6 comments/ 10772 views/ 13 favorites A Priestess of Isis Ch. 01 By: MissPrim This story will talk 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 A Priestess of Isis. "People in general know not what wickedness there is in this pretended word of God. Brought up in habits of superstition, they take it for granted that the Bible is true, and that it is good; they permit themselves not to doubt of it, and they carry the ideas they form of the benevolence of the Almighty to the book which they have been taught to believe was written by his authority. Good heavens! it is quite another thing, it is a book of lies, wickedness, and blasphemy." ― Thomas Paine, The Age of Reason ***** Chapter One—The First Lesson The neon light hanging in the window over her table threw red into her dark hair. The tousled mess twisted loosely on the top of her head. Improbably it held together by those stick thingies women often use. I never understood how those worked. She eyed me with a casual indifference, those round brown orbs sweeping from waist to my hair and sighed. Her hands fumbled in her purse, a large black bag, until she drew out what she wanted. Cigarettes. "If you don't like the drink, I'll order something else for you," I said. I looked at the untouched whiskey and soda, a duplicate of her first drink. I shouldn't have done this, buy a drink for a woman I didn't know for so many reasons. One was the bill on my dorm room desk demanding one hundred dollars I didn't have. The bursar's office had miscalculated my student aid. The other was my girlfriend, Christine, a girl of good moral values who wouldn't understand why her boyfriend would send a drink to a strange woman. But I did send it and what's more invited myself to sit at her table, my ice tea in hand. She didn't object. But she didn't welcome me either. She scoffed, and lit her cig with a flick of a disposable lighter, sucking in the smoke like she was gasping for oxygen. "You people have no idea how good you have it," she said. Smoke wafted around her. It seemed a shame to have such a pretty face marred with such a disgusting habit. "Those will kill you," I said. "And it's illegal to smoke here." She took another draw and jammed the half-smoked stick into her first empty glass. "I'm not dead yet." She chuckled as if telling herself a joke. A guy can see when he's not wanted. And it's not like I didn't have better waiting for me. If Orson hadn't asked me to meet him at this dive bar, I wouldn't be here at all. Sending over the drink was an impulse, maybe a stab at acting more sophisticated than I was, sitting at her table even more so. She finally took a sip of the drink I sent her. "What's your name?" Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Mary." "Nice to meet you, Mary." She leaned back in her chair, draping her arms across the back and she studied me again. "Is that so," she said. "Tell me, what are you doing here?" I shrugged and looked into my beer. "I'm waiting on a friend." "But your friend isn't here. Why not leave?" "He's often late." "Sounds like a poor friend, leaving you to wait here, in this shitty place." She waved her hand to indicate the whole bar, the low rent patrons, the shit brown paint peeling on the walls above the leather booths. "We're study partners. He has research to incorporate into our paper." She sniffed. "Do you not have the internet?" "They're books." "Humph. Someone who actually reads a book. Good for you." "Well," I said. "Nice meeting you." I put my hands on the table to push away. "What's your hurry?" she said. "Your friend isn't here yet." "You don't seem to want company," I said. Mary leaned forward and put her hand on mine. Something in the way she did it, so soft, skimming her fingers over mine was electric. Intimate. Her eyes widened then. Who could tear themselves away from those eyes? "I wouldn't say that," she said. "It's been too long I had any good company." Her voice was husky, reeking sex. My mouth went dry, and I reached for my beer again. "What do you do, for work, that is?" I asked. Another little snort. "I don't work," she said as if work was beneath her. "So how do you support yourself?" She gave a little shake of her head. "The universe provides." "Really?" "Are they still teaching that you have to work to survive?" she said. "Still?" I said bringing my beer to my lips. "Two thousand plus years," she sighed. "Jesus taught we didn't have to work to survive, and you people still render until Caesar." "Oh, you're into Jesus, are you?" "I was. What about you?" "I'm a divinity student, so, yes, you can say I am." Her eyes glittered in amusement, a small smile on her lips. "A man of the cloth. I recognized that acolyte quality about you. Full of answers and not even beginning to ask the questions. Come on, let's go." "My friend—" "Is not coming tonight. He had a small accident. Nothing serious. But he'll be laid up a couple days." She stood, pulling her purse up with her. Just then my cell phone rang. "Hey, Wil, man," Orson said sloppily, like he was drunk. "Sorry, man. Can't make it." "What's going on?" "Some idiot ran over my foot. I'm okay, just got out of the ER, but I won't be walking for a couple of days." "I'm sorry. Do you need anything?" "Naw, I'm full of painkillers and Ashley's taking care of me. I'm good." "Okay, I'll catch up with you tomorrow." "Yeah." He clicked off and I stared at her. "What are you, some sort of psychic?" With a sly smile, shook her head slowly. "Come on, I have better beer at my place." "I should go." "Trust me, you shouldn't. Things will end up better if you just come along with me." "Um, thanks for the offer, but my girlfriend's waiting." I moved toward the door. "No, she isn't," said Mary. I shook my head and kept walking. "Don't say you weren't warned," she called, "but I'll be here tomorrow." # It was an ugly scene. There's no need to go into the details. I went to her door; she wouldn't let me in. I heard another man's voice. When I pushed in the door, they were both naked. The usual. I thought she was different. She seemed like she was perfect for my life, now and for the years to come. Pretty, good family, and I thought, good morals. Wrong. I didn't realize how hard it would hit me, to have every dream shatter in an instant. In fact, I don't remember much of what happened that