Devil in the Convent 5
5
She's here! I welcome her, naked as she likes me to be, submissive at her feet. She's a beautiful, haughty, Greek Venus, the goddess of Olympus before whom I kneel, bowing my head to beg forgiveness.
Under the shower I wash her statuesque body, caressing every curve, every fold, kissing her, worshiping the delicious intimacy. She distressed at my bruises, compassionate, caressing my back, my sore breasts excited, my sex throbs.
Dressed of nothing but light dresses of silk, no lingerie, we go to the seaport and skim on the hydrofoil across to the villa on Anacapri.
Its name is Orphica, it stands on the crest of the mountain ridge, built of white stone, like the bow of Ulysses' ship ready to set sail. I dreamed it up and designed it for her, the Olympian goddess who possesses me.
From the azure pool submerged lights brighten the night-loving Naiads, never sated with caresses and kisses, fed with flowers, fruit and milk, nectar and ambrosia from our bodies.
Cooled by a breeze, we climb into the suspended hammock of woven reeds, entwining our limbs, exploring each others recesses with voracious mouths, our tongues darting, until exhausted we remain floating in the dew of our moist sweetness.
Accompanied by dawn’s sparkle of silver we go to a cove where we’re hidden from human eyes, and float supported by the ink of the sea. Then dressed only with salt and volcanic sand, we go back to our ‘ship’.
It's always playtime. With my wrists roped by a band of black velvet, I’m on my tiptoes, crucified and nailed to an old wooden beam, my forehead surrounded by a crown of blackthorn. With a scourge of gauze she caresses my skin, reddened by the sun.
I dance like a snake as the lashes of the black gossamer explore every secret curve. Her tongue tastes the sea-salt and sweet nectar of my breasts, the ambrosia of my abdomen, her frantic cat-claws come invade my orifices, I’m violated in a thrilling, sensuous agony, I scream voicelessly.
I’m surrendered now, breathless. Her mouth has left no piece of my skin that isn’t throbbing with blood. I’m laid on her lap, inert, as she contemplates my defeat, pleading, begging.
She caresses my face, stroking between her fingers the hair of this lost daughter, cradling and squeezing me to her breasts, licking from my head the blood of my wounds, kissing my blood-drained lips.
We rise again in the light, and we let the wind from the sea caress our naked bodies, gloriously dishevelled. On the bridge of white stone ship we set sail for the shores of Eden.
Golden sunset, the light on faces, transfigured, drunk. Tonight we are feasting on each other.
....
... It was only a little fantasy, a dream ...
