I stumble face down into the stone floor.
There is a resounding slap.
My vast flesh comes to a quivering halt.
My face is squashed on its side.
My moobs are pressed flat, my nipples already stinging from the cold.
My enormous belly spreads, forcing my pink bottom up into the air.
My arms are helplessly spread to either side of me.
I am prostrate.
She steps forward.
Her precise, slender toes dig into my shoulders.
My wheezing lungs shudder as She stands on my shoulder blades.
I am unsteady, heaving, even though I am flat.
She is tight and controlled, steady in motion.
She is muscle and sinew and spells.
Her small heels leave a white impression in my dense, overfed flesh, as She begins up the hill of my elevated bottom.
“Well, pig?,” She asks.
Her voice is sensuous.
It fills my ears like honey.
It is sweet and soporific.
I have always known that voice.
I knew it before I had even heard it for the first time.
She continues. “Is this your submission?”
I open my mouth to speak my submission to Her.
“Many years ago, I read a poem of Catullus:
Men, devoted to the Cybele, driven into a frenzy by beating drums, sacrificing themselves by castration, to receive the gift of a cruel Goddess.
I sacrifice myself to you.”
I feel Her feet pause at the small of my back.
She puts one foot on my dimpled bottom, and the other turns towards my head.
I feel Her perfect lips rise into a proud smile.
“I emasculate myself for You.
I crush my manhood in weight.
I drown it in grease-swollen flesh.
I lose it totally in my spilling domain of lard.
It is a thing spent and useless - until You give it breath and engorge it.”
I hear Her breath. It is a proud sigh.
“You are a dancing star.
The first star in my universe, from the moment it was shaped by eruption and force and the birth of time.
And, you are the last star in my universe, as it lays dying and spent.
But, still you dance.”
Her forehead is radiant. She wears Her Crown, and Her gaze is fixed on the heavens.
“You know what compels me.
You know that I am enslaved to my greed.
You know that gluttony is, to me, the most comforting embrace.
That I need only sit back and open my mouth – and it holds me through the aching;
That it caresses my cheek as the aching yields to numbness;
That it kisses my dimpled, trembling flesh as the numbness yields to ecstasy.”
I feel her upon me, as she is dancing atop my gluttony, dancing on Her throne.
“You are a dancing star.
You are cruel. You are distant. Your pleasure is a command.
Yet, You are that comforting embrace.
Yet, You hold me through the aching;
Yet, You caress my cheek as the aching yields to numbness;
You kiss my dimpled, trembling flesh as the numbness yields to ecstasy.”
Her limbs, tight and controlled, shiver with pleasure.
My mind sees Her perfect lips curl in delight.
Hellene Praxiteles could have – should have – carved Her in marble.
And if he had, if he had made Her real, the Greeks would either have adored her as a cruel Goddess –
the kind that send men mad, and drive them into frenzy amid beating drums to sacrifice themselves –
Or, they would have smashed that statue.
Because such beauty and such cruelty is too much.
~ FAMGM
For @kodeeffa , who is wholly too much.
