Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Other Agencies: Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 26
Other Agencies Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 26
*“Before I can offer you the position I have to know you’ll be willing to consider giving us at least two years. If you can’t stay with us for that long there’s no point in training you, and we’ll have to look for someone else.”
All give and take, the young shaman mused; I give and they take… Yet he appreciated the way Mister Smothers reacted to his reticence. The manager stood with hands patiently clasped behind his grey suit and awaited a reply while the burgeoning business of the drug company clattered around his glass walled office. Two years is an eternity…
The boss seemed a tolerant sort. The shadow of a smile played at a corner of his lips while he looked down at the teenage hippy seated in the workworn wood lined office. “And if you join us you’ll receive all entitlements the award provides, for someone of your age. Is there anything you’d like to know about the position?”
“Two years?” was all the teenage mage could say; the words sprang from his lips without conscious volition.
“Oh, at least. We’ll certainly need you for longer than that. You’ll be learning the price of every product we sell. You’ll soon be able to rattle them all off by heart. Your father tells me you’re good with figures.” Mister Smothers’ incipient smile gained traction as rows of white teeth shone through his otherwise serious visage. “You can start tomorrow but I’ll need a definite answer regarding your long term decision about the position within two weeks. Joe, our senior pricing clerk, will be retiring soon and we need to find someone to replace him – someone who can guarantee they’ll stay with us.”
Ram’yana felt his spirit sink into the hard wooden bones of the leather-padded chair while the import of the man’s words occluded all the bright heartfelt visions he held for his future. That he’d allowed the range of available choices to narrow to this mediocre pass still galled; Assume the position… When he decided to stand his eyes finally, fully met those of the middle aged manager. “Thanks,” he said with an air of sincerity. “If you can give me a fortnight to decide whether I’ll be staying I can start tomorrow.” He accepted the boss’s proffered hand and shook it to seal their arrangement.
“Nine a.m. on the dot then,” Mister Smothers announced, stepping back and glancing at a sheet of paper on his blotter-covered desk. “We’re always glad to take someone from your school – they usually work out very well for us. I have a little time right now, so let’s go and meet Joe and see where you’ll be working.”
When he’d first arrived at the workplace with Genius, his father, they’d entered the establishment via storage bays that opened onto a loading dock on the ground floor, where his father had toiled with other manual labourers for years before being bumped upstairs when his talents were recognised. Genius had led him through ceiling-high shelves stacked with sleeping pills, amphetamines, pain killing opiates and every toxic nostrum available to modernised humans of the late twentieth century.
How can they offer me a job in a drug company? the long haired hippy had marvelled for a fleet moment. Then he saw all the staid, apron wearing workers watching him trail his father through territory demarked by blue collars and steel capped work boots. I’ll be the first suspect if anything goes missing… he abruptly realised and smiled down at his new polished black leather shoes.
He half expected to be led back down the wide wooden staircase by Mister Smothers but the flannel suited man directed him to an airy, high-ceilinged room floored in drab worn linoleum. The chamber was sparsely filled with identical desks lined up beneath banks of fluorescent lights that glowed through a slowly tumbling cloud of bluish tobacco smoke. The desks were covered with identical leather-bound blotters and overfull ashtrays, and adorned with chunky typewriters whose incessant muttering filled the room with a pervasive metallic chatter.
A gaggle of grey-suited clerks and a couple of conservatively dressed greying secretaries glanced up from their work as the boss led the newcomer into their midst. All appeared to be between their thirties and fifties and only two smiled before refocusing on the numbers and letters that adhered to their eyes in endless rows on handwritten receipts, typed invoices, submerged beneath all the sundry incomprehensible minutiae of mind numbing clerical business.
“It’s mostly addition and subtraction,” Mister Smothers said in what he no doubt assumed was a reassuring tone. “You’ll have no trouble.” He introduced the white collared workers to their new colleague and most of their names fled straight through the teenager’s stunned awareness while the weight of unknowable expectations pressed down on his head and shoulders.
