, I am ready to do as you say," he replied. He watched for a moment, never raising his eyes beyond her waist, as she turned away, walked around him, and, with a barely discernible breeze of cooler air as the door opened and closed, left the cabin. He hesitated a moment, making sure he was performing the ritual carefully, and arose from his knees and crossed the floor. The cabin was an open plan: a cooking area to the left; a large platform bed to the right; in the centre, a wood stove; and comfortable oversized chairs placed on either side of the wood stove facing the vista of the seascape outside the windows. Anticipation sent a tingle across his skin and, with ritualistic and conscious movements he reached for the pair of pants he saw draped on the bed. Nothing more, no shirt, no shoes, no undergarments, and nothing special, as far as he could see, about the pants other than that they were of a soft, loosely woven fabric that would drape softly around his legs. He removed the clothing he had come in and stood for a moment reveling in his own naked body. Had he not sublimated his usual role of assertiveness, dominance, and penetration, he would have strode quickly outside and taken her then and there. But, instead, he picked up the pair of pants in order to don them, and noticed then, that she had modified the construction so that these were a garment suitable for a supplicant, but not for regular, everyday, wearing in public. Where the "fly" or zippered closing usually was on a pair of men's pants, was a deliberately constructed gap or hole gathered on the lower end by an elastic that had the ends protruding so that it could be pulled tighter or loosened as the wearer, or, more likely, in this case, as the goddess, saw fit. He smiled inwardly; he was to be at her beck and call, then. This he liked and his already engorged cock nodded its agreement. Stepping into the pants, he noticed the elastic strapping that would fit snugly around his scrotum in the front had also been rigged into a kind of cage or thong attached to the waistband so that when he pulled the pants up around his waist, his buttocks were also cupped underneath and through his crotch. This provided some support or structure for the pants and ensured they would remain snuggly positioned in the front, revealing, as it were, his offering to the goddess: his erect cock and swollen balls. The freedom the pants offered, penis and testicles exposed for the world to see and caressed by the cool air, the weight of his erect member a pleasant tug on his skin, and the eroticism of stepping outside into the sunshine of the forest clearing surged through him as he walked out the door. He stood on the small decking boards that circled the cabin, two steps up from the pathway that led to the ocean beach. He stood and he waited, arms once again in the position of supplication, open palmed at his side. She emerged from the little sheltered structure that surrounded the outdoor shower and she too paused. The translucent white sarong she had been wearing tied around her breasts and grazing, at the bottom, her cunt, was now transparent, clinging to her body and wrapping itself around each contour. It was soaking wet for she had stepped into the cascade of water from the shower and allowed it to saturate every silk fibre of the garment. Yes, when he stepped out of the cabin his member was already erect and protruding from the hole in the pants the goddess had provided, but now, now when he saw her emerge from the shower in the wet clinging silk, his cock began to throb with a pulsing stiffness that caused him to gasp. Automatically, it seemed, his hand went to caress his cock, but her stern voice rang across the small clearing, "No, keep your hand away. You are not to touch yourself. You are mine to play with, mine to command, and only my hand, unless I deem otherwise, will touch your cock. Understand?" The twinge that flashed through him as he was jolted back into remembering the role he had agreed to take on - an offering to the goddess, not a god among lesser beings, nor, even, a god among equals - did nothing to lessen the stiff throbbing of his member and he could do nothing to stop the movement it seemed to be making as it waved, in her direction, in a beckoning gesture. She smiled, and began to walk across the clearing toward him. To be continued. |
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I stiffened and I got wet as I read this, but I did as you commanded and I did not touch myself. . . . I am awaiting your command. . . Please hurry with your touch . . . I can feel the warmth of your fingers ,even from here, but I fear my dripping friend is growing with impatience. . ... is there another way to look at it Going Too Fucking Far NEW Blog Features RevealeD O O A Foolproof Method Posted Over on that NEW site O O
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