A God of Old Ch. 06

When he detached himself from her embrace, she felt a sudden deprivation, that aforementioned power gone in an instant.

"Get on the bed," he directed her.

She obeyed, clambering on top, feeling the soft silk caress her skin. But as ready as she was to begin the carnalities, she was unsure about how to proceed.

Luckily for her, he was aware of her inexperience.

"On your back," he told her, "spread your legs."

She did so, biting her lip as he approached, his eyes raking a path along her body. A deep warmth was blooming inside her, increasing by the moment. Her hand dipped down to her slit, where she found trickles of fluid flowing forth, proof of her arousal.

"Relax," he soothed her, "put your pleasure in my hands."

It was difficult to relax with a veritable god settling in between her legs.

But she managed to ease back, breathing a bit more normally.

At least until he put his hands on her thighs. That touch brought back the power she had felt earlier, making her quiver and gasp.

And then he leaned down.

Salome had already seen his power in action, in the helicopter and in the room with those who had doubted him. And even if she had not seen that power, she would have known of it from the stories that her grandmother had told her.

But those stories did not mention the sort of power that he was wielding now.

The power that he brought to bear now was entirely of the carnal variety. From the moment his tongue lapped along her slit, pleasure reigned over her, summoned by him as easily as breathing. She moaned ceaselessly, overwhelmed in seconds by the sensations, having never experienced anything similar. While she had given herself pleasure before, it was dwarfed by what he could give her, like a streetlamp compared to the incandescence of the morning sun.

Salome forgot about all of her responsibilities, about her part in the plan that would allow him to reclaim his sovereignty over the world, about everything except for the two of them. It was easy to give in, to let the swirling pleasure overtake her, to let it dominate her focus.

Her hands slid down, stroking along his head, gripping at his shoulders. His tongue worked wonders along her slit, collecting more of her nectar, provoking more to spill out as well.

"Master," she breathed, "don't stop, please."

He chuckled, glancing up momentarily. His tongue slipped gently inside her slit, feeling it clutch at that penetration. Her back arched of its own accord at that sensation, at something alien entering her, something different than her own fingers. It was a strange thing to her, that his master of hers should be pleasing her instead of the other way around, but she was not about to complain.

"Oh fuck, your tongue feels so good, master..."

Those strong hands travelled north. They caressed along her belly, up to her breasts, stroking and teasing. Just his touch added more pleasure to the mix.

Salome had briefly worried, in the moments before he had descended upon her sex, that he would find her taste unappealing, or be put off by the small smattering of dark hair just above it.

But he seemed to enjoy her taste, her essence, feasting eagerly upon it. Clearly, this was not just for her; he received pleasure from this.

"Master, yes, so good, don't stop..."

His talent was unimpeachable, the deftness and flexibility of his tongue reaching places in her that made her heart skip a beat.

Not only was he very good at providing pleasure, he seemed to know her body as if he had laid with her many times. He knew where precisely to go, which parts of her were more sensitive.

Those talents and that carnal knowledge meant that it took him very little time to bring her to a climax.

She cried out to him, feeling a sublime ecstasy wash over her. Her nerves were alight with endless sensation, his tongue still not stopping, adding more to the mix. The peak was higher and brighter than any other she had ever felt. Her cries trailed into soft moans, her cunt clutching eagerly at his insistent tongue, her body squarely in the grip of ecstasy.

That first climax was not the last. Enkartep pushed her to several of them, each one as intense as the last. All she could do was cry out to him, quivering uncontrollably, feeling the fire of orgasm burning inside her and all over her. His strong hands on her kept her in place for him, so that he could continue lapping up her juices. The ceaseless peaks battered against her body and mind, showing her what pleasure truly was, how satisfying it could truly be. He could provide this true pleasure at a moment's notice, she knew dimly, could provide it whenever he wanted. If she was at his side, she would never want for ecstasy.

When he finally let her come down, she gazed down at him with a deepened awe. He had shown her a world of ecstasy, one that she had never known existed; it felt as if they had trawled into the deepest depths of that world, but that the trip had been quick, as if to linger would be to lose oneself.

