A Priestess of Isis Ch. 03: Respect

This story talks about sex and religion. There will be some rough sex and elements of BDSM, so if you are looking for romance, this is not the story for you. Also, if you harbor in your heart any thoughts about the sanctity of religion, then please move along, because I will surely offend you. Otherwise, I present to you Part 3 of A Priestess of Isis.

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Story so far: Divinity student Wil Goodwin has done everything his minister father expects of him, including preparing for a career in the ministry. He doesn't question his path. One night he meets a seductress, Mary, who demonstrates the Christian idea of submission by performing a blow job on a stranger who then gives her money. After she gives Wil a blow job in an alley she shares the money with Wil which stirs his feelings of shame. In class the next day he says something disrespectful about Jesus that Mary said which sends him tumbling out of class wondering what was wrong with him. When he goes to the professor's office to apologize he finds the professor in a compromising position with Mary. Disgusted with his professor, Wil tries unsuccessfully to drop the class. Later Professor Humbolt offers him another assignment in lieu of attending class. The assignment turns out to be impossibly huge but Wil is confident he can pull it off even though he was told that each student that attempted it failed. Mary waits for him at the library entrance and offers buy dinner. She takes him to a pizza restaurant and introduces him to David, a man who was once a divinity student but found through Mary the meaning of living with passion. For David making pizzas is his passion. Mary gives Wil a rim job then jacks him off in the bathroom of the pizza place. The story continues where we left off.

Romans 13:1 & 5-7

1 Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. 5 Therefore, it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of possible punishment but also because of conscience. 6 This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God's servants, who give their full time to governing. 7 Give everyone what you owe him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor.

She left me alone in the bathroom, and I cleaned up. With paper towels I wiped my spunk off the sink and mirror, though with only water to help, I left smears on it. After pulling up my pants, I looked at myself in the mirror and loathed what I saw. Could I not control myself for five minutes? Why did I let this woman take over my body?

I still felt wobbly, but I suspected it wasn't from the beer. Maybe she put something in it. Yes, that had to be it, the reason I acted so unlike myself. I washed my hands obsessively until the water from the spigot grew cold. Then I splashed my face again and mopped it with paper towel.

As I righted myself, my mind wandered to what just happened. I'd let the whore touch me again, allowed her to do unspeakable things to me. I was a sinner, my sins made more heinous by her influence, and this had to stop. I screwed up my resolve to tell her to leave me alone and walked out of the bathroom.

Except for David, and her, no one was in the restaurant. The afternoon sun was sinking below the tops of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Incredibly though, Mary was prostrate on the ground muttering something in a language I didn't recognize. I looked at Dave busily engaged in working on making pizzas, seemingly unaware of Mary's strange behavior.

Finally, Mary stopped speaking, and gracefully pulled herself upright. When on her feet again, she turned to us and smiled.

"It's time to go," she said.

I nodded mutely.

"Here," said Dave. He pushed a box on the top of the counter toward me, "is the rest of your pizza."

"Thank you, David," she said with a big smile. "Delicious as always."

"You're welcome. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"Of course, darling. You should know the universe provides."

Something clenched inside me when she called the pizza parlor owner "darling." It was an unwelcome feeling. Immediately I got angry at him for having Mary's special attention, and angry at myself for being angry.

"Good then," said David. "Can you do me a favor?"

"All you need do is ask," she said as she walked to the counter.

"I forgot to order the paper plates today. Could you?"

"Say no more," she said. "Wil, do me a favor and clear the paper plates from the table."

I picked them up, and looked around for the trash, and spotted a tall stack of paper plates on the counter. Funny, they weren't there a second ago. I dumped our refuse in the trash can next to the cooler.

"Get the box," she said as she headed for the door.

When we were outside I realized something.

"You didn't pay for the pizza," I said.

"Oh, Wil. When will you learn that the Universe provides? Get in the car, and I'll take you home."

But it wasn't my apartment she brought me to.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe it was because she whored herself in the street the first night I met her I thought she was destitute. The expensive sports car could be as she said, borrowed from a friend. But she took me to the edge of town, deep into the countryside where the houses were heirlooms from a bygone era hidden behind massive stone fences.

