Another Time, Another Place

by Zane

“Does that mean you will not indulge me, my love, so that I may grow close to you?”

  “It means that there is nothing that I wish to uncover about Raghaba.”

  “Then I shall wait to unearth all there is to know on my own—in time, of course.”

  “Of course,” I offer, filling my cup with more wine. I take a slow, deliberate sip. My patience is running thin. “Until such time,” I say, “tell me what is in your thoughts?”

  He smiles, seduction dripping from his lips. “You,” he says. “From the first moment my eyes came upon you, I have wanted to feel you beneath me. I have wanted to taste you, and explore you. And now, here I sit, before the woman in my dreams.” He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his drink, pushing his empty bowl to the side. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why have you not taken up with a man?”

  “Because no one man satisfies me,” I want to say, but decide against it. He will learn soon enough about the ways of Raghaba.

  “And why should I be taken by a man?” I ask, scowling.

  “To share the joys of love and companionship,” he answers. “You are most desirous, Raghaba.”

  “And I am also most satisfied being unattached.”

  “But what of home and family?” he asks, taking another large swallow of beer. I watch him guzzle down the remainder of what’s left in the jug, then belch. My face forms a frown. “Do you not wish to bask in the delight they bring?”

  I control my breathing. This line of questioning is what will sour my mood and have me excuse him from my company. I realize he is only trying to be polite, but I am not interested in politeness. I am not interested in this type of chatter. The only things that I am engrossed in at this moment are images of him running his hands lightly over my body, his lips gathering around the lobes of my ears, sucking and nibbling; his fingers prying my flesh wide open to reveal my wetness as he slips himself inside of me and stirs my excitement. These are the things that I am concerned with. Not blurred visions of being chained to a man and a house full of children.

  I stare at him. Decide not to answer.

  There’s a pregnant pause, one that gives birth to annoyance.

  “Your eyes are hypnotic,” he says, staring deep into them. I suspect he recognizes my disinterest in entertaining his questions about my views on life, love, and the pursuit of family. I am not looking for a happy-ever-after—just a never-ending orgasm, be it with him or someone else. I regain my focus, and shift my mood back to why I invited him.

  I coyly bat my lashes. “Then I warn you to be very careful how you look into them.”

  He smiles. “It is your spell I crave to be under.”

  I have to admit, although he is moving as slowly as a turtle and I am growing restless, there is something I find quite charming about him which keeps me indulging him. But, my mind is made up—charming or not—if he does not gesture to explore my passion, sooner than later, I will send him out into the night air.

  “Again,” I warn. “Be very careful. You may get more than you’re prepared to handle.”

  “Why and wherefore am I kept a prisoner from love?”

  “Because,” I reply, “it is your mouth that speaks full of love, but it is your heart that is filled with lust. Behind your eyes, there is a longing.” I reach over and place my hand over his. “Tell me your desires so that I may fulfill them.”

  “Are you sure you can deliver?” he asks, grinning.

  I am feeling relieved. Finally, we are moving toward a night of explicit action, instead of one cluttered with useless discussion.

  “My dear, dear, Horus,” I answer, slowly pulling in my bottom lip. “I am a woman who is most adept at delivering all things without delay. And there is nothing…and I do mean nothing that I won’t do to ensure it.”

  He laughs. “We shall see,” he says. “Raghaba, goddess of desire, we shall surely see.”

  “Then let us not continue this cat-and-mouse chase,” I say, eyeing him seductively. In that moment, there is a silence that comes between us; it briefly visits, then exits. “Don’t tell me the cat has come and eaten at your tongue so quickly.”

  “No cat”—he sticks his tongue out and rapidly flaps it up and down—“shall ever take hold of my tongue.”

  “Then let’s hope you know how to use it, and use it well,” I challenge.

  “Tonight,” he states, “I want you to bring forth a mighty orgasm.”

