I rap on the window. “Momma is in the hospital. How dare you.”
Michael rolls down the window a crack. “She called and threatened me. Said if I didn’t leave the house she’d sic her lightning bird on me. Crazy Zulu bitch.”
The bird swoops down over the car. The car window goes up and Michael gives me the finger as he drives away. The bird is following him, swooping and diving around the car as he turns into the street.
I dial the hospital and ask for Momma’s room. “Did you call Michael last night?”
“You’re welcome, Liyana. It’s time that man knows who he’s dealing with.” Momma sounds especially energetic for being cursed. “I sent my impundulu after him. He was more than eager to help you. Good thing you fed him. That made a big impression.”
The impundulu, or lightning bird, is a powerful magic bird that serves witches. But it’s not real.
Or is it?
The large bird returns, swoops down, and sits near the door. My blood runs cold.
“Momma, it’s here, looking at me.”
“Good. You need to learn how to control it.”
“Why?”
“It’s my bird. Has been for forty years. My momma passed it to me. Now I give it to you.”
Momma is crazy. I never saw this bird growing up. “Momma...”
“An impundulu is passed from mother to daughter. It’s time you learn the old ways.”
Keeping an eye on the bird, I walk backward into the house, the phone pressed to my ear, and shut the door. The bird flies away. “I’ll call you back.” I need to call the zoo.
“Fine.” Momma hangs up on me.
I’m in the kitchen making coffee and holding for zoo personnel when the doorbell rings. It’s Shaka. He’s in a polo shirt and shorts.
“What’s wrong?” he asks when I open the door.
“Momma...” I shake my head. “Never mind.” I close the door behind me after searching the yard for the bird. “Michael left.”
Shaka gathers me into his arms. “See? Everything will work out for the best.”
We kiss. Nothing tentative about it. Just demanding tongues and groping hands.
“I need some of your good medicine again,” I say.
“You’ve been starved for too long.” Shaka picks me up and carries me to the couch, his lips nibbling at my neck. “I recommend a thirty-day intensive prescription.” He removes my top, slips off my bra straps, and sucks on my tits.
Hell, the man wastes no time. One pull on my tits and I’m wet.
“Your breasts are gorgeous.” Shaka draws out the nipples between his teeth.
The arousing sting races down my body and burrows into my twat. It’s like my tits and clit are connected by an erogenous thread.
“Bite them again,” I say.
Shaka chews, amping up the sting the more I moan. He shimmies my jeans down and peels off my panties.
I spread my wet cunt. “Eat me.”
Shaka dances his fingers over me, plunges his finger deep inside, and brings it to my mouth. “Taste your magic.”
I suck on his finger, the taste making me quiver with desire. He dips in again and I suck my cunt juices off.
“Damn girl, my cock is so hard it hurts.” Shaka takes off his shorts, holds his cock. “It fucking aches for you.”
I want his cock everywhere. In my mouth. In my cunt. In my hand. I can’t decide.
Shaka decides for me.
He pushes his cock into my mouth and finger-fucks me. His thumb rubs my clit as his finger reaches for my G-spot. I come without warning. Squirt my climax out. I never did that before. I pull his cock from my mouth, already salty with precum.
“Fuck me, Shaka.”
“Let me hear you, Liyana.” He lifts my legs in the air and glides in.
He’s hammering into me, so deep and hard I’m bouncing on the sofa, my nails raking down his back; hollering at how fucking good it is to get so thoroughly fucked, I’m lost to time and space.
By the time his body jolts with orgasm, we’re on the floor, the vase of flowers knocked over, one of my legs lifted over my head. My cunt is bruised and raw, but I feel extraordinary. The shackles of shame and inhibition are torn away. Like every inch of my skin is alive, pulsating with energy.
We nestle together on the floor, catching our breath, our bodies slick with sweat and lust.
“You released my inner sex goddess.” I trace a finger up his chest.
“I released more than that.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m yours now. You own me.”
I giggle.
“I mean it, Liyana. You control me. I am the impundulu. This is my human form. Your grandmothers have passed me from mother to daughter for five hundred years.”
I push him away and sit up, my heart pounding in my ears.
