The twin moons hung low in the lavender
sky. The small moon, Akita,
is forever being pursued and protected
by her larger mate, Ishlay.
So was the natural order, that the
male protect and pursue the female.
Only here, within these walls, was
one of those natural laws reversed.
Her hands slid over the rough stone
balustrade, rubbing back and forth,
back and forth, the motion reminiscent
of a soothing touch to a lover’s
shoulders. The stone was abrasive
against pampered hands; she craved
the roughness of the touch, a small
reminder of the dark pleasure of
pain. She raised her hands, turning
them to examine the reddened palms.
In the light of the moons, the lines
in her palms were deep, carving the
surface of her hands into valleys
and gorges. Stretching, she bent
her fingers back until the light
showed a smooth, white expanse of
palm extending into five slim fingers.
Slowly she turned her hands inward
till the palms faced each other only
a breath apart and raised them up,
her head falling back in prayer.
Her body made a taut line, stretched
from the tips of her fingers to her
heels. As she raised her voice in
the secret words of invocation, the
space between her palms began to
glow. A ball of white mist began
to grow, pushing her palms further
apart until they were in line with
her shoulders. With a few shouted
words, she finished her prayer and
the globe of mist burst, shattering
into a thousand small points of light.
As the light rained down onto her
upturned face, shoulders, and breasts,
the five watchers drew deep breaths.
From inside the darkened chamber,
the figure on the balcony was so
remote and comely that they could
not imagine her to be anything but
the Goddess herself. She was silhouetted
by the moons, their light outlining
the slim length of her legs and swell
of hips and breasts through the thin
gown she wore. The light motes had
settled onto her upswept hair, haloing
a face with almond eyes and smooth
cheeks, arched eyebrows and a gently
rounded chin. Though it was turned
away from them, it was as familiar
as their own.
When she felt the last flicker of
light settle onto the tip of her
eyelashes, she lowered her arms.
With one smooth motion, she turned,
balanced on the balls of her feet.
She advanced towards the opened doors
which lead into their chamber. Her
step was light, each foot placed
gently before the other. Toe, then
heel touched the stone of the balcony,
worn smooth by centuries of feet.
As she entered the dark chamber,
her vision failed for a moment while
her eyes adjusted to the change in
light, but her steps never faltered.
Everything was where it should be,
where she willed it to be, nothing
would dare to be out of the place
she had prescribed for it. The five
men who knelt in a semicircle before
her, their heads bowed, were no exception.
The moment she turned to enter the
chamber, they dropped their eyes,
none daring to look upon her in this
state without her permission. In
this moment she was the essence,
the embodiment, of her power. She
stood before them; they were her
protectors, her guardians--her possessions.
One man, he who knelt directly in
front of her, raised his eyes. In
a single glance, a wealth of feeling
passed between them; she did not,
could not, berate him for his disobedience.
Had one of the others seen, she would
have had no choice but to inflict
torment upon the body which was laid
bare before her gaze, but that glance
was secret, private.
His heart, against the dictates
of his head, demanded that he gaze
upon her, that he steal this one
moment that would belong to the both
of them. It was enough to fortify
his heart for what would come.
She held his eyes for only a moment,
before breaking their gaze. Her lashes
swept down, imprinting the moment
in her mind, locking into her memory
the feeling of the floor beneath
her feet, the touch of the cloth
against her body, the smell of the
herbs in the air. Most importantly,
she mentally imprinted the sight
of him, the tilt of his head, the
strength of his shoulders, the look
in his eyes. She combined that with
memories of the way he tasted, the
lilt of his voice, the play of his
muscles under his skin. And then,
with her eyes still closed, she locked
away the part of her that would have
knelt before him, shedding the trappings
of her power, her rank, for the simple
pleasure of his touch.
When her eyes opened, they glowed
with the power of whom and what she
was. Her gaze was hot as it roved
over the bodies of her men. Her whispered
words were husky and low, her passion-rich
voice so erotic that they each felt
a small shiver caress their skin.
“Come to me.”
It was a command, one which none
of them wished to disobey.
While the natural laws dictated
that male be the protector and the
pursuer, here the men were not the
pursuers; they were the pursued,
and they were owned, body and soul.