Friday, 24 September 2010
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
The latest intake of neophytes numbered more than two score; the smaller circle of newcomers that preceded them still comprised around a dozen magicians. A similar number amongst Ram’s more advanced pre-initiate circle were still engaged in the Work, though others had abandoned their studies and rituals and left The Group. The magic centre still acted as a magnet for seekers and dilettantes of all kinds and initiates, neophytes, adepts and fellow travellers were liable to rock up to the Dawn of Ra manse at any hour of day or night.
Most of the building (excepting the temple, alchemy lab and a couple of private bedrooms) was an open house and partying sometimes continued for days, morphing through mingling phases of carousal, flamboyance, recovery and indolent relaxation. Guests and magi rambled from bedchamber to veranda, parlour to kitchen, through library and yoga matted hall to green snatches of sand-patched grass beside the unfenced harbour, or easing back beneath the sandstone manse’s shady sheltering eaves when the antipodean days waxed hotter.
Furnishings were low, soft and comfortable. Most of the stone walled interior was clad with aging plaster and adorned with paintings and murals created by an ever-changing cavalcade of artists and daubers. Darkly stained cedar skirting boards, picture rails, doorframes and lintels matched the ornate balustrade of the central staircase; deep grainy whorls echoing aeons of growth in primordial antipodean rainforests.
Hand-crafted fittings, ornaments and gewgaws abounded; geometrically beaded lampshades and precisely cut brazen lanterns cast eldritch shadows on nightly gatherings. Every cushion was covered with embroidered intricacies, the kitchen was filled with a cornucopia of herbs and strange sculptures and mysterious artefacts accumulated on shelves, mantles and suitable crannies.
Upkeep and maintenance were rostered among the neophytes and anyone else who made regular use of the communal holding. Everything was shared and there was always more than enough of everything to go around and around, and round again.
Regular classes, workshops, seminars and debates on the multifarious arts of the Art and crafts of the Craft filled the manse’s spare rooms much of the time. Yoga, meditation, Kabala, palmistry, astrology, oneiromancy, herbalism, T’ai chi, ritual magic, tarot, ayurveda, gemmology, tantra, ancient Egyptian rites and mythology, I Ching, alchemy, magical healing, hidden history, iridology, acupuncture, astronomy, homeopathy, welding and smelting, the Elysian Mysteries, gemmology, psychometry, Thelemic beliefs, glassblowing, reiki, Wicca, clairvoyance, esoteric Buddhism, spiritual horticulture, physics, Chinese medicine, free energy concepts and devices, shiatsu, communion with elementals and familiars, electronics, psychic self defence, ethics, the Emerald Tablets of Hermes, chakras, Taoist techniques – all higher and deeper learning met and mingled under the eclectic roof of The Dawn of Ra.
The Group was a communal organisation run by consensus, yet, unlike many supposed examples of consensually operated and maintained organisations - where fast-talking charismatics and overbearing egocentrics cajoled or browbeat fellow members with overpowering monologues until they ensured their will was adhered to – The Dawn of Ra functioned more efficiently, fairly and commodiously than other, more hyperorganised institutions.
The Group’s Adepts and more advanced Initiates had originally assembled around a particularly gifted Magus, who’d come to the attention of watchful elders from well established local lodges when he’d cured himself of incurable cancer while still a youngish child. The Magus had departed the Emerald City many moons before the Prince of Centraxis joined The Dawn of Ra, leaving The Group in the capable hands of his original band of students.
Regardless of their degree of attainment within The Group, almost all magi regarded their fellows with genuine mutual respect. This was a virtually ubiquitous reality for many good reasons aside from the requirement of ethics; within the broad, circus-sized tent of The Dawn of Ra one could never be certain of any particular magician’s general prowess or unique talents. Any new neophyte could be imbued with all manner of unexpected gifts and abilities.
As an advanced ‘pre-initiate’ neophyte, Prince Ram’yana was allowed to take newer members into the temple for basic training and private one-on-one sessions. His Lady Racheal had joined the magi – a circle she’d oft disparaged as ‘the Magic Circle Club’ - at the same equinox festival as her prince, but had missed more than a season of Group instruction since she’d decided to abandon her neophyte status and go it alone. She had a great deal of territory to make up if she intended to become an Initiate alongside her young man - soon after the next equinox celebration - and he was glad to oblige her needs.
