Astarte Ch. 01byjulybear7©
Gideon Davies, there is no other way to put it, when it came to women, was a loser. Almost painfully shy, he was almost incapable of carrying on a conversation comprised of small talk beyond what was playing at the Cineplex or the weather forecast for tomorrow. On the other hand, ask him to describe the social structure in Egypt three thousand years ago, and he could almost wax poetic.
Gideon, Deon to his few close friends, was a junior at the University, which he attended on a combination of scholarships and grants. His part time job, which he had held since he was a freshman, was as a junior assistant to the curator at the history museum maintained by the Middle Eastern Studies Department, where he was a student.
He was on his way to work, admiring the rising full moon this August evening, the last full moon before the autumnal equinox. As it cleared the horizon, it was magnificent, filling the summer sky. As he turned into the drive at the museum, he thought it looked like the moon was shining directly into the Egyptian Room, but as he drove around the building to the rear parking area, the orb cleared the tree line and appeared to shrink and dim.
As he entered the museum, he shouted his usual hello to the security guard, "Hey, Jim! Beautiful night out there. How'd the Sox do today?"
"Evenin', Gidjiin. Have to tell you later; they're tied at 2 in the bottom of the eleventh. Dr Thomas said you should meet him in the Egyptian storeroom."
"What's going on? Any idea?"
"Some new piece came in today; some minor goddess, but he was quite excited. Acted like he was about to pee hisself."
Deon laughed. Dr. Thomas often seemed like he was about to 'pee hisself,' Deon thought, but tonight he probably had cause. The good doctor had been negotiating with the Metropolitan Museum of Art to trade for a 3500 year old statue of the Egyptian goddess Astarte. He had received word last week that they had accepted his last offer of some money and some pieces to fill holes in their collection of Etruscan erotic pottery; pieces Dr. Thomas had been trying to quietly dispose of since he had become the chief curator. Acquisition of the Astarte statue was a similarly longstanding ambition.
Deon hastened down the corridor to the storeroom where Dr. Thomas and the latest addition to the museum's Egyptian collection awaited him. "Evening, Dr. T. I hear Astarte has arrived. How does she look?"
"Evening, Gideon. She looks fine. A bit feminine for a goddess of war. She looks more appropriate for a fertility symbol. She's in good shape, just needs some gentle washing and buffing. See what you can do, will you? Transfer paperwork and provenance documentation is on the desk. Check it out and prepare it for verification, then leave it in my mailbox. If anything looks amiss, make a note of it for me." He was silent for a long moment, gazing at the statue.
"Damn, I would love to have known the artist and his model. She was certainly beautiful. Thirty-five hundred years later and she still exudes sensuality, and restrained passion. Don't mind telling you, kid, looking at her makes me want to go home and jump the wife. Think I will, in fact. See you tomorrow." The chief curator turned and walked out of the room, giving Deon a wave. He turned in the doorway.
"The Met sent along cleaning instructions and a piece of lamb's fleece they said should be used to clean her. They said it had been recovered from the tomb where they found her, tied around her neck with a piece of sinew. Just dampen the fleece with a little water and wipe her down."
"Got it. I'll start on the paperwork first, to see if there are any other tips to taking care of the statue. Go on and enjoy your evening," Deon laughed. His supervisor just grinned and walked away.
Deon picked up the folder containing the paper work and groaned. It would take most of the night to check it out. He was taking an abbreviated summer session Advanced Art History course. The first of five weekly exams was scheduled tomorrow, and he had planned on studying some tonight.
Four hours later, almost midnight, Deon straightened up from his desk, stretching his back. The paperwork all appeared to be in order. From the time the statue had been discovered in Akhenaten's tomb, it had never been out of the care of professional artifact handlers. Her travels since then were better documented than the President's. Hell, the Royal Museum and the Louvre, along with the Met, had even documented when they had moved it simply to change her place in on-going displays.
He looked at the new acquisition. He had to agree with Dr. T. She was remarkably beautiful, the kind of woman who usually left him tongue-tied just by saying hello to him. "No problem of that here," he thought to himself, with a wry grin.
