Erotic Fiction
The Temple
Four women, one Goddess, and so many men.
DEMA
She’s round, full, and stunning in the night sky. Brightening the landscape with sepia tones, the moon lights our path tonight. The scent of leaves burning is almost overpowering, mixed with eucalyptus and sage. Smoldering before the temple, smoke reaching the heavens. My body tingles in anticipation of the ceremony commencing inside and I can’t wait any longer. The night air is cool against my exposed curves, only a slip of silk covering my body. I feel a tightening low in my body, desire fueling the warmth from within. I know my sisters are already in place, I can feel their power emanating from the opening to our temple, our home. It’s time to begin.
History has it wrong, as so often is the case. It’s not the men who choose, but the priestesses of the temple. At least once in their lifetime, the men of our island must present themselves to us, waiting to be chosen by temple ascendants for a night of lust and power building. Not the power of the male, but the power of the women dedicated to the goddess imbued within these walls. The ritual requires each male in attendance to submit gold to the temple upon entering, which in turn is used by the priestesses when choosing their mate for the night. The gold remains with the temple in the end, but is a powerful motivator for the males wishing to be chosen by a goddess on earth.
The temple can hold upwards of twenty men, along with the four priestesses ever present. Tonight, we’re at capacity, as men, young and old have traveled in the hopes they’ll be chosen. We can take one or many, and dictate how the encounter plays out. All choices are ours, the men here to do our bidding. As I enter the temple, I can smell the desire of the men inside, their heads bowed in supplication, on their knees, praying for a chance. Yaja, Ennana, and Katri await me, my sisters, goddesses in their own rights. I am Dema, head priestess of the Temple of Aphrodite, ready to choose first as is my right.
As I enter the temple, the men stand at attention in more ways than one. With hips swaying in the cool night air, I check the collection of gold and smile. The men of our island are ripe with need this night, our coffers have never been this full. And why wouldn’t they be? The chance to lay with a goddess, to have a once in a lifetime experience, not only encouraged but required as a sacrifice to the goddess who blesses our land with her lust. It’s the ultimate gift and they’ve tried to be worthy of it.
The temple altar is awash in the glow of the moon from the opening in the cupola, surrounded by flowers and herbs, and my sisters awaiting their turn to choose. Linens have been laid across the altar for comfort, oils available for pleasure. As I walk around the room, using every sense while making my choice, I feel the power building at my core. My hunger is insatiable, but I’ll do my best to settle it before long.
I never choose less than two men for these feasts. Reaching out to my first choice, Heto, I drop a coin at his feet and command him to wait, while I search for my second. I’ll take them together and maybe, if they’re lucky, I’ll allow them to take me as well. Finding my second lover for the evening, Leto, I drop another coin. Sliding behind my second lover, I take his ass in my palms as he bends down to retrieve the coin, squeezing and slapping the globes in anticipation. He starts, wondering where this night will take him.
Taking both my choices by the hand, I lead them to the altar. Everyone is watching as I slide out of the slip of silk that barely covered my luscious curves. The men kneel before me, before the altar, and await my command. The men of the island talk, as men are wont to do, and they’re aware of my proclivities.
My sisters help me onto the altar, settling into the cushion of the linens. Spreading my thighs, exposing my center, I command Leto to pleasure me. He bends at the waist, using hands, fingers, and tongue to probe my wet center. Heto remains kneeling, awaiting his turn. I lean into my sister, Yaja, and ask her to give him a bottle of oil.
“Massage him, everywhere you can reach, while he pleasures me.”
As Heto drips the oil down Leto’s back, I can see it move downward to the full ass I clutched earlier. Heto sees my eyes roving and swipes the oil across Leto’s cheeks, running his hand down the middle. Leto tenses for a moment, but is easily drawn back to my honeyed center, knowing that my pleasure is paramount. Heto probes deeper into Leto’s body, pressing him further into me in the process. Watching the men gain pleasure from one another raises my desire, causing me to move my hips in time with the fingers I know are exploring Leto as his fingers explore me.
Pulling Leto up my body, I slide closer to the edge of the altar and command him to penetrate me. Heto continues his ministrations behind Leto, using his other hand to keep his engorged penis at attention.
“Heto, you know what I want.”
Nodding, Heto covers his member in oil, gently probing Leto from behind, as Leto drives himself into me. When Heto is encased by Leto’s body to the hilt, he begins to slowly draw himself in and out, keeping time with Leto’s strokes into my body. The sight of the two men together, while I’m being pleasured as well drives my desire over the edge. With Yaja on one side of me, pinching my rosy nipples, and Katri on the other side, doing the same, Ennana leans over me, gripping my chin as she kisses me deeply. Surrounded by goddess energy, I gush my orgasm onto the altar, as I hear the men cry out at the same time.