Shaka grins. “It’s time to confront your destiny. Embrace the old ways.”
It’s tempting. Really tempting.
The lightning bird is a mythological magical creature of many South African peoples. It’s a fearsome yet respected bird that helps witches and witch doctors with magic. Good or bad.
SEVEN NIGHTS
The supplicant is the last one for the day but he is artless, his cock hammering into me without rhythm or concern for my sexual pleasure. I moan loudly. Really loudly. That gets most men off faster. Hope he didn’t have too much ale before coming to the temple. Aleaddled men take forever.
Goddess Inanna, make him spill his seed already! I’ve got things to do. Friends to visit.
The supplicant’s nasal snorting quickens. Finally. I tighten my vaginal walls and squeeze his miserable little cock.
“Shamhat.” That voice.
I roll my head left, my eyes traveling up and up to the gorgeous face of the mighty King Gilgamesh. Standing beside him, a wide-eyed stranger stares at the ritual.
Gilgamesh slaps the supplicant’s shoulders. “Go. Now. I have business with Shamhat.”
The senseless supplicant keeps humping. He’s too far gone, already in that climactic place between awareness and orgasm. Gilgamesh seizes the supplicant under his
arm and flings him to the ground. Drops of cum on my belly, over the platform, and across the floor point the way to the supplicant’s crumbled figure a few feet away. Flying ejaculation. Now that must have been an interesting sensation.
Gilgamesh nudges the supplicant’s linen kilt with the tip of his sandal-clad foot. “Your worship to Inanna is complete.”
With his body prone and forehead touching the floor, the supplicant reaches out and snatches the cloth.
“Go,” said Gilgamesh.
Dismissed, the supplicant crawls backward, his fore-head scraping the floor.
“Go!”
The supplicant scrambles up and flees down the cavernous temple gallery.
Gilgamesh inspires fear and devotion. Fear mostly. Though he is perfect in strength he does tend to lord over his people like a wild bull.
I take Gilgamesh’s outstretched hand. “Mouth pleasure?”
I give the best blow jobs in the world. Gilgamesh’s claim, not mine. Who am I to disagree? Although I admit, my tongue is superior; it can knot a string. My mouth is special too; large enough to accommodate Gilgamesh’s enormous cock. And my full lips are shaped for oral pleasure, creating a spellbinding suction that brings supplicants from faraway cities.
Actually, my whole body is perfectly suited for my job as temple prostitute. My vagina is as tight as a virgin’s. I keep it snug with two exercises, squeezing the muscles that control my pee and holding a small weighted ball inside my vagina. I can bring a man to orgasm just by constricting my vagina. Wide soft hips, thick long hair, and generous bouncy breasts tipped with golden areolas add to my beauty. I’m the most requested temple prostitute for a reason.
I must tilt my head to look at Gilgamesh. He’s taller and bigger than any man I’ve ever seen. He is dressed formally today, his long hair curled, his cheeks shaved, his beard trimmed, and he’s adorned with
golden rings, armbands, earrings, and necklaces. Gilgamesh is beyond gorgeous with twinkling brown eyes, a strong nose, and a wide mouth set on an angled face. A face of arrogance and brute strength. The face of a demigod. Gilgamesh is two-thirds god, one-third mortal.
Gilgamesh grins, eyes twinkling with impishness, and strides down the gallery. I follow him, as does the other man, whose lion’s pelt skirt indicates he is a trapper by trade.
As we walk, the men and women we pass drop to the ground, prostrate and silent. When we reach the terrace overlooking the great city of Uruk, Gilgamesh stretches his arm and points to the grassy wilderness that extends from the city walls to the uplands in the far off distance. “This man,” he nods to the trapper, “came to me with an extraordinary story.”
I glance at the unremarkable trapper. So much for mouth-fucking Gilgamesh. Maybe he wants a threesome. I’ve sucked two cocks before. I’ve also fucked two cocks. But Gilgamesh isn’t a share-the-hole kind of guy.
“He was trapping, setting out snares and digging pits as always, but this time when he returned for his quarry he found the snares disabled and the pits filled.”