When initiates or other preinitiates took Ram’s Wiccan bride into the temple for private sessions of ritual tutelage, easily foreseeable events sometimes accompanied their magical exchanges. All kinds of energies were augmented and transformed within the magic circle. Most of The Group’s work was conducted skyclad or in simple robes and ultimately intimate interactions often occurred between tutor and tutored. Coupling couples and the battery of the temple became highly charged when the most primal interaction of all took place inside its transdimensional confines; the temple of The Dawn of Ra was a sacred and beautiful space, eminently suited to Tantric lovemaking.
The Lady Racheal was by no means the only aspiring initiate to make love with her Centraxian shaman in the silk lined temple. As Ram’yana approached his impending initiation, more experienced magi smirked knowing smiles each time a curious female neophyte asked the prince to accompany her inside its sacred precinct.
Various rooms within the Group’s sandstone mansion were other popular venues for all manner of dalliances. A plethora of personages known and unknown continually frequented the building and grounds, so it could have been pretty well anyone who stealthily approached the Centraxian High Priestess and her Hierophant consort inside the manse’s second storey healing chamber - and witnessed the challenging sight of their well oiled naked teenage bodies locked together in flagrantly delectable yet strangely sadomasochistic coupling.
It might even have been you.
“Don’t… oh… don’t uh… stop!” she gasps once more when the teenage mage pauses mid-stroke, his silhouette looming above her in the shadowy half light. He peers down at the writhing girl and simmers with the strangely intense forbidden attraction of wielding complete control over the gracile and addictive body of his willing young bride. An exalting rush of primal energy rears through his spine and fills his youthful limbs and rampant loins with powerful infusions of indomitable masculine strength. He barely notices when another footfall sounds, closer this time in the shrouding darkness.
He disregards the presence of the unknown stranger - whose shadow occludes the fitful beams of remaining candlelight that flicker from the upstairs hall, to merge with his own - and resumes nailing his ladylove to the unyielding bed. He holds all her limbs in the immobilising grip she somehow craves and gives her precisely what she repeatedly pleads for. Their bodies move with anciently wise wilfulness of their own, accessing familiar patterns engrained in flesh, blood, nerves and marrow - uniting masculine drives and feminine needs in a pneumatically interlocked yang-yin linkage.
The shaman prince observes his motives as closely as he watches blissful waves of livid arousal rushing through his Lady Racheal’s beautiful shimmering face. He cues his movements to the shuddering contractions that ripple through the close pressed depths and intoxicating peaks of her nubile femininity. Yet even as he swims through the subterranean currents of her unleashed desires he feels an attentive beam of eyesight focused on the place where his rod is anointed by her copiously flowing juices.
The thrill of exposure rushes through Ram’s naked frame with electric suddenness while one of his long-nailed hands holds all the witch girl’s limbs above her head in a white knuckled grip. His other hand caresses the well oiled delineaments of her wondrous body and his large, hard manhood roundly spreads her flushed pink membranes while the slender blond teen groans and writhes on the bed beneath him. Let them watch… an inner voice demands as he revels in Racheal’s wriggling struggle, exulting in her body’s autonomic attempts to milk every last drop of his seed. Just feel her…
As he brands her innards with the brazen blaze of his rampaging lust he becomes momentarily conscious of their unusually compromising position, and wonders anew at his deeper motivations; …Why do I enjoy xposing her so completely to a stranger… or someone who barely knows us? He watches Racheal’s eyes flicker over his shoulder as she grasps him even more tightly, and knows that she knows that they’re being observed. …She enjoys someone seeing me do this to her… with her...
“Oh, please…” Racheal cries, and as he plunges between her smooth white thighs the prince realises his ladylove’s plaintive entreaty might easily be misinterpreted. Use her… the soundless voice admonishes. She wants to be used by you… He tries to recapture her wandering gaze but her eyelids snap firmly shut as she shudders, judders and moans on the hard futon mattress.
Feel her… the presence admonishes and any further hesitation is too much to expect of either of them. The teenage mage focuses on the sensational sensations of Racheal’s smoothly shorn oil-sheathed surfaces as she quivers and shivers inside and out, poised at the brink of an onrushing, ongoing orgasm. Use her… Her perfect flesh and simmering membranes feel too slickly plastic to be quite real as he slides through her clamping interior. Make her… He moves like an automaton, entirely absorbed in commanding pleasure as he watches and feels her explode in screaming, frothing, slow motion frenzy. Fuck her…
The Lady Racheal’s yodelling yell is shockingly loud, blasting all thoughts from Ram’s occupied mind. A sudden kiss stifles the warbling cry in a slippery scrum of serpentine tongues as the teenage magicians meld into a single supersensitive organism. They roil and roll through rainbows and shadows amidst a fey simulacrum of time and space. The strange inner voice that encourages the mage to further acts of rapine thoughtlessness is completely subsumed in the tactile demands of total union and utterly sexual bliss.
