Simon

**This is my first erotic story. The Goddess society of the Mediterranean basin always fascinated me. Thank you to all the readers!***

Simon

The High Priestess was feeling restless. She was always restless on the night before the fertility ceremony was due to take place, and tonight was no different. The acolyte robe she chose was neatly folded on top of her couch, waiting. Pensively, she discarded her formal purple mantle in exchange for a simple white, the color of purity—at least according to what is written in the canons. She decided not to trade her dark brown leathers for a more modest tunic the acolytes wore.

The soft leather was comforting against her bare skin. Her leggings hugged her thighs snuggly, as did the short dress, with a cutout at the midriff. Her breasts were cradled in cups supported by straps sewn in the shape of serpents, symbols of Ashera, or Mother of All Life. The serpents wound down the length of her torso, leaving most of her skin exposed, and joined at the small of her back, dipping lower to decorate the short skirt of her dress. But for all its skimpiness, her clinging outfit could hardly be called a dress.

Choosing a mask edged with silver beads that would conceal her features below the eyes, the Priestess tied it at the back of her head, then pulled the ample hood of the robe down to her forehead. The headpiece denoting her rank would have to be left behind. Tonight, she didn't want to draw attention to her status. Turning in front of the mirror and satisfied that no one would recognize her; she grabbed a small wineskin pouch, stuffed it into a pocket of her robe, and slipped out through the back door of the temple garden.

Once on the street, she inhaled the humid Jerusalem air. A light breeze from the Mediterranean would have been welcome, but the air was stuffy and still. Looking around the square, she took stock of the shops and taverns that were packed with people this evening. Slaves and their owners were making merry. By the time the ceremonial procession would begin tomorrow, most of them would be drunk, for it didn't look like anyone was in a hurry to go home.

The High Priestess knew whom she wanted to find, one whose seed was virile and who was still relatively sober. She smiled to herself, as if tonight such a creature would be easy to find. Quickly, she walked away from the square to search the narrow meandering streets of her city. She strode forward brusquely, carefully assessing the faces of strangers as she walked. To everyone else, she looked like a common acolyte, hurrying on some temple errand. The farther she walked from the temple, the quieter the revelry and the sparser the number of taverns.

Passing in front of a modest establishment, she stopped. What made her notice him? He was handsome, but was sitting alone, hunched over his cups. Perhaps it was the white scarf around his broad shoulders. The blue stripes on both ends identified him as a Hurian. The High Priestess frowned unhappily.

The followers of the male god had invaded her land with their cattle, seduced her people with blasphemy, and were growing in number, severely undermining the rule of the true creator of life. Violent and loud, they caused riots in cities and villages, and disturbed the peace of her nation.

The women, whose consorts rejected the Goddess, complained about the new rules they suddenly had to live by. It saddened the High Priestess that her daughters—for she thought of them as such—didn't punish their men, but bent like willows to keep the peace in their households. She understood that whenever practical matters clashed with spiritual doctrines, the practical came out the winner. The need to feed their children, to keep a roof over everyone's heads, to care for livestock and plow the fields, superseded religious concerns.

However, it pained her to see how, in recent years, many women had been thrown out of their homes to face poverty on the streets, or forced to join the few remaining temples scattered throughout the city as beggars. She hosted many such guests at her own sanctuary. Women, who no longer trusted their mates to protect them, had no other place to go. Her flock was not organized militarily, and thanks to the newcomers, the Goddess, along with Her followers, was being displaced by the new barbarian faith in the one male god.

The High Priestess might not have been able to right all the wrongs she witnessed, but that didn't mean she should sit back and do nothing.

"Yes, this Hurian would do nicely," she decided.

As she moved forward, a crooked smile brightened her lovely features. She approached him from behind and tapped his shoulder, before coming around to slip into an empty seat beside him. The Hurian recognized the robes of the Acolyte of Mysteries, and grunted in apparent displeasure.

"Drinking alone on such a night as this?" she said with easy banter, as she pulled her mask down, leaving it to hang around her neck like a piece of jewelry.

The Hurian eyed her suspiciously as he muttered an unintelligible greeting under his breath.