YAJA
I can still feel the light of the full moon on the back of my neck, as I felt it before we entered the temple, almost as if its milk is trickling down my spine. I have already taken off my shift, just before we began the ceremony, and my stomach lurches with hunger. I haven’t eaten all day.
I let Dema’s nipple loll on my tongue before giving it a few gentle, sucking tugs.
She curls her finger at me, motioning me closer. I let her nipple fall out of my mouth with a soft popping sound and raise my head. I smile softly when she whispers something to me, a flush of heat creeping over my cheeks.
I see the other two men who caught her attention over my shoulder and once again, I feel the flush in my face.
Dema motions them over with the same curl of her finger, and whispers to each of them, one by one.
Then they turn to me, touching me gently, a nudge of hand against hand, a set of fingers running from my shoulder to my elbow. Lingering.
We descend onto the pile of furs at the base of the altar. One of them kisses me tenderly, an eager young man, while the other kneads my breast.
As we tangle ourselves across the furs, I can’t help but think of that night early in the spring, when my sisters and I went swimming in the Mêl Llyn, the lake that is under the care of our temple. The water there feels almost syrupy, like honey, which is where it gets its name.
I remember the way it clung to my arms as I made wide, arcing strokes. I remember the way it lapped at me and my sisters as we slid in and out of slippery embraces. I remember the way it flowed down my thighs as I pulled myself to the shore, knotted in a kiss, our bodies as slippery as seaweed.
Our hands stroked one another in gentle rhythms that mimicked the lake tides, just the way the young man between my legs now undulates back and forth inside my body. I remembered the way my limbs melted into the wet shoreline with the rapture of each kiss, just as they now melt into this bed of furs, as my other partner leans over my head from where he kneels, letting his lips move up and down the length of my neck.
Then he slides his thumb into my mouth, and it begins to water when I taste the heavy, thick, sweet honey that clings to it. I suck at it, voracious, my stomach again clenching as the man between my thighs digs his fingers into my flesh, his movements inside me making a juicy, slick sound that has me imagining that same honey inside me, creating a slippery ease in which our swollen flesh can continue its abrading, voluptuous dance.
I’m still lost in the memories of that night at the lake, while simultaneously falling deeper into the present moment. It is as if I can feel my sisters’ fingers and lips at my hard nipples, so cold and puckered from the water, at the same time that I feel the hands of the man kneeling above me fitting his fingers around the curve of my breasts, testing the weight of them in his hands, massaging and squeezing them.
He grasps them firmly as I lift my head off the floor, hearing the increased rhythm of that honey between my legs, luscious and clicking, my thighs splayed apart in exhaustive surrender, just as they had been that night, when lips and lake water lapped at those tender folds of skin. It’s as if I can feel both the tongues of my sisters on me, as well as the driving force of this man’s strong body, and I…I…
I see the stars through the gazing portal in the temple’s roof. Or perhaps those that we painted on its ceiling. My body pulls inward in hard waves and I hear what I call a man’s “song of worship” as my partner collapses over me, as if to surrender into the tightening aperture of my body.
And suddenly, the rapturous coils of energy shift, radiating out of me, instead of pulling inward, and I feel him ease out of my body with a soft exhalation of fluid.
I find myself ravenous for my sisters yet again, that memory of the night at the lake rippling through my body with every echo of the contractions that just overtook me. I made my way onto the altar and stretched out next to Dema, anxious to return to the embrace of the sisterhood, its endless circle of tender, ample flesh that tugs you gently into its rhapsodic cradle.
Her arms around me immediately bring me into that space. It is all she can give me in the moment, being otherwise occupied, but I soon after feel a soft touch against my cheek and look up to see Katri holding a honey cake to my lips. I take it into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue, savoring every second of its sweetness, and the aching gratitude of my hungry belly.
Then she kisses me so sweetly, her own mouth tasting of honey. But she is pulled away from our kiss, the man behind her winding her long, brown hair around his hand, tugging at her, begging for her attention. And I watch her bestow that attention upon him, as I remember the four of us falling asleep on a bed of our cloaks and dresses that night, tangled in a warm knot. I watch her now feed this man another honey cake as I recall the sweet spring sun on our bare breasts and stomachs the next morning and the way Katri had tipped a pink foxglove bud against my lips, wetting my mouth with the few drops of dew that had collected on the edge of its lower petals.
Ennana takes my hand from where she lay, sprawling out like an intoxicated spider and I squeeze it, keeping my eyes on Katri and her lover. And suddenly, my vision blurs a bit as I feel the warmth of a body pressing against mine, and all I see before I close my eyes is a hand crossing over Katri’s chest, the forearm pinning one breast against her body, the hand catching the other breast as it swings forward from the force of her body bending with holy fervency over the altar.
