Free The Taint: Octavia by Georgina Anne Taylor

Octavia
     
     
     
    Sol, messenger of the Thirteen Elder Gods, rode the wind’s warm thermals.
    He flew over the sapphire-blue waters of the Aeacus Sea, his sculptured limbs glowing radiant and golden, and his immense white wings caressing the breeze. Guided by chance, blown by fortuitous winds, the young God arrived at the Isle of Tinne.
    A white castle stood high on the crest of a hill. Silver banners hung from the high ramparts, shimmering in the breeze. Framed within a tower’s arched window, a young woman stood looking down at the teeming life below. Her long, light brown hair flowed loose upon her shoulders, catching and reflecting the morning light. A beautiful, bewitching beacon.
    Perhaps it was only her youthful splendour that drew Sol, or the look of bored petulance in her delicate, green eyes. Yet as the God soared closer he sensed the creature’s carnal nature. Her Mortal mind was a caged beast that stalked within its prison, twisting and turning, craving adoration and stimulation.
    She was all but naked beneath a wisp of sheer silk, with small but full breasts, her stomach flat and her legs long, slender and shapely. A sudden urge to posses this tender young Mortal morsel in the full flower of her bloom seized Sol. With a single shift in thought and mass the God vanished and a small, dark rain cloud filled the space he had just occupied. Without wind the cloud entered the room.
    The woman looked up in surprise as the cloud condensed into a single droplet of liquid. Ever so slowly it fell upon her lips. She gasped as the droplet flowed over her chin and down her soft white throat. It moved languidly, seductively, teasingly, sliding over her skin, heating her blood and quickening her pulse. With a small cry she ripped off the silk, baring her breasts to the liquid’s kiss. To the sound of her heated moans it travelled down her stomach, entering the light curls that covered her sex. Gripping the window ledge, she arched her back and opened her legs wider as if to gather the droplet inside.
    A spasm seized her lovely torso as the liquid slipped within. Small sounds escaped her lips and she began to stroke her own eager body as she felt the droplet deep within her. It seemed to expand, filling her utterly and completely. As her climax took her, her cry became a carnal scream. Her body arched, thighs clenching tightly, holding the fluid inside.
    Slowly opening her legs, she looked down in wonder as the droplet slid down her thigh and fell to the floor at her feet. As it struck the tiles it flared brightly, filling the room with a radiance that brought her to her knees.
    In awe she watched as the golden light rose up and out through the window. As it passed into the sky beyond, the light flared again and immense white wings beat the air into a tempest.
    Blinded by the divine gusts, when her vision returned the horizon was empty.
     
     
    *****
     
     
    The Lady Octavia of Tinne lay sprawled upon the white, silk sheets.
    A wandering breeze brought scents of life through the tower’s open windows; fish and poultry, a tang of citrus and exotic smells of spice; the tantalising array of aromas that accompanied the distant noises of the city markets, far below.
    Octavia’s chamber caught the morning sun and the white stone walls amplified the light. The silver bed curtains had been pulled back at her command, so that she might feel the sunlight’s caress. The windows offered breathtaking views of the famed city of Tinne and the wave-tossed sea. But neither the sea nor her beautiful city drew Octavia’s expectant gaze, but rather the clear blue sky above: the realm of her Divine lover.
    Her sheer, white nightdress stretched taught over Octavia’s burgeoning form. Her legs and feet were swollen, and her alabaster belly—just visible beneath the thin cloth—was marred by purple and red stretch marks, formed as she had grown to accommodate the accelerated growth of the Divine life within.
    An elderly Priestess, of the