Astra caught sight of her reflection for a moment in the clear waters of the fountain in the Abby courtyard, the ripples made from the water pouring out of the vessel in the statue of Iona’s arms making her already somewhat ethereal features seem more otherworldly. “Godstouched” the sisters called her, her flesh blessed in the womb, one that brings light to the world. Wasn’t that why she’d taken orders at the abby? To serve The Lady of Waters and be the good that washed over the world, a salve for the wounds made by the wicked and unjust? Mother Superior said it was a calling, a Great Purpose, yet Astra didn’t feel anything of the sort. She sat upon the stone lip of the fountain’s basin, watching the gentle bustle of the other sisters, each and every face alight with contentment. They found their purpose in the tasks of the community, the toil of the abby’s gardens that would feed those in need, the endless hours in the hospice, holding the hands of the stricken, closing wounds, cooling fevers, washing the mortal soil from the bedclothes, all of them at peace with their good works. So why wasn’t she content? All of this was for the greater good and she, Godstouched, was good, wasn’t she? Ever since she had come to the seclusion of this convent Astra had attended her duties with a devotion that to most seemed fervent, but the careful observer might call it desperate. In her, deep in her, there was something waiting, growing restless, making the bones of her itch. What was it, what more did she need to find this purpose everyone else seemed to possess?
She splashed her fingers through her reflection, rising and swallowing her bitterness as she stood, hands smoothing her novitiate robe, the rough woven cotton tugging at her fingers. Astra turned her back to the fountain, head lowered as she took a steadying breath, preparing herself for another day of pious work and hoping, no, begging that maybe at last she would feel what the others felt. Then, just behind her, there was a sussorus, as of the sounds of skirts rustling.
“My, aren’t you the hungry one” the voice was deep, soft, and rich, feminine, yet not, inviting, yet at the same time tinged with a cruelty and callousness that raised the fine hairs on the back of Astra’s neck. She whirled, eyes starting wide at the image that confronted her. In the place on the fountain ledge she had just occupied was a woman, dress all in red, fine silks and brocades clinging to her slender body in every shade of red one could conceive. Even her hands seemed clad in long gloves of dark crimson, the slender fingers of one trailing through the clear waters of the pool. The eyes turned toward Astra glinted, the irises silver, like new minted coins, a deep mirth flashing in their depths, reflected in the small smirk that tugged suggestively at the corners of her blood red lips. All of the bright color never touched her skin though, pale and cold as marble. She turned towards Astra, the low neckline of her bodice plunging so deeply that the inner curves of her high, firm breasts showed perfectly, every movement graceful…and somehow…predatory.
“E-e-excuse me M’Lady, I-I must not have seen you there…I’ll fetch Mother Superior for you immediately.” Astra turned, hoping her flushed cheeks weren’t as obvious as their burning felt, suddenly confronted by this vision, thinking her some noblewoman here to ease her conscience of the burdens of her decadence by donation or perhaps some tolken service.
“Why? I am not here because she called, I am here for you my sweet Astra” the voice purred, halting Astra in her tracks, her face turning back, eyes wide in shock and puzzlement.
“M-m-me?”
“Who else? Who else in this…” and here the woman gazed about the courtyard with the condescension of the truly superior…”this place, could possibly interest me?”
“But…but I am nobody M’lady. I think you must be mistaken.”
“You are nobody, but I am not mistaken, not in this” the woman stood, moving towards Astra, one hand slightly outstretched, as if touching the air before her, stroking currents, or conducting music only she could feel or hear.
“Well, I think you have this time, I do not know who you are, or how you came to be here, but I think it best if you left, immediately, before I call the abby porters and have you removed!” Astra drew herself up, the way this woman had dismissed her having rankled, her head tossing slightly, her long, shimmering white hair flicking as she stood upon her dignity.
“No, I don’t think so” the laugh in the words blew all of the confidence being “Godstouched” from Astra, leaving her once more flustered, uncertain. The woman began to circle her slowly, eyes wandering up and down, assessing, weighing, stripping away. Astra turned in place to follow her movements, feeling another flush steal up her neck and cheeks, feeling suddenly bare, naked in an awful, full, and complete way she had never known.
“If you do not leave this moment, I shall scream!”
“By all means, if it will make you feel any better” the woman glanced about briefly, the pale column of her throat for some reason making Astra’s breath catch in her throat. “It won’t do any good however, as I’ve made certain we won’t be interrupted.” Astra’s gaze followed the path The Lady’s had taken, and at first she could not see it but then, then noticed the sisters about their tasks as if neither of them were there. All about her, the life of the abby continued to move around them, but seemed separated, cut off, all of the familiar figures oblivious to Astra and the vision that was The Lady.