"Ahhh, Astarte," he said aloud. "If you were alive, I'd be shaking in my boots just being in the same room, never mind alone with you. You are so beautiful I'll probably be dreaming of you for a month of Sundays. I wish I could find a real girl like you to be with." He found the fleece on the table near her and went to the sink near the doorway to dampen it. When he turned to return, he stopped and caught his breath.
The statue was positioned directly below a skylight, and directly above it, the moon was shining brightly, illuminating the goddess like an arc light. Almost unconsciously, Deon's hand went out to turn off the store room lights. The effect was magical. Without knowing he was moving, Deon walked to the stone effigy and began to clean it.
As he washed the piece of stone, his free arm crept around her, as if in embrace. Initially, it had felt cold, like any other piece of statuary, but as he held it and caressed it with the damp fleece, the female figure began to take on warmth. When he moved the cleaning cloth across the statue's bosom, he could have sworn the nipples took on definition and its hips had pushed into his. Impulsively, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the statue's.
Almost immediately he pulled back, thinking, "Christ, what am I doing? Trying to make out with a 3500 year old statue! What the fuck kind of loser am I?" He turned and walked back to his desk.
"If you are a loser, then your winners and heroes must be legendary," said a small feminine voice.
Deon spun around. Before him stood a living exemplar of the statue, dressed in the white mid-thigh length skirt Egyptian women seemed to prefer, according to the many drawings and temple depictions he had seen. Like many of those women, the one before him was bare breasted. She was small, about five feet two; her skin was the color of a coffee latte, with dark, nearly chocolate brown, eyes and blue black hair. Her breasts were conical, crested by puffy, dark nipples; her hips were generously voluptuous.
He opened his mouth to speak, and squeaked instead. A tired, knowing smile appeared on the woman's face; a smile that said she was familiar with the effect she had on men. She walked to the young man and gently caressed his cheek. "You have nothing to fear, Gideon. In freeing me from my prison, you have indebted me to you." She looked around the room and spied a daybed against the wall. "Come," she said, taking his hand and leading him to the daybed.
She pushed him to sit down. In doing so, he became aware that his clothes were gone, as well as her skirt. She pulled his head to her left breast, pushing it into his mouth. Although he was still a virgin, he had seen and read enough about this situation that he knew what he was supposed to do, and he began to kiss and suck on the lovely mammaries presented to him. Rewarded with a soft moan, he let his hands begin to explore the body now straddling his knees.
This resulted in more moans, and in a few minutes, he was aware of a change in the atmosphere. The room was getting noticeably warmer, and there was a scent in the air-one with which he was familiar only by reputation. It was a musky, sweet, spicy smell; an odor which spoke directly to his maleness. He felt his manhood raise up. The woman pressed him back on the daybed, and in an instant he felt his member engulfed in the most pleasurable warmth and moistness man can know. She began to move on his staff.
From somewhere, a long ways away, Jim was calling him, "Gidjiin, wake up, son! C'mon, Gidjiin! You gots to wake up! The bosses will be plumb angry if they catch you asleep here in the storeroom. C'mon, Gidjin!" He felt Jim shake him by the shoulder.
In his head, much quieter than Jim, came a small feminine voice. "Come, Gideon, it is time to awaken. Don't mention me to Jim; he can't see me. Only you can see or hear me. Wake up now, and let us go get you some breakfast, and we will talk."
Deon was wide awake in a second. "Uhh, oh, thanks, Jim. You're right; they'd crap a brick. I must have fallen asleep after I cleaned up the statue. Damn, and I have a test in Art History this afternoon I was going to study for last night. Crap! She already has me in her sights from last year."
"C'mon, boy, you got to git, or you'll be in more sights than hers!"
Deon stood up, noticing that his clothes were back on. He shook his head, clearing it. "Okay, Jim. I'm outta here. See you tonight." He picked up his backpack and the paperwork, which he dropped off on his way out of the building. On his way out of the parking lot, he nearly turned toward his dormitory and its cafeteria.
Figuring it wouldn't look too good to appear to be talking to himself in a roomful of his peers, he turned and drove to a diner he sometimes frequented. Inside, the waitress, a slightly plump, pleasant looking, young woman he sometimes saw on campus, greeted him with a small smile. "She likes you," said the voice in his head. "Do you want her? I can give her to you."
