A Priestess Of Isis Ch 01

This story will talk about sex and religion. There will be some rough sex, and elements of BDSM, so if you are looking for romance, this is not the story for you. Also, if you harbor in your heart any thoughts about the sanctity of religion, then please move along, because I will surely offend you. Otherwise, I present to you

A Priestess of Isis

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"People in general know not what wickedness there is in this pretended word of God. Brought up in habits of superstition, they take it for granted that the Bible is true, and that it is good; they permit themselves not to doubt of it, and they carry the ideas they form of the benevolence of the Almighty to the book which they have been taught to believe was written by his authority. Good heavens! it is quite another thing, it is a book of lies, wickedness, and blasphemy."

― Thomas Paine, The Age of Reason

*****

Chapter One—The First Lesson

The neon light hanging in the window over her table threw red into her dark hair. The tousled mess twisted loosely on the top of her head. Improbably it held together by those stick thingies women often use. I never understood how those worked.

She eyed me with a casual indifference, those round brown orbs sweeping from waist to my hair and sighed. Her hands fumbled in her purse, a large black bag, until she drew out what she wanted. Cigarettes.

"If you don't like the drink, I'll order something else for you," I said. I looked at the untouched whiskey and soda, a duplicate of her first drink. I shouldn't have done this, buy a drink for a woman I didn't know for so many reasons. One was the bill on my dorm room desk demanding one hundred dollars I didn't have. The bursar's office had miscalculated my student aid. The other was my girlfriend, Christine, a girl of good moral values who wouldn't understand why her boyfriend would send a drink to a strange woman. But I did send it and what's more invited myself to sit at her table, my ice tea in hand. She didn't object.

But she didn't welcome me either.

She scoffed, and lit her cig with a flick of a disposable lighter, sucking in the smoke like she was gasping for oxygen.

"You people have no idea how good you have it," she said. Smoke wafted around her. It seemed a shame to have such a pretty face marred with such a disgusting habit.

"Those will kill you," I said. "And it's illegal to smoke here."

She took another draw and jammed the half-smoked stick into her first empty glass.

"I'm not dead yet." She chuckled as if telling herself a joke.

A guy can see when he's not wanted. And it's not like I didn't have better waiting for me. If Orson hadn't asked me to meet him at this dive bar, I wouldn't be here at all. Sending over the drink was an impulse, maybe a stab at acting more sophisticated than I was, sitting at her table even more so.

She finally took a sip of the drink I sent her.

"What's your name?"

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Mary."

"Nice to meet you, Mary."

She leaned back in her chair, draping her arms across the back and she studied me again.

"Is that so," she said. "Tell me, what are you doing here?"

I shrugged and looked into my beer. "I'm waiting on a friend."

"But your friend isn't here. Why not leave?"

"He's often late."

"Sounds like a poor friend, leaving you to wait here, in this shitty place." She waved her hand to indicate the whole bar, the low rent patrons, the shit brown paint peeling on the walls above the leather booths.

"We're study partners. He has research to incorporate into our paper."

She sniffed.

"Do you not have the internet?"

"They're books."

"Humph. Someone who actually reads a book. Good for you."

"Well," I said. "Nice meeting you." I put my hands on the table to push away.

"What's your hurry?" she said. "Your friend isn't here yet."

"You don't seem to want company," I said.

Mary leaned forward and put her hand on mine. Something in the way she did it, so soft, skimming her fingers over mine was electric. Intimate. Her eyes widened then.

Who could tear themselves away from those eyes?

"I wouldn't say that," she said. "It's been too long I had any good company."

Her voice was husky, reeking sex. My mouth went dry, and I reached for my beer again.

"What do you do, for work, that is?" I asked.

Another little snort.

"I don't work," she said as if work was beneath her.

"So how do you support yourself?"

She gave a little shake of her head.

"The universe provides."

"Really?"

"Are they still teaching that you have to work to survive?" she said.

"Still?" I said bringing my beer to my lips.

"Two thousand plus years," she sighed. "Jesus taught we didn't have to work to survive, and you people still render until Caesar."

"Oh, you're into Jesus, are you?"

"I was. What about you?"

"I'm a divinity student, so, yes, you can say I am."

Her eyes glittered in amusement, a small smile on her lips.