Time stops for a timeless time…
Their bodies continue to unite in a well practiced melding of lusty intent, yet a fragment of Ram’s awareness returns to the breathless shore of oceanic rapture. Almost all of his being is utterly absorbed in their sumptuous coupling. His will is totally concentrated on pleasuring his inspiring bride, firmly focused upon every nuance of inspiring response to be wrung from her wise young body - yet even as he revels in her impassioned screams, a fractional distillate of his abiding conscience wrestles with a long suppressed aspect of primordial maleness.
An inward conscientious observer struggles to restrain a brutish churl - one who clearly enjoys overpowering a smaller young female, using her gratifying body and thoroughly enslaved soul while she’s utterly open and vulnerable; completely at the mercy of his self-servicing unbridled lust while he displays his prowess before an unknown watcher. Make her scream… the voice commands. Make her come and come…
An untrammelled corner of Ram’s overpowered mind ignores the unsubtly urging voice, watching in silence from an inviolable coign as he holds his speechless bride down and rams his rigid manhood through her rippling flesh. Make her come until she becomes something more… Racheal’s face is a shining, beaming, open-mouthed mask in the shifting shadows, gaily painted with the flushing blush of overwrought natural rouge. Remake her into… Her responsive body urges him on with unspeakable clarity and he wonders for a moment if the commanding thoughts are hers, but an inner certitude instantly denies this errant supposition while eager obscenities pour through his mind from an obviously different source; ...a fucking animal…
The sheer smooth elasticity of Racheal’s hairless shaved pudenda feels indecently immature in the shrouding cloak of electrified night. Like taking a far younger girl… like raping a helplessly bound littler female… Just like that cop… He can’t quite tell whether the thoughts are his or another’s, but the memories that arise before his mind’s eye are much more unsettling that the inciting thought-like voice, or the fact their amoral encounter is being observed. He recalls the scene he’d involuntarily visualised while his drug fucked Lady Racheal was abused by a uniformed policeman on the other side of a firmly locked door – a scene he’s been unable to fully dispel since it first arose on that fateful morning after.
The image threatens to dispirit and confuse the prince enough to interrupt their semi-public spectacle and he begins to release his wilfully submissive witch-wife from his dominating grasp - but Racheal’s sudden subsequent flurry of tempestuous motion bursts past his reticence and thoroughly distracts him. “Don’t…” she gasps and grips him more tightly than ever. “Ohh…” Her well-practiced grappling is hardly girlish or naïve and her libidinous movements tell him that she assuredly wants him to continue doing just what he’s doing with her helplessly pinioned body; Racheal’s struggles are far more eloquent than the breathlessly truncated words bitten off by her plosive cry. “Oh, ohh God!”
Made for fucking… As the disquieting thoughts resurface inside Ram’s bedazzled mind his immobilised oil-slicked lover slithers around on the silken sheet and screams as she comes once again. Made to fuck… In the starlit gloom she looks and feels like a slippery, simmering, smooth living doll formed of molten plastic, created solely for his endless pleasure. Made to come… Her scream ignites his boundless lust and her voice breaks into staccato bursts in time with his rapid hammering. Her vulva milks him mercilessly and for a breathless moment it’s all he can do not to come inside her; then he’s deep into his well practiced stride, gliding though his lovely lover’s highly strung flesh with full-length intensity. Make her…
Her eyes burst open, blank and unseeing, while he bucks inside the rubbery flesh of the manically panting manikin-girl who wraps her quim tautly round his thrusting manhood and squeezes him tightly with rhythmic intensity. He squeezes her down until belly and breasts are adhered to his skin with fragrant lubricants. She slithers and slides beneath the hard planes and bulges of his finely downed, highly sexed masculine flesh while he presses her ankles and wrists into the pillow and grinds all the way up inside her until she can take no more. Her blood, her nerves, her clasping muscles and every cell in her finely tuned nubile body beg for more as he squeezes her open like a ripe juicy mango and fucks her ’til she screams, and screams, and screams again.
