All characters and persons involved in sexual activities in this story are over the age of 18.
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4: Palace of Knossos, Minoa (modern day Crete): 1700BC
Bakila and Helene
Bakila checked her reflection in the small polished bronze mirror that was one of her few prized possessions. The long dark hair she was currently brushing framed a face which was warped weirdly in the imperfect sheen of the metal surface. But if she looked closely, from the right angle she found that she could usually check her appearance before beginning her day. She could make out her short well pronounced nose above her full dark-tinted lips, and the smooth open forehead above a pair of widely spaced dark brown eyes which were currently rimmed with a thick application of dark makeup. The orange glow of the oil lamp beside her combined with the gold sheen of the mirror gave her reflection an almost reddish sunburnt tint. But in reality her skin was a deep olive brown, currently lightly oiled and scraped clean.
She put the mirror down on her bedside table and stood up, making sure that her long white robe was properly set about her body. The low neckline fell almost to her midriff, exposing the wide open expanse of her chest between two diminutive breasts, and the loose airy fabric hung in pleats from her slim hips. It took a moment to securely fasten her leather sandals around her ankles and finally to don a simple golden necklace, her only adornment, around her neck.
As a young woman of around 18 years of age, she was considered very beautiful by many of her peers. She was well aware of this because of the way that many of the men that she ministered to looked at her. She felt their lusty wandering eyes search over her body when she was beseeching The Goddess on their behalf, felt them stare at her bottom whenever she turned to place offerings on the altar. For this reason she was sometimes glad that her position as acolyte of The Lady prohibited her from lying with a man until her appointed time.
Until her time came, she was subject to the whims of The Lady herself. Both the glorious light-giving deity of the sun and fertility, and the High Priestess of the Temple. She herself had no name as she had given it up when she had become the goddess incarnate, and one day, if The Lady willed it, Bakila herself would also ascend to godhood.
Bakila was not sure how she felt about the idea of ascension. She had very few ties which would keep her here amongst her mortal peers. Her family were long gone and although she had some friends amongst the other acolytes of The Lady, she would not have said that any of them were particularly close. Her status as the next Lady in line had placed a wall between her and the other girls of the temple. So in one way it would be very easy for her to abandon her mortality and become the vessel of the Goddess herself. But at the same time, she also felt that she had so much more living left to do before she submitted her body to incarnation.
It was not as if she had much of an opportunity to run free and experience all of the myriad pleasures and pains of life in the kingdom of Minoa in any case. Although the island kingdom was the richest, most magnificent and most wealthy of all the Middle Sea, Bakila herself had seen little of it. She had lived most of her life in the Temple, ever since she had been donated by her absent parents. That night, a light had been seen streaking across the heavens towards the east, and she had been prophesied as the next Lady.
For this reason, she had not had the opportunity to interact with many others in the outside world. She had never run through the streets of the town below, or bathed in the brilliant crystal blue ocean, or picked the olives from the trees and tasted their fresh ripe juiciness. And she was grateful for so much, for being blessed as the next goddess was an inconceivably high privilege, and she had wanted for nothing in life. But still, it might have been nice once or twice to have run under the stars, or felt the hot passionate embrace of another person in the dark recesses of the night.
Bakila sighed dramatically and brushed down her long shift before opening the door to her small sleeping chambers and stepping out into the wider temple palace at the top of the hill. Her room was on the third floor of the temple, outside of which a long balcony corridor ran the length of the large inner courtyard. It was still dark outside, the stars wheeling overhead but in the distant east she could make out the first purple-blue lighting of the sky that indicated a coming dawn.
She was up this early because it was her duty to inspect the main offering chamber before the first parishioners arrived seeking The Lady's Blessing. She had to ensure that the incense was filled, the bathing basin was clean and that the residues of yesterday's offerings were cleared away. It was also a very special day today, the day of the Bull Festival down in the town below. So there would be many more people flocking to the temple seeking good luck in their gambles and blessings for the coming harvest ahead.
Bakila made her way down the many ornately painted and carved corridors of the palace, down through the winding stairs and labyrinthine passages which wound their way through the building. She knew the way by heart now and could do it in the dark, so she carried no clay oil-lamp with her to announce her presence.
As she rounded the corner which led into the corridor to the temple, she saw that there was already a pale orangey-yellow light burning inside the inner room. That was strange, she was almost sure that she would be the first one there this morning, no-one else should be awake. Perhaps someone left the lamp burning last evening and it had somehow lasted through the night? Bakila was about to step forwards and enter the room when she heard a noise from inside which stopped her in her tracks. It sounded like a cry, a cry of sorrow or maybe pain, whatever it was made her freeze where she stood. For a moment there was nothing, and she thought perhaps that she had imagined it, or perhaps a distant night bird had screeched out and her sleepy mind had mis-heard it.
Just as she was about to step forwards again and pull aside the heavy red curtain which filled the doorway to the temple, the noise sounded out again, a high, but throaty moan, definitely female. Bakila's brow furrowed, whoever was in there was either in pain or experiencing entirely something else.
Without making a sound, the young acolyte slid her way forwards slightly until she could peek through the gap between the door frame and the heavy curtain. Although the light was still dim and it took a moment for her eyes to focus, Bakila could still make out the form of something which confused and excited her in equal measures.
Sitting on top of the large stone altar in the middle of the room, with her legs spread wide open and her head thrown back was The Lady herself. She had her back to where Bakila was standing so that she could only see the older woman's naked shoulders and long mane of black-silver hair flowing off her head like a waterfall. But her legs were definitely also completely naked and definitely also thrown wide open, with her heels placed just on the edge of the altar, and her arms supporting her weight behind her, From here Bakila could see the full roundness of The Lady's bottom pressing into the cold smooth stone beneath her, and she could also see the sweat beading on the woman's body. She was uttering the occasional small cry and whimper as she reclined on her own offering altar, her hips very lightly gyrating in motion with some unheard music.
The next moment, the reason for The Lady's strange behavior and evident pleasure became clear to Bakila, still spying from behind the curtain. Between The Lady's legs Bakila could make out the shape of another head, bobbing up and down in motion with the thrusting hips. At the same time, she also saw two sinuous powerful looking arms reach up and around The Lady's body, caressing her skin and holding her in the small of her back.
