**This is my first erotic story. The Goddess society of the Mediterranean basin always fascinated me. Thank you to all the readers!***
Simon
The High Priestess was feeling restless. She was always restless on the night before the fertility ceremony was due to take place, and tonight was no different. The acolyte robe she chose was neatly folded on top of her couch, waiting. Pensively, she discarded her formal purple mantle in exchange for a simple white, the color of purity—at least according to what is written in the canons. She decided not to trade her dark brown leathers for a more modest tunic the acolytes wore.
The soft leather was comforting against her bare skin. Her leggings hugged her thighs snuggly, as did the short dress, with a cutout at the midriff. Her breasts were cradled in cups supported by straps sewn in the shape of serpents, symbols of Ashera, or Mother of All Life. The serpents wound down the length of her torso, leaving most of her skin exposed, and joined at the small of her back, dipping lower to decorate the short skirt of her dress. But for all its skimpiness, her clinging outfit could hardly be called a dress.
Choosing a mask edged with silver beads that would conceal her features below the eyes, the Priestess tied it at the back of her head, then pulled the ample hood of the robe down to her forehead. The headpiece denoting her rank would have to be left behind. Tonight, she didn't want to draw attention to her status. Turning in front of the mirror and satisfied that no one would recognize her; she grabbed a small wineskin pouch, stuffed it into a pocket of her robe, and slipped out through the back door of the temple garden.
Once on the street, she inhaled the humid Jerusalem air. A light breeze from the Mediterranean would have been welcome, but the air was stuffy and still. Looking around the square, she took stock of the shops and taverns that were packed with people this evening. Slaves and their owners were making merry. By the time the ceremonial procession would begin tomorrow, most of them would be drunk, for it didn't look like anyone was in a hurry to go home.
The High Priestess knew whom she wanted to find, one whose seed was virile and who was still relatively sober. She smiled to herself, as if tonight such a creature would be easy to find. Quickly, she walked away from the square to search the narrow meandering streets of her city. She strode forward brusquely, carefully assessing the faces of strangers as she walked. To everyone else, she looked like a common acolyte, hurrying on some temple errand. The farther she walked from the temple, the quieter the revelry and the sparser the number of taverns.
Passing in front of a modest establishment, she stopped. What made her notice him? He was handsome, but was sitting alone, hunched over his cups. Perhaps it was the white scarf around his broad shoulders. The blue stripes on both ends identified him as a Hurian. The High Priestess frowned unhappily.
The followers of the male god had invaded her land with their cattle, seduced her people with blasphemy, and were growing in number, severely undermining the rule of the true creator of life. Violent and loud, they caused riots in cities and villages, and disturbed the peace of her nation.
The women, whose consorts rejected the Goddess, complained about the new rules they suddenly had to live by. It saddened the High Priestess that her daughters—for she thought of them as such—didn't punish their men, but bent like willows to keep the peace in their households. She understood that whenever practical matters clashed with spiritual doctrines, the practical came out the winner. The need to feed their children, to keep a roof over everyone's heads, to care for livestock and plow the fields, superseded religious concerns.
However, it pained her to see how, in recent years, many women had been thrown out of their homes to face poverty on the streets, or forced to join the few remaining temples scattered throughout the city as beggars. She hosted many such guests at her own sanctuary. Women, who no longer trusted their mates to protect them, had no other place to go. Her flock was not organized militarily, and thanks to the newcomers, the Goddess, along with Her followers, was being displaced by the new barbarian faith in the one male god.
The High Priestess might not have been able to right all the wrongs she witnessed, but that didn't mean she should sit back and do nothing.
"Yes, this Hurian would do nicely," she decided.
As she moved forward, a crooked smile brightened her lovely features. She approached him from behind and tapped his shoulder, before coming around to slip into an empty seat beside him. The Hurian recognized the robes of the Acolyte of Mysteries, and grunted in apparent displeasure.
"Drinking alone on such a night as this?" she said with easy banter, as she pulled her mask down, leaving it to hang around her neck like a piece of jewelry.
