Tonight I want to take you back to Egypt during the 18th Dynasty, when the Nile still sang with its own voice and the temples smelled of incense and promises spoken only in silence. As a priestess of Isis in the great temple of Karnak, I was the keeper of mysteries revealed only to those who knew how to listen to the silence between heartbeats. My skin glistened with myrrh oil, my braids heavy with lapis lazuli beads, and every night when the full moon rose over the river, I felt the god himself brushing the nape of my neck with his burning breath.
He arrived on a barge loaded with cedar and spices — a Phoenician merchant with amber eyes and hands that seemed to have caressed more silk than women. His name was Melqart, though I never spoke it fully; it was enough to feel how his deep voice made the air vibrate when he asked about the forbidden rituals. He claimed he had crossed the seas to buy sacred papyrus, but I knew he was lying. He had come for something older than trade: he had come to taste what we priestesses guard between the columns of the sanctum.
He found me at the sacred lake, naked under the moonlight, the water licking my ankles while I recited the words that make the Nile overflow its banks. He said nothing. He simply approached slowly, barefoot on the stone still warm from the day, and knelt beside me as if he were an offering. I felt his breath before his fingers — warm, salty, carrying the scent of distant seas. He brushed my calf with his fingertips, barely a whisper, and I didn’t move. I let him rise, slow as the river when it swells.
He carried me to the shore among the tall reeds, where no one from the temple could see us. There, under the indifferent gaze of the stars, he laid me down on my own white linen cloak. His hands were strong but patient; they traveled along my sides as if memorizing every curve, every hollow. When they reached my breasts, he squeezed them with exactly the pressure that draws an uncontrollable moan from the throat. He kissed my neck, licked the salt of the sweat already pearling on my skin, taking without giving anything back just yet.
His lips moved lower, down my stomach, pausing at my navel as if it were a well from which to drink. Then further down, to where the heat had become unbearable. He parted my thighs with reverence, like someone opening a chest that holds treasures. His tongue was the first to taste me — slow, exploring every fold as if reading an ancient text. I tangled my fingers in his black hair and pulled gently, guiding him, begging him without words not to stop. The pleasure came in waves, like the Nile when it floods: first gentle, then unstoppable. I moaned for the first time and he answered by vibrating against me, making me tremble.
Finally I pulled him up. I wanted to feel him inside me, wanted him to fill me the way the river fills the black earth. He positioned himself between my legs, his hard cock brushing my entrance, and he waited. He waited until I arched my hips to find him, until I took him in with one slow, deep movement. He entered me in a single thrust and we both let out a breath at the same time, as if we had been holding it since the world began.
We moved together, first slowly, savoring every inch, every stroke. Then faster, more urgent. My nails dug into his back, leaving marks that tomorrow would be secret stories. He growled foreign words against my ear that I didn’t understand but that sounded like pure desire. When I felt myself reaching the edge, I clenched around him. He spilled inside me with a hoarse groan, and I followed seconds later, unable to hold back.
We stayed like that for a long time, skin against skin, breaths in rhythm, the lake murmuring around us. Before the moon hid, he kissed my forehead and whispered, “I’ll return when the next moon is full.” I only nodded. I knew he would come back. And I knew I would be waiting for him, with the same myrrh oil and the same desire beating under my skin.
Later, after he had left on his barge, I stood on the temple roof looking at the stars. I thought that sometimes the gods send their heralds just to remind us that even priestesses can burn.
The second night he came, we didn’t speak. He entered my secret chamber behind the naos, where only the high priest and I were allowed. He closed the cedar door softly and removed his tunic without hurry. His body was strong, weathered by sun and sea, with scars that told of journeys I would never take. I approached him naked, wearing only the gold and lapis lazuli pectoral between my breasts, and pushed him against the cool stone wall.
This time I kissed him with hunger, biting his lower lip until he groaned. My hands slid down his chest, scratched his abdomen, and when I reached his cock it was already hard, hot, pulsing against my palm. I stroked him slowly, squeezing exactly where I knew it would drive him mad, while he pinched my nipples.
I led him to the low bed covered with leopard skins I had taken from the temple treasury. I straddled him and guided him inside me without any foreplay. I was so wet that he entered without resistance, filling me completely. I began to move, rising and falling, circling my hips in slow motions that made him gasp. He gripped my waist, setting the rhythm, thrusting upward hard every time I came down.
We changed positions: him behind me, fucking me hard while I braced my hands against the wall and arched my back; then on our sides, with one of my legs over his shoulder so he could go deeper; then me on top again, but this time facing away, feeling his hands spread my ass while I rode him without control.
When I felt myself getting close again, I stopped and turned to look into his eyes. “I want to taste you,” I whispered. I slid down his body, licking the sweat from his chest, his navel, until I reached his cock. I took him fully into my mouth, savoring the salty taste of both of us mixed together. I sucked him eagerly, playing with my tongue around the head, sliding down to the base, tightening my lips. He tangled his fingers in my hair and pushed gently, fucking my mouth carefully at first, then deeper. I moaned around him and that pushed him over the edge.
He came in my mouth with an animal growl, and I swallowed everything, licking the last drops as if it were sacred nectar. Then he laid me on my back, spread my legs, and sank into me again — this time without mercy. He fucked me hard, fast, deep, until I shattered once more, clenching around him, milking him as he emptied himself for the second time.
We lay exhausted and sweaty. Before leaving, he placed a pendant of shell and coral between my breasts. “So you remember me when the Nile runs low,” he said. I kissed him one last time and let him go.
Sometimes, when the moon is full, I still taste him on my tongue and smile alone in the darkness of the temple.