As I clutched the cold pizza box we drove up a driveway at least a mile long and pulled up in front of a mansion faced in gray granite. Ionic columns held up the roof of the porch of the entrance.

"Whose house is this?" I asked.

Her expression hovered between amusement and exasperation.

"You are a slow learner, aren't you?" she said with mild disdain. "For tonight, mine."

I shook my head in disbelief as her red heels clacked on the bluestone walk and granite stairs. She must be bullshitting me. But she opened the door as if she'd done it a thousand times. I followed her into the entry hall. The floor was white marble and covered with expensive silk oriental rugs. The hallway reached into unlighted depths of the house, but to the left was a long stairway that shot up and then to the right. On either side were tall double mahogany doors.

She stopped at table set in the middle of the entryway. It, like the doors, was mahogany and graced with tall arrangement of fresh flowers. Mary sorted through mail there, picking up a handwritten letter, and then put it back on the table. With a nod of her head she pointed to the left-hand door, and I opened it.

The room was dark except for the light spilling in from the hallway and a blazing fireplace at the opposite end.

She walked up to the fire, warmed her hands by them, and then turned to me.

"I'm always cold," she says. "Since I got here, I've been cold, even in the areas you term a desert."

"What do you mean, 'got here'?" If she didn't add the phrase about the desert I would assume she was from another country, but as it was it didn't sound right.

"To this planet," she said gently her back to me. She shot a look over her shoulder to gauge my reaction.

I shook my head. ""You must consider me an idiot for telling me your outrageous stories and expecting me to believe them. Why don't you take me home?" I said coldly.

"What home, Wil? That tiny apartment you share with that room mate of yours? Honestly. Why do you associate with idiots like that? You are ten times more brilliant than him and you let him ride on your coat tails."

"How I manage my life is none of your concern." Ice edged my voice but her works were lighting fires of anger in my heart.

She walked forward, grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the fire, gazing at me with a "fuck me look" from under her eyelashes. "Would you enjoy a story about John the Baptist. He's a favorite of yours isn't he?"

"How would you know that?"

"Sit and I will tell you a good story. You might understand things more." From under the shadows of the couches that flanked the white bear rug she pulled a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured a glass and handed it to me. "You'll like this," she said.

I took a sip and admitted it was very good.

"Wine is such a symbolic beverage," she said. "It was the followers of Bacchus that celebrated the transformation of the grape into wine. They thought by ingesting the transmuted grape they could obtain oneness with their god."

The fire sizzled, flared, and popped. The atmosphere thickened in the room that was dark except for the darting fire.

"Bacchus," I said too huskily. "Yes. Anyone who reads Greek have read of their sexual excesses."

She sighed. "The Bacchanists weren't the wontons painted by history. True. There were a few orgies from time to time but what they were trying to obtain was transformation. Only what they did not realize is that there is no such things as transformation. What did you imagine Yeshua meant when he took the wine and said, "Drink. This is my blood?"

Yeshua—the supposed Hebrew moniker of Jesus. In truth Jesus' non-Greek rendering of his name was a mystery. People speculated and presented cases, but curiously the dramatic events of the life of Jesus are mute in reports of his day. For this reason alone some claimed Jesus never lived.

"He wanted to demonstrate to his disciples the fellowship they shared."

She shook her head. "No, Wil. He tried to show a fact now known in your quantum physics that there is no such thing as separation, that all matter is the same essence. He was telling them that the grape and his blood were no different, that heaven and hell coexist in the macrocosm and the microcosm. He could have said, 'Drink, this is your blood' and it would have meant the same." She sighed. "It was a sight, Yeshua trying to teach in his last hours without a care when he knew well what would happen."

I rolled my eyes. "Let's agree to disagree."

"Like you, Wil Goodwin, divinity student know enough to have an opinion."

This line of conversation would quickly devolve in an argument. I decided to use the ministerial skills learned at my father's knee and deflect her train of thought. "You were going to tell me about John the Baptist."