  I smile, standing up. I slowly begin to unfasten my gown. I decide I had better be swift in making my move before he opens his mouth and spoils the opportunity with another string of foolishness. “Then you have come to the right place.” My garment drops around my ankles. Horus soaks in my flawless beauty as he gets up from his seat, drinking in the round firmness of my breasts, delighting in the curve of my hips. He walks around me as I stand on display for his taking.

  “How ample and lovely your backside is,” he says, eyeing me lustfully as I step out of my white linen dress. He basks in my nakedness as I slowly turn to face him and allow my breasts to bounce and dangle freely before him. He walks up on me, places his hands—strong and warm—upon my agile hips and pulls me into him. “I have longed for you. And tonight, I will have you.”

  “Yes, my love,” I say as he tilts his head, then kisses me, filling my mouth with his tongue. He tastes, um…good. No, better than good—delicious! My loins become the heat of the earth as his hands trace along my back, then rest on my backside. He gently squeezes. I inhale his scent. Get lost in the smell of mint, warm and stimulating.

  “Tonight,” I continue, in between mint-flavored kisses, “I will give you all the things you have desired. And together we shall perform for the gods, and they shall smile down upon us as we become one.”

  “And together,” he responds, brushing his full lips against mine, “we shall do what prompts us and revel in its pleasure.”

  “And so it shall be.”

  His lips devour mine, and I am getting lost in pleasure. Abruptly, he pulls away and steps back. He walks to the other side of the room, leaving me wondering, wanting, imagining, what’s to come. He removes his loincloth and my eyes become glued to his manhood. It is as thick as a cucumber and as long as the branch of a willow. Instantly, I feel myself becoming hot and moist.

  I peel my eyes from his center, and allow them to soak in his majestic presence. He is almost glowing from the flicker of the fire. He stands before me with shiny dark skin as rich as silt, the fertile soil that feeds all of Kemet, and he is tall and sturdy like a mountain. His broad shoulders and smooth muscular chest entice me to touch, to taste, but I deny myself…for now.

  I gesture forward to close the space he has created between us, but he stops me. “Stay,” he commands, his voice booming. “Come to me when I call, and worship all that I am.”

  I stretch out my arms, palms outward, and, with a slight tilt of my head, I nod.

  “Tonight, I shall worship you like no other.”

  “And what of tomorrow?” he asks, slowly stroking himself. I struggle to keep my eyes on his; struggle to ignore the excitement that expands in his hand, full and dark with bulging veins.

  “Tomorrow,” I say, taking hold of my breasts, kneading them, squeezing them, pushing them upward so that I may twirl my tongue around each nipple, “is of no consequence for that which stands before us at this very moment.”

  “Then let us not waste time,” he says. “Come to me on your knees. And allow me to slip myself in between the warmth of your succulent lips.”

  I run my tongue longingly around my lips as he wags his engorged phallus at me. Saliva gathers in my mouth as I crouch down and crawl to him like a hungry lioness keeping its eye on its prey. I stop. Arch my back, slowly wind my hips, then raise one arm, remove the pins from my hair and allow my hair to fall against my shoulders and face. Horus stands enthused, eager, watching me make my way to him. I swing my head and purr. He spreads his legs apart, strokes himself in anticipation as I continue to make slow, seduct
ive moves toward him. My insides shake with mounting excitement as he strokes his penis. Long, thick, and leaking. And I hunger to touch it, taste it, feel it.

  Finally, I am upon him, kneeling before him with his phallus hovering and waving over me like an arm. Just beyond reach. I reach for it and grab it by the base with both hands, then squeeze until the veins bulge and the head swells. My lips part. I wrap them lovingly around the width of his smooth, powerful penis, then welcome him into my mouth—invite him to use it as if it were a vagina. I swallow slowly, purposefully. Allow him to stretch the back of my throat until I lose him past my tonsils and down into my neck. He pushes his manhood in and out, quickening his pace against the suckling sounds that escape me. I am well-attuned to what he craves, and so I give it to him. This is what has consumed his dreams.

