Divine Prerogative

Sono il tuo schiavo

In the candle lit darkness of the small room, he knelt at his altar in worship. The marble Goddess, unmoving and cold, gazed down at him with dead, eyes. In the stillness of the night, he offered a prayer.

There, on his hands and knees, he began first by kissing her feet. With a gentle touch of his lips he kissed each toe. A light touch of his finger tips massaged her ankle, her calf.

His kiss made a slow ascent, following his fingers' touch.

"You are my Goddess," he whispered after each soft kiss. "Sono il tuo schiavo."

His breath was soft, slow. To breathe otherwise might make this apparition fade away. Become a memory.

He rose with slow purpose, to his knees while kissing those of the Goddess. Embracing her legs, caressing her his lips glided to her thighs. Soft and quiet were his breaths onto those thighs.

Was it his imagination? Were those goosebumps on his Goddess' legs?

His prayers were being answered. This deity, this idol was coming to life. With each kiss, each loving touch of his fingertips, his Goddess awakened.

As his lips moved with love up her thigh, he whispered, "You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

Still on his knees, but upright, he breathed in the scent from between her legs. His pulse quickened but he maintained his deliberate pace. He planted quiet little kisses, little sparks of love. After each press of his lips, a light flick of his tongue. And as his hands traced the gentle contours of her thighs and rump, he spoke his mantra.

"You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

He raised himself up now, and pressing his lips against her soft stomach he felt the Goddess shiver. A gentle sigh escaped from her lips. She was coming to life.

His arms embraced her cold waist, then he began to rise up. He stood now, staring into those eyes and thought he saw a spark of life. His hands glided up her sides, making their way to her shoulders. His thumbs felt the suppleness of her breasts ans they eased past.

With a light touch, one hand rested on her shoulder. The other hand he raised to her face, caressing her soft cheek. He ran his fingers through her silken hair, hooking it behind her ear.

She had come to life. His prayers had been answered. He smiled and in supplication spoke again.

"You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

Down her arms his fingertips slid. The very light touch caused the Goddess to close her eyes and tilt back her head. A quiet moan of enjoyment grew in her throat. She shivered just as he took up her hands.

He raised her hands to his lips. He kissed them, one after another. He massaged the joints of her slender finger just as he had massaged her ankles, her knees. And he praised the divine flesh between each finger with a tender kiss, a light flick of his tongue and a soft breath.

Lowering her hands, he wrapped her arms around his waist and moved close. Releasing her hands, he entwined her in his own. He kissed her shoulders, her neck. Each peck planted was one of pure love, love that he hoped would grow. Sighs of pleasure escaped her lips.

They were pressed together now, looking into each others eyes. Running his fingertips along the back of her neck, his hand made its way through the soft forest of her hair. His touch was soft as he held head, when he spoke once more.

"With every part of me, I worship you. You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

He began to inch his lips toward hers. Anticipation of the flame that would erupt inside of him made his heart flutter. Love for the Goddess was an addiction for him, a need and no drug made by man was comparable.

She was the most loving, the most beautiful thing on this earth or in heaven to him. She was the sun, moon, stars, and all of the cosmos wrapped into the perfect form. A form made just for him.

He thought.

As their lips neared, he felt it. The warmth seemed to fade. Her hands came away from him and her head tilted back.

He saw in her eyes now a look of recognition. Sadness, mixed with fear perhaps, filled the void where for a moment their had been life. She began to stiffen; transforming from that soft, cool flesh he loved into the cold, hard marble once again.

Tears began to fall down his cheeks. They matched those upon the Goddess' face. With the last breath that would escape from her once living lips, she whispered her eternal, damning judgement.

"No. Not for us."

He fell hard to the floor, pain blazing fire through his knees. He pounded his fists on the ground until they were bloodied and broken. His face was covered in tears as he raged.

Denial.

"No! No, no, no no no no no no no no no no no no no," he screamed in bitterness, clutching his head and pulling at his hair. He had been so close. He had almost had the Her in his life. He had almost had the impossible. Forever.

As the truth began to sink in, his scream became broken sobs. Blood from his knuckles blended with his tears; an offering of pain upon the altar of his Goddess, his love. He sputtered and shook as he curled up at her feet.

His face wore the mask of pure agony. His hair, in mere moments, had begun to grey. He threw up and lay there, to defeated to care.

Covered in his own blood, tears and filth, he clutched at her cold stone feet. Shuddering, he whimpered his mantra. His prayer.

"You are my Goddess. Sono il tuo schiavo."

And his prayer had been answered.