“Now then, to business shall we? I have heard you calling out to me, and I have blessed you beyond measure by answering…”
“Called you?…”
“Yes, now don’t interrupt” the full lips poured in a small gesture of displeasure and Astra found herself fall silent. “Your desire called me, my sweet child, the sweet aching within you, this need of yours for…Purpose. It consumes you so completely and it has been far too long since I’ve felt such exquisite need from one of your kind.” The tone was superior, the look on The Lady’s face smug…and hungry.
“I don’t know what you mean, I-I have found my purpose here.”
“We both know the lie of that.” Circling, ever circling, Astra revolved as The Lady paced round and round her, those silver coin eyes digging into her, bright and sharp, burrowing deep into flesh and bone and down, oh down, deep down into the innermost heart of her.
“I am here to do good, to use the light within me for the good of all.” Even as she said them, Astra could hear the hollowness in the words.
“Good is just a force. One of many. It pushes and pulls, gaining ground or ceding it to its opposite, evil. Each must exist, defining the other by the very force it exerts. But it is, in the end, a force, and lacks its own direction. Do you really want your life to be driven by something that has no heed of itself, let alone you?”
“I just…I just want to know…to know what it is I am meant for.”
“You can be ‘meant’ for anything you choose, and that is the proposition I bring, that of choice.” The Lady circled closer, one hand still strumming the air, but closer than before, as if seeking out Astra and Astra found that at one and the same time herself both craving and repulsed the thought of that hand upon her.
“What choice?”
“To be the hand behind the scenes, to be the point around which things move, all the great cogs of the universe, the stings that pull and the levers that push, to be the will moving the forces into their proper channels. I offer you the chance to be the catalyst, a giver of Purpose.” The circling stopped suddenly, The Lady in front of Astra, dangerously close, the small, secret smile hovering about the corners of her mouth, as if at a jest only she could see or understand.
“And how…how do I make this choice?” Astra’s mouth was dry as she spoke. Her pulse seems of a sudden to be a hammer pounding at the prison of her veins, thudding hard and fast im the hollow of her throat. She tried to swallow but found she could not. Even before The Lady spoke she knew the answer, she knew she had given it by the half step she had made forward without thinking, knew the answer and both feared and wanted it.
“It is simplicity itself.” The red fingered hand rose, the extended forefinger glistening…oh gods, not gloves, not covered in silk or satin but bright, fresh blood…”all you must do to be free my child, to move the whole of creation, is to give yourself to me.” The finger brushed Astra’s lips and she could taste salt and copper. A shudder of revulsion or pleasure, she could not tell which, not any longer, ran through her body, taught as the string of a bow. Closer, closer, The Lady pressed forward, bloody fingers caressing Astra’s pale cheek, leaving behind pink streaks…”that is all I ask, is for you, my sweet, give everything you are to me and I will give you Purpose”
Astra felt her body at the brink of some terrible precipice, the world around her fading away until there was only the crimson and white of The Lady, the hard silver eyes, the weapon of her mouth, the scent of musk and bitter herbs that perfumed her skin and breath. There was that ache in her, no longer dull but bright and sharp, dragging across the whetstone of her need. Her breath was ragged, her eyes flickering side to side, the prey caught in a trap of its own devising.
“Will you my sweet, will you give yourself to me?” The lips that whispered the words were but a hair’s breadth from her skin, breath hot and soft in her ear.
“Yes…”
“Then I shall take you”
The Lady moved swiftly behind Astra, her mouth pressing to Astra’s skin just below the lobe of her ear, teeth dimpling the flesh, flesh that was suddenly on fire, every nerve and fiber alight, burning brightly, the bloody hands moved to Astra’s shoulders, pulling the simple robe off and down, their hunger ushering it down Astra’s body, over the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips, falling in a pool a her feet. With a suddenness, she was naked in the Abby courtyard, trembling like a leaf in a strong wind. Her nipples stiffened, the flesh contracting, becoming so hard they hurt, making her whimper, making her nearly sob but only because the pain itself felt so very good.
