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Fine Italian Wine Ch. 03

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The Leopard Goddess

The warm Jamaican sun was streaming down on Veronica’s voluptuous nude body. She felt Clive’s hands rubbing sunscreen over her back as they lay on the beautiful tropical beach.

“Turn over!” he said. She turned, exposing her bare skin on her abdomen, her 36DD’s, which didn’t sag, and her slick bare mons pubis. Her vaginal area was bleached and her labia extended from her vulva, indicating her high level of sexual excitement. Clive continued to rub sunscreen on her body. His hand went down to her now extended, erect clitoris.

“Oh! Clive, that feels so fucking good,” Veronica cooed.

“Does that feel as good as what I gave you last night?” he asked suggestively.

“Oh, yes! Last night was so dreamy! How many times did we cum?” she sighed.

“Many! You are one hot American white woman,” he said while his fingers circled her nipples. He squeezed her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned and her two-inch long clitoris stood up invitingly. He hand reached for it.

“I’m so glad you took me to that Jamaican club. The music and dancing was so sexy,” Veronica said.

Clive continued to massage her clitoris until she came on the beach. A balding male tourist-voyeur couldn’t believe his eyes!

“Oh, Clive! Are we the only people on this beach having sex,” she said. “Well, I don’t care.”

She set up and looked at Clive. He was a 210-pound English gentleman in every way except for the black skin.


“What do you mean … a temple prostitute? You never told me,” Stew asked meekly.

“I’m not sure exactly. They have this temple. They put me on a dais…” She said and lit a joint. She didn’t tell him about the goblet, the discipline, and the whip.

“Who are ‘they’?” Stew asked humbly.

“‘They’ are the priests of the temple. It’s a ceremony. I am the focus of the ceremony to make me the temple whore,” Sherri said confidently. She was flouting her newborn sexuality at her meek, sexually aroused white husband.

“How many were there?”

“I’m not sure. I only saw, James. I felt the others,” Sherri said. She did not say what she felt, where she felt it, or how many she felt. In truth, “it” was phalluses in her dripping, wet sensual vagina. Sherri lit a joint and inhaled deeply. It only aroused her more.

“What does the temple whore have to do?” Stew asked, as his cock began to get stiff.

“She must sensually serve all the priests of the temple including the high priest,” she said dreamily.

Stew was now fully erect. His hand clasped the pathetic white penis and started stroking.

“What do you mean by ‘serve’?” Stew asked meekly.

“Sacrifice my body to them,” she said exhaling.

Stew began frantically stroking his cock.

“I’ve got to go,” she said and walked to the door without kissing Stew goodbye.

“Are you going to give me a kiss goodbye?” Stew pleaded.

Sherri turned around and blew him a kiss. At that instant, a dribble of pathetic cum oozed out of his cock. He collapsed in a chair.


Sherri’s hand was trembling when she pressed the doorbell to James’ temple-apartment. The wait for the door to open was like an eternity. She gasped when the door open.

A hideous black face painted in white greeted her. It was a masked face of a male with wide lines of white paint over his torso. He wore Kordafan loin cloth of leopard skin, beads, bones, gaziantep escort and teeth.

“Is he the temple priest?” Sherri thought. She was confidant. James had prepared her for this moment. She dreamed of the day that she would finally become the temple goddess-whore for James’ pleasure. However, that did not blunt the fear that she now felt.

The priest made a gesture for her to come in. She was escorted to the Tribal Regalia Room. James had another name which was unpronounceable to Sherri.

Then she saw him. James was sitting on a throne high on a dais. Two white women were lying at his feet. Another white woman stood to his left. James was holding a long spear. The tip was metallic and shiny. It looked very sharp. The spear-shaft was wooden and covered with tribal designs. It was truly a weapon of war, but in this setting, to Sherri, it was a symbol of authority.

James tapped the end of the spear twice. Six female tribal servants came in. They stood on each side of the stairway leading to the dais. They were nude. They were white and very beautiful. They wore sandals. Henna patterns adorned their feet. Illustrations adorned their legs and thighs. More tattoos covered their abdomen, arms, and shoulders. Their arms were crossed over their bare breasts. Their palms were turned inward displaying the henna designs on the back of their hands. They looked straight ahead and spoke not a word.

