Private Worship

Sometimes I wish we still worshipped the goddesses of sex and love. I feel that my body and mouth is made for worship, and there's nothing so intimate nor divine as fucking and being fucked by another person.

If I could, I would worship them in a clearing beneath the stars. There would be a small fire and its warmth and light illuminate me underneath the moonlight.

This is a private worship and I am on my knees in the grass, the dew is wet against my skin as I bow in servitude to my god, bringing my offering to them––and then I feel them. The heat of their body behind me, their pleasured murmurs of how favoured I am as they press their mouth against my throat and slowly undress me. I place my hands over theirs, showing them my consent as their hands slide over my breasts, brushing down my sides and between my thighs as I'm told how pleased they are of my offering.

This is at first foreplay, a caress and divine right to bring me gasping, and when that is passed and I am kissing my own arousal from their fingertips, I turn to face them with feverish passion and draw my mouth over their body, slipping down between their legs and offer my own worship with my tongue against their sex, until I hear them utter their own cries of pleasure for me.

It is in the light of the firelight that I fuck them with passion––because is sex not the most divine thing we experience? Bringing a lover to orgasm makes me feel powerful, and when they bring me to climax, I feel like I'm at the mercy of Aphrodite herself.