“This is where you’ll be working – right next to Joe.” The boss indicated a small wooden desk that was almost identical to those at the school he’d abandoned three years earlier. The scarred surface of the timeworn hardwood slab was inhabited by a typewriter and large chunky adding machine that lurked to one side like a one-armed bandit. The desk held a round empty slot for an outdated inkwell and was grooved to keep the pooling messes of leaky ink-dip nibbed pens from the blotter. Ram’s paisley necktie began to feel uncommonly tight.
It was like being admitted to an oft imagined and long avoided prison cell – an unknown territory that was utterly familiar to any product of ‘modern’ education.
Joe was a wrinkly grey gnome whose body seemed to have melded with the cracked leather of his sparsely padded chair. He peered at the youth who loomed above him through rimless spectacles perched halfway along his bulbous nose. “Welcome to the salt mine,” he said with a fleeting smile and his watery gaze returned to a row of figures on one of the sheets arrayed before him.
“We’d prefer you didn’t use an adding machine,” Mister Smothers advised when Ram’s eyes settled on the clunky device at Joe’s elbow, a half-formed bastard offspring of the substantial Remington typewriter that held pride of place on the balding man’s desk. “We weren’t allowed to use them at school,” he told his employer. “Or calculators. We had to do it all in our heads.”
“Good – that’s how we do it here,” Joe said to his paperwork.
“So I won’t need my slide rule?”
Mr Smothers looked at him askance. “No… Why don’t I leave you to get settled in?” he suggested with a pointed glance at his silver wristwatch. “There’ll be a tea break in another twenty minutes and you can get to know the rest of the staff.” He turned and strode from the office without waiting for a reply.
Ram’yana stared through the half open windows lining one wall of the huge open plan room. A single listless tree slouched in a brick-lined car park, momentarily shaded by fleecy clouds that scudded above the gritty industrial suburb.
“He’s a good boss,” Joe assured the lad without looking up from his work. His voice was a mesmerisingly low murmur that was difficult to hear over the clattering office chatter. “It’s easier than starting down in the loading dock and if you’re anything like your father you’ll do well here. It’s a good place to work. Take a seat at your desk and I’ll show you a few things in a minute.”
The proffered seat was a planed hardwood skeleton, much plainer than the other chairs in the office. “Everything you’ll need is in your top drawer.” Aye, in my head… Ram’s wandering mind pondered. He slid the drawer open and made a quick inventory of the collection of boxed rubber bands, pencils and thumbtacks stacked beside a long steel stapler and a superannuated Imperial foot rule. “If you can do your sums you’ll be fine.” Joe dropped a ledger onto Ram’s desk. “You now what that is? Good,” he said without waiting for an answer. “Take a look at the layout – it’s very simple.”
It was; depressingly simple and immediately tendentious. The new pricing clerk sat at his desk and absently examined his hunched-over workmates and the briskly typing secretaries while his mind turned over as slowly as a disused diesel engine. He felt like an insect trapped in a sticky bead of congealing amber.
His eyes settled on an ashtray brimming with crumpled butts at the elbow of a skinny older man with a deeply furrowed brow, and at that moment a slim graceful hand lifted the heavy glass prism from the edge of the desk. His mind snapped into gear when he focused on the pretty young girl who carried it through the office. Long umber hair swept down her back, almost all the way to the hem of an ultrabrief miniskirt that entirely revealed a pair of perfect legs sheathed in transparent polyester pantyhose.