night, the next day, or why I was sitting in the dive bar looking at Mary once again. It all tumbled out, a sad mess, to this stranger, who listened to every word without comment. How could I tell her all this? Every failing in my life, my strained relationship with my father, how I wanted to follow his footsteps into the ministry, how I thought Christine was perfect for the life carved before me. "Of course you are unhappy," she said. "You are living someone else's life, not your own." "No, I'm sure I'm unhappy because my girlfriend betrayed me." "Really." She drew out those syllables in an annoying way as if she didn't believe me. "Jesus was betrayed, but he didn't let it affect him for a second. He still embarked on his mission to sacrifice himself, despite what anyone said." "What's your point?" Anger rolled in my gut now. How dare she not believe the words I just spilt? "You supposed to be a Christian. You study to teach Christ's words to others, and yet you have no idea what any of it means." "And you are going to tell me." She shook her head. "No. I'm going to show you. Let's go for a walk." # She led, I followed, as we strolled toward the river. The air was thick with fog, and the rancid smell of the dirty air mixed with salt water. The buildings became more run down, and there were few people here. We came to an alley, and she pushed me into it. "Wait here," she said, "and don't say a word." "What?" She slapped me across the face, hard, burning the skin with the force of her hand. My eyes flew, and I rubbed my cheek purely in reflex. "Watch and listen," she said fiercely. I swallowed, wanting to run, alarm running though my body. But she stood at the entrance of the alley, her form silhouetted by the faint and infrequent street lamps. "Sssh," she warned again peering at me over her shoulder. I shrank into the shadows. She stood there at the entrance as I stood stock still against the wall. Her head hung down, her hands at her side, her purse hanging from the fingers of her hands. I waited, she waited, for what I didn't know. "Hey," said a rough voice. "What do we have here?" She lifted her head. "What's a pretty thing like you doing here." She said nothing. Another, larger silhouette covered her form. "Looking for a little fun, baby?" Incredibly, she still did not speak, did not move. "Here," he said. "Suck this." I heard a zipper, and she slowly sunk to her knees. "Yeah, that's right. You're a dirty whore aren't you?" His hands gripped her hair, and his shoulders, the only thing I saw moved back and forth, gaining momentum. He grunted. "Oh yeah, you fucking whore, yeah, suck that dick, yeah, I'm fucking your mouth, god yeah." He let out a loud groan and jerked a few more times. The stranger pulled away. She just knelt on the sidewalk, her head down. "What? Get up." She didn't move. "Aw, the hell with you." The man took out his wallet and held out some bills. "Take it." Again she didn't move. "Fuck you," he said. And the bills fluttered to the ground as he walked away. Slowly she stood, and as the streetlamp highlighted her head and shoulder picked up one bill after another with delicate movements. I moved from the shadows at last. "What was that?" "What Jesus taught. Submission." "Jesus did not teach to whore yourself." She smiled. "Exactly. I did not ask; he offered. There was no whoring." "I doubt the police would see it that way." She laughed. "Please, the police do worse every day." "Are you judging the police?" "Are you judging me? Remember what Jesus said about that." "Jesus forgave the prostitute," I said. "And told her to sin no more." "That's only because he wanted to fuck her himself," she said. "God, he was a greedy bastard." "Nonsense." "How would you know?" "How do you?" "Because, acolyte, I was there." My breathing tightened. God, this woman was crazy. "I think it is time to go home," I said. "Not before I suck your dick." "I don't have any money to give you," I said snidely. "Did I ask for money? Against the wall." With that she pushed me roughly into the bricks with more force than a woman should have. She cupped her hand over my groin, feeling the evidence of my reaction to her whoring. "Yes, yes, choirboy, that did get you excited." "It's sin." "Ah sinner," she said her voice suggestively low, sliding her body against mine, and sinking to her knees. "Let me take you to church." She undid my belt far too easily, my zipper with too much grace, and my pants slid to the pavement at my ankles. Mary chuckled and gripped my cock. "No underwear?" I swallowed hard. "Haven't had time to do the laundry," I said. "Ah," she replied. Her mouth opened and her tongue lashed the head of my cock. "Um, delicious." I put my hands on her shoulders to push her away. Her hands grabbed my ass and pulled me hips forward with unholy force so that I speared her mouth. My vision went red, no my eyelids closed, as the sensation of her tongue on my dick overwhelmed my senses. My ears roared, and my breathing sped up. My furtive lashings of my tool with my hand was nothing like this. It was heaven. My hips rocked as she took more of me into her divine mouth, warmth and softness pushing me closer to the edge. My ears roared; my balls tingled. I saw nothing, I felt nothing but the impending explosion. A rush shot through balls and my dick. My seed burst into her glorious mouth. She held my dick there in warmth, softness and my cum until I grew soft. I pulled away and panted against the brick wall. She smiled and then swallowed. "Just perfect," she said. "Just right for a first lesson." Mary stood, and without missing a beat, pushed a bill into my hands, and kissed me on the cheek. "The Universe provides," she said softly. Then she walked off into the night leaving me with my pants around my ankles. When I got home and finally looked at the money and found it was a one hundred dollar bill. I stared. "The Universe provides," said her voice in my head. # The next day, I looked at the bursar's bill again. One hundred dollars. Normally, a bill like this would throw my day into a tailspin. It did yesterday. It was the only explanation I had of my bizarre behavior with that whore yesterday. Minister's sons aren't known to be flush with money and I was no different. If not for the fact I was the first born, I would have grown up in hand-me-downs like