Temple

“Why did they have to build the cursed thing all the way up the side of the mountain?”

The Agean Sea at his back, Aristaios paused in his assent and skeptically regarded the temple some hundred yards above him. A warm breeze from the sea ruffled his tunic as he stopped climbing for a moment to settle his ragged breaths. The moon shone brightly and even at this distance, with his old eyes, he could see the temple perfectly. By most standards it was small and unassuming for place of worship. It was a rectangular stone structure no bigger than some of the more ostentatious homes he had seen in the city beneath him.

He began once more up the rocky slope and the wind seemed to intensify as he climbed higher sending shivers through his body as it whipped through his sweat soaked hair. He clutched his pack tightly to him so that it should not fall down the slope. The path, if it could be called that, was rocky and slow going. Several times he had slipped, and his scraped and bloodied knees bore the proof of hi ordeal.

When he was within twenty yards of the temple the earth started to level out, and by the time he reached it, the ground in front of the temple was nearly flat. The temple’s entrance was guarded by four squat pillars only half again as tall as a man. The structure’s rear was either built in to the side of the hill or entombed by centuries of shifting stones. The temple was unadorned save for a red curtain in the doorway and a small cistern to the side of it. Aristaios paused at the cistern. He lay his pack down, cupped a handful of the cool water and drank. It tasted sweet and he drank another handful. Then, for a split second he peered into the water catching his reflection between ripples. His hair was thinning and there was more gray mixed in with his curly raven brown locks everyday. He was not a young man anymore. He saw his reflection, breathing raggedly, and matted with sweat.

“It will not do to meet the goddess in this state.” Aristaios stripped off his dirty, sweat soaked tunic. He thrust his head into the cistern and came away in a cascade of water. He stood naked before the temple, the moon reflecting like diamonds in the water running in rivulets off his body. He tore a piece off his tunic from the hem, soaked it in the cistern and began to bathe himself. He winced as he dabbed the wetted cloth over the abrasions on his knees. There was a time when these wounds would have gone unnoticed, but now they were a stinging reminder of his mortality, as were his throbbing, aching muscles. The climb had taken much out of him.

When he finished bathing, Aristaios stood on the hillside and admired the moon. It was full tonight, and large in the sky. The breeze had almost dried him, and he was chilled now. He turned to retrieve a fresh tunic from his pack and caught the blur of movement behind him. He spun around but saw nothing save for the temple and his pack lying on the ground where he had left it. He quickly walked around the sides of the temple, but there was nothing there. It was just his old mind playing tricks on him again. He slid on his clean tunic, and stood before the doorway to the temple. The red curtain stirred in the breeze. He took a deep breath, gathered up his pack and entered.

Moonlight filled the interior of the temple and Aristaios was surprised to see a large hole on the roof. He was displeased at the temples state of disrepair, but the he saw the statue of Aphrodite bathed in moonlight, and a gasp escaped him. In his head he knew that the statue was a thing of cold stone, but it shone so brightly in the moonlight, Aristaios could swear it was alive. Aphrodite’s form leaned back in quiet repose, her legs stretched out before her and one arm resting on the curve of her hip. He could see the golden strands of hair, the seductive eyes, and pouting lips. He could see the porcelain skin of her bare shoulders, and the promise of her ample bosom beneath the folds of her robes. He could very nearly smell her.

He walked to the far end of the temple, upon the dais, and, tentatively, reached out to touch the statue. His hand caressed its thigh, but he felt only cool stone beneath his searching fingers. His shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. It was a trick of the moonlight. Nothing more.

Aristaios walked to the middle of the temple, set his pack on the floor and sat down cross-legged beside it. The stone floor was cool on his legs. He sat fully within the glowing circle of moonlight and it gave his skin an azure hue. He opened his pack, withdrew a small item wrapped in a fraying, once delicate cloth, and lay it on the floor before him. He began to gently unwrap the cloth. At the center of the bundle was a golden brooch. Its intricate designs caught the moonlight and seemed to hold it there on its surface. Aristaios raised his face and regarded the statue. He brushed aside a stray lock of his graying hair, and in the moonlight framing his face, a single tear slipped down his cheek. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Goddess, I have come to you to ask of you a favor, nay to beg of you.” His voice became raspy as he choked on his words and he could feel more tears staining his cheeks. “This brooch belonged to my wife, Kasandra. She is dead now more than ten years past…” Aristaios paused. His eyes caught the light reflected from the brooch and it seemed to captivate him for a moment, lost in his memories.

