The Priestess of Babylon

I've been wanting to do a series of historical smut fanfics. I've taken some basic historical knowledge like that of Babylon's Ishtar-ladies and of the Hebrew exile to Babylon. Otherwise, it is a work of fiction with fictional characters. Any resemblence to real people, it follows, are coincidental.
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As the sun disappeared, cut from the sky by the scythed moon, the activity that had filled the pulsating city of ancient Babylon died to a trickle. Earlier that day, it had looked like a swarming hill of angry ants. Now, at nighttime, the candles in each house were being lit, and they provided the citizens with a meek illumination that did not extend outside of their homes, and certainly not into the dim streets. The clay beehive was seemingly dead, with only one exception; the temple of Ishtar.

The torches and lanterns that kept the temple bright were not the only things combating the silence of the dozing city; music and laugher could be heard behind the wind-wracked dyed shrouds that hung in the doorways. Within, elegant carpets decorated with stars, moons, and other heavenly things were dyed blue and purple, made especially valuable by the rare purple dye brought by Phoenician traders. Other pieces of art showed simple animal designs, or deities. Brass and gold metal-works could be seen in some corners and on a few walls. Three men of wealthy attire and dignified bearings sat before a table, eating lamb, dates, almonds, and other fine foods, but their eyes were on the woman who beckons them coyly behind a red curtain with a five-pointed star on it ,into an incense-filled bedroom.

She was Talitha, a foreigner who came to Babylon from the land of Canaan with nothing to her name, and now a woman seen as the highest ranking of the Goddess’ followers. Her status was understandable; she was beautiful, with a soft youthful sun-kissed face, long-lashed almond shaped eyes, olive skin, and black sable hair that came down in a long braid to her wide, curvy hips and butt, fruitlike in their fullness and appetizing appeal. Her slim, smooth belly was visible, and its flat feminine expanse stretched on like an endless steppe, a flatland spanning that gap between her bra and skirt. The flatness was a bridge between her two favorite attributes; from the thin silk covering half-concealing her full breasts, for one, and from there it stretched down to the sarong around her broad hips. Her waist was adorned with polished-pink copper metal disks hanging on it that jingle as she danced like a swaying snake. She was, to all onlookers, a goddess. All women in Babylon are whores once; it is a service they must pay to Ishtar once they reach womanhood.

Others are priestesses, and whores for life. Very few can feel the goddess take control of them and flow through their veins, and very few can feel her within them, choosing the man she desires to please. Talitha was the latter, and she knew at a glance which of the three the deity wanted. She beckoned him in, and had her attendants take care of the other two. As the lovemaking began, Talitha felt the divine pleasure raze her thoughts to the basest, primal level, and she closed her eyes as though about to faint. The man would leave her lying on her back after a long day, recalling how she had gotten where she now was. She had been chased out of Judea for being possessed by a lustful demon. Something powerful in her made her unable to resist her desires, and made men unable to resist her. She thought herself impure and possessed when she was first taken in as a temple prostitute, as what her people called a Qedesha, serving Ishtar, Astarte or Qudshu- all the same Goddess of amour. Now, after three years of ecstasy and communion with the divine, she knew herself holy in her pleasure and fornication. As an extension of Ishtar, she was a receptor of pleasure for her. Talitha was an earthly intermediary between the divine Lady of her temple and mortal men, or so she fervently believed. Sweat and bitter incense mingled as her lover stood up and walked away from the extravagantly soft bed. A bag of coins was set at the base of the bed. Talitha smiled and pulled the sheets close over her. There are few men she wished to keep in her bed afterwards. The last had been a Greek traveler who did what so few men could not by keeping her interest with a combination of stories, riches, and talents. He never pretended she was not a whore, and frankly, a slut, in that smarmy half-pitying way that people adopted when trying to be kind. Neither did he imagine she was nothing else, as most who used her body did. She still awaited his return, but could wait a long time yet; life was good.