"Yes, no! I don't know! Who...what are you? Where did you come from?" he thought, plopping down in the booth farthest from the front door.
"In a minute. The waitress is coming. Give her your order, then I'll answer your questions."
The waitress was at his side. "Hey, Deon, you're in early this morning. What can I get for you?"
"Morning, Donna. Yeah, I fell asleep at my desk at work last night. The guard found me on his rounds this morning and booted me out. Guess it's good it wasn't my boss. Mmhmm, better make it a couple of eggs, sunny side, some home fries and sausage patties, juice and coffee, double cream."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I shoulda..."
"Don't sweat it. Ready for the Art History exam? Taking that course in the summer is a real, excuse my french, bitch. I took the intro during the regular term a couple of semesters ago, and that was bad. McGee can be a real pain and her tests...yuk."
"I totally agree. How come you're taking the advanced course; you an art major?"
"Oh, no. no talent. I'm a Psych major, going for a concentration in Perception, with a minor in Art. I have all the intro courses in techniques and media. I need a sequence of three courses for the minor. The two history courses and an independent study of an artist of my choice will complete the minor.
"I better get your order in. It won't be long. You want your OJ and coffee now?"
"Uh, yeah. Thanks."
As the young waitress walked away, the voice in his head started again. "I told you she liked you. Are you sure I can't give her to you? She would be in addition to the gifts you've already received."
"Who are you? Where did you come from? Why can I hear you, but no one else?"
"So many questions, and you already know most of the answers; you just don't believe them. I am Astarte, the goddess whose statue you were trying to make love to last night."
"You didn't kiss me and fondle my breasts? Somebody did, and you were the only person in the room."
"You needn't apologize. If I were at all offended, that large dark man would have found a corpse when he came in this morning. As it was, your tender actions and feelings freed me from 35 centuries of unwarranted captivity. That cow, Nefertiti, she of the long nose, was able to convince her god, Ra, to seal me up in that statue. Just because her brother thought I was prettier than she.
"I've been waiting for 3500 years for someone like you to come along at the right time..."
"Right time? Someone like me?"
"Yes, someone who desired me, on the anniversary of the centennial of my creation, the last full moon before the autumnal equinox. For 34 of those occasions I was sealed in an airtight tomb. But this time, you were there and freed me. For that, I am forever indebted to you, and will give you the gift of Astarte. No woman will be able to refuse you. All you have to do is ask, and they will give you what you ask for.
"Even if she is with another man, he, also, will yield to you, and give you what you ask of him. You cannot ask them to harm themselves or each other. The men can be told to leave, watch, join, silence themselves and climax. Except for the limits on physically harming themselves, there is no limit on what you can ask of a woman, as long as she is physically capable of carrying out the act.
"Even though I am the goddess of love, I cannot make them love you. The woman, if she is strongly attached to another, may be aware that she is being willed to submit, and may try to resist you. If you persist, she will yield. You will find some for whom the idea of coupling with any man, or woman, is abhorrent. Even they will yield, and, if you instruct them properly, they will enjoy their experience with you."
"If I instruct them properly?"
"Yes. You may not force yourself on them. You must ask them for what you want. If, in the case of the women we were just discussing, you want them to enjoy the coupling, you will have to find a way to ask them to enjoy it, to climax and experience the rapture."
"How do I ask them? Just walk up and say, 'will you have sex with me?'"
Astarte laughed. "Oh, Elal! Men haven't changed at all since Neffi shut me in that stone. I think that is comforting, but also disheartening.
"There are many ways to convey your wishes, Gideon. You can tell her what you want her to do; what you would like; what would give you pleasure; what you don't like, or want her to stop doing. Your modern conversations offer so much variety in the way people can express their wishes. Even your direct approach will work, in situations where it can be used.
"Your coffee is coming. Pay attention to the young woman. Soon she will be in your bed. A few weeks maybe, you will be her hero."
Gideon laid his pen down and closed his exam booklet. He looked around. Over two thirds of the class was still writing, and there was only a quarter hour left in the allotted time. It had been a killer exam. Fair, but still a killer. The students had to choose one of four sets of three pieces of art, to identify the piece, the artist, the time period, and to discuss the newest piece in relationship to what was happening societally at the time of their creation, comparing it to the others.