my brothers and sisters. For a moment I considered the pros and cons of using the money I got from Mary last night. It was tied up improbably with a sex act I did not solicit. For a second the thought crossed my mind that she paid me for privilege of sucking my dick. My face flushed at that thought. That was ridiculous. Women don't pay men to suck their dick. Or do they? It was a relief to hand the money to the bursar's clerk. There was now no physical reminder of my strange and sinful night with a stranger, and my mind could will away the memory of it. I could get on with me life: Professor Humbolt's Christian Religious Philosophy class. The day had a chill, the first sign of the turn of autumn to winter. A cold wind gusted on my way to class. It swirled the brown leaves around my feet that fell with a ghostly clatter on the concrete. I shivered and drew my head down into my jacket. The classroom was sweaty hot from the hot water radiators that gasped and hissed under the windows that stretched to the twenty-foot high ceiling. Someone cracked open a window to bring some blessed relief, but my idea to sit closest the window wasn't my brightest. I was alternately hot then cold as the wind blew in the occasional frigid blast, followed by steady waves of heat from the radiators. Humbolt spoke. But I wasn't paying attention, my mind wandering to the encounter in the alley with Mary. How did something that felt so good be so bad? Every part of my religious upbringing screamed at me that what I did was wrong, that it was sin, that I had no business in that alley. I should have left, should have never taken that walk with her, never enter that bar in the first place. The wages of sin is death. On the other hand, sin paid pretty well. I slapped that thought away as sharply as Mary struck my cheek. I rubbed my hand against my jaw, remembering the rude pain of her delicate hand chastising my flesh. Yes, that was it. Chastisement. The whore chastised me. "Watch and listen," she had said fiercely. Even as my cheeks burned in shame I caught the edges of the professor's lecture and my head snapped up to stare at him. Harold Humbolt was a bit of a legend on campus. He was an archaeology professor, but for some reason the administration let him teach the "Principles of Christian Philosophy," a required class for the Divinity track. Nor did the required class ever fall to another professor, not even if it had to given in separate sessions. There were whispers about why Humbolt was the sole teacher of this class, of a rich University booster who demanded this for the donation. But nothing was proven either way. "Jesus led a life of submission. From his first appearance teaching the elders in the temple at Jerusalem to his final minutes on the cross his thoughts turned to the will of his Father. In the temple he told his mother, 'I do my Father's will,' and on the cross he said 'Into your hands I commend my spirit.'" The professor stopped speaking and our eyes locked. "Did you have something to say, Mr. Goodwin?" Humbolt never addressed a student directly, not in this manner, so I was shocked by his sudden attention. I didn't know what to say, so I said the first thing that popped into my head. "He was a greedy bastard," I said. Time stopped. Humbolt's eyes widened and some in the classroom gasped. Mortified and stunned by my own stupid words, I stood and stumbled out of the classroom. As I did the few girls in class tittered and the guys laughed. # Like the good Christian boy I was, I found myself in the chapel, staring at the non-denominational stained glass window. I prayed for forgiveness, repeating The Lord's Prayer over and over as if it was a mantel to cover my sin, shame and foolishness. "Lead us not into temptation," I said for the twentieth time. But I was led, like an animal to slaughter. Why didn't the Lord protect me from that? What was it all that? That woman? That whore? How and why did she burrow into my brain so I could not let go of my thoughts of her? Then with images of her brown eyes and her warm mouth in my mind's eye, my cock filled again, a willing agent of debauchery. It grew rock hard, uncomfortably straining against my pants for release. Oh God. I was incorrigible, unredeemable, too weak to control myself even in the house of the Lord. "Father, forgive me," I pleaded silently, clutching my fingers together in piety so they would not stray below my belt. "Let me take you to church," she had said and my greedy penis commanded my attention. Damn her. She even sullied this for me: the peace and comfort of the halls of the Lord. This was stupid. It was ridiculous. I had to make amends. Then my conscience could rest. I could put away thoughts of her and get on with my life. Of course, I had to wait for my dick to settle down. It took a while. # I approached Professor Humbolt's office. I'd been there precisely once at the start of the term. It struck me then how that small, plain office didn't seem to contain the man within. He was a large man with a few too many generous dinners under his belt. The two hundred year old walls and woodwork were painted a naked and cheap white. The pressboard thing that masqueraded as a desk was ludicrously inadequate. To the right a cheap black bookcase stuffed with books affirmed barely held the titles. To left of the entrance was a disused coal burning fireplace. He had it arranged with a pair of Queen Ann's chairs and a small oriental rug like he sat in front of it. At least that is how I remembered it. I stood at the door, my courage failing in the light of my embarrassment, hand raised to knock on it. Though it was his stated office hours, the door was shut, and I wondered if another student occupied his time. Then I heard some curious sounds. Whap! "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't," a whiney voice said. "Whap!" "Ow!" "Whap!" "Please, mistress. Harder. It must be harder." "What? My strokes or your dick?" "Strokes, Mistress. Please." WHAP! I froze in my morbid fascination. Professor Humbolt? Spanked? My raised hand rested on the door. "OW!" Humbolt cried. My hand jerked, and the door opened a hair. Humbolt was leaning against the back of one of his chairs, his pants around his ankles, his ass blazing red from his beating. I could not see the woman though. "No, no, that's