KATRI
He was here, just as I had expected. The silhouette of his long torso was etched in the candlelight of the temple. I had been hunting him for weeks, from the moment our eyes met in the market when I was there to acquire some honey for the cake I always make for our high solstice ritual only a month away. Each week I would return for another ingredient and see him working over the hot flames of the forging fire, lifting metal swords and armor needing repair. Each week our eyes locked and my imagination consumed another part of his strong, wet body. I would imagine my mouth sucking on the nape of his neck, biting hard into his bicep as he thrusted into me. My fingers clenching his thighs, holding him inside of me until the waves of my healing pleasure consumed him. Giving him the release he so desperately needed.
I could have taken him in the field of wildflowers that bordered Mêl Llyn, just beyond the Village. But the sun was hurtling toward its zenith, and my sisters and I had entered into a month of preparation leading into our most important ritual of the year. During this time we were devoted only to the Goddess and each other. We abstained from any unholy flesh as we gathered our healing powers and the necessities for the temple. The Goddess would be careening through our bodies in less than a cycle of the moon now. This is when we relied only on each other for connection to our purpose and the nurturing we needed. Our strength building steadily over long swims in the lake, warm cuddles by the fire at night, and stroking fingers through each other’s hair. By the time Dema picked her first supplicants, our bodies would be raging to serve the Goddess in all her healing glory.
This was the first time I had ever been called to heal a particular man. My sisters had all told me there would be some souls that would call to me specifically. As the newest priestess to the temple, I had yet to feel this pull, until Ronan. His breath was deep and heavy as I approached him. The heat in the sanctuary had risen considerably as Dema, Yaja, and Enanna had moved to the altar with the men chosen to receive the strength of the Goddess from them.
With my first touch across his glistening chest, his body shook. I had never felt so much power coursing through me. Damp, dark curls fell across his brow, his penetrating gaze never leaving mine. He meant to meet my power with his own. I immediately dropped to my knees and took him into my mouth, running my tongue up his hardened shaft. As I consumed all of him he cried out and I ran my fingers along the now dripping folds of my entry. He wasn’t allowed to touch me. First, he had to prove to me that he could receive.
His legs began to shake and he begged to be allowed to touch my hair. I gave him permission as the first taste of salt hit my tongue. I pulled off him, dragging my body over his cock as I rose to kiss him. Letting him discover himself in my mouth. He kissed me with hunger and hiked my body onto his. As I straddled his waist with my legs and turned my attention to the neck I had been craving for so long, he carried me to the altar.
All my senses started to swirl as we approached the slab of marble in the center of the room. My sisters were alight with the power of the mother, taking multiple men at once, but I was consumed with only him. Our journey would be too intense for me to serve any other. He sat me on the cold, smooth surface of the altar. The cool stone gave my body some respite from the heat coursing through me. He raised a cake to my mouth letting the honey run from my lips, down my neck. He ran his fingertips across the honey. Slowly anointing me from my collar bone, over my nipples, and down across my belly, my soft moans began to harmonize with my sisters.
The pressure of his touch consumed me. My legs fell open to welcome him. It was my turn to show him I could receive. As if dropping a pebble in the lake to watch its ripples move through the water, he knelt down to drink from me. His tongue making gentle circles around my clit. I could feel the Goddess rising in me, but this night I wanted to come with him inside of me as the strength of my first release would be the most powerful. I motioned to Ronan to release me so I could settle myself and made my way to Yaja with some honey cake as she lay spent in the arms of Dema. I fed her and kissed her sweet, succulent mouth so we could exchange energy for what was next.
I felt his arm come up my back and wind my hair around his forearm, gently pulling me toward him. I could feel his desperation to be inside of me, to be home in the body of his Goddess, and every part of me began to throb. As his free hand tugged at my breasts from behind and his hot breath rolled over my neck I bent over the altar with one knee upon it, opening myself to him. Without hesitation or resistance, he slid into me with a long thrust. He meant to savor me slowly, prolonging our magic. As our pace quickened he pulled me to him, putting his mouth on mine wanting to fill every opening of my body. His hand dropped from my hair and played my clit while he started to move in me with increasingly more power. Our muffled kisses became louder as we moved into alignment, our bodies moving as one entity. In our deepest moment of service to one another, when we both became divine, we screamed out in a magnificent joy that echoed off the walls of the temple. Every part of my body was shaking as the Goddess moved through me in waves. Tears fell from my eyes as all her love poured out of me and into this man. We crawled on top of the altar. With him still behind me, holding my body tightly to his, I felt his tears fall onto my cheek.