"No need to be grumpy," she said with a laugh.

Moving her body closer to the man, she revealed both the wineskin and her long legs. "I have some wine here, and no one to share it with. Everyone is busy preparing for tomorrow's feast. My chores are done, and I don't mind sharing a cup with you before I return to my quarters."

The man licked his lips appreciatively, as his eyes shifted from the acolyte's legs to the wine. Yes, he wanted her, she could tell that. She saw his mind working, searching for an excuse to suspend his newly acquired beliefs for a few hours. It wouldn't change matters much. Tomorrow he would return to the destructive new faith, but tonight he wished to convince himself that there was no harm in spending the night with a beautiful woman, even one who served the archenemy of his god.

Judging that the moment was just right, the High Priestess threw back her cloak, revealing bare shoulders bisected by the leather straps of her dress. The Hurian's eyes took in her large breasts and shapely form, as she poured some of her strong vintage into a clay cup. Not too much. She didn't want him passing out in the tavern. Without taking his eyes off her beauty, the man brought the wine to his lips. He emptied his cup in two gulps.

"Very good," thought the High Priestess. She knew that soon she would compel him to follow her.

Time passed quickly in talk about trivial things, and when she saw the muscles of his face relax, and his broad shoulders lost the guarded tension he carried with him like a wooden shield, the High Priestess rose to her feet, and said, "Walk with me, Hurian. It's time I got back."

She didn't stop to see if he followed her. The legs of his chair made a scraping sound against the stone floor when he pushed himself to his feet, confirming what she already knew. Moving gracefully, the High Priestess gave him a moment to catch up with her. He was taller than her by a couple of inches, she noted as they walked side by side. His hair was dark, long, and wavy. His green eyes sparkled from the spiked wine. She had the impression that he was concealing a true part of himself; his features were set in hard lines, his stubborn chin jutted forward.

"I know your arts, Acolyte," he mouthed roughly. "I have no money to give you. I spent it all in the tavern."

"Would you pay me with pleasure?" she asked, looking pointedly at his crotch.

The Hurian blinked in disbelief, taken aback by her boldness. He knew why the temple women required payment. That was one of the ways they supported themselves. They also used the coin to feed the hungry and to fund public and private rituals.

"Why would you offer me anything without exacting your dues?" he asked.

"Not everything is measured with silver," she said.

Seeing him scowl, she quickly added, "We acolytes are expected to learn the arts of lovemaking, but there aren't enough men who come to the temple these days. The senior adepts get the first pick, while I'm left to watch lessons from behind a screen. It's hard to gain in practice that way."

Sensing his obvious distrust, she wrapped her arm around his waist and pressed her body to his, as if to lean on him for support. Not giving him time to ponder her argument, she steered him toward a narrow passageway, a shortcut she often used when she prowled the city alone. This time, the Hurian didn't resist, and soon they reached the private door of her garden.

The High Priestess inserted a key into the metal latch, unlocking it quickly. She let the man enter ahead of her, then shut the door securely once they were both inside.

The Hurian looked around curiously. The inner sanctum of the Goddess was not open to the public. This part of the massive structure was reserved for the High Priestess and her personal servants. Only the Acolytes of Mysteries were allowed occasional visits.

Throughout the space, soft lanterns glowed with yellow lights. Incense burners on tall poles exuded aromas pleasing to the senses, and painted scenes of sacred rights decorated the inner walls of the garden. A marble bathing pool was in the middle, framed by benches strewn with comfortable cushions. The well-worn flagstones were laid out in some sort of a pattern that he couldn't discern. A large cedar chest stood to one side. Next to it, there was a polished brass mirror. It was a charming corner of the temple palace, where privacy was assured.

"Whose apartments and gardens are these?" the Hurian asked.

"The High Priestess lives here, but don't be concerned. She'll spend the night sacrificing to the Mother tonight, no doubt, asking Her to bestow blessings on all of us during tomorrow's feast."

"And you?" he asked. "Was it your intent to spend tonight in devotion?"

"I'd rather have you strip and lay down on that couch, face up!" she ordered, pointing to a backless bench. "The Goddess speaks through me. She'll decide what's to be done with you. Tonight, as on all nights, I'm merely Her instrument!"