  “Oh, Raghaba,” he moans in a harmonious melody against the suction of my mouth. “Oh, Raghaba…suck me with your sweet lips…uh, oh, yes…Raghaba, wet it like the Nile.”

  My lips, my mouth, engulf him. I am sucking and licking and nibbling the sensitive spot just below the head of his penis, causing him to dip at the knees. His right leg begins to shake. I look up at him—his face twisted and his eyes shut tight as he bucks his hips—and smile. I slowly remove my lips, then swirl my tongue around and over the eye of his organ to collect the clear, sweet and sticky nectar that begins to dribble.

  “Mmmm,” I moan greedily. I place a hand between my legs, then press two fingers against my clitoris and massage it in quick circular motions. “Mmmm…”

  He grabs the back of my head, picks up his pace. I slowly run my hands along the back of his thighs, down across his calves, then back up again, grabbing his muscular behind. “Give me the milk of your loins,” I say in between breaths. “Feed me, Horus, so that I might feed you.” I swallow him whole again. Bury him deep in my throat; swallow, gulp. Swallow, gulp.

  “Oh, yes…oh, yes…Rag…ha…ba…”

  His body shudders as he expels warm, creamy seeds of pleasure. I slowly pull the length of him from out of my throat, then lick my lips and swallow all of his sweet love cream. My lips linger around the head of his still erect phallus so that I can lick it clean. He begins to stroke himself, milking and squeezing his erection, squirting out the last few drops of milk that I willingly suck.

  I look up and see Horus is dazed. His chest heaves in and out. I stifle a laugh, knowing I have emptied his sac, and sucked him into a room-spinning delirium. He braces himself against the wall as his legs threaten to collapse under the weight of his body. He attempts to walk, but stumbles. He grabs hold of the wooden pillar that supports the roof in the middle of the floor, clinging to it. I rise from my knees, a satisfied smile spread across my face, and grab him by the head of his penis. I place my other hand between my legs, press on my clitoris, then slip two fingers into my throbbing wetness, my vulva swollen and aching with excitement.

  “The night is still young,” I say, pulling him by his manhood through the hall toward the bedroom. “Let us finish off in the comforts of the bed. Your loins have been chained for far too long. It is time we unlock the passion that dwells in the pit of your soul and allow it to flow. It’s time to release, and be free.”

  “I must rest a spell,” he states, eagerly following behind me, “so that I can give you my greatest performance. You have worked me over swiftly. I wish not to disappoint you.”

  “Nor shall I let you,” I say, massaging the head of his penis. But if you do, I think, I shall put you out. “By the time I’m done with you, you will know the goodness of Raghaba and all that she brings. And you shall remember this very moment, always.”

  “The gods have truly bestowed their blessings upon me,” he says, cupping my backside. “You are everything I hoped for, and more than I ever imagined.”

  “And there is still more to come,” I say, pulling my fingers out of my sweet, sticky love chest, then offering them to him. He accepts, his mouth sliding down to my knuckles, his tongue in between each finger, sucking and licking my juices off. He licks his lips.

  “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.

  And with each stroke, my body is flooded with joy. I have become a river, flowing along the sides of his shaft, a waterfall cascading down, around and across his balls. I am wet. And I am wetting him. The slippery, smacking, slurping sounds of my vagina play sweet music. I lift my hips and place my hands back upon his chest, then remain still. Instinctively, Horus raises his hips up into me. “Uh…mmm…oh, yesss,” I purr. My vagina clenches and throbs as he moves himself inside of me with slow, measured strokes. “Take me, Horus,” I whisper. “Let the gods see how well you feast in my womanhood.”

  Up.

  Down.

  Up.

  Down.

  I am pushing. He is pushing. I am chanting. He is chanting. We are calling out to the gods who have crossed over into the afterlife. We are seeking refuge and temporary solace in each other’s arms, in each other’s lips, in each other’s movements—fluid, fast, rippling movements of pleasure.