“Interesting.” Not really. But I have to say something.
“Curious who might be undoing his work, the trapper waited by a large waterhole visited by both trappers and animals. He saw a man, a wild man running with the gazelles like he was part of the herd.”
“The wild man sprang the traps,” I said.
Gilgamesh nodded. “This man runs as fast as the gazelles, grazes alongside of them, and speaks their unfathomable language. I dreamt of this wild man so of course I was not surprised by this news.” Gilgamesh takes my hand and kisses the palm. “Tame this beast man, Shamhat. You are the only one who can. After you civilize him, bring him to me.”
I blink, unsure if I heard correctly. “Tame a wild man? How?”
Gilgamesh brushes his fingers across my bare breasts. “Like all women tame men. Take off your robe, show your breasts, spread your sex, and work your charms.” “I’ll do it.” No one says no to Gilgamesh.
Gilgamesh pulls aside his linen loincloth. “After this.” I kneel down, wrap both hands around his enormous cock, and whirl my tongue over his rosy crown. It’s an honor to service him in any capacity. His cock is the stuff of legends, his sexual prowess known throughout the lands. As king, Gilgamesh always exercises his right at every wedding to ravish the bride before the husband does. I feel sorry for the brides. Once you’ve been fucked by Gilgamesh it’s difficult to endure inferior sex with lesser endowed and unskilled husbands. Gilgamesh has fucked every temple prostitute many times over. Sometimes he wants us to get on our hands and knees in a row so he can go from one to the other. He satisfies us all. He might be one-third man but his cock is full god. How else can he bring a woman to orgasm so easily? Giving him mouth pleasure is no different. His divine cock makes me climax every time!
Gilgamesh sighs and lays a gentle hand on my head while my lips, tongue, and hands work his cock. His arousal is an aphrodisiac, and already my cunt is wet. I drag my gaze away from his powerful brown thighs and look into his eyes. He grins, accustomed to the adoration he incites in both men and women.
“It’s a pleasure watching you, Shamhat,” says Gilgamesh. He nudges the trapper. “If she can’t tame the wild man, no one can.”
The trapper, whose erect cock peeks out under his pelt, hasn’t blinked since I started.
“Ahhh, that’s it.” Gilgamesh winds my hair around his arm several times.
I’m used to this. It’s how he controls me.
I’m usually the one in control, so Gilgamesh’s dominance thrills me, my vag responding to his supremacy by oozing honey. My lustful whimpering inflames him and he tugs my hair to slow my artistry. He’s close now, but he likes to draw out the pleasure. Like a pot on low heat, he wants to simmer for as long as possible. It’s what causes his orgasms to be robust and mighty and prolonged. Just listening to Gilgamesh orgasm is enough to incite my own. He always shakes his head back and forth and roars like a lion.
It’s difficult to slow myself when my clit begs for release but I’m a professional. Gilgamesh wants slow. He gets sloooooow.
Gilgamesh yanks my hair. “You’re a tease, Shamhat.”
He pushes his cock into the back of my throat and I gag. I don’t have to gag. I just do because he likes it.
“What’s that?” He’s grinning.
“Just doing my job.” But my words are too garbled by his thrusting cock for him to understand.
I pull him in and out, my lips clamped around his length, sucking, slurping, and swirling my tongue over and under his most sensitive spots. I hear his final ascent, long low exhalations that quicken my own climb to paradise. I slow even more, in control once again, and keep him simmering . . . simmering . . . simmering . . .
Gilgamesh thrashes his head back and forth and loudly hails his arrival to paradise. Cum fills my mouth. A demigod’s cum. A goblet of salty nectar that makes me climax. Gilgamesh takes several slow breaths as I extract every last drop of cum from his divine cock. I squeeze his testicles and the head of his cock, and lick off more.
“Always a pleasure, Gilgamesh.” I glance at the trapper. He’s got a handful of cum in his hands and he’s looking sheepish.
Gilgamesh helps me to my feet. (He’s so thoughtful.)
“I’d fuck you all day but we both have work to do.” Gilgamesh slaps the trapper’s back. “I’d wipe off that cum before you escort my favorite prostitute to the waterhole.”