"A man of the cloth. I recognized that acolyte quality about you. Full of answers and not even beginning to ask the questions. Come on, let's go."

"My friend—"

"Is not coming tonight. He had a small accident. Nothing serious. But he'll be laid up a couple days." She stood, pulling her purse up with her.

Just then my cell phone rang.

"Hey, Wil, man," Orson said sloppily, like he was drunk. "Sorry, man. Can't make it."

"What's going on?"

"Some idiot ran over my foot. I'm okay, just got out of the ER, but I won't be walking for a couple of days."

"I'm sorry. Do you need anything?"

"Naw, I'm full of painkillers and Ashley's taking care of me. I'm good."

"Okay, I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"Yeah." He clicked off and I stared at her.

"What are you, some sort of psychic?"

With a sly smile, shook her head slowly.

"Come on, I have better beer at my place."

"I should go."

"Trust me, you shouldn't. Things will end up better if you just come along with me."

"Um, thanks for the offer, but my girlfriend's waiting." I moved toward the door.

"No, she isn't," said Mary.

I shook my head and kept walking.

"Don't say you weren't warned," she called, "but I'll be here tomorrow."

#

It was an ugly scene. There's no need to go into the details. I went to her door; she wouldn't let me in. I heard another man's voice. When I pushed in the door, they were both naked. The usual.

I thought she was different. She seemed like she was perfect for my life, now and for the years to come. Pretty, good family, and I thought, good morals.

Wrong.

I didn't realize how hard it would hit me, to have every dream shatter in an instant. In fact, I don't remember much of what happened that night, the next day, or why I was sitting in the dive bar looking at Mary once again.

It all tumbled out, a sad mess, to this stranger, who listened to every word without comment. How could I tell her all this? Every failing in my life, my strained relationship with my father, how I wanted to follow his footsteps into the ministry, how I thought Christine was perfect for the life carved before me.

"Of course you are unhappy," she said. "You are living someone else's life, not your own."

"No, I'm sure I'm unhappy because my girlfriend betrayed me."

"Really." She drew out those syllables in an annoying way as if she didn't believe me. "Jesus was betrayed, but he didn't let it affect him for a second. He still embarked on his mission to sacrifice himself, despite what anyone said."

"What's your point?" Anger rolled in my gut now. How dare she not believe the words I just spilt?

"You supposed to be a Christian. You study to teach Christ's words to others, and yet you have no idea what any of it means."

"And you are going to tell me."

She shook her head.

"No. I'm going to show you. Let's go for a walk."

#

She led, I followed, as we strolled toward the river. The air was thick with fog, and the rancid smell of the dirty air mixed with salt water. The buildings became more run down, and there were few people here. We came to an alley, and she pushed me into it.

"Wait here," she said, "and don't say a word."

"What?"

She slapped me across the face, hard, burning the skin with the force of her hand. My eyes flew, and I rubbed my cheek purely in reflex.

"Watch and listen," she said fiercely.

I swallowed, wanting to run, alarm running though my body. But she stood at the entrance of the alley, her form silhouetted by the faint and infrequent street lamps.

"Sssh," she warned again peering at me over her shoulder. I shrank into the shadows.

She stood there at the entrance as I stood stock still against the wall. Her head hung down, her hands at her side, her purse hanging from the fingers of her hands. I waited, she waited, for what I didn't know.

"Hey," said a rough voice. "What do we have here?"

She lifted her head.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here."

She said nothing.

Another, larger silhouette covered her form.

"Looking for a little fun, baby?"

Incredibly, she still did not speak, did not move.

"Here," he said. "Suck this."

I heard a zipper, and she slowly sunk to her knees.

"Yeah, that's right. You're a dirty whore aren't you?"

His hands gripped her hair, and his shoulders, the only thing I saw moved back and forth, gaining momentum. He grunted. "Oh yeah, you fucking whore, yeah, suck that dick, yeah, I'm fucking your mouth, god yeah." He let out a loud groan and jerked a few more times.

The stranger pulled away. She just knelt on the sidewalk, her head down.

"What? Get up."

She didn't move.

"Aw, the hell with you." The man took out his wallet and held out some bills.

"Take it."

Again she didn't move.

"Fuck you," he said. And the bills fluttered to the ground as he walked away.