He moved above her. She kept her legs spread, seeing that thick cock, wanting it inside her suddenly, for that pleasure to return.

His hands returned to her thighs. Instead of holding her down, he brought her atop his lap as he laid back. The power of his cock was so close; Salome could not stop herself from squirming against it, from grinding her sopping slit against the rigid flesh. Shivers broke out over her at the feeling; it was an exquisite sensation, to feel that power so intimately close to her, thrumming into her sex.

Salome had sometimes found herself imagining what her first time with a man would be like.

All those scenarios paled in comparison to this one.

Not only was the pleasure already sublime in its depth, but she was losing her virginity to her master. Even if he had not informed her of the honor in such a thing, she would have been proud.

"Take your time," Enkartep told her, his hands secure on her hips.

She lifted up, inch by inch, until she could feel the head of his weapon nudging against her slit.

With a bit of pressure, her lower lips opened; she let out a deep breath as the first few inches slipped inside her. He sighed at the feeling of her wet heat, squeezing at her hips.

That unmatchable power radiated deep into her core, just those first few inches seeming to fill her up with more than mere flesh. She swooned atop him, hands set on his chest, savoring this moment, gazing down at her master. The cool gray of his eyes projected calm, as always, as if her tight pussy was not drooling incessantly onto his length, a few trickles of her juices streaming sluggishly down the veined rod. That calm made her feel safe, aware that nothing would interrupt this moment.

She eased down further, moaning softly at the sensation of something hard and thick pushing deeper into her channel.

"How does it feel, priestess?"

Salome smiled at him.

"Wonderful, master," she breathed, leaning down to give him a quick kiss.

One of his hands moved from her hips, sliding up to her breasts. She stayed still, enjoying how his palm felt teasing along a nipple, how his hand felt gripping at her flesh. His lips quirked in a small smile, appreciation and affection there, her master undoubtedly enjoying this as well.

She eased down a few more inches, breathing heavily as her pussy was stretched, eagerly accommodating a hard length of flesh. This was something she was not used to, so she did not move, letting herself adjust to just how much was inside her. His cock throbbed powerfully, adding to the sensory mix, reminding her of his formidability.

His hand moved to her other breast, testing the pert flesh, rubbing the pad of his finger along her sensitive nipple. She mewled softly, arching her back to press herself further into his grip, already desirous of it after just a little bit of time with him.

"You feel so good, master, so good..."

One of her hands slid from his chest up to his cheek, cupping it in her palm. She leaned down to give him another quick kiss, before rising back up, seeing his smile grow wider at her eagerness.

They groaned together when she took in a few more inches. Her cunt slid down his length, by now more than halfway along, clutching at the solidness. She squirmed atop him, on the edge of uncomfortable, this being a sensation she was not used to. The wave of fresh pleasure swirling out from the point of their union more than made up for the slight discomfort.

"Oh god," she moaned, her hands caressing the muscled flesh of his chest, running along it, taken by the strength there.

She moaned again as his shaft throbbed, the power radiating out, the spike in pleasure temporarily robbing her of breath. His hands had already moved back to her hips. The gentle yet firm grip there was exactly what she needed to anchor herself in the face of that formidable power. Even as it suffused her, bleeding into what felt like every corner of her body, there was a certainty in her mind that she could handle it, that he would not allow it to overwhelm her.

Taken by the feel of his lips, she kissed him again.

This time, he did not let her rise up, his hand coming up to hold the back of her head, kissing back fiercely. She moaned into the contact, his lips enticingly warm and sweet, losing herself in the passion for a few long moments.

When she felt his hand move from her head, she knew that he wanted her to rise back up.

So she did, arching her back again, showing off for him, feeling more beautiful and sensual than she ever had in her life. His eyes raked down her body, taking in the firmness and fitness, from her breasts down her belly to her mound. That attention fueled a fire inside her; her hands moved again from his chest, to her own breasts, where she caressed herself, moaning softly as she watched him watch her. It felt wonderful to submerge into the lustfulness, very different from her normal routine. The martial nature of her life meant that it lacked in passion. She had a very strong feeling that her life would be different now, that this passion, this carnality, would forever mark her days.

