This story is a continuation of ‘The Sand Ghosts’.
Another one of Luna’s stories of dreams and remembered lives.
WARNING: this text contains adult content.
The Sand Ghosts- Red Haze:
Night after night they swayed their hips and entranced the warriors. They prepared the food the warriors ate, cleaned their shirts and laced their lives with their sweet elixirs. They fulfilled their duties as pleasure slaves. The thirteen owned and inhabited their bodies fully, they had all been trained in the sexual pleasures. They knew to sway their hips from the inside out, they knew how to open and close their flower around the warriors’ manhood. They took the warriors inside of their bodies, and wove their magic around them. Every night in the dinner tent, they danced and seduced the warriors. They took them into their embrace together in the tent, as they sang and provided the beat of life and brought them all to ecstasy together. The Persian brothers grew in power and might as the women of the sand infused them with their sexual energy night after night.
Luna was strong and men were too weak for her, she bit their necks and sucked off the life out of them. She couldn’t help it, it was her nature. She knew no pleasure as she could not surrender to the weak shadows that called themselves men. She would lay with men and kill them after for they were too weak for her. None could deny her, all wanted her, and all died for it. It was the nature of her gift to commune with death and the dead. She would whisper and whistle over every battle field, so that the souls of the dead would continue on their road. She often helped a few half-dead out of their life as well. The shadow-men, as she came to think of all men around her, could feel her closeness to death with some remnant of their drowned instinctive selves, and were intimidated by it. And she knew that they were all half-dead, being close to the dead as she was, she could see that they were all pale imitations of life. Entranced by common pleasures, hypnotized by choice, absent to their own minds, absent to their own bodies, absent to their lives. So she rode with the sand ghosts thirsting for blood to satisfy her own lust, killing those that were already dead, and hoping they would find better life after the crossing. She was mighty and had no mercy for the half-living, only compassion for the truly dead. Her stride was feminine and seductive, her two curved long swords were part of her death dance. She could kill with just a look, but she enjoyed feeling her body move around her swords as the blood of the half-deads that she dispatched built a red haze around her. Blood always knew power, even when it was quenched by unconsciousness. Blood called to blood, and her blood was boiling, seething with the power of the grateful dead.
And so the queens they took the seed of the warriors, and became stronger and stronger with their blood thirsty energy. And so they whispered their wishes as they pleasured the warriors. They whispered names of towns, and names of peoples that must be conquered. They whispered battle strategies and trophies that must be won. Slowly they counseled the warlord; they seduced him into many victories. The warlord was clueless that his ideas were not his own, and his strategies were the ingenuity of his thirteen goddesses. The sand ghosts willed it so, it served them, for a while. They bid their time, they strengthened their warriors, so that their death would be all the sweeter once they had conquered and unified the nations.
He came to her in the night, after all were asleep and the camp was quiet. In those hours when the silence strengthens the cries of spirits. He came to seduce her with his barely controlled rage. Loved by everyone, he hadn’t found one that could take his hot and strong love. His energy was too much for him to handle, he spilled it about in every way he could. In battle he was fearless, he felt alive when he slashed meat with his sword and tasted blood on his tongue. In friendship he was present, a brother to his fellow warriors, a father to the children of others, a bright to support to his own father the warlord. All loved him, all wanted him, and he gave his energy to all he could. And still he had too much energy, and it burned him from inside out. It burned all who would try to take it. He intoxicated himself with fermented water, and grassy roots, and still the fire burned inside him. No woman had been able to take his fire before, he grew bitter and the rage increased. Women were worn out by his force, burned on his desire, hurt by his vigor, victims of his violence. He denied the power of the insane wilderness inside him, tried to soften his stride to be able to fit in. Until Luna seduced him and took her pleasure from him without his knowing it. She seduced him without knowing it herself, her primal nature called to him, she seduced him simply by being.
So, he came to her in the night, in those hours when the dream magic is strong. It was forbidden to lay with the sand ghosts without the presence of the other warriors. They were known to be dangerous. It made it all the more alluring when he came to her tent to seduce her instead. And seduce her he did. This one, this warrior, was alive. Truly alive.
His fierce kisses were the kindling to the fire that would follow. She met his violent thrusts with her hips and challenged him for more. She opened up her flower to him and surrendered to the pleasure he would give her. And pleasure her he did. Luna drank his energy and gave him the nectar of her flower. She reveled in the smell of his sweat, she reveled in the sweet taste of his seed, she took his rage and warmed her cold heart with it, she drank his violence like water in the desert sun. She passionately bathed in his rage, the fire of a life that she knew she would have to take when the time came.