Slowly she stood, and as the streetlamp highlighted her head and shoulder picked up one bill after another with delicate movements. I moved from the shadows at last.

"What was that?"

"What Jesus taught. Submission."

"Jesus did not teach to whore yourself."

She smiled.

"Exactly. I did not ask; he offered. There was no whoring."

"I doubt the police would see it that way."

She laughed. "Please, the police do worse every day."

"Are you judging the police?"

"Are you judging me? Remember what Jesus said about that."

"Jesus forgave the prostitute," I said. "And told her to sin no more."

"That's only because he wanted to fuck her himself," she said. "God, he was a greedy bastard."

"Nonsense."

"How would you know?"

"How do you?"

"Because, acolyte, I was there."

My breathing tightened. God, this woman was crazy.

"I think it is time to go home," I said.

"Not before I suck your dick."

"I don't have any money to give you," I said snidely.

"Did I ask for money? Against the wall." With that she pushed me roughly into the bricks with more force than a woman should have. She cupped her hand over my groin, feeling the evidence of my reaction to her whoring.

"Yes, yes, choirboy, that did get you excited."

"It's sin."

"Ah sinner," she said her voice suggestively low, sliding her body against mine, and sinking to her knees. "Let me take you to church."

She undid my belt far too easily, my zipper with too much grace, and my pants slid to the pavement at my ankles.

Mary chuckled and gripped my cock. "No underwear?"

I swallowed hard. "Haven't had time to do the laundry," I said.

"Ah," she replied. Her mouth opened and her tongue lashed the head of my cock.

"Um, delicious."

I put my hands on her shoulders to push her away. Her hands grabbed my ass and pulled me hips forward with unholy force so that I speared her mouth. My vision went red, no my eyelids closed, as the sensation of her tongue on my dick overwhelmed my senses. My ears roared, and my breathing sped up. My furtive lashings of my tool with my hand was nothing like this.

It was heaven.

My hips rocked as she took more of me into her divine mouth, warmth and softness pushing me closer to the edge. My ears roared; my balls tingled. I saw nothing, I felt nothing but the impending explosion. A rush shot through balls and my dick. My seed burst into her glorious mouth.

She held my dick there in warmth, softness and my cum until I grew soft.

I pulled away and panted against the brick wall.

She smiled and then swallowed.

"Just perfect," she said. "Just right for a first lesson."

Mary stood, and without missing a beat, pushed a bill into my hands, and kissed me on the cheek.

"The Universe provides," she said softly. Then she walked off into the night leaving me with my pants around my ankles.

When I got home and finally looked at the money and found it was a one hundred dollar bill. I stared.

"The Universe provides," said her voice in my head.

#

The next day, I looked at the bursar's bill again.

One hundred dollars.

Normally, a bill like this would throw my day into a tailspin. It did yesterday. It was the only explanation I had of my bizarre behavior with that whore yesterday. Minister's sons aren't known to be flush with money and I was no different. If not for the fact I was the first born, I would have grown up in hand-me-downs like my brothers and sisters.

For a moment I considered the pros and cons of using the money I got from Mary last night. It was tied up improbably with a sex act I did not solicit. For a second the thought crossed my mind that she paid me for privilege of sucking my dick. My face flushed at that thought. That was ridiculous. Women don't pay men to suck their dick.

Or do they?

It was a relief to hand the money to the bursar's clerk. There was now no physical reminder of my strange and sinful night with a stranger, and my mind could will away the memory of it. I could get on with me life: Professor Humbolt's Christian Religious Philosophy class.

The day had a chill, the first sign of the turn of autumn to winter. A cold wind gusted on my way to class. It swirled the brown leaves around my feet that fell with a ghostly clatter on the concrete. I shivered and drew my head down into my jacket.

The classroom was sweaty hot from the hot water radiators that gasped and hissed under the windows that stretched to the twenty-foot high ceiling. Someone cracked open a window to bring some blessed relief, but my idea to sit closest the window wasn't my brightest. I was alternately hot then cold as the wind blew in the occasional frigid blast, followed by steady waves of heat from the radiators. Humbolt spoke. But I wasn't paying attention, my mind wandering to the encounter in the alley with Mary.