Salome dropped down further, breathing heavily, feeling more of her master's length fill her up. Her cunt felt full, tested by his thickness, thankfully not found wanting, at least not yet. That thickness throbbed again, making her groan, making the fire inside her burn a bit hotter. The satisfied sigh that came from her master's mouth made her aware that he was also feeling quite a bit of pleasure. She felt momentarily guilty that she had been focusing on her own pleasure, but his smile made her aware that he was content with her doing so for her first time.

"How does my pussy feel, master?" she asked coquettishly, sure of the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

He knew this full well, chuckling at her tone.

"Heavenly, priestess," he murmured.

She smiled, leaning down again to kiss her master. His muscled flesh felt good against her heated body. Moaning into the kiss, she luxuriated in the contact, in the closeness to him. Her lips slid down from his mouth to his neck, continuing to blaze a path down along his sculpted chest, kissing obsequiously at the flesh.

When she felt his shaft throb, she rose up, putting a hold on her obeisance. Several more inches slid inside her, her eyes fluttering at the feeling. Her slit clutched greedily at the thickness spreading it, issuing out more juices, by now streams of her nectar reaching down to his testicles.

There was so little left of his prodigiousness left to go, so few inches left before she would take him all, have the entirety of his shaft buried inside her. That fullness was something she found herself ardently desiring.

So she drove down with no hesitation, crying out in a wavering moan as the remaining inches slid through her slit, a sudden surge of pleasure spiking in her core. She squirmed atop him, completely impaled on his length, feeling it pulse inside her, adding to that surge. As she fought to remain upright, her hands scrabbled on his chest, trying to anchor herself. The way her snug cunt gripped at his member made him groan, the sound so erotic to her ears, the auditory evidence that her master was enjoying this, enjoying her.

"Oh fuck yes, master," she gasped, grinding languidly now on his cock, trickles of her nectar streaming out to slick both of their laps.

He reached up again to caress her breasts, stroking deftly along a sensitive nipple, running the pad of a finger along the bottom curve of one of the meager swells on her chest. Her delighted coo made him smile.

Salome began to move with intent, doing her best to ride him. Despite her lack of experience, she threw herself into the task, bouncing atop him, her cunt sliding wetly along his length. Her dark hair, now unbound, loosed from its practical bun at some point unnoticed by her, trailed down her shoulders, fluttering about her as she rode her master, fucking herself on his cock, speeding up, becoming more comfortable and sure of herself by the moment. She gazed down at him, seeing and knowing that she was pleasing him, her nails digging slightly into his chest. As she carried on, a sound reached her ears, a loud and repetitive noise that marked the collision of their flesh, the result of her arousal, the unchecked flow of her nectar. The sound seemed to echo in the room, accompanied by both of their groans.

His cock throbbed powerfully. Salome paused for a moment with the entirety of his length inside her, taking a little time to appreciate how it felt to be fully filled with her master's flesh. Her cunt clutched greedily, a wave of pleasure building inside her core, rising slowly but surely to what would surely be a joyous crescendo. Shivers broke out over her body as she began to move again, rising up off his lap before driving back down, smoothly fucking herself on his majestic cock, feeling it spread her slit wide, shoving deep into her, stimulating her in the most erotic and intimate of ways. Another moan spilled from her mouth, provoked by another powerful throb from his thickness. He groaned to match her, briefly tilting his head back, appreciating just how good she felt wrapped around his shaft as she appreciated how good he felt filling up her channel.

"Fuck yes, master, you feel so good inside me," she gasped, bouncing faster.

