Adoration

We met in a bar in the middle of a thunderstorm, I ran in out of the rain and it was as if the lightning had followed me through the door and struck me. Our eyes met across the crowded, smoke filled room and there was an instant recognition on an inner level, that I didn't even realise I possessed.

I walked up to her as if in a dream, an image of perfection before me, a Goddess come to earth. Long hair framed her perfect face, before cascading over her shoulders, to fall to the perfect curve of the small of her back. Eyes with almost black irises drew me into them, the rest of the room ceased to exist for me as our souls touched in the depths of those eyes.

She gracefully stepped from her stool, her long cool fingers folded around my hand and she led me from the humdrum of normality. Time stopped, the world fell away, there were no words between us. Then reality flooded back in. We were in her bedroom, I knew that no one else had ever been here before.

The room was round, with a large bed filling the central space. The floor was covered in a dark purple carpet, so soft, that it was like floating to stand upon it. The walls were mirrored, the ceiling was a midnight purple, except for a spherical mirror above the bed. There were no windows and the only other furniture was a single chair.

Lights set around the ceiling mirror, filled the room with moonlight but four spotlights at the cardinal points of the circle, turned the bed into an arena on which an artiste could perform. They illuminated dark purple satin pillows and sheets, the room was warm enough that no quilt was needed.

My Goddess turned towards me, suddenly coy and spoke for the first time, "I feel as shy as a virgin." As she was shy I was suddenly bold, "I could stare at you for eternity, you are so perfect."

Slowly, she began to undress, it was the first time that I had really noticed what she was wearing, or even become aware that she was actually wearing anything at all. I sat on the chair that was facing the foot of the bed as she removed her white silk blouse. She let it fall to the floor, then undid the fastener and zip of her matching pencil skirt, once again letting it fall to the floor.

She stood before me in a purple lace bra, with matching thong and a suspender belt that held up sheer black stockings. The tops of the stockings made her thighs seem unbelievably white, like those of a spirit, or one of the fairy folk. She reached behind herself and unclasped the bra, holding it in place with her arms. Then, with her eyes locked on mine, she oh so slowly pulled it away, to reveal large, firm breasts, her nipples and areolae already erect.

She cupped her breasts with her hands, then let her long fingers trail over her abdomen to the swell of her gift from Venus. She unfastened her stockings, then reached behind her again to release the suspender belt. Left only in stockings and tiny briefs, she came to stand in front of me. I could smell her heat, before I could actually feel it. An animal muskiness, that held a trace of spices, a hint of exotic lands, an intoxicating effect that left me unable to move, even if I had wished to.

Her thumbs hooked into the thin straps of her thongs, then she smoothly slid them along her thighs. Her hair momentarily hid her from my avid eyes, as it cascaded around her as she bent lower, then fell aside to reveal the secrets it had tried to conceal, as she began to straighten once more. Her cleavage, the swell of her breasts, her smooth belly leading to a wisp of hair, that drew me lower to where it disappeared between the satin sea of her white thighs.

She stepped away from me to the foot of the bed, turning to regard herself in the mirrors. Languorously, she proceeded to examine her perfect body from every angle, checking every curve and previously hidden place. At first, I was puzzled, when, satisfied that she was indeed perfect, she turned to the bed and removed the sheets. She did this so that the sheets were pulled towards me, hiding what lay beneath but when they fell to the floor, I was able to see that they had been concealing a black rubber mattress cover.

She slid a mirror aside, revealing a hidden cupboard whose shelves were filled with bottles of lotions and scented oils, a collection of latex dildos in various shapes and sizes, plus a bewildering array of vibrators, with spirals, ribs and knobs gracing their impressive lengths. She removed a bottle of pure amber oil, unscrewed the cap and poured a small pool in the centre of the bed. The room filled with a fragrance that so perfectly matched her muskiness, it could have been distilled from her own nectar.

She returned to the shelves, replaced the bottle and extracted an enormous black vibrator, then as graceful as any ballerina she rolled onto the bed facing me, straddling the oil with her long legs, letting me delight in the sight of her neatly trimmed sex. She anointed her hands and began working the amber essence into her flawless skin. They worked knowingly over every curve and plane, lingering as they reached each deliciously yielding roundness and at each shadowy, mysterious cleft.

