Sublime Surrender

Her voice is the voice of Truth…
Her voice is the voice of Reason…
Her voice is the voice of Love…
Her voice is Eternal Love…
Her voice goes with me wherever I am,
No matter how far apart we are…

Far or near,
Near or far,
My heart feels Her here…

-from Affirmations in Service to the Goddess,
by the Priestess Palmystra

*

The first day of Marquesa’s month lay beyond the passing of a long, sticky desert night. Constellations would align, marking her entry to the local pantheon over 2000 thousand years ago. July is when her powers are most manifest, doubly as great on the 12th day, for 12 is her number of protection. Day 1 and 12 compare not, however, to the night of the full moon, always the 24th, which multiplies her power five fold from what it was on July 1st.

Ravar felt the mark between his shoulder blades itch, shuffled shoulders to ease it out. Noise exploded as he exited from the doorway of the Printer’s Guild. People on their way home, going out, meeting up, staying put. Spice drifted with sweat on the air. Scarves of bright colour and exotic design were common. Lots of pastel shades on big pieces of flowing material, the roomier the better, for desert worlds are unforgiving places. The heat stroke of Kerrigan was no joke.

Sweat beaded down his neck after only crossing the road, bathed in white hot baby blue. The siesta time was long gone, 4 hours ago, and the ferocity of the evening had not yet begun to blaze.

Port Kerrigan had few salient qualities.
It was hot, dusty, had harsher gravity than standard. Most people dropped things off or picked them up from Port Kerrigan. 90% would not be a ridiculous estimate in guessing the percentage of imported goods. Nearly everything had to be shipped in, like water. Water was key, and second- this had always puzzled Ravar -coffee. Who cares about coffee when dust storms sweep down from over the high dunelands?
Oh, but Port Kerrigan has sand. Lots of sand.
Manna sand, filled with potent and chaotic magical energy formed by the world’s gravity.
The sole export, and the price was not high.

Professor Ravar Ghoran had been born and bred on the borderworld where one god in particular held sway. Gods were a fact of life, and there were local gods to be found in every star system.
Port Kerrigan was home to the Goddess Marquesa.

At the centre of the five world system, the blue dwarf star turned in untellable rotation, stellar corona making hard grey shimmers coalesce beyond and over the 50 foot high alabaster walls. Ravar wrinkled his nose at the smells from a pack of animal sellers on the corner, paused to adjust the bag in his hand. Goats bleated, bats squeaked, chickens called. The family hustled their living wares, yelling out with voices dark and husky from the desert air.

He wondered if the box checks he’d made were proper. In July heat…well, if it wasn’t secure, then it would be smelling fierce by now.

Ravar lit a cigarette on entering the shade of a watchtower, inhaled smoke against the animal stink. He ruffled his hair, glad of how little time it had taken to collect his pay from the Printers. He knew where the new coin was going to go.

His cock twitched in the leather sheath, container rubbing against swollen head, and he hastened, dust swirling up around him as a trio of imp drawn rickshaws passed him by. The skyline from ground zero was white tower blocks and turreted skyscrapers, an uneven series of polished and shaped teeth set in the navel of a desert.

A jewel Port Kerrigan was not.

Above it all by many lengths struck high the Wizard’s Guild; a bulbous protrusion, thin spire bronze tip stabbing tall.

Stepping southwest after crushing out his cigarette, Ravar threaded through throngs of people on narrower streets, shoulders weaving on automatic, dust caught up and thrown by hundreds of sandalled and bare feet on their way to the Temple district.

6612 was a year of gods.

Temple Square entrance, a 12 foot tall domed cream arch, gave him a brief respite of shadow. Sweat cooled on his neck, then seared on exiting into bomb like blue.
In the sun flashes, a fresh thing stirred in Ravar. Memory twitched his elbow; naked and sweating, on his knees, tongue pressed to years long firm thigh flesh caressed by red nylon. Rough under his tongue, neck craning further, cold gold tightness increasing down below…
He stood in sunlight, unaware of the last 2 seconds.
Like sentinels for their homes, five divine statues were arrayed at the corners of a pentagram. He turned to the left, almost knocking into a flower seller, yelled his apology, the noise lost under conglomerate hand bells rings of worshippers.
Roses and jasmine assaulted the brain with sweetness on the way to the Lady’s priestesses.
*

Eyes flicking, Ravar’s gaze roamed.
The destination neared. Hurry would not sweeten it. Robed priests, monks, priestesses and clerics, garbed in order apparel, wandered around, between and tended upon the hundreds of kneeling and praying worshippers. The temples were all pure white alabaster stone, imbued with manna energy to withstand the heat.