How can she want me to use her like this? A fragment of Ram’s consciousness ponders the contortions of their lust with a sternly judgmental critique while Racheal writhes beneath him, pinned to the bed by his rat-a-tat machine gun pounding, groaning and panting in breathless throes of near-sated desire. How does she get off on being abused… playing at being used like this all over again, helpless… Her lips slide along his neck and as she suckles on his throat he loosens his grip on her limbs.
He can scarcely envision the horrendous memories that their rough and tumble fucking may – nay, must - be bringing to the surface of his ladylove’s awareness; the barely suppressed recollections of being kidnapped and raped on at least two occasions to his certain knowledge; the latter so recent that she still bears the bruises. Yet Racheal clasps his shaft with an intensifying series of ineluctable spasms and he recognises the undeniable rhythms of yet another incipient mindblowing orgasm.
His mind rolls on like an unfeeling juggernaut while his body surrenders to rampaging delight; And how can I just use her… hold her down like this while I jerk away inside her… using her while she’s so drunk, just a living, screaming fuck doll… “Oh, Rache!” How can I get off on pleasuring myself with her helpless body… “Oh, Ramses!” she cries into his hair, “Oh fuck o fuck o fuck…” How can I not? he decides, and continues to fuck her tightly trapped feminine flesh without surcease, thoroughly thrilled by the starkly arousing sensations her addictively delectable body affords.
“Ooh!” she yells when next he fills her completely - a resonant cry that screams throughout the capacious manse. Her sightless eyes glitter with glimmering glints while her mouth bursts away from his throat. A thrilling rush bursts up Ram’s curving spine as he watches her sex-swollen lips burst widely apart in a wordless scream. Fuck her brains out… Racheal’s eyelids flutter as she rings and wrings him with the only part of her body that’s still at liberty to move. Make her yours… He exults in the delicious way her loins squeeze and contract, willing him to impregnate her ripened young womb. …See her come again, screaming, helpless, primal…
Saliva dribbles from a corner of the young witch’s mouth while her body swivels and bounces beneath him. Fuck, Rache… how can I enjoy using you like this… even if it is what you want? The last vestiges of the High Priestess’s decorous aplomb are ripped asunder and she becomes a mindless, trussed up, fully impaled mass of immobilised animalistic femaleness. But you do… I do… and so does she…
While his body exults in total immersion, Ram’s mind continues to analyse and ponder. He convinces himself that the inner voice’s timbre, tone and dire intent aren’t his own thoughts after all - and then Racheal’s inner clasping implores him to thrust deeper and harder while her tongue begins to fuck his mouth and guide his rabid tempo, retrieving his soul from mental distraction and bringing him back to the moment. Oh, fuck…
He’s soon lost to all reason - little more than a pounding slab of rock-hard meat attached to a will-less puppet body, moving in time with his witch bride’s rhythmical juicy clenching while she moans around her succulent tongue. She gasps for breath and her eyes glitter open with tiny shards of reflected candlelight; “Rape me…” she whispers again, breathless; so quietly the mage wonders whether he hears actual words or senses the thought of her wilfully submissive demand.
An inspiring range of rhythmically wordless encouragements emerge from Racheal’s alluring sex-swollen lips - inarticulate grunts and satisfied moans that reassure and inflame her horny young man. His tricksy ramrod flexes and rears within the wilful teenage priestess, then piledrives her fine young body into the mattress while he holds her wrists and ankles above her tangled mane. How can I do this to you… turn you into this… She entwines her sex round his rigid ramrod in xtraordinarily talented response while he immobilises her knotted limbs with unbreakable grasps. How can I do anything else…
While he pistons inside her the Lady Racheal grasps his manhood even more tightly, wringing all the pleasure she can from Ram’s rigid young flesh and squeezing him ever closer toward ecstatic release with each rabid impalement and rapid withdrawal – trying to wrest control and make him come in a battle of entwining wills. “Go on,” she pants between gasps, “go on…” She’s using you too… practicing… making her man come before he wishes to…
He becomes fully absorbed in her seamy submissive fantasy, unable and unwilling to suppress his horny lover’s disturbing demand to hold her down and veritably rape her. It’s what she wants… He adopts his ravening role in the young Centraxian priestess’s chosen act with ever deepening involvement, riding her as hard and deep as her inward responsiveness demands. “Do it…” He crosses her limbs and holds them above her mane with fingers that squeeze in time with her clenchings. The fingernails of his freed hand pincer her firmly erect nipples and delineate the sumptuous fruit of her bruise-mottled white breasts.
