Omar and Gita joined together to tell him of the scattered workings of an aroused female mind, – the way to spot its devious twists and turns, the need to corner it like a frantic mouse and cause her to focus on her own most secret and unmanageable lusts with no escape, instead of the ones she could bear. His eyes got educated to see the first dozy compliances females didn’t know they were doing, the sudden desperations they hid, the climb of the hidden rush that went on within them, the salivating they couldn’t stop, the inflating responses they would most want to hide from any man.
The two told him of female self-beliefs, their subtle testings on male strength, of wiles common to all women everywhere in trying to stay unbowed and safe, female skills even young village girls learned in deflecting seducers, and also of expert manipulations done by those high prostitutes trained to know which private path of seduction led each man into submission and on up into spiritual delirium.
Then, when Hamar’s poise was established, his concentration sure, Omar brought in his older female pupils, and the two men mentored him through the physical moves of actual lovemaking.
With eyes shut he recognized every turn and climb of feeling in the female body underneath him, every darting escape attempt of her mind, sudden explosion of pleasure throughout her body. Unmoved, he kept the lead every time, allowed no diverting off the high climb to the one true burn-out that finished her off, and he mastered one after another, shattering any belief left in them about their sovereignty, – and with their loyalty forever his.
Finally, with ease that surprised him he could demoralize any female he met in the hall with but an all-knowing stare. At such a young age he could project waves of desire in a grown woman with his mental will alone, – from across a room or from behind them, or even, after practicing it alone on his bed, when not in the same room with them, and next, for a laugh, when out-of-body. There was no barrier left among them in the academy.
This was earthly manhood, the other part of himself he’d known nothing about, and he started coming into all-round bloom. He always got to see their face of femininity at its most undone, full open, most beautiful, the one other men craved but couldn’t cause. Life in the academy now had a free offer of joy, and a mastery he’d never expected.
Domination being the spirit of witchcraft, he bound female after another to himself. The men of majic felt a change in the place they couldn’t stop.
It afforded him a happy plateau for awhile. For weeks he kept befuddling dozens of his older female classmates, demoralized even the ancient Wiccan high priestess as he stared her into speechlessness while she tried to teach. Each time he lay with them the pleasure of it made them disclose all their secrets, – and everyone else’s. For the first time he’d attained a level of mastery on his own, now risen to a royal strata above them all. His teachers were impressed, – even undone. He feared no doe-like woman, no wolfen courtesan, – now.
On the final day of Gita’s lessons Hamar found himself unmet in Aktiarh’s chamber. That is, until a cloud of heavy scent enveloped the room and a creature stepped through from the dark. This radiant female was no less than Shabina Hush-balaz Khoda, the high Priestess of Ishtar, a statuesque Persian spirit radiating a rosy-brown and indigo aura of pure lust! Her tousled hair was bound up under a gold headdress, her limbs panther-sleek and flawless, her presence in charge of the room. He had never seen the essence of feminine beauty so captured in a woman’s body or eyes.
Or mouth.
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