The wave of pleasure rose higher, suffusing her body, blocking out all else. She rode her master harder, driving her silken cunt down onto his rigid length, moaning shamelessly, proclaiming to him just how good he made her feel. Whereas Salome was moving with purpose, with intent, with desire, Enkartep was simply lying back, letting her dictate the pace. He provided enough pleasure as it was, with his prodigious cock, its uncontestable might more than a match for her desires. The only part of him that moved were his hands, exploring different parts of her body, occasionally sliding around her waist to squeeze at the pert flesh of her ass, or moving upwards to once again stroke at her breasts, or gliding further upwards, several fingers teasing at her mouth, Salome opening it to let those fingers tease inside, her obeisant sucking making him chuckle. It did not matter what those questing hands did, what part of her body they surveyed; they added pleasure to the equation, helping the oncoming wave to build higher and higher.

As the wave rose higher and higher, Salome found herself just as terrified of what it would bring when it broke, as she was giddy for that something to arrive. There was something deeply and inhumanly strong about the oncoming storm. It helped greatly that she was anchored to her master, his placidity calming; she knew that he would help her through the delirium.

Despite that faith, when the waves crashed into her, when the crescendo broke into a dizzyingly powerful roar, she feared herself lost, shipwrecked in this new world of carnal sensations. She cried out to her master, half from ecstasy, half from fear, her cunt clutching and seizing around his thickness. Her body was awash in pleasure, every nerve ending on fire, burning brightly. Endless shivers broke out over her, her cry trailing off into a desperate whimper. Just as the first wave ebbed, another struck her, funneling more mind-numbing pleasure into her core and out to the rest of her. She had stopped moving, impaled completely on her master, swaying weakly, still fearful of the swirling vortex of ecstasy.

But her master was there, not only keeping her from falling off his lap, but also from falling too far into the storm. She was aware of his voice, its rich tones slicing easily through the tumult, telling her to breathe, to relax, to let the pleasure wash over her, to simply luxuriate in its flowing, instead of marveling or recoiling at its might. At the same time, she was aware of the pleasure slowly receding, now at a tolerable and manageable point. As it receded further, she heeded her master's words, casting aside her fear and wallowing in the ecstasy, appreciating how it ran through her body, how she felt lighter and looser, higher and freer, a jumble of emotions and sensations unraveling to reveal simpler feelings.

Salome came down from her peak. Sweat trickled down her forehead, her dark hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks. Her breath came quick and shallow, quivers still erupting all over her body, the orgasms leaving last little spikes before disappearing.

It felt as if she had been with her master for a long time, even though she was dimly aware of how little time had actually passed. She could feel a tiredness underlying the sated peace all along her body. It had been a very long day or so, one that she had been dreaming of, one that countless women throughout the centuries, including her mother and grandmother, had been dreaming of.

But of all the priestesses who had lived, Salome Cordero was one of the two who had seen him first, and the first to truly serve him. She felt proud, knowing that she had served him so well, that it would be something she would remember very fondly from then on. No other priestess could boast such a thing.

The tiredness quickly overwhelmed her. She had slumped from her perch atop his lap, ending up snuggled up to his side. Her muddled mind came to the realization that while she had weathered an orgasmic storm, her master had not reached his peak. A large part of her sorely wanted to change that, his shaft so close to her, her hand sliding down his chest along his stomach, aiming for that member.

But before she could reach it, she felt the haze of sleep fall over her.

"Sleep," she heard her master say, "do not worry about me."

Present day, in the same city:

Fernando and Nelson sat in the middle of the lounge, playing chess. Other soldiers were sitting around, awaiting a situation report. Some were restless, their knees bouncing, their hands fidgeting. Some were taking advantage of the time to catch a quick nap. A few were watching the chess match, finding some entertainment despite neither man being particularly skilled at the game.

"Rook takes knight," Nelson announced with a cheery smile.

Fernando sighed.

"Your turn."

Fernando nodded, grunting in annoyance, trying to figure out his best moves.

That quandary was interrupted by the door sliding open.

"Attention please," came the deep voice of Samir Raquin, the half-Moroccan, half-Spanish commander of the unit.

Immediately, all eyes shifted to him.

Despite his deep voice, and authoritative presence, Samir was one of the shorter people in the room, standing at just under five foot eight. He wore black fatigues, complemented by black combat boots, a handgun on one hip and a knife sheathed on the other.

"We have just heard from our contact," he began, "our target has arrived."