Her finely chiseled but arrogant features were set with determination. The Hurian swallowed in apprehension or anticipation, he wasn't sure which. He could sense the woman's power as she delivered her words in a low but commanding tone. As he stared at her, riveted to the floor, she cast off her cloak. More than her beauty, he was captivated by the authority that coursed through her being. Knowing that he had no will to resist an embodiment of the Goddess, he suddenly felt timid. Even an upstart god, who elevated himself above the natural law, couldn't empower the Hurian in this palace, for that deity held no sway in this garden.

As if in a daze, the Hurian began to undress with fumbling fingers. He let his uniform fall to the flagstones. All the while, his attention was on the striking figure in front of him. Dimly aware that his cock was erect, he waited for her next orders, while she stood imperiously a few short paces from him, with her legs planted firmly apart and her arms crossed in front of her ample bosom.

It wasn't that long since he had forsaken the old beliefs. Remembering his manners, the Hurian sank to his knees, his body and mind easing into a familiar attitude. He knew that he was meant to serve, to obey and to please. How best to accomplish that wasn't up to him.

The High Priestess admired his muscular male form. The ridges of his stomach and powerful legs spoke of hard work. She didn't miss that he had a beautiful phallus, thick with its bulbous head. It was already sporting a pearl of precum at the tip. Most likely, he was from some desert tribe. She didn't waste time speculating about which one, but sprang into action as if she were suddenly unleashed by an invisible force. Crossing the distance between them in two long strides, she grabbed his hair, fisting it tight at the nape of his head.

"Tell me, is there a woman who owns you?"

"My woman disappeared in a riot, a month ago." Seeing her eyes flash with anger, he hurried to explain. "There was such confusion. People clashed with armed soldiers, and many were killed. We got separated in the crowd. I've been searching for Estma ever since." The man swallowed uncertainly, then continued: "Hurians offered me wages. I guard their grain storage during the day, and at night I look for my Estma...." His rambling explanation trailed off into silence.

The High Priestess narrowed her eyes, causing his stomach to roll with dread. She had found him drinking in a tavern, he suddenly realized, not searching for Estma, as he was trying to convince her. But she saw right through him. His excuses were shallow and self-serving. He failed to protect the woman who entrusted herself to his safekeeping, and he betrayed the Goddess by joining the false faith.

The Hurian's face crumbled under her scrutiny. He knew that his sins were grave, that he was a useless male, who drowned his failings in wine.

"You are unworthy to ever serve a woman again," she said with an ominous sneer.

The Hurian lowered his gaze in a futile attempt to hide his disgrace. He would have prostrated himself at her feet, had she loosened her grip on his hair. But she did not.

"Pathetic as you may be, I'll yet give you a choice," the beautiful woman declared, measuring out each word. "The Goddess Herself must have steered me to you. You'll sacrifice what is most precious to you! You'll submit to a burdizzo tonight." Ignoring his gasp, she continued: "Or you can choose the castration knife. The first is slow and torturous; the second is fast but more painful. Choose! If the Goddess is merciful, you will survive."

The Hurian froze in terror. He knew he couldn't escape the garden with its high stone walls, and he also knew that he would never use his muscular bulk against a female. The city and villages would riot again if it became known that an Acolyte of Mysteries was strong-armed in the Mother's own sanctuary! Although he served the Hurians, even becoming one of them, he couldn't bring misery to so many people.

"Goddess," he whispered, certain that it was She who embodied the acolyte, "I will take the burdizzo..., and hope for Your infinite mercy."

Without a word, She let go of his hair and motioned him to the couch, making certain the Hurian lay down facing the sky. His chest rose and fell as he gulped the night air, his eyes moist with unshed tears. Two opposing instincts fought for control of his mind. One shouted, "Flee!" The other whispered, "Submit!"

Too late, he realized, when She snapped the last restraints around his ankles. Fervently, he prayed to the Mother to take pity on him, calling on his household gods for protection, and even beseeching the male god. But all was in vain.