A pair of blue robed monks passed close by him, blocking his field of vision for a moment, and he walked further on, eyes locking on the statues, the gems a’sparkle on them. Cries of fortune, flower sellers and prayers swarmed around his scenic route to the temple.

Nephood, god of learning, his statue of opal, on the left.
Berata, god of wisdom, statue of bronze, to the left also.
Sangam, god of nature, statue jade, off to the right.
Beshai, god of dreams, shaped manna sand, to the right.

Marquesa stood, pure gold.
She wore a cloak of black, open down to the navel, slim curve of belly that was a woman’s proper province of sensuality, high heeled shoes of gold peeking out from under the black hem. Flawless emeralds lit her knowing eyes. Small rubies set out those plump and sensual lips, lined in a mild sneer. Gold curls were a waterfall over hidden shoulders.

Ravar gulped and headed towards the temple. Passing through shadow in the space between the statues, he felt the flash memory twitch his prick this time. He was hers, owned by the Lady Marquesa.

Threading his way past a duo of amulet sellers outside the temple, he glanced upward on ascending the stairs at the white comb like shape of the building, entered therein. Inside all was cool, incense of jasmine wafting in waves. Priestesses in the Lady’s colours, black cloak, red stripes at the shoulders, gold knee length pleated skirt and a red crop top that left the midriff bare, wandered about, gold kitten heels clicking on the polished green marble floor.

Strangest and most curious of all were the red silk strips covering their eyes, a lifetime sacrifice in service to the Only Goddess.

Long and wide, the temple had another statue of the Lady at the far end; perhaps ten people were praying before it, lighting incense. Two pew rows divided triple equal width aisles. Ravar stopped before two tribute boxes.

CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP

New pulses coursed through Ravar on hearing the waves of high heels, shaft twitching against his inner thigh. He licked dry lips, walked forward, eyes roving over a myriad of priestesses; rumours stated that they took a lover only from Marquesa’s faithful. Ravar wished he could confirm the hearsay. All of them were gorgeous of body, young and old- the youngest were 20, due a minimum 2 year training procedure -keeping to a secret, Goddess given, exercise regime.

He took out the purse of gold coins he’d obtained for the pages, felt they were written by another man, in another world, opened it. He upended it over the tribute box, watched gold spill, felt his hardness diminish, the press become less intense.

As he was turning away, the prospect of getting home to attend to…pressing matters foremost in his mind, a voice spoke from behind him.

“Professor Ravar. Good to see you here.”

Whirling, he saw Annah Moravia’s diminutive 5 foot figure, slender and pale tea hued hands clasped before her.

“Ah, Annah. Yes, well, aha, it’s good to see you as well. I thought this was one of your days off?”

Her face, slender and oval shaped, with a pointed jaw and heavy cheeks, twitched; her body was trim, hips a little wider, bosom in line with her overall figure under the red crop top; and how many times had he thought of how they’d feel in his hands, if they would be just the right size for his palms?
Too many, he decided, smelling the scents of fresh jasmine from the flowers wound in her dirty blonde hair.

“There are no ‘off days’ in the service of our Lady, Ravar. As well you know.”
“As well I know.” he replied, sighing.
“It’s ever good to see you here, regardless of the time. Although you are here early! The bells for coming July were only rung an hour ago.” she said, “I wish I could say the same of our more powerful and affluent followers. Not everyone is willing to give the time and coin to her, as you are.”
“They are fools.” he said, smiled.

Then he remembered she wouldn’t see, felt his lips fall from their curve.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “What’s wrong?”

He frowned.

“What do you mean?”
“You were smiling a second ago. What happened?”

Fingers reached for his mouth unconsciously, rubbed at the corner.

“Well, I- Um. Well it’s not as if you can see me smile is it? Not with the red cloth.”

Annah cocked her head sideways, seemed to look at him, through him. He shifted on his feet, all too aware of being studied at the turn of a second, wondering what senses she was tuning into.

“No. We do not see. Not upon entering our Lady’s service. But we are given other gifts, as have you been. We hear much, sense much, our third eyes are open. I can hear your lips move, sense your overall mood, and… and so on.”

Her thin lips smiled knowingly at him, and he felt tightness around his swollen testicles and cock increase a little under her…gaze? Hearing? What?
She knew, of course she knew, could hear it throbbing, HE could hear it throbbing, trying to push the strap out, pop the buckle…