I felt my spirit soaring as it had never done before, as I watched her glistening against the backdrop of rubber. The paleness of her skin, intensified as it was by the slick blackness, making it seem to me that she was floating in the void. The spotlights casting star-like sparks from her lush flesh, enhancing this impression.

Her movements were like a therapy for me, the lazy grace of her hands as they caressed her, relaxing me, almost hypnotising me, as I would never have thought possible in such circumstances before this moment. I had never felt such energy flowing through me, yet at the same time, I was totally at peace. I had no other desire than to watch my lover pleasure herself and revelled in the obvious enjoyment she was having making love to herself for me.

Her movements became more intense as her passion grew, her body seeming to expand, so that it filled the room with her ceaseless, rhythmic, flexing-contracting-flexing, which gradually became writhing-thrashing-writhing before my adoring eyes. I would previously never have believed that it was possible for a body to be so flexible, nor that any woman could find so many novel ways to pleasure herself and the vibrator still remained patiently waiting for its turn.

Regardless of the astounding knots into which she tied herself, regardless of the intimacies that she performed in front of me, she never looked anything but an unfailingly beautiful virtuoso. She was always the perfect example of milk and honey on that black rubber, good enough to eat, to devour, the most desirable creature ever to grace the earth. A reminder of when we had been perfect in the times when the Gods had walked among us unworthy mortals.

Just as I was beginning to think that she must collapse exhausted from her exertions, she reached behind for her latex lover. She turned back to face me, lovingly stroking the shaft with the tips of her fingers, then locked my eyes with hers. I was lost in their depths once more, so failed to see the monster enter her but the look of pure lust that reflected within her eyes, told me all that I needed to know. Everything was there and I had never felt such excitement, even though all I did was watch the changes within the darkness of her eyes. It is said that they are the windows to the soul and in this instance, I totally believed that this was so.

Suddenly, her back arched as the pleasure became too much for her and my eyes were freed to watch once more as she was lost in orgasm. Tremors shook her body, as goose bumps covered her skin. I could almost see sparks and flashes of lightning as the excess of energy escaped her trembling body, that writhed, then subsided, as the waves momentarily receded.

I thought that she would be sated but her inner fires still smouldered and she began to slowly work the vibrator in and out of her most secret place. Her sensuality was so great, that it turned what, at another time, could have been a mere pornographic act, into a mystical revelation. I was spellbound as I watched her movements and she was obviously just as thrilled as she watched herself in one mirror after another, taking in each thrust or withdrawal from as many different angles as possible.

She watched herself watching herself, as she watched herself watching herself watching herself. The infinity of images reflected back and forth between the mirrors, until she could believe that she had filled the universe with myriad replications of her pleasure making. The mirrors themselves took on a magical quality, transmitting the energy from each reflection back into her own dynamic flesh, so that instead of becoming drained by her actions, she became ever more energised. A runaway engine of perpetual eroticism.

Eventually, the batteries of her lover failed and she was forced to give herself over to the expertise of her own bare hands once more. They quickly seemed to become separate entities to her, each alive in its own right. They were possessed with such a frenzy of lust, that they couldn't occupy themselves with just one of her many treasures for any length of time; they kept sliding over her ample curves, up-around-down her oiled skin, massaging, tweaking, caressing, stroking one delight after another, before delving into that source of her essence. Only to reappear to repeat the whole performance over and over.

At last however, even those exquisite hands became tired and left her lying satiated upon the oil-slick rubber. In time, she rose from the bed and stepped through a mirrored door into an adjoining bathroom. When she returned, she was carrying two plush towels -- one damp, one dry -- she was no longer gleaming with oil. With the damp towel, she removed the glistening residue from the rubber cover, then carefully wiped it down with the dry one, before replacing the bottom sheet and pillows that she had cast off earlier.

I joined her on the bed. She lay on her back, her head on a pillow. I lay beside her, my head on the other pillow. She was still gloriously nude, while I still remained fully clothed. Neither of us made any comment, mere words would have lessened what we had shared together. Made slight of this religious odyssey, made it somehow tawdry and mediocre.

Our hands linked, hers amazingly still cool, mine unsurprisingly hot and stared at our infinitesimal reflections in the mirrors around us, Goddess and Her faithful devotee.