The Lady’s hands seemed everywhere at once, and everywhere they touched was fire, as if the tips of her fingers were hot wires able to touch Astra more completely than any other. There was nothing of her that was not exposed to The Lady’s terrible hunger, no nook or cranny she did not plumb. Astra felt the movement of one hand down her belly, fingers creeping lower and lower, anticipation mixing with abject horror as Astra felt her hips angle outwards, shoulders resting against the only constant in this new universe, her legs shaking as they opened, offering…
Slick fingers burrowed between delicately folded flesh, blood mingling with honey. Astra’s back arched, breath a captive, wild thing in her throat, the wicked fingertips pulling pleasure out of her like theives, her womanhood aching in a need like she had never felt, hips now grinding upwards, needing to be nearer those delicious fingers the hand that wanted her, the hand that owned her, giving herself, giving, giving, and giving again.
She felt herself entered, felt herself completed in a way both wonderful and terrifying, the mouth on her neck biting deep now, holding her, it’s pretty, holding her at the mercy of the hands that took, that reached in and took everything she had. Astra writhed in the arms of The Lady, a pure whiteness becoming stained with slippery red, her heaving breasts painted over with dripping crimson that ran like the tears down her cheeks. Her body was like an open wound The Lady dug deep within, taking the insides of her. Astra felt herself thrusting, felt the hard heel of that predatory hand pressed against her hood, the fingers inside her making a motion of beckoning and her hips answered, her muscles clenching down tightly, squeezing round the invaders, but only holding them in tighter, even wanting them deeper. Now that the giving had begun, it was all she wanted, to give over and be empty.
With a suddenness that was blinding, Astra felt every muscle in her snap taut, her body a perfect arc, her shoulders against The Lady, the balls of her feet on stone but all else just describing a line in space of extasy, the curve of a wave she was at the very peak of. Yet this wave didn’t crash, there was no release, just a new, endless instant of being caught and pinned by brutal pleasure. Into the thunder of the blood in her ears Astra heard The Lady speak, the words as beautiful and terrible as naked swords:
“To whom do you belong?” There was a hand at her throat, the fingers bands of steel, and in that moment they would permit only one response, only one. Astra struggled, clawing for her voice, even as her being convulsed once more in spasms of lust…
“To whom do you belong”
“To…”
“To whom do you belong?!?”
“To you…”
“TO WHOM DO YOU BELONG?!?!?!”
The words thundered in Astra’s ears and her response was ripped raw and bleeding from her throat…
“TO YOU, OH, TO YOU MY QUEEN!!!!”
…and then…she was falling, her body bereft of strength, newborn weak as she sagged to her knees, arms at her sides in a posture like a child’s discarded doll. She could still feel The Lady behind her, feel her presence in her mind as well and knew it would be there always, The Lady within her forever and ever, closer than any possible lover. Astra sobbed, spent, afraid but at the same time so satiated, so very complete in the emptiness left in the wake of The Lady’s taking.
“Oh, you will be one of my very favorites” fingers caressed Astra’s shoulders gently, tracing down the blades…”and for what you gave me, a small gift in return, so that you may more swiftly serve my purpose.”
Then there was pain, where she had nothing but pleasure before, Astra howled in agony as those fingers opened her flesh, pushing into her, violating the sanctity of her body, moving muscle, rewiring nerve, sculpting bone, fingers curled within, pulling, tearing, tearing slivers of her bath soul. With a shriek of triumph, The Lady jerked her hands from within Astra, pulling forth wings, bright and silvered but still streaked over with new blood. For a moment they stood, flared, as Astra screamed her agony, head thrown back in pure, animal pain, howling until there was no sound and her throat tasted of blood and ashes. This last was too much and she slumped, head forward, near to the cobbles at her feet, strands of her white hair hanging limp, or clinging to her sweat and tear stained cheeks.
Sharp bootheels clicked as The Lady strode around to her front, bending low, one fingertip lifting Astra’s chin, her eyes gazing up into those cruel, silver coins above her.
“You are so very beautiful my child, and you will move the whole world for me, my power is upon you and you are my hand that pulls the strings.” She raised her dainty, terrible hand and a drop of blood welled to the tip, falling downwards to strike Astra’s brow, leaving a single, bright red splatter between her eyes. “Rise now and BE your Puropse”…and with that last, and one further, throaty, satisfied laugh, The Queen All In Red vanished, leaving nothing but the faint sussorus of skirts.