Night after night he came to her in the quiet of the dark. And the spirits around Luna cocooned the midnight lovers and silenced to the world their cries of pleasure so none would know about their forbidden passion. Soon Luna found that the power of death was one and the same with the sensual, sexual power that harbors the possibility of life. It should have been obvious, she thought, once she discovered it. Through the rage of her strong warrior she remembered long lost sexual magics, and these she started practicing with him, without knowing what she was doing.
She took him inside of her and spun his rage inside their joined bodies. He raged all the more for it, his thrusts became more violent, he pulled her hair and bit her thighs. Her own death fueled rage reared its head, finally accepted, finally acknowledged, finally challenged. She met his fire with her own blood power, she tried to hurt him, she tried to kill him as she had done with all her previous lovers. And she would have killed him through their passion, had he not been strong enough to face the death he saw in her eyes. He had danced with death before, and was fearless, he continued his forceful thrusting and held on to her hips. And so they embraced in the border between life and death, for this is where her spirit lived. Her hips were his life, and the more he held her hips the more he held on to life. She called him to his death, and in the face of his own mortality his fire grew. The more violent he became, the more she grew in power and surrender, and the closer they grew together. She learned to surrender to the power that held her hips. And so she spun his rage inside her blood, and put it back inside him changed and stronger. She kindled her own fire with his heat, she opened her flower to him and gave him the water that would bring him relief. She opened the paths of the river of fire that would bond them together. She fully surrendered to his relief, and they knew the pleasure of joined souls.
Once almost all the nations of the desert had been conquered and unified, the thirteen goddesses decided that it was time to send the warriors on to their next task. The Ghosts had grown fond of their warriors, and their warriors had grown strong with the presence of the fierce women. Nevertheless, the warriors were needed in the Nether, and only death would send them there. One more battle and the warriors would have to be killed. Luna had always known that the day would come when she would have to take the decision to kill her Persian man of fire. Perhaps they could escape together, she knew her spirits would silence their footsteps.
One night, knowing that the date of the uprising of the Sand Ghosts was near, Luna awaited her midnight lover. She was oiled and ready to receive him, the oil was hardly necessary, she thought, since just the idea of him made her lake bloom. She had a gift ready for him, she had a token of gold in her hand. This time, as they danced the dance of life and death in their fiery passion, she used the fire they created to melt the gold token. As he was about to release his seed inside of her she pressed the burning gold to his ear and used the power of her blood, and her grateful dead, in order to fashion a gold earring for him. He cried out in pain and shock as she branded the earring into his flesh and his soul. She tightened her flower around him to avoid the release of seed, and pushed the energy of his pleasure inside of himself instead. The dry pleasure drove him nearly to madness, and as his wrath rose inside of him he shared it with her, and they became one flesh. They were one now, as she branded him, he branded her with his ire. The day after she also wore a golden earring, they had ringed each other.
The night after the last battle was won the tribe celebrated their triumph. The thirteen women of the sand were called to the tent to dance their pleasure. Luna danced with her Persian prince this night. The women created a more pressing rhythm than usual, they danced harder and stronger as they took the warriors’ weapons. The thirteen danced the dance of swords that night. It was not common that slaves, for they were still chained slaves, would be allowed weapons. The men were enthralled by their beauty and skill and couldn’t hold a clear thought. The women continued their dance of swords and hips. They swayed the swords in rhythm with their hips, they created music with the blades. They were still dancing the dance of swords as they took the men inside of themselves. They twirled blades in both hands above their heads, and as the men spilled their seed they women yelled the battle scream that would herald death.
Luna looked at her Persian prince in the eyes, and he saw his death once more. He saw his goddess riding him with lust and fire, artfully spinning his two swords above their heads. As he had done every night that he had lain with her, he stared right back into her soul as she tried to drag him into death. The second right before the scream of death was uttered they looked at the depths of each other’s eyes and whispered a wordless pledge of love to each other. The guttural scream of the Sand Ghosts broke the desert night with soul fear. The tent was filled with a red haze as the heads of the warlords rolled into the ground. Luna kept looking into his eyes as she yelled and brought both swords down upon his neck and his head rolled off his shoulders. His earring was fashioned with the help of the dead, and it would help him cross over into the death that he knew was coming. She screamed with wrath as he died, and tasted his blood as the last of his seed and her water joined inside her and ran down her thighs.