Leila: Goddess The Second Coming

by R. J. Castille

  “Who is your Goddess?” I demanded of him in a hoarse whisper. I yanked upward as I waited for him to respond.

  “You are, my Goddess,” he breathed out, almost in a moan as I sunk my fingernails into his skin before releasing him, shoving his head forward as I did to. I watched his eyes roll back into his head as I applied pressure to my hand, scratching my fingernails down his spine. Another groan escaped his lips. In response, I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and made my way slowly to the table where the various items where located. Finding what I wanted, I plucked it from the surface and turned around, picking my way tauntingly across the floor in his direction.

  When I reached him, his body stretched between the ends of the spanking horse, I produced a cleave gag and dangled it into his vision, close enough to his face that he could see every detail of its construction. Two rings held a bar between them, a strap that extended down and around, designed to circle someone’s head. I swayed it back and forth in front of his vision before turning it and forcing it between his teeth suddenly. His tongue trapped below the gag caused him to utter several sounds of surprise before he settled in as I fastened the gag behind his head.

  I looked him in the face. Helpless, yet wanting. It was enough to send a shudder of arousal through my body. Circling behind him, I reached upward with my arm and brought the strap down on his exposed flesh, alternating sides and counting down from ten inside my head. The solid stripe that appeared each time the leather met his flesh aroused me further, my loins so moist I could almost feel him buried inside me.

  The strap slapped his skin as I struck him repeatedly, a series of welts left as evidence in its wake. The sight of which served only to egg me on. I soon traded the strap for an item I could much more easily yield, as I continued to render his flesh my own with the short crop that was provided. The sound of the leather taking its toll on him resulted in a series of sensations that buried themselves inside my female region. I moaned out loud as I struck him alternately across the surface of his flesh, offered willingly to me.

  Struck by the need to feel his face buried between my legs, I pulled him downward, spreading my legs wide to allow him access to my pussy. I could no longer see his face past my swollen belly, but the drive to feel his talented tongue sweeping across my clitoris, far outweighed the embarrassment I felt when he insisted on taking me into his mouth. With one hand, I pulled the release on the gag he wore, the drool that had accumulated there dripping onto my already aroused core. My back arched suddenly upward as he thrust two fingers inside me while sucking me into his mouth at the same time, flicking the tip of my clit with his tongue. I cried out loud, his name launched into the air as my hips bucked, matching the pattern of his tongue. When I came, my fluids splashed against his face, moistening every surface it touched. I was embarrassed that I had painted his features with my juices, but I could not help but ride the wave of ecstatic energy that I was feeling.

  Gordon, against his training, looked up at me as I came again, shuddering in response to the lashing his tongue was giving my clitoris. Eyes locked on mine, I cried his name out, arching my back and thrusting my pelvis forward, giving him full access to me. His fingers continued to stroke the inside of me, milking the pleasure from within to the heightened nerve endings.

  This is my servant. With him I am well pleased.

  The thought repeated in my mind as I floated off onto a cloud of orgasmic bliss.

  -30-

  My life seemed to be moving in fast-forward. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the courtroom once again, amongst a handful of onlookers in the gallery. I sat quietly, focusing on keeping calm as we all waited for the judge to arrive. As the seconds ticked by, Jason Slater took his place at the Defendant’s desk and Gordon and two other attorneys had taken their seats on the opposite side. When the door on the right of the room opened and Matthew shuffled through the entry, I felt a sharp pain in my chest.

  Light eyes found mine from across the room, a deep sadness dwelled there. I could tell he had not gotten much rest, the dark circles under his eyes coupled with swelling was a tell-tale sign of fatigue. He scooted across the floor as best he could, his legs shackled together, a large chain hanging between his feet as he took a seat at the Defendant’s table. Normally, seeing him bound and chained would have given me great pleasure, in this case, it was not for pleasure or due to his position in life, so it was quite different.