She smiled. "Yes. You're right."

Her eyes took on a faraway look as if lost in time long ago. Finally she spoke and by this time I was almost used to her oddness, so I didn't protest how she started the story. Her voice was wistful when she spoke.

"I sailed into Caesarea Maritima, the brand new port of Romans, their entry into Israel. I remember the day. I stood on the deck of the ship, the sunlight streaming on me. Funny the things that come to mind. I remember the gulls circling and crying overhead, the lashed sails straining against their ropes, the wood of the ship creaking. Before us rose gleaming stone piers in the enclosed harbor, and the rowers backstroked slowing the ship against its own momentum. Ahead was a smaller ship, the tug boat of its day, helping to guide the Roman frigate to the dock. On the left stretched the harbors walls and the buildings of the merchant district. This city was large, especially for Palestine, a hub of Mediterranean shipping, a gateway between the east and the west. It was a great work of the Romans with miles of aqueducts that brought fresh water and city sewers to the parched land of the Jews. You need to understand, that in this ancient world, most of it groaned under the weight of its own great age. So a place like Caesarea was a breath of fresh air, clean, bright, and full of possibilities.

"It bustled with commerce, and opportunity, the promise of the Pax Romana, the great concept that wherever Rome walked and touched a land with it greatness, all would prosper. Rome was much like your America, Wil. It had such dreams, and delusions of its greatness.

"But I didn't know about American then. No that was two thousands years away. As a priestess of Isis I was sent to establish a new temple in this new town. You need to understand Wil, that the Romans were entirely ecumenical when it came to religious beliefs. Having many gods themselves, they embraced religious freedom of expression. Though I was from Egypt, that was still part of the empire, and I was free to take my religion wherever my order desired.

"The ship docked and the gang plank lowered. On the docks I was greeted by a representative of Herod Antipas, who you would call Herod II. A place was prepared for me at the palace. Would I not come and honor the king with my presence? Of course, letters were sent ahead of my arrival announcing my mission. Still it was unusual for a foreign king to pay such homage to Isis. I had a place to stay at the home of rich devotee of the goddess. Still, one did not anger a king with a refusal. It might put the mission in jeopardy. I did not know that Herod's grand welcome came filled with ulterior motives.

"I was greeted graciously, as a representative of the Great Goddess should be. Herod kissed me upon my arrival and called me sister, in the way of the Egyptians, where all women are honored. He gave me extensive rooms within his palace, and servants to wait upon me. Had I not been so used to this treatment in Egypt, I would have been suspicious, as I should have been.

"Herod was a man that liked to collect his pets. He was more Roman than Jew in his views on life. How could he not be? He was educated by Greek tutors in the manner of the Romans. Herod followed the orders of his Roman masters. And he denied himself nothing. As I came to know more about my patron, I found his court to be littered with strumpets of every kind, politician to whore. And when he charged me the "education" of Salome, I realized he contemplated bad business."

"How so?" I said.

"Well, he, the Jew, wanted her for temple rights."

"He wanted to fuck her."

"And what's more, she wanted him. But because he was her stepfather, he couldn't do it according to Jewish law, so he decided to follow a more ancient one, the heiros gamos."

"The marriage of earth and sky."

"And the union of temple priestess and king. I had not given him my decision. While I wanted to keep the king happy, and my life intact, but instructing Salome in the ancient rites was wrong. You see, being the representation of the goddess on earth meant we could not have allegiance to any one man. It was obvious that a cord of desire ran between Herod and Salome."

"So what happened?"

She grew quiet then lifted her head. "The most heinous thing. I angered Herod with my reluctance, and he saw how I treated the prophet with kindness. He punished me."

"The prophet?"