James tapped twice more. Four large tribal warriors carrying spears and machetes marched in. They stood beside the altar and turned facing her. Sherri recognized immediately that they possessed huge black cocks. In their semi-erect state they were at least 10-inches long. Sherri gasped!

James tapped twice more. Drums sounded. In danced the tribal shaman-priest. He was tall and thin. He face was covered by a hideous mask of beads, leather, and bones. Only his dark eyes are visible. He danced around her and stopped.

He reached for the familiar bottle of Fine Italian Wine and grey metallic goblet. Pouring it full, she handed it to Sherri and uttered a what sounded like a grunt. Sherri was confused and looked to James who tapped the spear twice. She knew what to do. She took the goblet and took a sip. The shaman-priest grunted again. Sherri drank until the wine-potion was gone.

The room began spinning. Her vision became blurry and distorted. She lost her balance, but someone caught her. She felt very sexually aroused. The shaman began chanting and dancing around her. Her clothing was stripped from her body. Someone put a mask over her head. She could see out. It was cramped, but she could breathe. The dancing continued. She was pushed to join in.

The rhythm was natural to Sherri. She danced and undulated with the shaman in a sensuous wave-like motion. The drums sounded three heavy beats and stopped!

The shaman presented a small vial of red liquid to her lips. Without questioning it, Sherri drank it so fast that part of it ran out the corners of her mouth onto her breasts. For an instant Sherri had a thought that it was blood.

Then a smoldering root was brought forward. The smoke arose to her nostrils. The shaman grunted. Sherri inhaled the smoke. It has an effect on her mind. Her knees grew weak. Someone had to hold her up. She could no longer hold her head up. Someone took her head by the hair and held her up while konya escort a goblet was presented her to lips. She had lost her resistance. She swallowed all of it.

Someone threw a powder in the flaming pit in the middle of the room. The light flashed and she got a glimpse of an image in glass container. She blinked and it was her face. A leopard’s markings covered her face and shoulders. Her ears were cat ears which were partially hidden by a leopard’s mane. She opened her mouth and long fangs appeared.

Sherri attempted to speak! The sound of a leopard’s roar filled her ears. She looked down at her hands. They had been replaced by a leopard’s claws. She looked down. A leopard’s tail curled around her hind legs.

She looked for James. A leopard was sitting on the throne. When she looked, it roared at her.

Arms picked her up and placed her on the rough-hewn wooden altar at the foot of the stairs. They placed her leopard legs beneath her in a crouch. She looked at the James-Leopard and roared. He bounded down from the dais and leaped on to the sacrificial altar. He landed on the altar behind her. Growling and snarling, he climbed on her from behind.

The mighty leopard’s penis penetrated her womanhood. Sherri-Leopard began whimpering as her vagina felt the pleasure of the leopard-phallus. It plunged to the depths of her soul and to the pit of her most sensual pool of love. She lost consciousness.

She shook her head and came to her senses. She was on her back, and a priest with a hideous tribal mask was atop her. His phallus had entered her body. She felt her vagina-temple contracting. She accepted that she was the sacrifice. Her reward was pleasure beyond belief! Her body was undulating. She wrapped her legs around the temple priest and began screaming.

“Fuck me! James! Make me your sacrifice!” she screamed.

Priest after priest “sacrificed” her on the altar of pleasure.


Sherri slowly came to her senses. She was standing. Her hands were tied between two huge wood-carved black phalluses. The room was dark. The light from a log fireplace caused patterns to dance on the walls. The light played an eerie game with the tribal regalia of hideous faces, weapons of battle, and animal heads. Sherri’s eyes became fixed on the head of a leopard. It’s eyes came “alive” in the dancing light.

Her mind flashed back to the leopard in the sacrifice chamber. She started to speak, but the roar of a leopard escaped from her mouth. She cleared her throat and spoke again. This time her voice was clear.