“She used to wear this at the neck of her robes. She was so proud of this. It was the only fine thing she ever had. It’s all I have left of her now. We never had any children.” He paused again and took another deep breath to coax his words. “I loved her Goddess, more than life itself. I will never love another, yet…I am…lonely Goddess. You have already blessed me with more love in my life than any man could hope, but don’t you see? How can I be alone now…so lonely…” Aristaios’ voice trailed of. There was no sound in the temple. He could hear his heartbeat, his shallow breathing, and nothing else. Only now, stripped of humility before the likeness of the Goddess, did he realize the futility of his pleas. He was shamed at his weakness. His lack of fortitude. He began to slowly rewrap the brooch when he heard a noise behind him.
Aristaios jumped to his feet. He could feel his ankle twist as he did so. He stood in the crcle of moonlight, his ankle throbbing, scanning the darkened temple beyond for the source of the disturbance.

“Show yourself brigand! If you think this weathered old man an easy mark then you are mistaken.” Aristaios’ heart was pounding in his chest and his lungs were heaving now. He hoped that the thief did not notice. His bravado was a facade. He had neither the heart nor the desire to face a challenge right now.

“Please be calm, traveler.” Aristaios started at the voice. A feminine voice.

“Who’s there? Show yourself now!” A woman stepped hesitantly from the shadows, her white robes shining pale blue in the moonlight. She carried a clay jar. The water inside was sloshing around. Some of it had spilled down the front of her robes and Aristaios could see the outline of her breast begin to form beneath the wet material. Embarrassed, he quickly raised his eyes to meet her gaze. He could only stare at her in wonder. She had long dark hair framing her olive hued complexion. Even in the half-light she was stunning.

“Wha…who are you…?”

“I am Elektra. The temples caretaker and handmaiden to the goddess Aphrodite. I did not mean to interrupt. It’s just that there are so few visitors here anymore. When I saw you, it startled me. I’m afraid I spilled some of my water.” Aristaios’ gaze was drawn back to her chest where the water had completely soaked through now, and her robe clung to her bosom. He could see that her nipples had stiffened under the cold waters touch. He felt a twinge in his groin and quickly looked away.

“I am sorry, Lady. I did not mean to frighten you. I believed the temple deserted. I will gather my things and go.”

“Nonsense. This is a place of worship after all. You are welcome here. Aphrodite is a kind hostess.” As she spoke, Elektra noticed Aristaios limping. “You’re hurt!” She grabbed his arm and her touch increased the stirrings in his groin. He nervously pulled away from her and turned to face the other direction.

“I’m…fine. It’s nothing.” He tried walking away from her and his ankle buckled underneath him. She rushed to him and knelt beside his trembling body.

“You’re not fine. Just look,” she demanded talking his ankle in her hands. “It’s already started to swell.” Elektra began to gently massage his tender ankle. Her touch was warm and soothing. He could feel the pain release its grip from his ankle and her touch radiated along the length of his leg, stirring his manhood. He stared at her as she bent over his ankle. She was a vision. He could see the hint of full curving hips beneath her robes. He watched, hypnotized, as her bosoms swayed in time with her massaging hands. He was still staring when she caught him with her dark, sable eyes. The shadow of shame crept over Aristaios’ face, but Elektra merely smiled at him.

“You should probably stay off of your ankle for a while.” Aristaios flexed his ankle and stared at her in awe.

“There is no pain. It feels normal. Better than normal, in fact. You have magic in your hands!” Elektra blushed and lowered her head, smiling.

“It is nothing. Any servant of Aphrodite can do the same. All part of our clerical arts, and not magic, but simple massage techniques.”

Aristaios stood and tested his ankle, placing all his weight on it. He turned to her and smiled.

“Thank you for your generosity fair maiden.”

“Please, I am Elektra.” Aristaios smiled.

“Alright then. Elektra.” The name rolled of his tongue and she smiled. “I am Aristaios.”