“That’s Rose,” Joe said while his rheumy eyes skated over the tops of his spectacles, following the vision’s progress. “A very nice girl.” Ram’yana watched Rose gracefully pace the lino, picking up overfilled ashtrays and empty teacups which cluttered desks heaving with loose stacks of paper. An embroidered flower appeared beneath the girl’s cascading hair when she bent to retrieve a fallen pencil beneath a nearby desk. Ram was aware of half a dozen pairs of eyes sweeping up Rose’s body along with his own; roving her form from her small sandalled feet to her elegant neck and lingering on the curvaceous swell of the half grown breasts that filled out her turtleneck jumper. She was a fresh ray of sunshine shining within a ubiquitous pall of fluorescent gloom.
“Do you have a girlfriend – or maybe a fiancé?” Joe pointedly asked, and their eyes met through the split seams of the old man’s bifocal lenses. It was easy to tell that an honestly detailed reply to the elderly gent was out of the question. “A girlfriend,” he agreed with a nod.
“Is she a nice girl?”
“Io Pan…” Five slim fingers wriggle between their slippery bodies and slide down her concave belly. Her lover lifts his hips to provide egress to her priceless pearl and the Lady Racheal drops back out of the cavern of his hair to fall onto the oil-stained silken sheet.
She cocks a long, slim leg outward and upward and spry fingers begin spiralling round the bead of her clitoris with the familiar ease of practiced pleasuring. Ram’s teenage witch-bride had been a solo practitioner in many ways throughout the long lonely years of her adolescence - until she met her prince and began her adventurous sojourn with the Court of the Centrax. “I… I… oh God,” she breathes, “I… ohh Pan!”
The Name thrums through Ram’s spine, forcing him erect and propelling his pelvis forward until his body moves with a will of its own – a desire he’s utterly happy to share. The sensation of his Lady Racheal’s overheated body squirming beneath him is breathtaking. He closes his eyes to savour the feel of her loins wrapped round him, the way her tight round buns bounce against his groin as her entire body swivels round his magic staff. Moans of obviously ardent enjoyment inspire a feverish need to fulfil all her longings and goad him to ever more primal thrusts.
He opens his eyes to the sight of his beauteous mate gasping and writhing in unsullied ecstasy as a flash of light illumines all her patrician planes and feminine curves. He imprints a vision of blood-darkened, long-lashed eyelids fluttering above an addictively kissable gaping mouth - impressing the impressive sight and sounds, smell, taste and feel of his nubile bride into eternal random access memory while cannonades of thunder rumble through their singeing flesh.
Racheal’s eyes roll back into place from the prismatic interior of her socketed skull. Glinting sapphires fix upon him to scorch and ignite his thoroughly entranced mind and sink anchors into his very soul. He matches the witch girl’s mesmerising, unblinking stare as her hand saunters down the taut belly that encases his rampant flesh. Oily fingers stroll down along the fluorescent white skin that shines between her slim upraised legs, and then suddenly race to encase the tautly stretched flesh of her moistened membranes.
He feels her hand wrap right round her sex to squeeze his imposing length even more tightly as she grips his thrusting thickness through the sheathing heat of her shaved outer lips. Her clasp is almost as strong as the amazingly taut inner rings of her vulva, an encircling serpent that grasps his girth tighter than elasticised rubber. He groans and allows his hot young flesh to mindlessly fuck his adorable lover, glorying in the answering flurry of breathless cries that rapidly rise into strident, wordless, volatile screams. Her breath washes over his sweat-streaked skin, incensing him onward and inward, deeper and harder, stronger and faster.
The world ends at the edge of intertwined circles of flesh and blood locked in Tantric bliss. He’s utterly absorbed in the incomparable feel of his wayward beloved’s fine young flesh - the way her muscular rings enclose his hardness in loving circlets of inward-sucking pneumatic quoits that milk his manhood with pneumatic zeal – the way her generous breasts rise to stab at his chest with hard nubbin nipples in time with his thrusts – the way her every movement melds to his, matching him stroke for stroke - even when she’s so completely drunk, stoned and thoroughly massaged she’s unable to rise from the bed.