Sapphire glints shine within the half-closed eyelids of the sapling priestess as semi-feigned struggles and genuine moans inform her stripling lover that he’s giving her precisely what she craves. Make it last…like lusty life… Pride wrestles with power as his body continues its tireless quest inside the primordial hearth of eternal pleasure. Take full advantage… He swivels around inside her, twisting Racheal’s entire body round the lever of his rigidity. …of her challenge… He follows the strange sage advice and grinds his pubic bone into her clitoris, exulting in the way Racheal’s control slips away with her next screaming orgasm. Make it last and last while she tries to force you to come… while she practices making men finish before they’re due…
Their flagrant conjugation is starkly illumined by a close flash of lightning and a board creaks behind their interlocked bodies - a sound almost lost in the answering roll of rumbling thunder and the priestess’s unrestrained cry. She seems unaware or uncaring of the creaky intrusion and her prince is equally loth to be distracted from his bout with penultimate pleasure.
The Lady Racheal is obviously far gone in lust, swimming in oil-anointed sensuous depths of feminine sexual submission; surrendering to a desire to be sundered and filled - an atavistic drive that matches Ram’s sudden urge to control his bride’s movements and guide the unchartable tides of her womanly wishes. He always desires to be the one - to satisfy his mate like no other male; how else to keep one such as she in his bed?
Racheal writhes and squirms and squeezes around him, challenging her prince not to break his grip or respond to her unbelievably pleasurable inner manipulations and fill her womb with his burgeoning seed. He pushes her body into the bed, holding her down by a pressed-flat breast, and pulls her slim ankles and slimmer wrists up into the air when her rhythmic grunts and mindless moans become deafening screams and wordless shrieks. Lost in the act, he no longer cares whether he’s puppet or puppeteer.
Deep heartfelt groans and the quivering entreaties of his ladylove’s animal flesh drive his battering ramrod onward and inward, riding her slippery flesh toward the joyful balm of total release. The glittering shimmers of wide opened eyes burn laser trails in his night-shrouded gaze; “Uh, uhh, don’t let me go, ohh man,” she gasps, “Oh Pan, o make me, uhh, make me…”
Her words make the prince’s incessantly wondering mind wander anew; Were they her thoughts in my mind, after all? He firms his grip on wrists and ankles, pushing hand-bound limbs above her head while Racheal’s fine body bounces and sways around his hot hard flesh, staked down and writhing on the hard futon mattress. Are her thoughts even hers? As he holds his girl down and thrusts inside her immobilised quim he shrugs and forgives himself this bout of rampant domination. She feels too fucking good to stop…
The prince refuses to waste any more time on mental gymnastics – a realer, more tactile kind of athletic disporting lies before and beneath him, spread out and available; the sensuous feminine feast of his insatiable mate. Engrossed in the moment, he submerges all insurmountable concerns about Racheal’s mental state and the unmannerly, amoral nature of their mutually mesmerising fuck beneath a pounding, piledriving, grinding round of robotically pneumatic repetitive pumping.
Swiftly succumbing to the succubus thrall of suckling pleasure he swiftly nears the pinnacle of supersensitised volcanism that his prime mate has already surpassed at least thrice. Racheal clasps him with vice-like clenches as her entire body flexes beneath him. She moans and gasps and blinks through the window at glimmering stars as she surges beneath him on the slippery silken sheet, her body a glowing white phantasm in sputtering candlelight. Don’t come… make it last forever…
He ignores the cough that sounds behind them and continues bouncing his mate’s girlish body up and down on the mattress. Her head rocks from side to side as she gulps air between breathless cries. He manhandles her flesh, wrapping her body around the engorged pillar of his starkly obvious arousal, and is quickly anointed by a copious laving of feminine essences.
Once more a floorboard creaks directly behind the naked two-backed beast of their interlocked bodies, as someone approaches the foot of the bed.
A true story
Images – author’s
Further True Tales from the Prince of Centraxis -
Mandrake & the Magician – Adder Ladies and the Dawn of Ra Part 6 Watching the Watcher – Adder Ladies and the Dawn of Ra Part 7 Promises & Compromises - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 8 The Invisible Great Divide - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 9 Circles Within Circles - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 10 Three Flaming Arrows - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 11 Round Peg, Square Hole - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 12 Monkey Business - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 13
And see -
The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com
New Illuminati – http://nexusilluminati.blogspot.com
New Illuminati on Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Illuminati/320674219559
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From The Prince of Centraxis - http://centraxis.blogspot.com