  I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. My lower back had been giving me grief lately, aching periodically sending waves of pain through my body before dissipating slightly. I was glad that I was nearing the end of the line. It was hard enough when you were pregnant with one baby, or so I have been told, but two at once was a completely different ball game.

  The trial had been postponed in January, pushing it off until early February. That brought me to the seven-month mark and I made it quite clear with my body language and facial expressions that I was not pleased to be there. I was miserable. My stomach stretched to maximum capacity with seemingly nowhere left to go, the indigestion and heartburn was killing me and now, add in a for a lower back. I was not a happy camper.

  We were ordered to rise as Judge Steele took her place at the front of the room behind her desk on top of the risen platform. The sound of shuffling feet was nearly deafening as we were instructed to take our seat again after raising our right hand and “swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” Everyone in the courtroom was now under oath. As I sat down, a streak of white-hot pain shot down the side of my abdomen and toward my groin leaving behind a squeezing sensation. I held my side as I carefully lowered myself onto the bench again. Attempting to relax my muscles, the pain having sounded the alarm inside me, I squirmed in my seat for several seconds before finally finding a comfortable position to sit in.

  Attorneys for the Prosecution called up witness after witness to the stand, staking their claim that Matthew had nearly killed Mr. Gordon Roth, a dedicated and promising young man who found himself in the wrong role of what sounded like a Lifetime movie: A love triangle, a jealous lover goes rogue. It sounded like they were reading from the back of a romance thriller. They were actually reciting the events from something that had essentially happened, and I had been part of it, albeit unwillingly.

  Occasionally, I saw Matthew attempt to catch a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye, turning his head as far to the side as he could, his neck muscles straining with the effort. When I noticed him looking, my eyes found their way to the ground, I was ashamed of what had happened but moreover, I was sorry that he was in the predicament in the first place. My mind had replayed the events of that night in great detail repeatedly, sending me dreams of Gordon’s flesh marked by red welting that I had not put there. The oil still fresh on my hands as the Paramedics wheeled him toward the elevator on the gurney. To tell you the truth, I was a little upset with him. If it weren’t for Matthew’s actions, I would not be sitting in a pew, seven months pregnant with twins, trying to anticipate the questions they would fire at me once I took the stand. The stress was almost unbearable.

  I followed the list of names silently inside my head as the District Attorney called several witnesses to the stand. Detective Mills, Detective Larson, the Paramedics who picked Gordon up that fateful night, several expert witnesses who testified that, given the level of exposure to the almond oil, Mr. Roth was quite lucky that I was there that night to administer the epinephrine, or he would likely not be sitting in the courtroom that day. Voices blended together as they flowed from one to the next. I was deep in thought when a name was called that sent a shockwave through my system.

  “Your honor, the People would like to call Ms. Leila King to the stand,” the District Attorney announced my name loudly so the court reporter could record it properly. The air in the room suddenly became unbearably hot and thick. I had trouble drawing in my cleansing breath as I slowly rose to my feet and made my way to the witness stand. All eyes were on me, including th
e sad, blue ones whose fate I would likely seal with my testimony .

  When I reached the stand, I placed one hand on the partition that had been erected in front of it to create the same illusion as the judges’ desk, that I was lifted above the rest of the room as if I were all that mattered. I turned to the side and waddled into the box-shaped area, taking care not to let go of the partition, for fear I would lose my balance and fall over. Suddenly, the streak of pain returned, tearing through my abdomen with brute force. I cried out loud as my hand found its way to my side. The entire room was holding their breath, waiting for me to right myself and carry on. I could not, the pain increased intensity, a sensation I was being squeezed from the back forward and down took over and I could see nothing but white light.

