Paradise - Part Two (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) (9 page)

“What are we meant to achieve by this, master?” I say with a smile and in a low voice.

He returns my smile.

“I am not your master, nor you my slave, but we are both vessels of the Divine Current.”

“So we are to achieve bliss by this?”

“That is the aim. You miss nothing. You’re no stranger to these occult Egyptian practices, I see…”

“I am actually. I’ve only read about them.”

“You seem to remember what you read.”

“More than I’d like, sometimes.”

“From now till midnight we must observe silence, not only of speech but also of mind. And perhaps by some grace we will be able to transmute the life of our consciousness to that of a higher plane.”

I have the distinct feeling that it’s no longer him talking but some alien soul. Perhaps the soul of a god. He has transformed into someone else, speaking in a way that is nothing like his usual self. Almost like a split personality would do. Under normal circumstances, speech like this would be a bit scary, but now it seems to fit the extreme bizarreness of the situation and I am not afraid but get the deep seated sensation of floating, being lifted up to a plane of inner space I have not yet known. I eat a handful of grapes and feel the inner transformation is complete. From lead into gold, my soul has transformed from mortal to immortal. At least that is how it feels. The inner experience is of a light transcendence, like that produced by opiates, but much deeper and fuller. This inner experience lightens and ascends throughout the course of the night. It’s really indescribable and I will leave it at that, and go on to describe the outer physical experiences we share.

I finish the rest of the wine in the pitcher and turn to see Apollo on the floor next to me, his loincloth pushed to one side by his massive, boisterous erection. His is a brusque penis. He parts the top of the V-shaped garb I wear, exposing heaving breasts, still broken out in goosebumps, which increase in size as he runs his fingers between the them. I’m practically shivering with pleasure as I feel my wet vagina lubricating the carpet. He squeezes my breasts and pushes them up before running his hands down my sides, along my hips, and, brushing aside the flap of silk, to my throbbing, wet pussy. He gently massages the labia with a deeply caring touch and finds my erect clitoris. He smears the juice all over my wet lips, in all the creases, drawing more out of the slit and spreading it around the outside as he pleases. I feel like a god is touching me now.
The sensation from the fingertips touching just inside my gushing vagina creates divine bodily pleasure, spreading upward in waves. He pulls the labia apart with both hands now as I lower my back onto the floor. He sticks his fingers deep inside, rubbing his finger pads up and down along the ribbed part of the vagina. This is fast becoming the best fuck I’ve ever had and he hasn’t even swum upstream yet.

Ah, there it is. The smooth rounded end of his manhood touches the labia, rubbing up and down it, in the folds, massaging the clitoris. I spread my legs as far as they’ll go, welcoming him. And the youthful god spears me—thrusts right through. I feel my insides pushed by the head of his gargantuan cock. He rocks his hips back and forth—excruciatingly slow.
Excruciating
because, instant-gratification-seeker that I am, I want him to fuck me hard and fast right now to take us both to the heights, but he’s doing it right. The slow flow sends waves of escalating pleasure through me. This moment is the pinnacle of sexual ecstasy in all my life, the pinnacle of ecstasy of all sorts. It is illumination and it keeps lifting my soul, like the rising tide. It must be a half-hour to forty-five minutes since the roleplay began, though it feels like seconds only. I know about how much time must have passed because of the changes in the light from dusk to night, the room is lit now only by a few candles that strangely seem to burn violet in color. And yet it seems to be lit by something else that I can’t divine. There is an even glow to the room that seems to come from nowhere at all. A gray, silvery light that is as unnatural as the violet hue to the candelight, like the cinematic effect of bleach bypass processing. It is as though we are viewing the room as it would appear in the astral plane, like we are ghosts. With these thoughts begins the onslaught of dreadful thoughts of her. I’m terrified but I can’t stop what I’m doing. I don’t want to because simultaneously I feel ecstatic. It is an adorable-horrible ecstasy that lifts me to another dimension beyond death and life, or so it seems. Perhaps the ritual is working. Perhaps this is the intended result. Through some strange osmosis I feel that my soul is merging with hers, she and I are one, and experiencing the seminal blessing of this deity thrusting into me together. All thoughts of the disgust with and the terror of death vanish in a vastly liberating shift and I simply enjoy, with her, the heightened state of being—the waves produced by this perfected natural act, the spiritual freedom produced possibly in part by the ritual. I increasingly felt the presence of some very powerful, very intelligent entities in the room surrounding us. They appear to my mind like balls of light. I glance up at the Apollo shafting me now and I see not the man-god I saw before but a strange facsimile, a reptilian creature, with snakelike eyes and lizard arms and legs. But what strikes me with tenfold the force of this physical appearance is the sheer intensity of the energy passing through me from it. The reptilian beast is pure psychosexual electricity, a monster of energy that quickens me like the primordial force that allows me to live. If this sounds complicated, that’s because it is. I try to take a realistic view of things to overcome the fear these images produce, but it’s extremely difficult. No curiosity about my sanity in these moments, clearly I’ve lost it. I reason these must be images that are archetypal and exist in the subconscious of all humans, if not in different species. Stafford must have spiked the wine with LSD, or something like it, and that combined with everything else—recent experiences, chaotic emotions, the death of Isabella Gardner—has led to this. That’s the only way I can rationalize the strangeness of this dreamlike experience, and it’s the last time I try. The world appears to me to be floating on a small movie screen somehow beneath and in front of me and the rest of existence is on a different plane of heavenly bliss. I’ve definitely got to get more involved in the studies and practices of these Egyptian rituals in the future. What an insane, exotic experience. I wish everyone in the world could experience this sort of union—communion. There would be no more war, only everlasting peace.

The lizard god has transformed back into a likeness of Apollo. For some odd reason he has not yet spent himself as I see the first rays of the rosy fingered dawn scatter across the walls. Finally he withdraws. I don’t think he’s released the silver fluid at all. I ask him about it.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so though. I don’t see it dribbling out of you.”

I laugh spontaneously and give him a playful shove. I’m still floating and I feel I could just walk out of this room completely naked, past all the porters and maids, and down to the sea, walking across it before dissolving into thin air. I look at Stafford, and, by the look on his face, I’m sure he feels the same. The sense of being fully energized sweeps through and strengthens me. Like Hippolyta, greatest queen of the Amazons, I am the archetype of female power. The feeling of what I think of as
true love
washes over me. The creative part of my mind accepts these feelings as real while the critical part smirks. Which part am I? All and none.

I put on my trench coat and depart.