Astra slowly stood, her legs quaking, her movements like a fawn first learning to stand. She looked about her, the world becoming real once more, asserting itself into her mind. All about her there was a circle of faces, expressions of shock, of horror, the backs of hands pressed to lips. There was something almost comical in the way they looked, as if the limits of reason had been reached but the human face couldn’t express it, that these simple woman, confronted with the naked, newly winged form of one of their sisters just couldn’t not respond with anything more than the banality of scandalized affront.
They were nothing though, not any more. Now she had Purpose, and her Queen. She looked at the plain, paper bag faces around her and laughed, her wings flexing, yearning for sky. She leapt into the bright blue of that morning, naked and fresh and full of everything she had ever wanted. Far below, they all watched as a new, bloody-winged angel left them all behind.
beautifulimposter 
A Lost Art
Posted in Fun stuff, Journal, Prose, Social Commentary with tags adult fun and games, childhood, experience, growing up, innocence, kissing, making out, petting, Sex, things overlooked, things we forget on November 1, 2015 by beautifulimposterI miss making out. Not just because I don’t have anyone physically in my life at the moment to make out with. I have someone with whom I would very much like to in point of fact, but that current circumstances prevent such delightful intimacy. It’s not just that though, it’s the fact that even within the context of a romantic relationship at a certain point I think we kind if stop making out. Once we have “grown up” and have had a few partners it seems, in my experience at least, that any initiation of kissing and petting just leads to sex. It’s almost a foregone conclusion, like we somehow get into the mindset that it has to go all the way all of the time.
I get that to a certain extent. When you’re younger, making out is your baby steps, how you learn the wonders and joys and in some cases mortifying embarrassment of sex. It’s that first toe so to speak in the deep and mysterious waters of being with another person, exploring an uncharted, unknown continent with nervous, sweaty, fumbling hands. There were limits, because either you, or your partner, or both weren’t ready yet to just dive in. There were also practical reasons, like adults being around and frowning on the same things they used to get up to for some reason I’ve never been able to understand. All of that though kind of goes away after a while. We all get to that point where we get at least somewhat comfortable with our desires, we know what we want and roughly how to go about doing it and so, when there is opportunity and we’ve confirmed everyone is willing, there’s no need to stop. Why make yourself suffer that agony of boiling, nearly violent frustration when you have someone perfectly willing to give and get that release right?
There’s something to be said for that. I mean, I remember very clearly spending HOURS in my bedroom with my first girlfriend, laying on my bed, lips chapped, jaws aching, various bits rubbing together and possibly getting rub burn. By the end of one of our marathons, no matter how sublimely enjoyable I would, walking her home, have to walk very, very delicately to in no way show how much pain I was in from having an erection for what amounted to half a shift of a work day without it serving its intended purpose. Now, here is where I’m going to point out, I’m not trying to garner any sympathy with this, I’m just relating the facts, it bloody fucking hurt like I’d been kicked in the groin. I’m sure my girlfriend endured similar discomforts, was aching just as badly, but I can only faithfully report my particular symptoms. Bottom line being, while making out was definitely a great deal of fun, it did get us both worked up and wanting more and why put yourself through that when you don’t have to?
Because it is fun, that’s why. Because it does leave you wanting more, and that anticipation can make any future coupling that much more intense. Because sometimes it is still such a wonderful thing to let your hands roam over your lover’s body without urgency, just loving the feel of them, savoring it without that finish line of fucking barreling down on you. It has kind of made me both sad and wistful over the years that just making out kind of gets put aside with all the rest of youth, often gets viewed as something childish and not becoming of an adult. I think we get it into our heads that once we are grown ups, we have to be that all of the time and that something like making out almost becomes beneath our dignity.
That’s such a shame to me though. I love the thought of laying on the couch with my girl, a movie on so we can at least pretend we were watching, kissing with just that perfect amount of tongue, the kind of kissing you can keep up forever, no sprinting, all long distance, the air full of the soft sounds of wetness and lip smacking and the whispering rustling of hands over clothes and clothes against each other. Something languorous, lazy, sensual, even playful. It could lead to more, or it could just settle back down into cuddling, only to start back up again, or it could just as easily lead to falling asleep together. That to me is my idea of heaven.
Unfortunately, at least in my relationships, once that ball got rolling it inevitably ended up being naked and needing to clean up. I am not going to speak for anyone else out there, but in talking with others of like vintage to myself, this seems to be a fairly common state of affairs. Well, I for one think making out should in fact be re-instituted to its rightful place in the roster of adulting fun and games. If you’re lucky enough to have someone to do it with in your life right now, give it a try. There is something to be said for reclaiming a bit of lost innocence and delayed gratification.
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