“James? Are you there, master?” she whispered.

The leopard leaped from the wall and approached her as if it was stalking its prey. It rose up on its two back feet. She desperately tried to get away! Sherri blinked. It wasn’t a leopard. It was a shaman with a leopard mask. He was holding a whip. She watched his hand go up and come down. Sherri felt the whip come down across her back.

She tried to scream, but a leopard’s roar came out of her mouth. Blow after blow came down across her back, buttocks, thighs, and legs. Leopard-Sherri continued to roar with each blow until she collapsed. She was hanging by her bound wrists.

Sherri watched as the leopard-priest reached into the fireplace and took out a red-hot branding iron. He walked around behind her. Sherri felt the searing, burning tool touch her left kayseri escort buttock. She roared as the smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils.

Leopard-woman Sherri was released from the whipping post and placed on the bed with four phalluses. Someone carefully bandaged her burn. She lost consciousness.


Sherri was lying on her stomach by the pool. She had not been in the water for two days. A bandage on her left buttock reminded her why. She looked down and turned the page of a magazine featuring tribal art and naked African men in tribal regalia.

Her phone rang. Sherri picked it up. Sherri started to speak, but a leopard’s roar came out. She cleared her throat.


“Hi! It’s me, Veronica. What was that?”

“Never mind. Hi sweetie. How’s your honeymoon?”

“Oh, it was dreamy, Sherri! Clive and I made out on the beach and then went to a Jamaican club last night.”

“How’s Aldo?”

“He was better, but I slipped him a sedative to get him out of the way,” Veronica said giggling.

“What’s Clive like?”

“He’s tall and buff. He has an enormous penis. I’m too embarrassed to tell you everything. Hey! Here he comes. I’ve got to go!” Veronica hung up.

“What’s it like for Aldo to spend his entire honeymoon in a bedroom,” Sherri thought. She started laughing at the pathetic white boy.

Steward came out. Sherri decided to get him to remove her bandage and examine it.

“Hey baby. Would you remove my bandage?” Sherri cooed.

“Sure.” Stewart carefully peeled off the bandage and exposed the brand. It was fully healed. Stew looked at it carefully.

“What does it look like?”

“It’s healed. Does it hurt? It’s some kind of a design. Perhaps it’s a symbol,” he said.

Sherri turned through the pages of the tribal art magazine she was holding until she came to a symbol identical to the one on her butt.

She read it carefully and compared the image with her brand. She read it again. “The symbol is Kordafan and means that the woman is a temple whore and the possession of the high priest,” she read.

“May I read it,” Stew asked meekly.

“Sure go ahead,” Sherri said, pushing the book to him. She knew the meaning would send him over the edge.

She watched as Stew carefully read it, glancing up occasionally to compare the symbol with the brand on her buttocks. His lips were moving as he read.

“Oh my gawd, Sherri! You have been branded as a prostitute!” Stew exclaimed.

“Of course! I told you that was the purpose of the ceremony,” she said. Her voice displayed that she was irritated at him. She looked at his pants. He was tenting.

“Put your hand on my mark,” Sherri whispered. Stew’s hand was shaking as he touched it.

“Take it out and stroke it,” she whispered, looking at his penis. Almost robotic, Stew removed his pathetic white penis and began to masturbate until white semen oozed out of his failing manhood.

“Oh! Oh! That felt so good,” Stew panted.

“Go wash your hands, Stew,” Sherri said. He ran to the door and opened it with his cum-soaked hand, leaving the knob wet. Sherri shook her head, lit up a joint and took a deep toke. After releasing the smoke, she shouted to no one in particular, “Who’s going to wash that doorknob!”


Stew walked into the bathroom to wash his hands. He glanced in the mirror and noticed leopard hair was growing on his face.

“Did you use my razor this morning,” he said to Sherri.

“Yes. I had some hair growing on my paw … er … uh … hand,” she said matter of fact. Sherri remembered that she used Stew’s razor but did not wash it.

“Will it come off?” Stew said.

Sherri opened her mouth to reply but a loud roar came out.

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