The trapper drags his hand over the pelt skirt.
“Does this wild man have a name?” I ask.
“I named him Enkidu because I believe goddess Aruru made him from a pinch of clay.” Gilgamesh kisses my cheek. “Make me proud, Shamhat.”
“I will.”
I follow the hunter from Inanna’s Temple and stop at his small home where he gathers supplies.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks while filling animal skins with ale.
“Not unless you go to Inanna’s Temple to pay tribute.” Men are always looking for a freebie. “Or you’re Gilgamesh.”
“I should have pretended to be a wild man.” He stuffs the ale skins into a bag and slings it over his shoulders. “Does it pay well?”
I lift up my arms, adorned with thick bands of gold and strings of jewels, and wiggle my ring-laden fingers. “What do you think?”
“I think I should have been born with a cunt.” The trapper laughs and stacks a second sack onto the first. “Let’s go.”
“What about lions?” I say as we walk through the city gates.
The trapper points at his cumcrusted pelt. “Lions are no match for me.”
The journey takes three days. We leave the road the first day. Walk a narrow path through the grasslands the second. Follow a game trail the third. We see many deer, hear a boar rooting in the grass, and skirt around the vultures feasting on a rotting leopard carcass. Only one old lion crosses our path and the trapper kills him with ease.
The wild man’s waterhole is not visible until we crest a small hill. It’s a large blue oasis in the midst of grass-lands, scrub, and a scattering of cedar trees. A herd of ostriches is bending their long necks to the water as we scramble down the hillside.
The wilderness is a lonely place. The endless blue sky offers no shade. The trapper provides no interesting conversation. And the night sky and nocturnal noises frighten me. I’ll be glad to get this task over with. I miss the sounds and smells of food and people.
We set up a small camp behind a thick tangle of brush under a cedar tree and wait. One day passes with no wild man sightings. On the second day a cloud of dust in the distance gives us hope. Finally, a herd of gazelles arrives when the sun is high overhead.
“There he is.” The hunter points to a man running with the herd.
Enkidu matches the trapper’s description perfectly. The wild man is tall, maybe as tall as Gilgamesh, but he is leaner, his limbs knotted with lithe muscl
es. A runner’s body. His dark brown hair hangs in tangled clumps to his back and his matted beard touches his navel. Dust and filth conceal his skin color.
“Don’t scare him away,” says the trapper. “Let him come to you.”
I have a plan. One that involves fucking a clean wild man, not a filthy sweaty one.
I rise from my crouching position and move slowly toward the far side of the waterhole. I comb through my braids with my fingers, shake out my long tresses. I remove my sandals next. At the edge of the waterhole I remove my robe and spread it over the ground.
The water is cool and clear, and feels good splashed on my skin. From the corner of my eye I watch Enkidu. He moves through the herd, slapping the gazelles’ hind-quarters to move them away as he heads toward me.
I pretend not to notice and walk deeper into the
waterhole until I submerge. I rise like a goddess, the water droplets catching the sunlight and making my skin sparkle. There’s something about a wet woman that men love.
Enkidu stands at the edge and gawks. His cock is erect. Good. Wild or civilized, men are all the same.
I smell Enkidu from here. He stinks worse than a beast. I walk toward him until the water only reaches my thighs.
Showtime.
I spread the folds of my sex. I’m hairless (a job requirement) so he sees every pink ridge and rosy crest.
Enkidu splashes into the water, pausing when the water is at his knees.
Nope. Not clean enough.
I smile and giggle and dive into the water. Enkidu is gone when I surface. My head swivels about.
“Enkidu?”
A hand clamps around my ankle. Enkidu leaps from the water and laughs. He’s only slightly less foul smelling.
I arch my back and push out my breasts. Enkidu is a wild man but he’s not stupid. He sets both hands upon them with a kind of reverence.
“Shamhat.” I touch the valley between my breasts.
Enkidu tilts his head and gives my breasts a gentle squeeze.
“Shamhat.” I say again.
“Shamhat.” His voice is deep and raspy. A sexy, manly voice.
I dive back into the water. Hope he follows.
Legends of Lust Page 22