not enough. You have to, please." "Ah, Harold. Must I put you through this?" the feminine voice said in a harsh whisper. A Priestess of Isis Ch. 01 "Yes," he hissed through clenched teeth. I heard a sigh. Next I saw a hand painted with sharp red fingernails touch his ass. "I have no lube," she said. "I deserve it," he said. "Do it. Please, Mistress. Please." The sound of the man begging was almost too much to take, but it proved impossible to tear my eyes away from this debauchery. It was disgusting, revolting... arousing. Once again my dick tented my pants. "Fuck," I thought to myself as the hand shoved one red fingered nail into Humbolt's asshole. His back straightened and his hands gripped the back of his chair, his fingers turning white. The finger worked Humbolt's hole without mercy and Humbolt's dick rose, pointing to the chair. "Enough?" she said. "No!" he panted through gritted teeth. The hand slammed a second finger into the man's ass, and he hissed, whether in pain, or satisfaction I didn't know. "I'm going to cum," he whimpered. With her other hand, the woman reached for professor's balls and yanked hard. "Yes!" he said. My eyes fixed on those fingers sliding in and out of his willing ass. "Fuck me," he cried. "Fuck me harder." It was incredible to believe that this whore could, but somehow her fingers rammed into his ass with a force that would destroy his hole. His breathing sped up to a point where I thought the man was having a heart attack. "Aaah," he cried as his spunk flew into the back of the Queen Annes chair. He shuddered, then his breathing hitched with racking sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he blubbered. "Why didn't you stop me?" The woman pulled her fingers from his ass and then moved to the front of the chair. I couldn't see her face because her dark hair covered it as she bent over him. She reached her hand to Humbolt's cheek. "Because, Harold. It hasn't worked so far, and it's not going to." The professor gasped his tears. "You've been brave, so very brave," said the woman. "And you've tried so very hard." "I'm sorry," he slobbered. "At least you've sent me a new student," she said softly. The professor sniffled. "I'm right," he said. "He's the one." "We'll see. There have been so many failures." Humbolt started crying again. "Sssh, not you, dear Harold. Never you. You know I'll always love you." "Yes, Mistress," he said. "But this is our last time, isn't it?" "I'm afraid so, Harold. I must give my attention to my new student." The woman lifted her head and stared straight at the crack of the opened door. "Don't I, Wil?" Mary said, her brown eyes glittering with amusement. I gasped. With a snap of my wrist I jerked the door closed. I ran through the hall, out the door, and down the brownstone stairs into the clean crisp air and bright sunshine of that fine autumn day. And I ran some more, down the concrete walkways of the college my heart hammering in my chest. I didn't know where I was running, but I sped through the campus as fast as I could. A Priestess of Isis Ch. 02 Proverbs 31:10-31King James Version (KJV) 10 Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. 25 Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. 26 She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. 27 She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. 30 Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Each week, millions of upper middle class Americas put on expensive dress clothes, and load themselves in SUV's and drive past homeless shelters, orphanages, prisons, missions and halfway houses on their way to a very expensive and nice church, where somebody tells them how to be more like Jesus. That is fucking awesome, let me tell you. ~Facebook post The next day I went to the registrar's office and tried to drop Humbolt's class. "The add/drop date is past." The middle aged clerk barely looked up from the form I gave her. "But I can't keep taking that class." I raked my hands through my hair, and in the bright sheen of the sunlight bouncing off the window behind the clerk, I saw how ragged I appeared. "Listen, son. We all get a little behind sometimes." "That's not it." "You can withdraw, but it will appear as a 'W' on your transcript." And negatively affect my grade point average. I couldn't take the hit on that. I'd lose my scholarship which demanded a B average. "I can't do that either." "You can ask the professor if you can take an incomplete, and finish the course work another semester." Fabulous. It's not like another professor would take Humbolt's class. And the last thing I wanted to do was face Humbolt again. "Okay. Thanks," I mumbled, taking back the form. I shoved the paper back into my pocket and walked out of the registrar's office, barely registering that I stepped down the brownstone stair and hit the ancient slate walkway. A glance at my iPhone told me I had another hour before the next class, and a phone call from a number I did not recognize. I listened to the voicemail. Wil, this is Professor Humbolt. There are some things we must discuss. Come to my office at 2:00 PM. "Great," I thought. "Just friggin' awesome." # Several ways to get out of meeting Humbolt crossed my mind. Suddenly something jolted my shoulder, and a pile of books spilled to the ground. "Sorry," I said to the shocked co-ed I bumped. "Oh hell," she swore, and I looked into my ex-girlfriend's eyes. "Christina," I said. "Weren't you paying attention?" she snapped. "No, I guess I wasn't." "Then please do." I scrambled to help pick up her books. Suddenly I remembered I had good reason to be angry with her. "Here," I said shoving at books to her. "You don't have to be an ass about it." "And you don't have to be a whore." She shook her head bitting her lip. "Maybe," she said, anger spilling from her lips, "I wouldn't have to be a whore if you'd been any sort of man." "What? I respected you." "Neglected me, you mean," she spit. "Sometimes, Wil, a woman needs more than a chaste peck on the cheek." She yanked the books from my hand, and quickly settled them under her bosom. Then she stalked away, her blonde hair flying over her shoulders in her fury. Good riddance. But I couldn't get her last words to me out of my head in my next class, and I sat there a puddle of sweat and anger as the steam registers hissed