There was something to her, alright. Long, lioness hair, full and rich and what a sheen. A face that was both primal and meditative, with a serene calm that never for an instant seemed to waver. Her body was not distinctly feminine, but that sort of wiry, strong but neat and petite aged dancer body that wasn’t curvy or voluptuous but hinted that some unbelievable sexual excitement was possible. Her skin was one of her most captivating features. Without so much as a freckle, it was completely free of blemish, tight, smooth, and not glowing but somehow radiating life and strength.
One look at her, and I imagined her in the Fuck-Of-The-Year Club.
Not that I don’t get it more than once a year.
Despite my many bad habits, I am in fairly good shape. I have an outdoors job and I am active most of the time that I’m working, so I wasn’t too intimidated or feeling too out of place when I stepped up to the door of her studio. Or maybe it was a dojo. It could have been for dancing, or meditating, I don’t know. It also had a bright, clean, Japanese house kind of feel to it. Lots of space, too.
She glided out in her black leotard and white half shirt and I nearly split my pants in the front. I am not a very horny guy, I think that beer has pretty much destroyed my sex drive over the years, and I was never very sexually active before I began drinking, but all of a sudden I was an 18 year old horn-dog on Viagra. She just had that force about her.
I blushed/lowered my head/turned my crotch away/gulped/coughed before she could see anything, but being so illuminated as she was with cosmic secrets and shit, she didn’t seem to notice anything much going on right in front of her at all. Still, I was afraid the heat pouring out of my face would catch her attention.
I took a deep breath, several, as she had instructed, and moved to sit beside her in the lotus position on a big blue mat on the floor. I watched her trustingly as she breathed gently with her eyes closed and the backs of her hands resting on her knees. The peace and beauty she radiated made me worry that the next hour and a half would be incredibly fucking boring.
Her eyelids slowly split and her smile widened across her face, intimating tremendous satisfaction, as though she had just read something wonderfully interesting inside her mind. I smiled back politely.
Her chest heaved with a full breath, and I blinked trying to disrupt the stare I automatically leveled on her tits in response.
“I thought we’d start with chakra-aligning exercises, Steve,” she said, her voice seeming to extend to infinity from her in richness and deepness.
“Uhh,” I interrupted. My old cynicism was returning and I felt I had to take control of the situation. “I don’t know what that is, uh, Megan.”
“Deva.”
“What?”
“Deva, in here, Steve. It’s a sign of respect. It’s what people call a female master of my practices.”
“Oh, ok. Sorry. Deva.”
Right. I went to a liberal arts school, too, Megan. Call me Ninja Turtle.
“You have some doubts about where we begin?”
“No, I trust you, Deev,”
“Deva.”
“Deva, sure, but I don’t know anything about the stuff you’re talking. I don’t know if it’s for me.”
She smiled, and seemed to emanate another wave of peace and understanding. Her light was imperturbable.
“If it will make you feel more comfortable, Steve, tell me first what you want out of our meeting.”
“Hm,” I said. That was fair, I had to admit. I thought about it, rolling my eyes back for a minute.
“I guess I want peace, and, you know, inner peace, and maybe some super Jedi powers, out of this.”
“I see,” she said. That was, of course, her cue to tell me that such things were not possible, or not desirable to an enlightened mind, and thus prove what a fraud she was. Or, maybe, things could have taken a crass supernatural turn. She could have shot beams from her eyes and made me a super-being, as my fantasy-prone mind suggested. Then it was just mind-tricks and telekinetic choke holds getting me free beer for the rest of my life.
Instead, she got all metaphysical on me.
“Power comes from knowledge, tested and applied and driven into memory over time,” she said. “This application, mindful living, is empowering understanding.”
“Fascinating,” I nodded, my back starting to hurt from sitting Indian style on her stiff gym mat.
“Breathe with me, again, Steve. Close your eyes, open your mind, and listen.”
Her eyes closed again, and she seemed to go into a trance. For the first time, I thought I had heard some awareness from her of my insulting incredulity.
Still, I went along with it. After all, I didn’t have to come back, it was only one afternoon. She sure was hot, though. I was going to crack an eye to look up and down her leotard’s pushed out curves, and I probably could have gotten away with it, this chick being the space cadet that she was, but I suddenly felt very relaxed, and I listened to her.