His prayers unanswered, the Hurian craned his neck to watch what the Goddess was doing. From his prone position, he saw that She was rummaging through the cedar chest, seeking the tool She wanted. When She turned to him, holding a burdizzo in Her hands, he lost all the wine he had drunk that evening. Humiliated by such a display of weakness, he turned his face away, his cheeks becoming a bright crimson. He knew how pitiful he must appear to Her, a soldier whose courage was no greater than that of a helpless child.

After staring at him for a moment with a look full of disdain, She placed the burdizzo on top of the cedar chest and walked to the edge of the pool. Retrieving two large lota* bowls that stood next to the marble steps, She filled them to the brim with water. Then, returning to the Hurian, She paid no heed to his babbled apologies or his burning mortification as She poured the water over his lower body, one bowl after another, until both he and the couch were clean. Delicately wrinkling her nose, She said to no one in particular, "Good enough...."

Setting the lota bowls down on the floor, She leaned over his body. Slowly, She trailed her fingertips across his pelvis as his hips arched off the bench to meet Her caress. But She was having none of that. With one hand, She pressed her palm to his belly, pushing him down, while Her other hand ran up and down the length of his manhood.

Against all reason, given the position he was in, the Hurian felt his cock getting harder. For long minutes, She pinched and raked Her nails over his sensitive flesh, while he thrummed with excitement, moaning at both Her soft and Her prickly touches. More than anything, he wanted the beautiful Goddess to continue with Her playful teasing. Determined to show Her his unquestioning obedience, he forced himself to remain still. After a while, he lifted his head to gaze at Her longingly, even lovingly, as if he wanted to stamp Her features into his memory forever. If only he could hold Her attention, She might forget about the burdizzo that lay waiting on top of the chest.

She had her own rhythm as her fingers explored his shoulders, his chest, his inner thighs, even his lips, now and then giving equal attention to his nipples and balls. Raking her nails over the sensitive skin of his shaft, She made his cock quiver up and down, like the head of a pigeon quick to pick up crumbs before a rival bird gobbled them up.

"Please! Please don't stop!" he begged in a croaky whisper.

They both knew why he whimpered, so unabashed in his pleading.

She took Her time, running Her hands all over his body, as he savored every sensation, shuddering and panting.

"The Goddess may still spare me," he hoped.

But no sooner did the thought cross his mind than She locked Her intense eyes on his, and declared, "It's time!"

As he watched Her walk over to the chest to retrieve the burdizzo, he flew into such a visceral panic that he could only express it with a wild, beastly wail. At the mere sight of the monstrous contraption, he broke into a sweat that covered his skin like a sheath, before sliding down the crack of his ass.

In desperation, the Hurian flailed his arms, but the restraints held him tight. Like his prayers, this effort was of no use to him.

The Goddess ignored him, gripping his testicles firmly, while She wiggled the clamps in place, positioning them close to the root of his shaft. Once satisfied, She let go of his balls and pressed the long handles together. The pincers snapped shut around the loose skin of his scrotum, cutting off the flow of blood. Only when She was done did She raise Her head to look into the Hurian's face.

He was beside himself with arousal and fear. If anyone had said to him earlier that tonight he would be bound in a Goddess's temple, with a burdizzo pinching his balls, he would have laughed till he choked. But these were fleeting, useless thoughts, intruding on his concentration as he watched Her pull up a chair to sit close beside him. Gently, She brushed his clammy hair back from his forehead and cheeks.

"What's your name, Hurian?" She asked, as if She had casually run into him at the market—as if his testicles were not gripped by the meanest instrument forged by the smiths—as if his cock were not painfully engorged, threatening to explode!

"Simon," he replied through parched lips.

"That's a good name. It means 'She heard.' The Goddess listens to our prayers. She gives men the gift of her seed, and She gives women the gift of life itself. Never forget that, Simon, and never betray the Mother again!"

Simon, a pathetic servant to the Hurians and their male god, could only nod his quivering chin. If he had any response to give, it would likely get stuck in his throat.

The Goddess was instructing Simon through the mouth of the High Priestess, who told him about life's mysteries, Her Creation, the first Woman, the abundant Earth, and the many animals that inhabit it.

He was mesmerized by Her voice, transported to some peaceful place where his body floated, weightless.