The High Priestess to the Court of Centraxis squeezes every inch he has with succulent manipulations, wrapping him up in tightening membranes while her ribcage heaves with the force of her breaths. Trapped beneath his body with both ankles still pinned up into her hair, she rocks her hips forward to press the slick bulb of her flaring arousal into his fur covered pubic bone.
Sharp white teeth nip a trail along Ram’s neck while a contralto moan resonates into and through the trunk of his throat. Another stark flash of hard white light reveals a jumble of blondeness pouring across blindly besotted bewitching eyes, barely a handspan from his. A pointed wet tongue laves his sex-swollen lips and torrid gusts of ethylated breath pour into his nostrils while the dying candle rises afresh, bathing their flesh in a wan yellow glow.
He suspends most of his weight above his mate, balanced on the fulcrum of their interjoined loins while she frees her calves from his shoulders. The hard nub of a customarily barefoot heel slips down his ribs and the sole of an equally roughened foot curves onto his hip as silken thighs rub past his belly and midriff. A talented tongue scribes a wide wet line on his oil-smeared cheek and a deep thrust of thunder rumbles inside the mingling heat of their flesh. The Lady Racheal emits a heartfelt sigh as another bolt of lightning sears images of lovingly interlocked gazes into thudding, thundering, wide open hearts.
Soft warm thighs slide past Ram’s ribcage and lodge round his midriff as a hard pair of heels dig into the hills of his buttocks, pressing him farther down and further in with irresistible feminine strength. When his crown burrows against the gates of her cervix the priestess’s next evocation is raucously loud and piercingly clear in his breath-bathed ear; “Ohh! Io Pan!”
Racheal’s free hand dives into his hair to pull his mouth closer as they begin rocking together in an age-old freeform dance. He surrenders to the imperative of intermingling lust and rears above his lover’s wide open body. His entire length starts plunging and pulling, diving and retreating inside the elastically stretching wonders of his glorious young bride’s irresistible womanhood. Her firm pointed breasts are cushioning masses, squeezing between the close pressing clutch of their desperately striving young bodies.
Propelled by his jabbing thrusts, the slippery mounds and acutely angled limbs of Racheal’s girlish body slide across the smooth silk sheet while she clasps tightly about his stiffly rearing maleness. She responds to slick caroming thrusts with reciprocal lust, moaning a riff of uninhibited cries that bespeak intensifying raptures of wordless, nameless, soul-fusing pleasure. Her fingernails scratch at the base of his cock and snag in vagrant curls of pubic hair when her frenzied self manipulations accelerate apace.
Titian skin glows in an incensed cloud of flickering amber candlelight. “Oh, Ramses!” One limber leg slides up round his back and Racheal cries tears of joy as she calls her lover’s name. She kisses her ankle as her pelvis rolls wildly about her devotedly rigid and intimately familiar prize cock. When her mate seesaws full length through her slender belly her screams transform into piercing shrieks; he knows better than to mistake them for cries of pain.
All thoughts dissolve in the grinning face of primeval lust. Racheal’s body spasms and shudders beneath her young man as fully a third of her taut teenage torso is impaled by the swollen pillar of his lust-engorged flesh. She nips the slick white skin of her ankle with whiter sharp teeth, holding onto a fraction of her exploding self as she soars over the brink of an amazingly extending climax.
Ram’yana fondles his beloved’s breasts, squeezing the globes of her womanly flesh inside his hands. Most of his weight bears down to cram his ramrod all the way up inside her as he balances on her fulsome orbs, reaming his wonderfully responsive girl with an accelerating flurry of ever deepening plunges. He ploughs right through her vivaciously grasping vulva until his crown sunders the gates of her womb. The resultant screams threaten to raise the attic roof of the sandstone manse, overpowering the thunder while Racheal’s slim limbs fling themselves in random directions and beat at her lover’s body.