“The trap of the physical world, its one essential rule, is that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Everything has karma, causality. Everything is a circle.”
Circle, right, I thought. We all live in a yellow submarine. Still, I kept listening.
“Nowhere is this more apparent,” she said, “than in the simple act of breathing.”
At this point, her voice was coming from above me, and I knew she was standing, but I kept listening, eyes closed, actually very subdued in relaxation, letting her hypnotize me with her fortune cookie speech.
“Sexual desire,” she said, “is an inhalation of the spirit. When the spirit is released, desire fades. It is the same with thought, with physical energy, with anything: everything has highs and lows. Everything is conserved, and wasted.”
Sure, I thought. I wasn’t buying, but I could keep with her.
“But outside the physical world, in the realm of the spiritual, bits of energy cannot be counted, they are unbound by mathematics.”
This was getting complicated, but I just kept my eyes closed anyway, as though I were following her train of thought. At the very least, it was relaxing.
“What I will help you learn to do,” she said with sudden serious ferocity, “is to inhale in this world and increase the desire of your body, and exhale air that is imaginary. Your body will be continuously charged with desire, with wanting, with need, so that even after orgasm you will not be satiated. You will be as a god is thought to be, eternally vital, hungering, absorbing. You will have eternal youth.”
Neat! I thought, now ready to leave.
“But,” I asked, opening my eyes very slowly, “what about the balance you mentioned? Doesn’t this energy have to be returned to the world...?”
I may have had more to say, but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t even remember it, at that point. She was standing, naked as a jay bird there right before me, and I was literally stunned into silence. Still, she just kept on teaching philosophy class, as pleasant as you please.
“The energy you take from the physical and give to the spiritual, or invisible world must be returned at some point, yes. But it can enter the physical world in the same amount that it is taken at any time, from many points not connected to you, to preserve balance.”
At this point it didn’t matter that she wasn’t making any sense to me.
Does it ever, with beautiful, naked girls?
I didn’t see where her clothes had gotten too, but then I didn’t look very far from her. I guess I may have been supposed to think that she had made them vanish into thin air, at will.
She held her willowy right hand out to me, to make me rise, and I did, without missing a beat. I was erect again, breathing laboredly, and still oddly relaxed. Had she hypnotized me, really?
I didn’t care. She lead me by the hand, looking back at me over her shoulder to an actual gymnasium attached to the meditation room, and lowered me with a hand on my shoulder gently back down so I was sitting again on the floor. What did she need all this equipment for, I wondered.
She strolled, still lovely and naked, up to the horse, fluidly, smiled back at me, and grabbed the handles. In a moment she was upside down, supporting herself with one hand, the other out at the side, all fingers pointing together in a line to the wall. She lowered herself with her slender arm effortlessly up and down above the horse, as her legs alternated between splits, knee bends, and rotations. She dismounted, and smiled at me, showing not a trace of exertion: no sweat, no heavy breathing, no blushing. Not even a hair out of place. She just breathed in with her lungs, and breathed out with her spirit. Her body was almost robotic, detached from pain or fear or fatigue.
“You see?” she asked. “It can be done.”
I believed. I knew exactly what was happening, but perhaps sensing that another test was appropriate, she continued to the rings.
Again, in a state of total relaxation, but without the lifeless benevolence of mystics whose brains have long since turned to cheese, she jumped up an impossible height with total ease. My brain couldn’t tell me anything by way of explanation except that she was a cartoon character. Had to be. She wasn’t three dimensional, she wasn’t bound by the laws of physics. She wasn’t completely real.
With a graceful efficiency, she had the toes of either foot resting on each of the rings, her standing in between them. This is not physically possible, I thought. It isn’t. But as though in a derisive answer to my thought, she put her hands lightly on her hips, and lowered herself in a split between the hanging rings, as they moved away from her to her right and her left, making contact with her only underneath her toe rows. When the angle of her legs reached 180 degrees, she slowly, and smoothly drew her feet back together, and so brought herself back up to a standing position. She repeated this movie 8 times, as I watched her, slack jawed and staring. Did I mention she was naked?
