An ADULT story of Female Domination in the long lost times of the Mycenaean Greeks.
Take courage, lover!
Could you endure such pain
At any hand but hers?
Robert Graves.
*****
1500 BC
The Pythoness of Delphi, oldest of all of the priestesses of the shrine, relaxed as the drug took her imagination to a deep inner place. The Ambrosia of the Goddess, distilled from mushrooms and bitter roots, dragged her consciousness along a dark road until at last she began to prophesise and speak the will of her governing mistress:
"The way to Delphi is hard for all men. They travel from distant Argos, Mycenae, Iolcos and Gla to come back into their mother's womb.
It is strange that men should wish to venture here, into the heart of our groves, down to the cracks of the earth. A place alien to their hearts."
There was a pause, a moment of reflection as if the idea had provoked a new vision, a new fork on her road of thought.
"They come here to hear of the future, to listen to the enigmas that are posed by women and they do not understand our precious secret, the one that binds them to us.
They do not understand that it is not the cooling breeze between a woman's legs, not spring's caress of Hera nor the touch of the pollen of spring. It is not the lapwing's broken wing, it is a man's spilled seed that makes another man!
They are like children in their understanding, these men."
She sighed and looked at her chief priestess with blank black eyes. They were full of wisdom and vacant of understanding, they saw another world, the world of revelation and prophesy.
"When men finally discover this mystery they will forsake the goddess and raise male gods in her place. Petty spirits of water and air will rule us all. Zeus, insignificant sparrow of the skies; Apollo, timid mouse-man and Poseidon, the offspring of a fish!
I can sense the approach of the sacrificial goat. A man comes to hear the foretelling, a king of the Hellenes, a bringer of our doom.
Go now to the open sky and welcome him as you have been trained, while I wait for our nemesis to attend the mystery that he takes so casually."
The priestess slipped into a trance, a state of almost-sleep that presaged the coming of the goddess that would possess her, her lips moved in almost silent whisper and Pelopia, her servant, leaned forward to catch those words that dripped like poison.
"We shall teach him otherwise... We shall possess him and sacrifice him. Lead him to me!"
The words faded from her lips and a terrible smile crossed her features as finally the Ambrosia gripped her senses and took her to a world where death stalked souls on the other side of the Styx, the river of death.
*****
Pelopia gathered her robe and bowed to her mistress, the Pythoness of Delphi who had spoken the words of the Mother. The older woman sat on the lightning split oak of the throne seeing the world with other eyes than her own.
The rope hung ready and the stone knife of the sacrifice lay on a ledge.
The fifty five steps that led from the depths of the sanctuary to the inner court of the temple were worn with the tread of priestesses, victims, supplicants and martyrs that had trodden their ledges.
Pelopia smelled the sweet smoke of sacrifice, it penetrated her senses and lifted her into a world of shadows and dream. As she climbed those stairs she pondered what the old priestess had revealed to her.
The secrets and outlines of that intimate female mystery filled her with power, the power of knowledge that men's seed was the precursor to birth and the terrible understanding that the rule of women was coming to an end.
The foretelling of the end of the Goddess' reign at the hands of mere men! The end of millennia of peace and harmony, divination and leadership by women.
As she reached the lip of the cavern she looked at the red light of the fading sun. She spent a moment in reflection before she turned her gaze to the men who awaited her presence. The hand maiden of the Pythoness who would lead the King to the Priestess.
Atreus, king of Mycenae stood tall with iron bladed sword at his side. His companions knelt in the dust as Pelopia, the deputy of the Goddess opened her hand in a small greeting. Only the king stood without genuflecting, a brave act in the face of the power of the Goddess.
"King Atreus," said Pelopia in a slow deep cadence. "You have come to Delphi to partake of future secrets. She hears you, the Mother, and she bids you to enter the earth before your time and pay homage."
The king smiled, as if showing fearlessness would impress the priestess with his courage.
"Madame, will you guide me to the Pythoness?"
"I have that duty," she replied. "But, you must come shriven and naked. Exposed in your bare skin like the day that you were born of the loins of your mother, Hippodamia. If the Goddess favours you, you may hear words that will answer your questions. If you are not in her favour, the she will speak only words that will make your mind reel."
Pelopia signed to the handmaidens who had arrived to attend the rite.
They stripped the king to his pelt, cast off his robes and armour, tossed his weapons into the dust and washed him with linen cloths soaked in the waters of the river Styx.
Atreus stood as he was attended to. His prick reared like the proud bough of a tree as the water laved the dust from his skin. His sword lay in the dirt, catching the last ray of the sun as it finally set below the hills of Kalos.
Finally he was ready to enter the cave, the mystery.
Naked and helpless.
Pelopia turned without a word and led the king to the upper lip of the fifty five steps that led to the Sibyl, the Pythoness of the Goddess.
As he was led into the throat of the darkness he extended a hand to the wall and let his fingertips guide him into the depths of the earth. His heels felt cold on the stone and a chill entered his heart, the chill of preternatural fear.
Finally they reached the bottom of the rough stair and were concealed in the utter darkness of the womb.
He felt a light hand on his throbbing prick.
A touch that became a grip.
A grip that became a grasp.
It pulled him back and made him gasp with sudden desire. He reached out into the dark but found no Pelopia there for his touch.
The hand grasped him and pulled again before contact was lost and Atreus, son of Hippodamia, was alone in the shadows that filled the dusk of his life.
He could not turn back. Shame forbade it!
The King stepped forward into the unknown with his cock pointing the way to the inner womb of the Goddess. He did not speak, for the thought of that endless silence being broken by a voice was too much to bear.
In the far distance, as far as the moon, he heard the mumbling of a woman's voice echoing in the gloom. In that direction he made his steps, as he parted the umbra of the cool air with his goose-fleshed skin.
*****