He picked up his backpack and made his way to the front of the room to turn in his exam. "Mr. Davies, I see you came back. I think we should talk about what I expect from you in this class. Be in my office at 4:30."
"4:30, Mr. Davies. No excuses except death or maiming accident."
At 4:25 Gideon stood, waiting, in the hall outside of Professor Roberta McGee's office. From around the corner, down the hall, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, the hard rapping sound of high heels on tiles over concrete. He turned to look and saw Bertie turn the corner. He caught just the glimmer of a smile when she saw him waiting.
He watched her come down the hall. On the tall side of average, she displayed the results of her daily mile run with pride. In her mid fifties, she was still as trim and fit as she had been as a cheerleader her senior year in college. There was a slight thickening around the waist, due to her age, and her breasts needed a trifle more support from her brassieres now than they had then, but only a purist would object if they saw them exposed.
"Ah, Mr. Davies! May I call you Gideon?" He nodded, puzzled. "Thank you. I am sorry for making you meet me at this hour on a Friday, but I felt it was important that we understand each other. With such abbreviated class time, I think it best disruptions be kept to an absolute minimum. I'm sure you understand.
"Given our history, may I ask why you registered for my course?"
"Uh, I didn't. I actually registered for Professor Jeffries section, but he prefers majors. When three of them registered late, he bumped me and I was assigned to your section since I needed the course to complete the sequence for my mid-east studies major."
"I see. As I said, I would like to avoid disruptions in class, or keep them to a minimal level. During discussion, unless you are arguing provable facts, I would appreciate it, in fact, I am going to require you to refrain from joining discussions. To that end, I will give you a B for that part of your grade based on participation."
Deon was stunned. He didn't know what he expected, but being muzzled wasn't anywhere close. Not even with the bribe. He sat there, silent, unmoving.
"Gideon? May I take your silence as agreement. I want an answer."
From somewhere, Gideon heard himself saying, "And I want you to come around here and fuck me after you suck my cock to erection!"
The shocked look on his professor's face told him the voice had not been his imagination. He was just as shocked when, instead of screaming at him to get his perverted ass out of her office, she stood up and walked around the desk, a glazed look on her face, and dropped to her knees in front of him. She reached for his belt buckle. "I'm not very good at this. I've only done it once, when I was a teenager."
She looked up at him, holding his eyes with hers. "You're making me do this, somehow, aren't you? There's no way I would willingly do this for any student, and especially you. But I can't help myself. Omigod, your cock. I want to swallow it. I can't help myself!"
She closed her mouth over Gideon's flaccidity and began to caress his hardening staff with her tongue. As she felt it grow and harden in her mouth, she moaned. She found she enjoyed the feel of the soft rigidity between her lips, the soft velvety feeling of his glans against her cheeks and tongue, the heat in her mouth. She was surprised to feel herself moisten between her legs. The moans got louder, more frequent.
Gideon reached down and caressed her breast. He pulled her to a standing position. "I want to see you naked," he told her, recalling Astarte's instructions. Bertie smiled as she reached behind her for the zipper to her dress.
"This is ridiculous. You are making me participate in my own rape, and I'm enjoying it. I can feel myself being forced to act against my better judgment, and liking it. How are you doing that? It isn't hypnotism, nor drugs..."
Gideon stopped her by pressing his lips to hers. He sat down and drew her onto his lap, his cock entering her smoothly, effortlessly. "Oh, god," she moaned, and began to post on his staff. "Ohmigodohmigodohmigod," she repeated as she began to move faster, Deon helping her, thrusting his hips toward her on her downstrokes. Within a few minutes her vocalizations turned to "yes yes yes yes yes," and finally "yesssssssss!" as the climax washed over her.
She sat there, her forehead leaning on Deon's as she caught her breath and recovered from the first orgasm she had experienced in over a year. As she recovered, she was aware of the staff still rigid in her vagi. She pulled back so she could see Deon's eyes. "You didn't..." He shook his head. Bertie smiled. "Well, we can't have that, can we? Is there another position which might be better for you? Maybe from the back?" She dismounted from his lap and turned to brace herself on her elbows on the desk.