“You are more than welcome to stay here tonight,” she continued. “Aphrodite’s house is your house as well this night.” Aristaios was silent for a moment before answering. He appeared troubled and spoke slowly, almost whispering.

“This is your home. I could not intrude.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “This is the house of all who worship the Goddess of Love. Beside, you really should not make the trek back down the hill until your ankle has had time to strengthen itself. You are welcome here. You will stay.” There was a note of finality in her voice and Aristaios quietly nodded his head. She smiled widely at him. “I still have errands yet tonight, so forgive me if I am a poor hostess.”

“Please lady…” She frowned and he corrected himself. “Elektra, you are a most generous hostess. Please go about your business. This old man is tired and would take rest now.” She smiled once again.

“There is a room behind the altar in which you may rest. Please. Bring your belongings and I will show you.” He gathered up his pack and followed her watching her form sway beneath her robes. He began to feel flushed once more.

Elektra led Aristaios to a short hallway nestled behind the statue of Aphrodite. There were two rooms off the corridor, both with red curtains in their doorways. She gestured to the room on the right and held the curtain aside for him. Aristaios entered and was surprised to see that there was a candle burning already. The room was square with no windows and Aristaios guessed that it was built into the side of the hill. There was a cot in the corner piled with soft furs and cushions. The candle was on a small wooden table by the bedside. The rest of the room was bare.

“It doesn’t look like much, but the cot is very comfortable, I assure you. My room is across the corridor if you need anything. Sleep well, Aristaios.”

“You as well, Elektra.” Aristaios watched the dark beauty as she turned and left the room. His demeanor deflated. He tossed his pack down by the table and pulled his tunic over his head. He then bent to blow out the candle, and collapsed on the bed. The cot was indeed comfortable, and although near exhaustion, he found himself unable to sleep. His mind drifted to thoughts of Elektra. He had been immediately taken by her beauty, but he also found himself longing to bed her. It was a feeling he had not known since his wife died. Even now images of her stunning form flashed through his mind. The swell of her breast and the insistent nipple poking through the wet cloth of her robe. The sway of her wide, curved hips, as she sauntered before him. The velvety sensation of her hands as she caressed his ankle.

Aristaios awoke with a start, realizing that he had been on the edge of a dream. His manhood was stiff and swollen. He blushed in the darkness. It had been many years since a woman had had this effect on him.

Suddenly he heard the padding of bare feet in the corridor, and a shadow passed by outside the drawn curtain. He quietly rose and went to the curtain, drawing it slightly aside. He could see nothing in the corridor so he slowly stepped out and crept towards the main temple room.

The moonlight still shone in the room, but its angle was lessened now. He guessed he had been in the room for an hour. The temple seemed to be deserted, so he made his way towards the entrance. Aristaios was nearly to the entrance of the temple when he saw movement just outside the doorway. He flattened himself against the wall, it’s stone cold and rough against his naked skin. Slowly, Aristaios peeked around the edge of the entranceway. There was a figure just outside silhouetted in moonlight. He gasped as his breath caught in his throat. Elektra stood at the basin. Her robe was pulled down off her shoulders. He marveled at the smooth olive skin of her shoulders. His eyes followed the delicate line of her collarbone to where it plunged into the swell of her breasts, the cloth of her robe riding just above her nipples. She bowed and with a sudden splash, plunged her head into the basin. Then in a moonlit arc of water, she threw her head back. Water, seemingly chased with moonlight, ran in silver threads down her face, neck and perfect shoulders. Her dark hair fell in loose, wet curls around her face. She ran her slender fingers through it and smoothed it back. Then as Aristaios watched in silent wonder, she let the robe fall from her shoulders and stood, her naked form revealed to him.

Aristaios stood deathly still, afraid to even breathe. He should leave her to her privacy he knew, but he was rooted to the spot. He could not summon the will pick up his leaden feet. He was struck still with a sudden desire. Woken by a passion he had not known in many years. Elektra cupped her hands into the basin and came away with a handful of sparkling water. She splashed it onto her chest and began to rub the cool water over her breasts. The water clung to them, forming droplets like sparkling diamonds on her skin. Some of the water ran in slow rivulets over her upturned nipples causing them to become swollen and hard, in stark contrast to the supple flesh of her bosom. She shivered at the waters touch.

