Confessions of a libra

Credit: Here

[This post contains explicit, sacred content. You’ve been warned — or invited.]

17.05.25

He was shaking in need by the time the ritual was done. He had faced it daringly as I suspected he would. The one sent to protect me. I needed someone ruthless and in return, I would help him atone for his misplaced karmic sins. He protects me with his strength and grit, while I help his soul elevate sooner. A win-win if you ask me. I never had to tie him down as I have done the others. This made him special. I took off my robe and placed it on a chair nearby. I unzipped my black dress. I put on some music, some ritual drumming music. The sound was raw, ancestral. I let the tunes come over me as he watched, as he waited. I shook my hips, swung my neck, gyrated in time with the beat.

He watched me, hard and ready. Body primed with scent, blood, touch and now sight. Once the heat had built within me, I stalked toward him. I saw his eyes watch me as though awestruck. As though staring into the eyes of heaven itself. I climbed on top of him, straddling him with my knees bent on the table. I grabbed the knife I left within reach. I sliced the pad of my thumb and used the welled up blood to mark him on his sternum. I marked myself in return. I took a deep breath, calling my energy in. I placed both hands on his chest steadying him.

“Are you ready for me, Dax?” I asked fervently.

My view was lust-filled. The air felt thicker, stickier even. I ached for him, I needed him to complete the ritual. To ease the ache. The ache I had fought so hard to keep caged under lock, key and defensive strategy. Now as he moaned yes to me, I felt the bolt unlock and unfurl from within – a vixen like no other. I held him in my hand and guided him beneath me. I lowered myself slowly, my wetness welcoming him with a smooth entry. I gasped and my eyes rolled to the back of my head involuntarily. Fate really was the fucking wingwoman.

“Oh, God.” Dax groaned.

“Oh, Goddess. Surely,” I pant as I use the leverage of my arms on his chest to guide my hips.

“-Ah, yes!”

That was all he could manage and that fanned my flames even more. Dax held my hips helplessly. Or hopelessly yielding to my prowess. The momentum built and I started to quiver. I felt it in my thighs first, then within. Sometimes I clamped on him just to elicit a slightly different moan. His hands came up to my wrists, as though to hold me tighter to his chest. As though me pushing my weight on him wasn’t taxing him enough. His body whispered to mine about naughty cravings. To be consumed. To be engulfed. I came before he did. Maybe a couple of times. It’s been a while since I’ve had it good and he was soul-bond level intoxicating. Every touch, every stroke, every moan.

He took over by the end. Allowed me to have the reprieve of reciprocity. He grabbed my neck, and held us together foreheads touching. It was intimate and he was driving into me like a man on a mission.

“What do they call you?” He grunted and panted, mirroring me from earlier.

“Moira,” I let him have it and the enormity made my chest ache.

“Good. Because it’s your name I want to scream out loud tonight,” he said before increasing the heat.

His strokes were steady, my heart was heady and the sweat was freely flowing between us. There was not a pope nor a king that would get me off this man in this moment. We came together, mine a third time. He shouted my name like a man reading his last rites.

“I’m gonna get up any moment now.” I say with a slight slur.

Is that how dickmatism works? I must ask someone at my earliest convenience.

“You don’t have to get up, I can clean us up,” he said then proceeded to cough.

“No don’t be silly, I did the cutting.” I said in a resigned tone.

I got up and went to my bathroom. Grabbed some supplies and a very mundane silk robe. Nothing tops the feeling of me in my purple robe. I washed his chest in warm water, softly and attentively. He sat there and took my attentions. I grabbed the betadine and his face already bore a scowl.

“Or I could let you get an infection. It’s up to you,” my tone haughty.

“Are you always like this,” his voice tinged with amusement.

“Why? Do you like it?”