and spit. How dare she say those things to me? I gave her what any woman deserved. Whore. My thoughts turned around and around that very theme for the next hour and a half. Then the class got up, and I still sat there. "Mr. Goodwin," said Professor Reynolds. "Class is over." "Yes, of course," I said as I stood. "But I do have a note here from Professor Humbolt reminding you about your appointment with him at two? Are you in the habit of forgetting your appointments, Mr. Goodwin?" Reynolds, not the easiest man to get along with, spoke with some derision. "No sir. He left a voice mail earlier. I haven't had time to respond." "Then you better go. It's almost two now." "Yes, sir." Great. Now I couldn't blow off Humbolt. Humbolt's office was the next building over, so with reluctant feet, I shuffled over to it. Other people flowed around me on the sidewalk, working their way to, or from class. At the door of the building I stiffened my resolve. I'd get this over quickly, whatever Humbolt wanted. It wasn't as if I didn't owe the man an apology, though after what I'd seen, I wasn't inclined to give it. The professor's office was in the basement, and co-eds brushed past me as I descended the stairs. The brittle scent of steam-warmed air assaulted my nostrils as I stood in front of Humbolt's door. I knocked, though not hard. Maybe the old coot wouldn't hear me. But he did, and with the rustling of a door being unlocked the Humbolt jerked open the door. "Ah, Wil. Good that you are prompt. Come in." He motioned to the Queen Annes chairs, and I took one, dropping my backpack to the floor. He locked the door and took the opposite chair. As I said before, he was a large man, mostly in girth. His hair gray hair had a generous sprinkling of white throughout it, and his blue eyes sparkled under bushy white eyebrows. He was the very image of a University professor, and the not the debauched creature I saw yesterday. "Wil, I understand from the clerk in the registrar's office that you tried to drop my class. Why would you do that?" "Are you serious?" I said with some incredulity. "You are concerned with what you witnessed," he said flatly. "And you aren't?" I said, my voice rising an octave. "No, Wil. I am not." "You teach at a divinity school!" I sputtered. "So?" "But what you did was wrong!" "So you don't think you can face me in class then?" I just stared at him. "You have a rare passion for the word of God, Wil. This class is a required course. I'd hate to see you mess up your college career over one course." "So would I," I said tensely. "Good. Then I will assign you special coursework. You'll work independently of the class." "Really? And how exactly will I earn my grade?" "I'm assigning you a topic, "Reconciling Diverse Dichotomies in Christian Thought." You'll do research into early Christian Philosophy and write a 100 page paper on it." I swallowed hard. "One hundred pages?" "Yes, due a week before the end of the semester," said Humbolt. "Here is a list of suggested texts you'll read and also some internet links for some other reading. I've given you permission to access the restricted archives in the library. That is where you'll be doing the bulk of the work. I hope your Greek is good." I just stared at him. This can't be real. It was impossible to write a one hundred page paper between now and the end of the semester. I grew angry then. What right did he have to assign such a ridiculous project? "Is there a problem, Mr. Goodwin?" "One hundred pages?" I said. He stood and turned his back to me. "I don't see any other alternative, Mr. Goodwin. Either you do the work, or I'll have a conversation with your father about your inability to do the required work of this class." "I see," I said coldly. "Then I have no choice." "No, you don't," said Humbolt. "Good day, Mr. Goodwin." He walked over to his desk, and turning on the light sitting on it, opened a book. I was dismissed and it wouldn't do any good to say another word. I left his office, my mood good and pissed. # I couldn't tell Orson everything. But the incident in Humbolt's class made the rounds and by the time I dropped in on my friend, he got the full story on that. "Man, what got into you, Wil?" "I wasn't feeling well. I think I've got the flu coming on." "Can't you tell me the truth? I heard about Christina." "I don't want to talk about it," I said. It was true. I didn't. The run-in with her in the quad still unsettled me. I wouldn't have to be a whore, if you any sort of a man. "Okay, Wil. If that's how you want it." "So, how's the foot?" "Good for a week out of classes," he said with a wink. "Sloth!" I said. It was an old game of ours, accusing each other of any one of the seven deadly sins. "Yep." He raised a beer that he'd stuck in cushions in the couch to his lips. "And Andrea's been a dream the whole time." I raised an eyebrow. "Andrea? What about Ashely?" He smirked. "Lust! How many of the deadly sins are you going to pick off this week?" I said. "If I'm lucky, as many as I can. You should try it sometime. It might dislodge that stick up your ass." "Maybe I have," I said with the color rising in my face. He guffawed. "Yeah, right, Mr. Straight Arrow." "If your going to insult my manhood, I'm leaving." "Jerk." "No, really. I have to go. Humbolt slapped me with a hellish research project. I'm going have to ask you to pick up the slack on our project." I put the CD I made with the work I'd done so far on the coffee table. "And by the looks of things, you have the time for it." "Wait, how much slack?" I made my way to the door and put my hand on the handle before I answered. "If you get stuck on anything, give me a call." A small pillow from the couch smacked my face. "Jerk!" he said. "You owe me a million times over, buddy. And make sure we get at least a 'B"," I said. This was true. I turned in a plenty of papers in our joint names with me being nearly the sole author. Of course, I did this mostly because I wanted to make sure we got a good grade, and Orson didn't complain one bit. But now I needed time to do Humbolt's paper and I had to clear the deck. Orson could put a little effort in and pull this together for our Church History class. He wasn't a moron, though he acted like one on many occasions. "You stole my vacation!" he grumbled as I walked out his apartment. "Good," I shot