ENNANA
This is the part that has been lost to the ages in many places, the part that has been too long forgotten. These erotic rites initiate healing and restore equilibrium and power. They bring the people back into harmony with the All That Is — the Goddess. Priestesses such as we are, have facilitated this communion for untold millennia. We are the Virgins of the temple.
You may have been taught that a virgin is a woman who is “untouched”, but that is not the original meaning of the word. We are the women who belong to no man, who are autonomous, our only sovereign, the Goddess. The word indicates strength, having the same Latin root as the words virile and virtue. This has nothing to do with sexual chastity. In fact, we are the ones who understand the real power of sexual connection when it is done with intention, respect, and the affection that arises with those things. We know how to confer it’s blessing — to the people, and to our sisters who guard this flame of holy passion. On this auspicious night, in particular, the Goddess lives in us, accessible to the mortals who need her care and healing touch.
To lay with the Goddess through the priestesses who serve Her is to become whole again. Some have said that we are a “fertility cult” but that is missing the mark by a mile. We serve the All That Is, bringer of truth, law, and power as well as sex, love, and procreation. It takes my sisters and I a month to prepare ourselves for the potency of this night, not only because it takes a lot out of us to participate in it, but because we must gather the powers and concentrate them in order for the orgasmic properties to convey all of their impact — and the powers are considerable.
During this time of preparation, we are tender with each other, engaging in kisses and gentle caresses at times, but never anything too stimulating. That energy must be saved up for the ritual we had tonight, but once the throng has gone home, we are often not yet spent and so we spend the next day alone together in the temple, helping each other to release all of the power of the Goddess that has been stored in us. This is no orgy. It too is a sacred ritual of the priestesses of the temple.
One by one, each woman in turn becomes the focus of the others. She lays herself back on a comfortable bed, while the others kiss and caress her. One at her face, stroking her hair, and cheeks while joining lips, either hungrily or gently, depending on what the priestess who is the focus desires. Another sister concentrates on her arms, and torso, but also her breasts, stroking and licking, kissing tenderly or nibbling playfully or more energetically at her nipples, as she desires. The third priestess is mistress of the belly, the legs, and the sacred heart of the Goddess which is accessed through her cunt.
Does the priestess in focus desire slow and gentle laps and massaging fingers of her lower limbs and most tender folds, or does she want her release to come from ravenous feasting and vigorous stimulation? Does she want her cunt, and perhaps her ass as well, to be probed with oiled fingers or does she desire the carved obsidian member that looks just like a real man to help bring her latent energies to the surface in a powerful explosion of bliss? Shall we slide it in and out of her slick entrance slowly and deliberately, or with a feverish passion? What will best serve her needs and desires?
Once the priestess has been satisfied by her three companions, for as often and as long as she requires, we all rest for a bit and have some wine and food. Then we turn our attentions to the next woman until all are satiated and back to themselves after channeling the power of the All That Is. We lay together on a bed of soft cushions after this last part of the rites we have performed, naked and happy in each other’s arms. In many ways, this is my favorite part, to reconnect and minister to each other’s lingering needs before we resume our regular duties.
The passion and excitement of the public spectacle is both intense and gratifying. To see so many forms engaged in pleasure and ecstatic connection never fails to arouse in me a powerful hunger to merge with the divine as well, in this most primal of ways. The men I select for my attentions will get as much of the Goddess within me as I can channel for them, and the happiness it brings to them will nourish both them, and the community at large in the coming days. This is our sacred calling, and I embrace it with willingness and joy. But where I truly find the Goddess for myself is in the aftermath, lying naked with my sisters as we help each other to finish our passionate trajectory and return to our more usual selves.
One strokes the hair of another, or lazily traces her fingers over her mound. One has her head on the thigh of her companion, while another relaxes between her breasts. We share a special bond, which is not always expressed in this way between us but as we bring each priestess to the final climaxes of the solstice and the release of any lingering energies of Her, there is a sacred intimacy that no man can quite touch.
Whether her hips are full or slim, she is still the Goddess. Whether her breasts are voluptuous or not, whether her nipples are broad and brown or pointed and pink, she is perfection. She may want gentle massage and kisses to bring her energies to the full, or she may desire more ardent ministrations that echo the high energy of the previous night. Whatever she desires, we will give to her, coaxing forth her cries with our mouths and our hands, but also with our passion for the healing, nurturing, electric, invigorating, elemental energy of the Goddess that we serve. She is the The All That Is, and when we are together in this way, having given this gift to the people, we now give it back to each other as well, and it is divine!
© Demeter Delune Yael Wolfe Valentine Martin Elle Beau ❇︎ 2021