  I swear I heard an audible popping sound that reverberated in my ears. I vaguely wondered if the others in the room heard it too, before I doubled over, a gush of fluid escaping from between my legs as I did so. The audience gasped simultaneously as the room started to sway and my vision continued to darken. Before I fell out completely, I saw Gordon’s face hovering over me, his mouth moved, but I could not make out what he was saying over the intense ringing in my ears. His expression was fearful as he turned and yelled something in the direction of the bailiff. Laying on the floor in the courtroom in a pool of motherly fluids and blood, I spiraled down and lost touch with the present, consumed by the darkness that surrounded me.

  I had glimpses of the next hour and nothing more. A brief memory of riding in the back of an ambulance, a paramedic at my side sifting through various tubes and affixing several round disks to my skin before hooking me up to one of their machines. I faded out again, finally waking completely staring up at large, gleaming lights above me. A variety of bodies scurried about the room, shouting orders at one another as they draped my body with sterile dressings. Before I knew what was happening, two people erected a drape just below my chest, blocking my view to my lower extremities. Panic set in and I attempted to reach toward my abdomen, only to discover my arms had been strapped down to two platforms that extended out from the table on either side. With no one at my side to explain what was going on, the tears began to flow. I vaguely registered the pain in my back that came and went in quick succession.

  Dr. Daisy Marshall entered the room through a large door opposite the table where I lay. She approached me, a nervous smile frozen on her face, an obvious attempt to calm me. Glancing up at the machine that beeped away above my head to the right, she shook her head and turned her attention back to me. Dr. Marshall leaned in close so I could hear her low voice as she started to explain in detail, what I was about to go through.

  “Ms. King, everything is going to be just fine. Try to relax, your blood pressure is sky-high. I will do my best to give you as much information as I can,” she paused, making sure I was making eye contact with her and understanding her words before continuing. “Your amniotic membrane has ruptured and we are unable to slow your labor. One of the baby’s heartbeats is alarmingly low and the other’s is waning. Ms. King, you are having these babies tonight. I am confident that they will be fine, however, the Neonatologist and his team will have to determine that, once they are here.” Her voice trailed off, the ringing in my ears becoming too loud to hear over. Her lips continued to move as the room started to sway back and forth. I closed my eyes, tears falling silently from the corners of my eyes. Dr. Marshall finished speaking and reached up, tying her surgical mask into place. In my peripheral vision, I saw her walk toward a large sink and scrubbing her hands, in between her fingers and up her arm, stopping at her elbow .

  The door flew inward and a tall figure entered the room, rushing to my side. I met the eyes of Gordon, his face hidden behind a mask and his head covered in a cap that resembled a paper shower cap. He leaned over me, making sure that I saw that he had arrived, before grasping my hand into his and squeezing.

  “I am here, my Leila, I will not leave your side,” I nodded, unable to speak, my emotions had taken complete control. One of the people in the room rolled a stool over to Gordon, who pulled it as close to me as he could before lowering himself onto the seat. His hand never left mine as two doctors took their places on either side of the table. I watched their shoulders move up and down as they busied themselves with bringing forth the two lives from inside my womb.

  What seemed like an eternity passed, their attention trained onto the work in front of them. Finally, I saw two tiny feet, held fast by Dr. Marshall appear above the drape followed by a strangled cry. I had been holding my breath waiting for some sign of life. That cry was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. Shortly after, a nurse rushed by my side, carrying one of the two twins, placing him carefully on a platform beneath a bright light. As I stared at her, several of her team members rushed to her side and got to work on my child, piercing his skin and running a line to a bag of intravenous fluid hanging next to the platform.

  I snapped my head back just in time to see another pair of feet appear above the drape followed by another cry. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, I observed another nurse carry my second baby to another platform set close to the other, a second set of scrub-clad figures converged upon my other life-force. They had arrived. Extremely tiny, their skin almost see-through, my heart filled with a mix of emotions. Fear, love, relief. It was all up to the team at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit now. Praying silently, I asked that God watch over them and carry them through. It was the first time I had prayed in over twenty years. Under the circumstances, I had a feeling it would not be the last.