back as I pulled the door closed loudly. Now I had to figure out how I was going to handle my Greek Language class, and Old Testament class. Since Father spoon fed me the Old Testament since I was in diapers, I figured I could ace that. Just getting the physical work done was the problem. Greek? Maybe there was something I could use from Humbolt's assignment for my Greek final paper. Feeling a little better, I headed to the the library. The librarian, Mrs. Winters, gave me a strange look when I asked for the key to the restricted section. She made a phone call, and found what Humbolt told me, that I was to be given access to it for the rest of the semester. She shook her head. I thought I heard her say, "One of those." "Excuse me?" I said. Her eyes glittered with something cold. "Never you mind." Her voice to the temperature of an Arctic cold spell. We made our way into the bowels of the building down a set of very narrow stairs. I had to turn my shoulders sides ways so I could fit down the staircase. The basement was cool, dry, and climate controlled. Metal stacks rose around us, filled with antique books, musty with time and broken dreams of imagined glory. Mrs. Winters led to me a table with a chair in the middle of the stacks. "I think you'll find everything you are looking for here," she said. "I don't understand," I said. "You put out the books for me?" She shook her head. "No. The others, they took them out. I just don't bother to put them back." "Why?" "Because, there is always one of you. And you always take the same books." "Well, thanks Mrs. Winters." "Hmph," she said as if she didn't expect me to be polite. " Here is a key to the side entrance of the library, in case you get locked in. You'll return it at the end of the semester, or you'll be charged with replacing the locks." Okay then. "Again, thanks Mrs. Winters." "Hmph," she said again. And then she climbed the stairs to leave me alone with the books. # I worked late into the afternoon, looking over the books, getting a feel for the material, making notes. No wonder these works were in the restricted section. There were testaments that were thrown out of canon, books on some of the greatest heretics of Christianity, one book the decried the work of Martin Luther, translations of the Nag Hammadi scriptures. It was a mixed bag of apostasy and heterodoxy. Humbolt wanted a paper out of this? My father would have a fit if he saw these books. My stomach started to grumble and it sounded like a good idea to eat. The sense of wrongness that pervaded me that past couple days was easing. I suppose I could cobble together something out of this mess of documents to satisfy him. After all I was at the stage in my education where expressing my own opinion was encouraged. I'd call all this trash, in an academically acceptable way, of course, and he couldn't complain that I didn't do the work. One hundred pages was stretching it, but if I put in a certain amount of time each day, I could get there. "You're leaving so soon, Mr. Goodwin?" said Mrs. Winters as I passed her desk. "Will you be back tonight?" "No. Tomorrow. I'm getting something to eat." "You certainly seem optimistic." "Why wouldn't I be?" She sniffed and leaned forward conspiratorially. "None of Humbolt's students with this assignment ever finish." "I can't imagine why." She gave me a look of disbelief. "We'll see, Mr. Goodwin." I shrugged. "Goodnight, Mrs. Winters." Though the afternoon sun cast long shadows, it as still sunny, and warmth was a welcome contrast from the chill of the library basement. Somehow, someway I was going to work my way out of this mess of a semester. Then I saw her. Her black hair flowed in waves to her shoulders, her slim body packed into a skin tight black dress. Her heels were red, matching her painted lips and had to be four inches tall. She sat on the stone wall that contained the shrubs on the left side of the library. Mary slid off the stones in a fluid motion. "There you are, Wil." I tried to walk past her. She quickly walked to my side. "How was the library?" "Fine," I said keeping my eyes ahead. "Really. Usually the students are a little overwhelmed with the work." "I'm not." "Ah," she said drawing out the syllable. "Arrogant." "What do you want, Mary?" Her dark eyes flashed, like a warning. "I thought I'd buy you dinner." "Forget it," I said. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "Fine," she said, her dark eyes boring into mine as if she was issuing a challenge. "Well, I don't eat the bread of idleness. If you put off the lesson, the next time you see me, you'll have to tell me the significance of the huluppu tree." I stared her down. "You are the worst kind of woman, a shameless slut." She laughed. "Is that the worst you have to say to me?" "What is your problem!" I exploded. "I'm not the one with problems, Wil," she said gently. Mary slid her arm around mine in a move so sensuous it reminded me of snake slithering on my arm. "Come on. I'll even buy a pizza. It's been a while since you had some isn't it?' Yes. It was. I didn't have the money for takeout. "It won't be so bad," she whispered in my ear. "It's just pizza." I should have known better. # I don't know why I was surprised. Mary led me to a small sports car, blue Austin Healey. So much for the Universe providing. The woman had to have money. The upkeep on a car like this would cost more than my tuition. "Nice car," I said. "Oh this. A friend lets me borrow it." "Nice friend," I said not believing her story. She drove us far from the college, deep into a part of downtown I'd never been. Mary's driving was atrocious, speeding up and then jerking the car to a stop to avoid hitting other cars. At some point I starting praying that wherever we were going, we'd make it one piece. She slid the car into a space in front of a pizza restaurant, the bottom occupant in a three story red brick building. The name "Rolo's" was written in bright red neon in the window. A little bell tinkled as we opened the door, and I was hit by the smell of baking pizzas. On the left side of the room, plain wood tables and chairs marched the length of the restaurant, in a single row. On the right was a counter with some stools and a very old cash register poking up from a shelf behind the counter. In the far right were the pizza ovens. A thin