"One of Herod's reluctant guests was the prophet, John, who you now call the baptizer. He was brought to the place much as I was, upon the king's command, and once he got there he was not allowed to leave. John was kept in locked quarters until the night time feast, where he was brought out in display to the sycophants of Herod's court. We would speak during dinner for Herod liked to juxtapose his acquisitions to spark dinner conversation. He thought at first that John and me would argue, defending our religious views. But Isis teaches us to respect the beliefs of others, believing that compassion only shows the goddess' greatness. So I would not argue to entertain the court of Herod. As our time in the palace grew longer, he would have his men abuse John during the day. I would comfort the hurts of the prophet from the abuse Herod heaped on him. I would wash his feet and hands and apply soothing oils and bandages to the prophet's injuries. At first this amused Herod, and this alone caused me to hate him, though Isis teaches us not to hate. As I struggled with my growing feelings of anger towards this man, my mission was frustrated with Herod's insistence I remain the the palace for my own safety. So I was cut off from the followers I was sent to serve, as much a prisoner as John.

"John would tell me about his religion, and it was obvious he had a great love both of his god and his people. His only desire was to bring the people closer to god. For this reason he baptized the common people, providing the ritual cleansing that the Jewish scripture demanded. But he did it for free. You can see why this made him a dangerous man. Not only was he popular among many Jews, who called him rabbi, but he defied the temple priests by showing redemption need not be bought at the temple.

"It became obvious both to John and me that his time at the palace was growing short, as Herod's abuses worsened. He asked me to seek out his cousin, who was tending his ministry for him, and tell Yeshua of his fate. 'Tell him,' said John, 'that I go to our true Father in heaven with a heart gladdened to know our people is in good hands.'

"Herod continued to treat me graciously as I put off my decision as to whether I would apprentice his stepdaughter as a priestess of Isis. But eventually his patience wore thin and he sought to show me what would happen to those that opposed him.

"Herod bid Salome to dance, and as she writhed and squirmed before the king, his lust rose to monstrous levels and his anger at me too. So when Salome asked for the head of the prophet on a platter, he gave it to her. I suspect he told he to ask for that prize. I left the palace at Caesarea after calling his reign cursed and that the kings of Israel had in him an empty staff."

"Empty staff?"

She chuckled. "Sorry, the euphemisms of one language does not always translate into another. I called him a dickless wonder."

A little laughed escaped me. She stared at me intently with her large brown eyes.

"You think the story funny, Wil?"

"I think you are a nut case. But it is a good story."

"Oh," she said sinking to lay flat on the rug. "One day you'll understand that this is more than that."

"You think so," I said amused.

"Yes," she said.

Her body lay supine and defenseless, with her dark eyes peering into mine as if she read my soul. The fire flickered casting dancing shadows through the room, and my eyes wandered to her breasts. Creamy white skin strained against the v-neck of her tight dress. I was overcome with the urge to pull the dress off them to reveal the mounds within and lick them. My thumbs and index fingers picked at either edge of her neckline. To my surprise, the material was elastic and yielded as I spread the neckline apart. Two perfect formed globes, unfettered by a bra popped out. Her nipples pearled into two perfect tiny rosebuds, succulent and ripe for the taking.

"Do you like those breasts, Wil?" she whispered.

"Yes. They are gorgeous."

"Take them in your mouth, Wil. Make them yours."

Slowly, gently, I lowered my mouth to a nipple and greeted it the tip with my tongue.

"Suck it, Wil."

I latched onto the nipple, drawing in the flesh into my mouth and teased the nub with my tongue. The texture of her soft skin filling my mouth satisfied me in a primal way and my cock hardened. She squirmed.

"Harder, Wil," she said with impatience in her voice."Suck it harder."

The taste of salt and blood flooded my mouth as I drew her flesh further into my mouth. She moaned and undulated nearly slipping out. I placed my arm in back of her neck to hold her in place and sucked as hard as I could.

My brain reeled filled with thoughts of lust and thrusting myself inside her. The images were clear in my mind. I pulled up her dress around her hips and ripped away her panties. My hand touched her between her thighs, teasing the folds of her labia, circling my finger around her clit. Her hips would buck against my hand and she'd beg for me. I'd make this bitch beg for my cock. My mind became electric with this frenzied though and I ground my hard dick still encased in my pants against her. She squirmed some more, and I took this as the result of her desire for me. My fantasy burst upon me and in my mind I parted her thighs and teased her entrance with the tip of my cock.