The folds of her sex never parted from the tension, and I knew it was because she was willing them to stay closed, as further proof of her control. I could not divert my eyes from them, except to look at the small and slender thighs that could not possibly accomplish the physical feats I were seeing were her power only muscular in nature. I noticed again that her legs were beautiful. I know how difficult it is to express beauty and its effects on a person in words, but that was what they were. They were beautiful. Every bit of her was.
When she was finished with her suspended splits, she brought one foot up to rest on the side of the knee of her other leg, which she kept on bottom of the inside of the ring. She flipped down in a very controlled, almost slower-than-it-should-have-been flip, and was standing before me.
“Master,” I stammered, and she smiled, showing perfect white teeth, and again rested her hands on her hips. I didn’t know what else to do, so I simply got on my knees.
She took a step forward, tossed her hair about and off of her golden shoulders, and with her right hand at the back of my head, gently guided my face into her sex. It was a gesture of my respect and her authority, but she had an enlightened gentleness, almost a compassion that comforted me. I licked her gently, fearfully, expressing my honest reverence and awe. I knew I probably couldn’t have deceived her with a false show of love, but on the other hand I think we both know that I had no reason to try. She was simply my master.
Maybe you’re wondering what happened to the smart-assed guy who first walked into her studio, but that guy always believes what he sees, and never a single line of bullshit, and all of this seemed perfectly natural to me.
She didn’t seem overly pleasured by what I gave to her, but she did almost seem pleased with me as though she thought that I was something cute. The way people like puppies, I imagine. I inserted my tongue into her repeatedly and slowly, with complete willingness and a real desire to please and be on her good side. She had very little taste, but the juices sluicing down into my mouth from her seemed almost carbonated, they almost seemed to sting me, a little bit. Tendrils of her influence seemed to unfold casually in my mind. Her hand came away from me, and I pulled my head back a little and looked up, and she looked down at me with the warmest, most gracious smile I’d ever seen, as though she’d just heard the best joke in the world, and was physically pleased by it. I licked my lips, happy to be a good dog and to obey, and awaited her next command to me.
She departed and walked over to the balance beam, and stepped onto it. She walked to the center, and slid slowly into a split on its length, looking very restful.
“Sit,” she said, and accentuated the instruction with a slight hand wave.
Admiring again her supernatural balance, I sat directly in front of her on the floor, and we were in the teacher and pupil arrangement.
She was silent for a few minutes, during I which I found myself feeling very peaceful.
Finally, she spoke.
“As you have intuited, I am not entirely real. Every one of us has a real component, and a fantasy part, but disciples of my school have learned to enhance the unreal parts to make superhuman feats accomplishable. It is the same with all real mystics in the world.”
I listened.
“You have tasted of me, and my juices will have a transforming effect on you, provided you accept my guidance, now. “You have a question,” she stated, before I was aware I had one.
“Is this what I asked for?” I blurted, and suddenly became afraid I’d shown her disrespect.
She smiled that infinitely compassionate smile, again.
“It is what I can offer you, that you will be glad for,” she answered.
“What can I do, Master?”
She became serious, again, a consummate teacher.
She dismounted the beam, and walked over to me, putting one hand on her hip, and beckoning me to rise with the other. I did.
“Breathe with me.”
We returned to the other room, and each took the lotus position, this time both naked. We were facing each other, knees to knees, and eyes closed, with our heads upturned slightly.
“Match me,” she said simply.
I didn’t know what she meant, but I knew that under her competent and compassionate guidance, I would learn.
We sat that way for a while, and I finally noticed something that could have been a clue as to the statement’s meaning.
When I listened to her breathe, I heard her inhale.
I heard a pause, which was natural, as the air swished around inside her.
Then I heard her inhale.
The air was disappearing, or its energy was being rechanneled in some mysterious way. This was what she wanted me to do; she wanted me imitate her and accomplish this impossible feat.
I felt doubt, but then I felt her frown, shake her head slightly -I almost saw her do this, through my eyelids- as she encouraged me not to give in to the negative. I calmed my mind, and felt around for her influence. At this I could sense that she was suddenly and immensely pleased, and the energy that had appeared in my mind as tendrils when I was servicing her again rose into my consciousness. I allowed it to fill my body, and take control of my autonomic functions; breathing, heartbeat, sweat, everything. I don’t know how I knew how to do this: again, it all seemed perfectly natural to me.