man about my age stood picking up a stack of boxed pizzas. "Don't forget the sodas," said an older man behind the counter. The younger man went to a commercial cooler at the very back of the restaurant and pulled out some two liters. "While be back in thirty, boss," the younger man said, juggling the two liters and the pizza boxes as he disappeared through the back door. The older man looked about to be in his late thirties, his middle thickened, dark hair closely cropped. When he saw us he smiled broadly. "Mary," he said brightly. He lifted up a section of the hinged counter, and in a few short steps hugged her. "David," she said warmly. "This is my friend Wil." He stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Wil." I muttered something the same. "Mary, well no wonder my phones went quiet for a few minutes. What can I get you? I'm a bit busy, so I don't have time to talk." "Just one with everything." He winked. "A Mary special. Coming right up. Help yourselves to whatever drinks are in the cooler. My night help isn't here yet." "You might want to call someone else in," said Mary. David's expression turned very serious. "Is everything okay?" "Too much of a party last night," Mary said. "Oh! Okay. Will do. Thanks for the tip." David hurried back behind the counter and made a phone call, cradling the earpiece on this shoulder, while pulling out a round of dough. He proceeded to slap it into shape. Mary walked to the back of the store, her hips swaying provocatively, picking out a bottle of water, and a beer. She sat at the last table closest the cooler. She motioned for me to join her and handed me the beer. "Come here often," I said. "Not so much. But I thought I'd show you the true meaning of passion." "What do you mean?" "Just watch David there." David put down the earpiece, and when the phone rang again. David pulled out another dough as he spoke. "Pick-up or delivery. Delivery running forty minutes right now. You can have the pie in fifteen if you pick-up." He put the phone down. It rang again. I'd never seen anyone work so fast. The first pizza he worked on went into the oven, his hands flew as he made other pizzas. It was a dizzying round of watching him move from work counter to oven, to pulling out pies, cutting and boxing them. I never saw him write down a single order. "Mary," he said. "Pie's up." "Wil, be a love and go get the pizza." I fetched the pizza still in its steaming hot metal pan from the counter. "Careful there," said David not looking up. "Use some napkins." I grabbed a handful of napkins from a dispenser on the counter and took the pizza to our table. Mary took the smallest piece and put it on a paper plate. A paper plate sat at my place as well. When and where did she get those plates? I hadn't seen her move. The first bite of the pizza was heaven. The sauce was just perfect, not too bitter or sweet, seasoned with an even blend of italian spices and red pepper. The crust was crisp, even on the bottom, but inside was perfectly cooked. There was an abundance of meats, and even the vegetables were delicious. Holding court over all this was the cheese, which was spread generously over the entire thing. "This is very good." "Yes," said Mary. "It is. This is David's passion, making these pizzas. He perfectly content to make one after the other because to him, every one is a work of art. Other people might be bored with making hundreds of pizzas a day, but not David." A Priestess of Isis Ch. 02 "Well, not everyone is cut out for a profession." Mary gave me a wry smile. "Oh, David has a degree, from the very school you are at. He graduated Magna Cum Laude, the valedictorian of his class. He was even offered a ministry at a prominent megachurch. But he learned while he was a school the value of pursuing your passion." "And how did he learn that," I said. "I taught him," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "But he didn't finish the course. He could only go so far. Still I'm very proud of what he's achieved." "He's a pizza maker," I said derisively. "He could have been a minister." "Exactly my point," said Mary. "You think there is something wrong with being a minister?" "No, of course not. There is something wrong with doing work that doesn't hold your heart. Otherwise you risk unhappiness." "You talk like unhappiness is the worst thing that can happen." "Isn't it?" she said. "To live a life bereft of the very thing that enlivens you?" "Pleasure is not an endpoint," I said. 'He who loves pleasure will become a poor man; He who loves wine and oil will not become rich.'" Her eyes glittered mischievously. "Instead, there is gaiety and gladness, Killing of cattle and slaughtering of sheep, Eating of meat and drinking of wine: "Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we may die." She was not going to outdo me and my eyes bore into hers as I said quoting 1 Timothy 5:6, "But she who gives herself to wanton pleasure is dead even while she lives." "'And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years to come; take your ease, eat, drink and be merry."' Behind the counter, David chuckled. "Give it up, man," he said. "You won't win against Mary in a game of bible verses. She knows it all, front to back. Believe me, I tried." My face flushed now knowing this man heard everything we said. "I'm going to hit the men's room," I said. I needed a moment, a space to clear my head. I pushed up from the table but immediately felt a bit wobbly. One beer shouldn't do this me. Stumbling, I found the men's room door and entered, and went to the sink and splashed some water on my face. The door opened, and Mary slid in. "I just need a moment," I said. "Oh, you need more than a moment, Wil," she said. She leaned into my body, her head upturned, her red lips glistening. Her perfume invaded my senses, and I swayed more. Her hand began to work my belt. "No," I said weakly. "What's that?" she said. "I didn't hear you." My belt buckle came undone and my slacks fell to my ankles. She pressed her hand against my bulge, which unbidden was growing. With one serpentine movement, she fell to her knees and pulled down my boxers. Her tongue reached up and licked the head of my dick. I groaned, especially when her tongue lapped my balls. My dick rose, rock hard, and she licked the space between my balls and my