How did something that felt so good be so bad? Every part of my religious upbringing screamed at me that what I did was wrong, that it was sin, that I had no business in that alley. I should have left, should have never taken that walk with her, never enter that bar in the first place.

The wages of sin is death.

On the other hand, sin paid pretty well.

I slapped that thought away as sharply as Mary struck my cheek. I rubbed my hand against my jaw, remembering the rude pain of her delicate hand chastising my flesh.

Yes, that was it. Chastisement.

The whore chastised me.

"Watch and listen," she had said fiercely.

Even as my cheeks burned in shame I caught the edges of the professor's lecture and my head snapped up to stare at him.

Harold Humbolt was a bit of a legend on campus. He was an archaeology professor, but for some reason the administration let him teach the "Principles of Christian Philosophy," a required class for the Divinity track. Nor did the required class ever fall to another professor, not even if it had to given in separate sessions. There were whispers about why Humbolt was the sole teacher of this class, of a rich University booster who demanded this for the donation. But nothing was proven either way.

"Jesus led a life of submission. From his first appearance teaching the elders in the temple at Jerusalem to his final minutes on the cross his thoughts turned to the will of his Father. In the temple he told his mother, 'I do my Father's will,' and on the cross he said 'Into your hands I commend my spirit.'"

The professor stopped speaking and our eyes locked.

"Did you have something to say, Mr. Goodwin?"

Humbolt never addressed a student directly, not in this manner, so I was shocked by his sudden attention. I didn't know what to say, so I said the first thing that popped into my head.

"He was a greedy bastard," I said. Time stopped. Humbolt's eyes widened and some in the classroom gasped. Mortified and stunned by my own stupid words, I stood and stumbled out of the classroom. As I did the few girls in class tittered and the guys laughed.

#

Like the good Christian boy I was, I found myself in the chapel, staring at the non-denominational stained glass window. I prayed for forgiveness, repeating The Lord's Prayer over and over as if it was a mantel to cover my sin, shame and foolishness.

"Lead us not into temptation," I said for the twentieth time.

But I was led, like an animal to slaughter. Why didn't the Lord protect me from that? What was it all that? That woman? That whore? How and why did she burrow into my brain so I could not let go of my thoughts of her?

Then with images of her brown eyes and her warm mouth in my mind's eye, my cock filled again, a willing agent of debauchery. It grew rock hard, uncomfortably straining against my pants for release. Oh God. I was incorrigible, unredeemable, too weak to control myself even in the house of the Lord.

"Father, forgive me," I pleaded silently, clutching my fingers together in piety so they would not stray below my belt.

"Let me take you to church," she had said and my greedy penis commanded my attention.

Damn her. She even sullied this for me: the peace and comfort of the halls of the Lord.

This was stupid. It was ridiculous. I had to make amends. Then my conscience could rest. I could put away thoughts of her and get on with my life.

Of course, I had to wait for my dick to settle down.

It took a while.

#

I approached Professor Humbolt's office. I'd been there precisely once at the start of the term. It struck me then how that small, plain office didn't seem to contain the man within. He was a large man with a few too many generous dinners under his belt. The two hundred year old walls and woodwork were painted a naked and cheap white. The pressboard thing that masqueraded as a desk was ludicrously inadequate. To the right a cheap black bookcase stuffed with books affirmed barely held the titles. To left of the entrance was a disused coal burning fireplace. He had it arranged with a pair of Queen Ann's chairs and a small oriental rug like he sat in front of it. At least that is how I remembered it.

I stood at the door, my courage failing in the light of my embarrassment, hand raised to knock on it. Though it was his stated office hours, the door was shut, and I wondered if another student occupied his time.

Then I heard some curious sounds.

Whap!

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't," a whiney voice said.

"Whap!"

"Ow!"

"Whap!"

"Please, mistress. Harder. It must be harder."

"What? My strokes or your dick?"

"Strokes, Mistress. Please."

WHAP!

I froze in my morbid fascination. Professor Humbolt? Spanked? My raised hand rested on the door.

"OW!" Humbolt cried.

My hand jerked, and the door opened a hair. Humbolt was leaning against the back of one of his chairs, his pants around his ankles, his ass blazing red from his beating. I could not see the woman though.

"No, no, that's not enough. You have to, please."

"Ah, Harold. Must I put you through this?" the feminine voice said in a harsh whisper.