I felt woozy for an instant, cleanly detached, and then I sensed her eyes opening, in front of me. I looked to her face, atop the pyramid of lotus strength, and she looked for the first time slightly fatigued, but also understanding, and accepting.
Without warning, she mounted me.
At first, it was only playful, her toppling me, putting her hips on mine, knocking my arms back and down to the floor in uselessness. After everything, part of me still regarded it as a game, as though she didn’t have control of me. I can’t tell you what it was like when this woman I had wanted from the very beginning made it clear that it was sexual attention that she wanted from me. And now I knew she wasn’t human.
Almost desperate, almost tired, almost excited, she smiled down at me.
“You have trusted me,” she said, regaining composure as her hair fell down around me in a golden sunset. “Now you shall have your reward.”
I have to admit that at the point that she inserted me, all I could think of was why powers and a nature like hers hadn’t ever been heard of before, at least as far as I knew. Funny thing for a man to think of, I know, as a physically perfect superwoman is beginning to make him her pleasure center.
Still, as she was fucking me, the ecstacy became my focus, took the spotlight.
Actually, she didn’t do anything. She just posed there, on top of me, enveloping me, pinning and enfolding me, letting time do all the work for her, which, of course, it was going to. I mean, come on. I wasn’t made out of stone, and... just a look at her...
I guess for a creature like her it would have to be more mental than physical. That was her nature, right?
I lay there pinned under her in agreeable bliss, under her perfect buttocks, slender but unstoppable thighs, ever-so-slightly-bouncing grapefruit breasts, and spun gold hair as she straightened her back out and tossed her head back a little, and what could I do? It was heaven, I can assure you.
Then, a funny thing happened.
My toes, though I felt nothing, pulled back like turtle heads into my feet. My fingers similarly withdrew into my hands. My arms and legs and head entered my torso, as the insides of my penis were drawn up through its opening, and up and into her canal. My body crumpled, shrank, compacted, and was drawn up into her as her butt thumped on the ground and I heard her laugh a little.
“Here’s you reward,” she said, suddenly mean, vain, and impatient. Then I was gone, into her.
I will never forget the feeling of my self being drawn through my penile shaft, and into her by her perverse gravity. In my imagination, it appeared as the new shoot of a plant, reaching up for daylight.
But surprisingly, that wasn’t the end of it. It wasn’t over.
I awoke on the mat, again naked, on my back, with the vaguest memory of having been surrounded by ghosts.
She was standing over me, again with the hand on the hip, bending over me with a disdainful smirk.
“Are you ready, yet?”
“Huh?” I managed.
Again, she clamped her hips down upon mine, and mounted my sex.
“Oh, God!” I cried. This time the ecstacy was too much. It was painful. It was the moment after a first class blow-job, when the girl has to disengage or it begins to hurt.
“Yeah!” she said, riding like a cowgirl, and suddenly showing pleasure taken in the act. She was wild and exciting, fucking like a young and crazy college tramp.
“Now,” she began, obviously breathless this time, “what will you do for me?”
I pondered for a moment the absence of the wise and stable mentor persona she had just worn, but the sting of having been conned was too painful to dwell on. Instead, there was the sting of being raped.
“I will recommend you, and bring new capital to you,” I mechanically recited.
“To the Guru Queen of the Bimbos!” she demanded.
“Yes.”
“Say it!”
“To the Guru Queen of the Bimbos.”
She squealed, just like a pig.
“Oh yeah!” she cried, still fucking me wildly. Being taken was not pleasurable mentally -I already said that physically it burned- but after that whole day I was in no mood to get worked up over it. She was worked up enough for the both of us, anyway.
“I used my super powers on you, Patsy, and now you are my fucking doll-stooge! Oh, how I love being a Goddess!!!”
I don’t know if she exhaled my soul energy into the form that she wanted me to be in after having absorbed me.
I don’t know if she learned all of her powers from a pop-magic book.
I do know, that despite anything you might have heard to the contrary, goddesses are bimbos.