dick, sending tingles up through my cock. "Fuck," I said. "Turn around," she said seductively. "Put your hands on either side of the sink." When I didn't move fast enough, she stood and twirled me around. Then I felt something warm and wet licking my asshole. "What!" I exclaimed, but after the shock of having someone's tongue at my hole, it felt surprisingly good. Electricity shot up my spine, and involuntarily my ass pushed into her face. She reached up and grabbed my dick with both hands jacking it, and despite something in the back of my brain saying that this was wrong, I didn't stop her. Then, incredibly her tongue pushed inside, flicking in and out, granting me pleasure I never before experience. My orgasm built in my balls, and with her hands sliding up and down my dick, impossible needs claimed my body. I pushed my ass further into her face, my arms trembled from holding myself up, and I climbed, beyond this place, this shitty little bathroom, into heaven, though god help me, not the heaven my father envisioned. I came with a cry, my cum shooting up, splattering the sink, and the mirror. She held onto my dick while I shuddered, my knees now weak. "Oh God," I said breathing heavily. "Yes," she said releasing the grip on my cock. She stood and held my hips in her hands steadying me. "That is exactly the right answer." 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. ***** 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. A Priestess of Isis Ch. 03: Respect "Yeah. Do you want it?" I barely saw her face I was so intent on my lust. I imagined myself plunging into her warm, wet hole, every nerve ending my body exploding in pleasure as I worked my cock in and out of her. This last idea pushed me over the edge of all rational control. I fumbled to pull up her dress around her hips as she wiggled against me still. "Fuck, Wil. Slow the hell down." "What?" My lust filled brain couldn't comprehend the words. She shoved her hands against my shoulders with a jolt, pushing me away. "What?" I repeatedly stupidly. "We can't do this." "What? You told me—" I didn't know what to say. My thoughts cleared slowly while my dick throbbed demanding attention. "I said suck my tits. I didn't say put your dick in me." "Sucking your tits is okay? But fucking you isn't? Is that what you mean?" "Yes. Exactly." In the firelight her eyes glittered with an unearthly glow that made me shiver. "Why?" I said bitterly. This woman was all over me every minute she was with me, and now, when it came time for the inevitable she drew back? "I just can't. Accept that." "Fuck you," I said turning my back to her hugging my knees. What the hell did I expect? The woman was stone cold crazy. Instantly she pulled me back to her with unearthly strength and slapped me hard in the face. "You will show me respect!" she spit. "I'm not a whore that you fuck upon demand." "Aren't you?" I said. She raised her hand to me again, and though I put up my arms to protect my face, she yanked my right arm and slapped me anyway. My ears rung from the force of her attack. "Fuck! Stop that!" Mary's eyes were filled with anger. "You're a goddamned selfish bastard, aren't you?" "What? As opposed to a greedy bastard?" She looked to my crotch where my traitorous cock strained against the fabric of my slacks. "Yes, you are right. You are a greedy bastard too. And you have lessons to learn about respect!" With an unholy light in her eyes her hands moved in a flash and undid my belt. But in her hands were lengths of thick black cords. Where did she get those? From under one of the couches? I didn't see her move her hands there, but there were the ropes dangling between her fingers. "What the fuck," I said trying to back away from her. Her strength amazed me. In a microsecond she spun me to position my back to her front. Mary tore off my shirt at the same time yanking my arms behind me. Soft cords wound around my wrists and then started up my arms. When I squirmed, she yanked my head back with a painful jerk. "Stand still," she hissed. "This will be more painful for you if you move. See how tight these are? When you move against them they'll get tighter." Before she was done, she wove the ropes between my arms so I couldn't move them at all. She hauled me to my feet and yanked my slacks and underwear so that they pooled around my ankles. "Step out of them," she said roughly. My arms bound behind my back had a curious effect. Unable to move them I felt extremely vulnerable, and I didn't dare disobey her. Questions crowded my mind about how such a small woman could command my body. It didn't make sense. Despite my confusion I immediately stepped out of my slacks. She lowered a red painted finger nail to the underside of my rampant cock and pressed the tip of her nail into the underside of my shaft. She drew it up the length slicing into the tender flesh with a sharp edge that made me shudder. "See how much you want this," she said. "Not me. I don't want this." "Oh, you wanted it your way? Taking me when I wasn't ready for you?" "No! You just, I thought—" I stammered like a schoolboy getting more red-faced as I spoke. "What thoughts did your mind create, Wil? That I wanted you?" She laughed, cruel and unyielding. "You know nothing of my wants and needs. You only think of yourself, Wil, which is the highest form of disrespect to others there is." "I did what you asked." "And then what I didn't ask for. You have no concept of what it means to be respectful enough of woman to give her what she needs." Christina's words to me in the quad rang in my head. "I wouldn't have to be a whore if you'd been any sort of man." Mary stared at my erection as if inspecting a bug. "You are helpless in the face of your own selfishness." "Are you paraphrasing AA to me?" I said incredulously. She smiled. "Well, isn't it true? Everything you do comes out of your needs, your desires. You eat, piss, shit and ejaculate to satisfy the needs of your body. And until you release your selfishness, your needs, you can never truly respect anyone, leastwise yourself." "Everyone has needs." "Yes, but you don't have to give in to them." "I'm sure that if I didn't eat, I'd die. And pissing and shitting comes with that territory." "See the reality you create for yourself?" "I don't know any other reality." "And there lies the problem."