So, for each of the Paths in Sacred Kink, there is a educational porn story in each. Part 1 of each story is the journey in, Part 2 is the work, and Part 3 is coming out.

Well, I just wrote the porn story for Path of the Horse. I kept getting this knock on my head saying “no, it needs to be like this” over and over again. I also was going to just put it in the book and let it just be, like the other 5 stories (this was story 6) and it said nope, this needs out to my devotees. So I go to send it to just one person who I know follows her, and the whammy came again, NO, there are more.

So here you go. Dark goddess dominatrix teaching porn. WTF. Can I can I go back to writing now? And yeah- talk to each other already, there are multiple of you on here apparently, go network already and let me be a grumpy writer bear.

Shush. I know part of my job is cosmic networker and pack rat. I’m just bitching :)

**

Riding Into the Storm

When I first met my Goddess, SHE was a beautiful vision at the other end of a dream. SHE shoot graceful and solemn, eyes burning like coals wrapped in ash and flame. I swore SHE could see through me, and in the vision SHE called me forward. I was tempted to crawl, tempted to humble myself, but my intuition told me to walk forward with my head held high. Her blank face broke into the faintest of a smile, and I knew I could do nothing but love all that SHE is.

After the first visions, I poured into the lore, learned everything I could about her. Lady of the underworld, Mistress of the dark, Sister of the light. The texts called her cruel, but I knew her ways to never be harsh without merit, never a challenge given without a lesson attached. I had been dabbling in my kink before SHE came into my life, but now I know it is a gift, a way I can serve her, as priestess and dominatrix in her name.

Most of my sessions are not the sacred work in her name. I enjoy my career, helping individuals explore their sensuality and the sensations of life. There is so much joy for me in seeing people find fragments of themselves in the shadows of my dungeon. But then there are days when SHE informs me that the work I do will be my work for her. I hear her voice, sweet honey, as they call.

Occasionally I have clients call who ask for me as priestess. SHE hears their need through me, weighs their offerings. Sometimes SHE has me send them away with a task in hand, work to do before they can be seen. Others SHE sends back to their churches, seeing clear that they are not called by her but running in fear from their love of another god. But sometimes, like tonight, SHE says yes, demands yes, and I go into motion.

I call my sister in service, another priestess working in her honor in other ways. She’s not kinky, but she knows the work when she sees it, and has come to the realization that sometimes SHE demands the work be done in different ways. My sister arrives, and we get to work. Clean the temple space. Read the cards to see what will serve the working the best. And then, she dresses me. Black lace and silk wrap around my form, high boots, and finally her sacred mask slips in place.

Three solid knocks at the door. Her knock. SHE commanded him well. I slip into the back seat of my own soul and watch as SHE comes forward, watch as SHE has him crawl inside. He will come to know all SHE is tonight, while I hold space, while together all of us ride into the storm.

**

Confessions in the Temple

I watch as my sister in service opens the doors to the temple. SHE looks around the space, pleased. A massage table draped in black velvet is along one wall, an cabinet altar covered in images of shadow goddesses with a bondage point at the base on the next, and the final wall has a St. Andrews class in purple and black. Lace and sumptuous textures fill the room, and incense burns. SHE opens up the doors on the altar and finds a heavy leather hood. With a flick of a wrist he kneels before her as SHE tightens the hood down, laces it shut, and locks it in place with the keys going on a chain around her/my neck.

Metal cuffs lock around his wrists, and SHE has him bow down before the altar. More locks, more chains, more weight on her/my neck. With him held in place, SHE turns to the priestess and commands her to leave the temple and close the doors. Nothing is to come or go from this place unless SHE says otherwise. She follows her commands, and on his knees, the supplicant shakes.

Click. The sound of a switch blade cracks the silence in the room as my/her hand flicks it out. He freezes. SHE lifts up the back of his over-priced shirt and slices it open, sliding the knife then into her/my mouth as she rips open the back the rest of the way. He screams into the leather, as she begins to whisper to him a tale. The tale tells of the time SHE came to him in his dreams and told him that his mother had just passed away. Of the way SHE had kissed away his tears. Of how they had become lovers. Of all of the time he has jerked off calling her name.

I can hear his mind reeling. How did she know. Oh gods, she is, well, SHE. I can hear her silver tongue tell him to remember all his longing, all his need. SHE sits down on his back, using him as a chair, still whispering sweet words.

But then she stops and gets up. Click. SHE slices through leather belt. SHE pulls the back of his trousers from his body and slices the waist band of his suit trousers. The blade goes away again as she rips the back open, leaving his ass exposed. He screams into the leather again.

SHE is calm as she coldly points out that he has been untrue. He starts to beg that it’s not true, panic in his voice, then lowers his shoulders and begins to sob. He confesses it all. He wails as SHE looks on coldly. Still cold SHE tells him one word. “More.”

Remnants of his belt in her hand, he tells the story. I step further away, a veil drawn in my mind, as if SHE does not want me to hear his confession. I hear leather land on skin, I hear him shriek… and I go elsewhere as SHE continues to use my body.

**

Back From the Abyss

I come back and SHE is gone. The man is on the ground, the rest of his clothes in shreds, still balled up. I look at the open welts across his back, and go to grab the medical supplies from behind the massage table.

With loving hands, I pull each key off my neck and unlock him, step at a time. He’s still sobbing. Wrists free and undone from the altar, I unlock his hood and unlace him. His eyes are wet with tears, and yet a smile is painted across his lips. He takes me in, and I remove her mask. He sees me, the priestess, the dominatrix, and breaks down in tears again, smile still on his lips. I open up my arms, and he embraces me in the tightest embrace I have ever known.

Finally he lets go, and I strip off the shreds of his clothes. I lay him down on the velvet covered massage table and treat his wounds. I go to the door and knock three times. My sister opens the door and seeing my bare face, asks if I need any help.

A few minutes later she comes back with ice cold lemonade, sliced meats, cheeses, dates and cherries on a serving tray. I invite him to sit with me on the floor and eat. Finally she comes back with a black shirt and black trousers for him. As he dresses, I notice for the first time the necklace around his neck, her symbol emblazoned on the pendant. He catches my eye, and tells me we each serve in our own way, we each show our love in our own way.