The Hurian eyed her suspiciously as he muttered an unintelligible greeting under his breath.
"No need to be grumpy," she said with a laugh.
Moving her body closer to the man, she revealed both the wineskin and her long legs. "I have some wine here, and no one to share it with. Everyone is busy preparing for tomorrow's feast. My chores are done, and I don't mind sharing a cup with you before I return to my quarters."
The man licked his lips appreciatively, as his eyes shifted from the acolyte's legs to the wine. Yes, he wanted her, she could tell that. She saw his mind working, searching for an excuse to suspend his newly acquired beliefs for a few hours. It wouldn't change matters much. Tomorrow he would return to the destructive new faith, but tonight he wished to convince himself that there was no harm in spending the night with a beautiful woman, even one who served the archenemy of his god.
Judging that the moment was just right, the High Priestess threw back her cloak, revealing bare shoulders bisected by the leather straps of her dress. The Hurian's eyes took in her large breasts and shapely form, as she poured some of her strong vintage into a clay cup. Not too much. She didn't want him passing out in the tavern. Without taking his eyes off her beauty, the man brought the wine to his lips. He emptied his cup in two gulps.
"Very good," thought the High Priestess. She knew that soon she would compel him to follow her.
Time passed quickly in talk about trivial things, and when she saw the muscles of his face relax, and his broad shoulders lost the guarded tension he carried with him like a wooden shield, the High Priestess rose to her feet, and said, "Walk with me, Hurian. It's time I got back."
She didn't stop to see if he followed her. The legs of his chair made a scraping sound against the stone floor when he pushed himself to his feet, confirming what she already knew. Moving gracefully, the High Priestess gave him a moment to catch up with her. He was taller than her by a couple of inches, she noted as they walked side by side. His hair was dark, long, and wavy. His green eyes sparkled from the spiked wine. She had the impression that he was concealing a true part of himself; his features were set in hard lines, his stubborn chin jutted forward.
"I know your arts, Acolyte," he mouthed roughly. "I have no money to give you. I spent it all in the tavern."
"Would you pay me with pleasure?" she asked, looking pointedly at his crotch.
The Hurian blinked in disbelief, taken aback by her boldness. He knew why the temple women required payment. That was one of the ways they supported themselves. They also used the coin to feed the hungry and to fund public and private rituals.
"Why would you offer me anything without exacting your dues?" he asked.
"Not everything is measured with silver," she said.
Seeing him scowl, she quickly added, "We acolytes are expected to learn the arts of lovemaking, but there aren't enough men who come to the temple these days. The senior adepts get the first pick, while I'm left to watch lessons from behind a screen. It's hard to gain in practice that way."
Sensing his obvious distrust, she wrapped her arm around his waist and pressed her body to his, as if to lean on him for support. Not giving him time to ponder her argument, she steered him toward a narrow passageway, a shortcut she often used when she prowled the city alone. This time, the Hurian didn't resist, and soon they reached the private door of her garden.
The High Priestess inserted a key into the metal latch, unlocking it quickly. She let the man enter ahead of her, then shut the door securely once they were both inside.
The Hurian looked around curiously. The inner sanctum of the Goddess was not open to the public. This part of the massive structure was reserved for the High Priestess and her personal servants. Only the Acolytes of Mysteries were allowed occasional visits.
Throughout the space, soft lanterns glowed with yellow lights. Incense burners on tall poles exuded aromas pleasing to the senses, and painted scenes of sacred rights decorated the inner walls of the garden. A marble bathing pool was in the middle, framed by benches strewn with comfortable cushions. The well-worn flagstones were laid out in some sort of a pattern that he couldn't discern. A large cedar chest stood to one side. Next to it, there was a polished brass mirror. It was a charming corner of the temple palace, where privacy was assured.
"Whose apartments and gardens are these?" the Hurian asked.
"The High Priestess lives here, but don't be concerned. She'll spend the night sacrificing to the Mother tonight, no doubt, asking Her to bestow blessings on all of us during tomorrow's feast."
"And you?" he asked. "Was it your intent to spend tonight in devotion?"