The nearby money at the base of her beed, however, was intoxicating to her. It was believed that such payments were blessed in their own right, simple metal coins though they were. “Thank the goddess for all the world’s extravagances!” She sighed, stretching her arms out, nearly knocking over a jar of intoxicating poppy juice by her ebony-wood nightstand. Her groping fingers found the jar handle, and delivered that night's third gulp of the elixir to her lips. She began to doze off when another visitor’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, curly-bearded and aquiline. “Lady of Ishtar, the King has thought it best to inform you that your people have been exiled from their homeland, and that many of your village will be arriving in the city tomorrow.” He told her. Her heavily lashed eyes stared sleepily and uncomprehending for a moment before she bolted up. “What?!” She asked out of alarm. Her head was flickering with images of worst possible case scenarios. On one hand she knew that if her fate became known to her people, the amount of scorn she would receive would be more venomous than ever. She had been called a wanton back home before, but half of it had been in petty meanness, not the rage and disgust she would receive now. All those who had called her a demoness would feel vindicated. On the other hand, what if she turned it around on them, and flaunted her new life? “It’s true you were married to one of their chieftans before you fled?” Her visitor questioned. “The King thought it might be best if you made a display of yourself there, to break the spirits of the troublesome newcomers who still wish to fight.” The man explained, and held out a scroll which she took from his hand and unrolled slowly. She scanned it very carefully and moving her lips as she attempted to read. She had only really learned cuneiform recently, though the Babylonian spoken tongue came naturally to her.

A flood of mixed emotions scorched her brain into dizzied sleep that night, a mix of nervousness, excitement, and doubt."I will do this." She whispered, staring out the window as the moon vanished in clouds. "My old friends, this will hurt you more than it will hurt me." She whispered with sardonic grin.

She was placed in a throne and carried by shirtless slaves the next morning, dressed in white robes of linen and decorated with golden jewelry that included a chain running down to her waist with a long, unmistakably phallic device made of gold and studded with small, smooth pearls dangled. Each pearl was mostly submerged into the golden phallus, with only a fraction of the rounded surface exposed for stimulation. As her platform was set down, she raised her dark eyes to regard a crowd of people that kindled memories she had thought long gone. The amount of familiar faces was astonishing- even the chieftan, her would-be husband, sat there, along with a few of his wives, including the wife she had managed to tempt into mischief before leaving. As they all realized who and what they were seeing, the rage she expected set in, along with involuntary fascination. The Babylonian soldiers who guarded the group stared up at her with lust, and so did some of the Judean men as well.

In the glitter of their eyes, a stunned Talitha recalled why she was here. As the sense of mischief set in, her nipples hardened visibly under he thin linen clothing. The nervousness vanished. With a smirk that marked the recovery of her showmanship, Talitha lifted up the large, pearl-studded dildo and made sure all were looking upon it. “A gift from the King of Babylon, to his luxury-loving whore.” She proclaimed. She turned around to lift up the skirt of her robes, revealing a round ass, ripe in womanhood, and glistening pussy. She smiled and bit her lip as she forced the instrument into her womanhood, moaning at the sensation of gold and pearls stretching her wide. It was not cold, as she had expected, but still retained the sun's heat. As she fed the length slowly into her, she realized in shock that that collar was tightening. As she stubbornly insisted on adding more and more length to her now slick pussy, her cheeks began to burn, and a surprisingly intense sensation filled her womanhood even as she grew dizzy from the tightening collar,as well as the wine and poppy juice she had recently partaken of. She was tempted to meet her limits this day. “More…” She whispered, daring to thrust the monstrous treasure all the way up to its handle. She was now on her belly, robes hiked up, with her rear bared to her people. Some had left, but the most horrified and most happily hypnotized had both remained where they stood. Her cheeks burned as she heard old insults hurled at her, but she knew many were silent with secret enjoyment. In a combination of exultation and defiance at her detractors, she began moaning louder. Just as Talitha was wondering if she was about to die in the throes of shameful euphoria, the goddess brought her at last to a mind-numbing climax that polished the golden phallus with a wet shine. With a whimper and laboring breath, she pulled it slowly and carefully out, then lay on the stage as she gasped and stared dazedly at the sky for a second before smiling. Her expression was effulgent, and cruelly self satisfied as it regarded her stunned audience. She couldn’t stifle a laugh at them. She expected her customary giggle, but the laugh that came was mocking and derisive. She discarded her cunt-stained clothing on the sand, and the valued linen was quickly snatched up. One gentleman in the crowd seemed to catch on to her humor. "How disgraceful. We should all be so lucky." He muttered in Hebrew, his tone pessimistic and tired.