The Temple Of Hathor
The temple of Hathor was busy all the time, filled with priests, priestesses and the acolytes who accompanied them. They worshiped their Goddess with all they had to give- minds, bodies, lives, in order to bring love and creativity upon the land of Egypt. In Modern days we have called them by less complimentary names, but these beings were not judged to be morally corrupt. They gave everything to their Goddess and she enjoyed the erotic energy perhaps most of all. The priestess had a voice denied a married woman- like her male counterpart, she was the embodiment of a deity after all and expected to be pretty, clever and well educated. Articulate and generous in her affections, elegant and poised.
This is simply fiction inspired by something I read, and I thought
I would share it.
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Small bare feet pattered across the sunbaked stone, her ears flying behind her, the stuffy wig in her hand. She burst into her rooms, rather then enter, and dropped the exquisite wig by the door with nary a glance, knowing it would be retrieved and cared for till she needed the hateful thing again. Ranth was here, his paws propped on a table as he rested on her lounger, a soft, knowing grin on his features, eyes shut as he pretended to be napping. She grinned-this was an old game for them, one they had played since he was first assigned to her as an acolyte, and continued in joy now that he was a full priest of Hathor. Despite the dangers of trusting anyone with all her secrets, Deshaphut trusted this young priest. Over the time since he had been given to the temple, when she was just barley a priestess herself, he had moved from student to lover, from lover to friend and true confidant. There was nothing she needed to censor or hold back, or worry that he would not understand, unlike those who came to worship once in a while. A priestess had many with whom she shared her body, but he was one of only three with whom she shared herself as well.
Deshaphut smiled as Ranth whispered her name and tugged her into his lap for a long deep kiss, her body molding against his, her softly scented arms around his neck. Tongues dancing, she slid fingers over his sharp ears and through his long hennaed hair.
Ranth and Deshaput were often too busy now to spend much time alone in each other's company. He was often sought after by worshippers, his knowing hands and dark unreadable eyes helped to send much erotic energy to the heavens. Deshaput was still involved in the education and training of acolytes, and often her charges followed her, as puppies will. She had a talent for fitting the new acolytes into roles by their temperament and likes. Who was meant to be a guard, a scholar, and those few like Ranth who were earmarked for a priesthood.
Incense wafted in a spiral of heat in the cool inner room, the play of candles on the alter combining to make their shadows dance against the pale walls. Both of them wore accessories, more than actual clothing. He pulled the pins from her fur and listened to her sputter..
"It will take forever to get that wig back on now.."
"So, cut it lady," smiling, he knew her answer so well, her denial a soft snort.
Her touch became more intimate, yet unhurried, savoring. Often was there sex in this room, but rarely did she have the opportunity to make love. The ritual sex of the temple was a way of worshipping with the whole body and inner essence. This was filled with smaller, warmer emotions. Mutual respect, deep, abiding friendship that had through time and trials deepened into comforting grace.
His clever fingers deftly removed the last of her clothing, and stood, allowing him to remove the light linen kilt around his waist. With a sigh of pleasure, she sank to her knees between his thighs, her deep red henna'd hair soft against his fur. Eyes dark with kohl looked into his and she licked his cock from the base to the head. She licked again and again, watching him grow under her touch. lowering her head more, she sucked so gently on his balls, and trailed her paw up his inner thigh, before gripping his cock firmly and stroking.
The open windows brought the sound of the afternoon prayers sung to the heavens as Deshaput smiled into his eyes and slid her muzzle over him, sucking hard as she slid him into her throat, relaxing, trusting him. Hearing his breath hiss in pleasure, she watched him fight the natural instinct to thrust as she continued to pleasure him with her lips and paws and tongue, a low murrr in her throat adding a vibration as well. Only when she sensed that he could take little more did she release her prize, allowing the cock to pop from her lips as she stood and straddled him as he sat, half reclined on the couch. Gripping his cock in her hand she teased them both, caressing her heat with it, the sensation of the cock against her slick folds, her throbbing clit, made her moan. With great pleasure, she stroked him inside her wet, hot core.
A gasp of pleasure-she always forgot how deeply he filled her until he was there, bumping gently against her cervix, the welcoming fullness making her grip him and ride.
The sharing of pleasure, the pleasing of each other was so erotic she wanted it to never end, but as her breath hitched in her throat, he knew she was on the edge. Stiffening beneath her, he plunged deep and lifted his head to nip at her neck.
Loudly she came, her small paws curling as she gripping him so tight, the waves of pleasure obvious upon her face. He let go then, filling her with his joy and essence.
She smiled, cradled in his arms, safe and sated. A soft lick pressed to his chest, she felt his returning nuzzle fall lightly on her fur as they watched the sun sink slowly over the amber horizon.