Aristaios watched in wonder as Elektra bathed. Then, as if awoken from a dream, he realized that his manhood was swollen with passion, and he had been stroking it as he watched her. He realized now that he could no sooner cease to watch her than cut off his own hand. His thick and veiny member grew harder as he slowly stroked its length over and over, the sensation of his rigidness beneath the velvety skin sending waves of pleasure through him.

Elektra slowly ran her wet hands over her hips, down her stomach and then, to Aristaios’ silent wonder, over her silken mound and between her legs. He watched as her hands slowly stroked her own sex, her breathing becoming audibly more labored. She left one hand between her legs while the other roamed over her heaving breasts, pinching at her wanting nipples. Aristaios stood, transfixed in the shadows while he watched Elektra pleasure herself, taking relief of his own. As her hands began to move more hungrily over her body, she began to moan between breaths. Her hips were grinding into her hand now. She bit her lip. Aristaios, still grasping at his member, struggled to control himself, as he watched the handmaiden bring herself to climax. At last she let out a loud whimper, her thighs flexed and clutching at her probing hand. Her body shook and convulsed as she came, seemingly forever, as her cries filled the night air.

Aristaios could no longer hold back. He felt his hot seed flow over his hand, and as he came, he moaned loudly. He tried to stifle his desire, but it was too late. Surely Elektra had heard him. Aristaios, shame washing over him, fled into the temple. He ran across the main room and threw himself at the base of the statue. The stone perfect visage of Aphrodite, gazed mercilessly upon the pitiful, weeping form before her. Aristaios cursed himself.

“Lady…Goddess, forgive me. I have shamed myself and your temple. I have desecrated the very house of Aphrodite…” He heard the soft scrape of bare feet behind him, and let out another sob.

“Aristaios, there is no shame in what you have done,” Elektra’s velvet voice replied. “You desire me. That is all. This is more than just the house of Aphrodite. It is the house of love, of desire, of passion.” She placed a graceful hand on his shoulder as she spoke. Once again, her touch invited stirrings in his being. He tried to pull away, but she grasped his wrist and held fast. He had not the strength to oppose her. She knelt beside him and, gently ran a slender finger along his cheek. Aristaios turned to face her. She was still naked, skin glistening. He could not look away. He was bound to her eyes.

“Sweet Elektra…you…haunt me. I’ve not had these feelings for years. In fact, not since the passing of my Kasandra. I am shamed at my actions. I will gather my things and leave immediately.”

Elektra smiled deeply. “Dear Aristaios, you do not want to leave. Your passion betrays you.” She looked downward and he was aware that his manhood was awakening to her presence. He silently cursed his nakedness…his lack of control. “Tell me Aristaios.”

“Tell you?”

“Yes. Tell me what you want. Do not be ashamed. Do not be frightened. Simply tell me.” There was a soothing timbre in her voice. Her hand gently stroked his arm sending shivers the length of his spine. His eyes trailed over the swell of her breasts. His entire body quaked as he battled to hold back his emotions, yet they triumphed, flooding over him like a great tidal wave.

In a flurry of insatiable passion, his arms enveloped her, his lips seeking out hers. They locked in a hungry embrace then. He tasted her lips, the supple flesh of her neck and shoulders. His insistent kisses raced down the delicate line of her collarbone, and finally, poured over her breasts.

Elektra clutched at the back of Aristaios’ head as his eager mouth ranged over her bosom. Her swollen nipples glistened with his saliva. She moaned softly at his ministrations. She could feel his engorged manhood throbbing against her thigh.

There was no turning back now, either for Aristaios or Elektra. Her desire was just as molten as his, her breathing just as labored. He stood and pulled her up with him. His eyes moved over her wanton form, drowning in the deluge of her beauty. He slowly turned her so that he was now behind her. Again he had to taste her, and he trailed soft, warm kisses over her neck and shoulders. A gentle hand slid around her side and cupped her breast, his thick fingers pinching at her nipple. Another hand slid down her stomach, painfully slow, and over her pubis. Her silken fur tickled his fingertips. She was still wet, though whether from the water or her own nectar, he knew not. His probing fingers slid over the entrance to her sex, and as they did, she moaned and ground her pelvis into his hand. She whimpered then as his fingers inched inside, coated instantly by her juices. Her skin was flushed and the temple echoed with her desire.