At that breathless moment, vibrating beyond the knife-edge brink of eternity, the Lady Racheal recovers her powers of speech. “Ohh,” she gasps, “My Panaman…” Her lover jams up inside his girl as far as he can go, only stopping when she moans with inarticulate pleasure and an extraordinary bout of grasping contractions threatens to suck the seed from his roots and end their tryst prematurely. He kisses her raggedly panting mouth and sucks her sweet tongue between his lips, supping on her flesh and drinking her succulent juices.
In a moment of ragged-breathed relative silence the pounding beat of primitive drumming thrums through their bed from the ground floor below, vibrating inside the young shaman’s blood and rampaging flesh. He quivers within the irresistible embrace of four demandingly enfolding limbs that draw him right to the core of his bride’s taut sheathing vesicle. Her tongue slips from his lips. “Take me all the way again!” she cries up into his mouth with surprisingly clear articulation. “All the way, all the way home!”
So he does, while drumbeats and heartbeats and rolling scrolls of vibrant thunder toll through their animal bodies. He pins her down and stretches her out, fucking the uncommonly submissive Centraxian High Priestess ’til she screams and screams all over again in a seemingly endless gut wrenching crescendo. Deafening cries rip from her wide opened throat, urgent loud screams that tear through the windows and peal through the wide ranging night of the slumberous, rain-pelted Emerald City.
Drumbeats seem to match his movements and guide her flesh around his frame. The young shaman prince barely restrains his own mind-blowing explosion when his ladylove grips him with every iota of unfathomable strength, wrung from her wise womanly musculature. She rings him completely, trying to wring his manhood dry inside the tightly grasping tube of her everlusting teenaged love, bouncing and squeezing, clasping and screaming in a blown-away bliss of utter abandonment beneath and around his firm slender body - even as a shadow moves across her skin and a floorboard creaks beside the healing chamber’s well used bed.
The shaman prince can barely spare a thread of attention for the nearby presence as he writhes at the blinding zenith of the Lady Racheal’s unending orgasm. The climactic cries of his wild prime mate resound through the halls of the magical household and explode through the dreams of a teeming horde of surrounding suburbanites. The inspiring holy grail of uninhibited joyful feminine screams blares through the prince’s striving soul and he knows it would easily ensorcel the attentive senses of many an unknown observer – any neophyte, initiate or adept of the Dawn of Ra would be captivated by the sight of the Lady Racheal writhing in naked, shining, anointed ecstasy as surely as any stranger from the world beyond The Group’s abode.
The regular humping, pumping thump of Racheal’s hips shakes the legs of the bed on the cedar floorboards like wooden gongs, rattling in time with the jamming drums as the onlooking stranger hovers nearby. Her prince is fully engaged in giving his lover exactly what she wants and needs, while fixedly holding his own orgasm deep within his roots. He spares little thought for their shadowy voyeur and rides his bride through the livid fantasia of mind blowing orgasm, utterly transfixed by the sight of his mounted mate’s beautiful come-struck face.
Yet even as he plays the highly strung instrument of her firm slender body, Ram’yana senses the stealthy presence move closer to the fully disclosed exhibit of his Lady Racheal’s hairless labia, roundly stretched by his embedded shaft and nakedly exposed to the other’s sight in a haze of flittering candlelight.
Another silent blinding flash reveals the brazen girl in all her glory and the glittering afterimage of a supine Valkyrie morphs and twists while Racheal clenches his incessantly piledriving ramrod with incredible intensity. He glances down between his witch girl’s slim parted thighs and sees her inner lips turn inside out each time he draws back out of her innards; a flagrant tube of blood-flushed flesh grips Ram’s engorged shaft in a hot wet sheath of feminine membranes, fully distended and glistening with desire before the gaze of the unknown voyeur.
“Oh god!” the Wiccan priestess gasps, “Oh Pan, oh fuck, o man,” she yells, and then she shrieks like a fucking banshee; “Oh oohh, ahh OHH, ah EEE… AIEEE!” Racheal’s scream lights up the lightning-fused night as her heels dig deeper to drive her man onward - and Ram’yana feels the heat of a nearby breath on the place where their interlocked sex intersects. The world swells open and a wall of blinding white flame sears his senses to a flaming crisp.