  -31-

  I woke up in recovery, my arms covered in a web of needles and tubes, dead-ending at a machine that had two bags filled with liquid hanging from hooks on either side. The obnoxious beeping of the heart monitor was almost unbearable as I snapped upward suddenly, forgetting for a brief moment what I had just been through. My body quickly reminded me with the searing pain that ripped through my core, originating from my lower abdomen. I could not open my eyes, the pain culminating at a level I could no longer control my response. From my squinted vision, I made out two figures rushing into the room from my doorway.

  Running to my bedside, pushing Gordon aside, who I had not noticed was there prior to that moment, they scrambled to silent the alarms that were blaring and simultaneously read the report on the machine that indicated what the problem was. One of them finally looked down at me, leaning in close so I could focus on her young features.

  “Ms. King? I am Amber, your nurse on duty. Can you tell me, what is your pain level on a scale of one to ten?” She stood back briefly to read my body language as I struggled to push through the pain to respond. I was unable to do so, waves of agony crashed over me until I felt the sudden urge to vomit. I flailed my arms about, my vision catching sight of a dispenser on the wall ready for someone to retrieve a barf-bag from its opening. Pointing in its direction while covering my mouth with my other hand, I was relieved when I saw Gordon spring into action, grabbing one of the portable devices and pushing his hand into its opening before handing it to me. I rolled to the side and let the contents of my stomach empty into the bag hanging below a plastic ring designed for easy use, storage and disposal. My stomach screamed in agonizing pain by the time I had finished as tears streamed down my face.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amber press a needle into an opening on the tubing of my IV and press the plunger down at a rapid speed. Almost immediately the pain began to dissipate, leaving behind residual aches. I settled in the bed, panting for breath as someone at my left reached up and patted my forehead with a cool cloth. Tilting my head in that direction, I realized it was Gordon. The Big Bad Wolf that was finally tamed! My inner monologue mocked him. Once again, ruining what would otherwise be a beautiful moment .

  Amber looked relieved as she continued to check the monitors for some time, noting some things down on a notepad she slipped back into her pocket once she was finished. It took her an eternity, but she finally finishe
d her duties, writing down every little detail about my condition, before taking her leave. Finally alone, I turned my head toward Gordon, who remained poised at my side, like he had promised he would before the surgery I had just gone through. I could feel my heartbeat begin to elevate when I realized I had forgotten one major thing.

  “What about the babies?” I yelled, my voice cutting through the relative silence in the room.

  “Leila, calm down, you will set off the alarms and have those people running back in here in two hot seconds,” Gordon’s voice was low, attempting to soothe me. I would have none of it. I wanted to know what happened to my twins, and I wanted to know, RIGHT THEN!

  “Gordon, please! What happened to them, tell me they are fine. Tell me this is all a nightmare and everything will be over soon, some happily-ever-after bullshit. Something!” I had not realized it but my voice had taken on the tone of a mad woman. Blinded by fear of the unknown, my eyes met his, begging for something, anything.

  “Leila, they are fine. If they were not so tiny, they would be absolutely perfect! I saw them in the NICU about fifteen minutes ago. I have been checking on them every thirty minutes since they were born. I do not expect you to remember, you have been in and out of a drug-induced haze for hours, and rightfully so,” he approached me, his tone taking on the opposite role. He had become the mother hen, the one to calm and soothe. I let his voice take me away on a wave, calming me from within as I closed my eyes.

  “So, you have seen them?” I could not manage more than a whisper.

  “Yes, my Leila, and you will soon. Your doctor said as soon as you are fully recovered, you can take short walks. Once they are satisfied with your progress, we will go see them together,” Gordon stopped speaking and maintained eye contact with me. His eyes were softer than I had ever seen. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly between pursed lips. But I want to see them now! I pouted inside as Gordon took my hand and rubbed his thumb tenderly across mine. My eyes found his again and I smiled weakly at him, the drugs taking on their full effect finally, as I drifted off into the darkness again.