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“Aaaah,” he says, “I savor your sweetness.”
“And you shall delight in more.”
When we reach the bed, Horus sits and watches me take a strip of linen cloth and fold it, then wrap it around his eyes. The room is aglow with the flicker of the wall torches, orange and blue flames dancing about. “Lie down on your stomach,” I command, “and let me have my way with you.”
He does not question me; does what he is told and allows me to take him where he has been afraid to venture with others. I straddle him, then pour jasmine oil into my hands and massage his wide back, his steely shoulders, and thick neck. He relaxes under the soothing scent. His beautifully sculpted body, dark as the rich silt of the Nile, glistens under my touch. I lean the warmth of my smooth body against his, slowly easing my way down to his backside, rubbing and pulling at his cheeks, then down across the back of his thighs, then down to his calves, kneading his muscles, his legs long and strong. I inch my hands back up, pull open his backside, then lightly blow. He flinches, tenses, then relaxes.
“Is this not what you’ve desired?”
He nods his head and whispers in a voice straining against itself, a voice that should not belong to him. “Yes,” he says.
I allow my drool to drip into the seam of his rear.
“Who am I?” I coo in a seductive voice.
“Raghaba,” he moans.
I flick my tongue across the opening of his anus, then lick all around it.
“Who am I?” I repeat.
He gasps. “Raghaba.”
I stick my wet tongue deep in. Tongue him longingly. Tongue him lovingly. He slowly twirls his hips and lets out a loud, rumbling moan that shudders the night and shakes all of Kemet. I reach up and gently tug his testicles which are the size of two ripe plums, and plant warm kisses on each one, then slip them into my mouth, rolling my tongue around each one, licking the back of them, then gliding my tongue back up along the crevice of his rear, resting it—wet and hungry, back in the center of his hole.
He moans again, grinding himself into the mattress.
“Turn over,” I demand. The erotic odor of his manliness lingers against my lips, lays along my tongue and I am anxious to share its taste with him. As he turns over, a rush of excitement flows through me as I watch his overly enlarged organ bounce across the ripples of his muscled stomach, and drip a thin string of nectar.
I kiss him and share his scent with him. My tongue swirls deeply into his mouth, then pulls his tongue into my own mouth. I straddle him and suck on his tongue as if it were his thick phallus. His hand grabs at his penis, pulling and stroking it, slapping it up against my backside. I begin to massage my clitoris and allow my juices to drip against his thigh. I grind against him. I moan with him. I lock my eyes on his. And as he strokes himself, I stroke myself. Match the rise and fall of his breathing.
“Let me remove this cloth that binds my sight,” he says, reaching for the cloth strip with his free hand. “I want to lay my eyes upon you. Want to see you worship me.”
“No,” I snap, grabbing his hand. “There is plenty of time to see me with your eyes. Tonight, use your other senses, and allow your imagination to savor me.”
“You are teasing me,” he says, his voice low and sensual.
“No,” I coo in between soft, wet kisses. “I am preparing you”—more kisses—“and preparing me.” My tongue slithers down his neck, over his shoulders, then to his chest. I gingerly lick around his dark nipples and trace wet circles around each one, causing him to moan in delight.
I reach behind me, grab the base of his phallus and squeeze. My loins become engulfed in flames, as I await his entry. The tip of his penis brushes against my wetness. I am teasing me, and teasing him until we both can no longer take it. He anticipates what I want…his erection massive and long. I am trembling as I mount him—half-sitting, half-squatting. I brace myself against his chest. Slowly, I ease down on him and the
head of his penis kisses my hungry lips. They flare open and allow him inside of me, the mouth of my vagina stretching wide to fit around him, then snapping snugly around the girth of his manhood. A soft moan escapes me as I envelope him—bury him in my wetness, and squeeze him. “Mmmm…”
“Oh, Raghaba,” he whispers. “You know not what you do to me.”
“Is this not what you desired?” I question, sliding all the way down onto him, the base of his phallus tickling my clit as I lean forward and place my lips flush against his ear. “Did you not crave the wetness of my valley? Did you not dream sweet dreams of riding the wave of pleasure?”
“Yes,” he says, panting, cupping my breasts, then pulling softly at my nipples.
“Who am I?”
“Raghaba…”
“Who am I?”
“Goddess of desire…uh, oh, yes.”
We are both trying to find a rhythm that matches our needs as we travel uncharted territory. I slowly rise, then plunge deep down onto him, gyrating my pelvis. Rise. Plunge. Rise. Plunge. I am pulling him up and down with me. He is pushing up in me. I am pushing down on him. His hands steady on either side of my hips, bracing my ride. I lean in and devour his lips with my mouth, darting my tongue in and out until he catches it and pulls it deep into his mouth. Our tongues swirl around one another. Warm and moist, he sucks on mine. I suck on his.