Some little time later a contorted ball of sticky flesh lolls on the oily sweat-painted silken sheet. Hearts attune while a slowing drumbeat measures descending cadences of gasping breaths in miasmic velvety darkness. Momentarily sated, drifting through a living dream, the lovers bask in the afterglow of their stormy tryst. Unified, intermeshed teenage flesh vibrates to dissonant rhythms of distant thunder and the closer thrum of shamanic drumming.
Beeswax candles scent bedchamber and hall with smoky contributions to a complex olfactory haze, extinguished by wandering gusts; snuffed out with the stars while the long haired hippies were lost and found in the slip-sliding slipstream of immortal passions. They loosely grapple in a juicy tangle of supine limbs while an ozone-charged current of storm tossed air slowly cools their oily sweat-scented skins. Devouring night soothes dissolving minds with near-palpable darkness, a matrix conveying a random mix of permeable thoughts between auras twinned and twined in love.
Enduring sounds of musical partying filter upstairs in the large sandstone house, a solo drumbeat vibrating bones and unerringly guiding each absent-minded loving touch and fondling fond caress.
The breeze can’t dispel the humid tide that bathes the entire gregarious manse in salty sea flavours from oily wavelets that march across the harbour’s inlet just a cable’s length from the temple door. The unmistakeable creamy yeast of fragrant sex is almost smothered by lingering incense and scented oils, imbuing the multifaceted magic group’s sparsely furnished healing chamber with a lividly sultry brew. The slumberous priestess’s outstretched right leg is pinned betwixt her firm young breasts by her shaman’s slowly heaving chest, but neither wishes to break the spell of blissful conjunction by shifting position or sliding apart.
A sheer pale crescent of moonlet cheek presses against the furry pit of Ram’s upraised arm as the blood-infused tissues of swollen lips whisper breathless poesy to his left nipple. Racheal’s whispery cogitations echo the visions that flow through the house and enter both their dreamy minds to entertain and edify, confound and conflate, infuse and inspire with uplifting images of Elysian fields where scarcely clad athletes cavort and compete before upraised thrones bearing stern-visaged maids, white-masked matrons and sun dried crones. Fleet fleeing forms form a merry chase that girdles the temple and flows through wide holes in colander minds, receptively open to every extrusion in Tantra’s fey gloaming.
Bodies and minds are jammed together in a time-defeating aftermath fugue of thoroughly lusty lovemaking. Pubic bones nestle hard and fast, holding the end of fucking at bay and squeezing the bulb of Racheal’s sex as she clenches around him, inside and out. Thoughts and images weave and join as the young shaman’s staff starts to throb and reharden through the tight hugging heat of his witch-wife’s trim belly. Driven ahead by a stolid mass of refilling flesh, its cushioning cap sears a blazing path right through his beloved’s welcoming seam to nestle against her waiting womb.
He licks the salt from his lover’s pinned calf and kisses a path across her slim ankle, falling into the open lair of her pouting, waiting, kissable lips while her other labia wreath him in glory. Her talented musculature rings and wrings each columnar inch as the half-dazed girl automatically swallows the hard horny maleness that throbs and flexes deep inside her in conscious, wordless, tactile reply to every squeeze and loving gesture. The rest of Ram’s body remains immobile - impressed down inside her by gravity’s tug in insistent, unfaltering, loving embrace, while all his lover’s lips anoint his face and loins with gentle grace. She manipulates his obdurate flesh in riveting time with the rhythmic drum whose tempo pounds within their blood, inciting the lovers to move to its beat with gentle tidal undulations.
Her wondrously vivid grasping strength, sheer liquid membranes and slick soft skin are ever enduring addictive enticements to her mate’s unflagging libido. He’s hard and hot as magmatic rock, filled to the brim with steamy need and a resurgent storm of testosterone, charged with the power of faunal lust rekindled by ultimate, intimate signals of wanton female desire and trust. The High Priestess clings and cleaves to his hardness with practiced absorption and limber ease, circling his body with all three free limbs and spryly wringing out timely rhythms with unteachably rare and gifted technique.
The young mage feels the undistilled rush of life’s most exalting purpose fulfilled – the same vibrant glow of masculine power and unsullied potency he knew at the peak of the Rite of Pan, a few hours earlier in the nearby temple, beyond the open maw of the window which snorts inconstant storm-charged flurries of gusts upon their naked skins to fan the heat of rekindled passion.
The shaman prince pulls away from their kiss to peer through a glimmer of dim distant light - reflected lamps from a wallowing plane that vaguely illumine her unmasked delight. His gorgeous girlfriend springs beneath his pressing need with a pelvic thrust, sweltering with fervid heat and torrid unrelenting lust as he rams his ramrod back in place. Eyes of flowing liquid glint in shadows cast by gilded locks, gleaming with an inner glow while Racheal’s pelvis twists and rocks as she stares enraptured at his face.
A song pours from her silken lips, a wordless tune of life fulfilled in clearly stated youthful joy as she clamps around her prideful boy and fucks his cock with feral need. He draws back through her tricksy grip to feel her membranes slide and slip and sees the thrill that goads her will revealed in glazed and parted lips as she strives to loose his streaming seed. Barely glimpsed in faded night, his Lady Racheal’s inner light is a blazing beacon in Ram’s sight as he rears engorged when she softly sighs, raises both her limber thighs and thumbs the panic button of her swelling pearly bead. She presses forth and opens wider till he’s all the way inside her, rubbing her electric clit while he nibbles on a swollen teat and as the storm returns, reborn, he fills her with his rigid horn, a beastly curve of rutting meat that gores his mate to her very quick, and hears a scream of sated greed.
The humping two-backed beast is left in a writhing, thumping, fucking heap while singing souls in truly loving love ascend to a height above the urgent thrusts of meeting meat to mingle while their bodies fuck and suck and moan and feed;
Art with me?
Hear me?
Here…
Which of us…?
Both of us…
We…
Here… with the living wind blowing through us…
All so clear…
Electric…
And that light… rising up…
From the temple…
From all those people…
Spirits…
Through the ground…
Through our bodies…
They’re using us…
Riding us…
Look…
Don’t look…
Too soon…
Too late.
Racheal’s cry of unbound reply is the call of the wild. Her whipcord body clamps about her horny fucking manimal, cramming her catch to her very marrow as they’re sucked back into their unrestrained flesh. Her nubile form is engraved in Ram’s soul, her taste and smell and pliant textures impressed within undying memory. Untrimmed nails claw jagged trails along his back and grasp his clenched behind, while an ancient presence guides his thrusts and impales his true beloved to the rhythm of an unseen drummer. And even as an aspect of the Great God Pan rides the teenage High Priestess of Centraxis through the screaming heights of mind blowing serial orgasms, her shaman prince witnesses another Power rise behind his lover’s fluttering eyes…
Goddess…
*
A true story
- R.A.
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
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
The Blue Pill - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 14
Crossed Swords - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 15
Power Corrupts - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 16
Crossed Swords - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 15
Power Corrupts - Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 16
And
Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 1
Psychedelic Water Part 1 - Fractal Rainbow
The Shaman of Centraxis Part 1 - The Whole is Greater
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
This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice. Feel free to make non-commercial hard (printed) or software copies or mirror sites - you never know how long something will stay glued to the web – but remember attribution! If you like what you see, please send a tiny donation or leave a comment – and thanks for reading this far…
From The Prince of Centraxis - http://centraxis.blogspot.com
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