Xenagogue

When the unexpected leads you into the depths of the unknown.

Note: For those who’d like an audio narration of this, check out the lovely Lady Jessica’s exquisite reading of Xenagogue.

 

“Hi there. Good to see you too. Yeah, must be music to your ears that I’d say something like that now. Well, some people warm up to others a little slower than others, and fortunately for you, you always kept yourself from coming on too strong. I’m used to guys hitting on me all the time, as most women at that club you met me at probably are. Smart boys like you show consistency though; you were at least persistent with me, and only me as far as I could tell, which is why you get to meet me at a place other than the club.”

“Why a library? It’s comfortable for me. I bet a library was the last thing on your mind when I said ‘let’s go someplace quiet,’ but it’s pretty clever if I do say so myself. I used to work here, I still love to read, I know a few nice tucked away places that have much better furnishings, like this couch. Hopefully you’re learning that I’m all about comfort, and more times than not you won’t find me in that black cocktail dress and heels. I know that was a draw for you, and I get the feeling yoga pants, a plaid shirt, and bare feet aren’t the same kind of draw, and clash with your handsome clubbing clothes. How much of a shock was it to find the cute girl you had her eye on dressed like I am, pulling you away from a boring club scene and into the sexy world of academia? Didn’t know how to interpret things? Still don’t. Don’t worry, things are still in the plus column.”

“My major? Social sciences, though my real passion was my minor. ‘Xenology.’ Let me guess, never heard that one before. Right, most of the rest of the world wouldn’t either. Really means the study of alien life, but mine was customized into the study of foreign things in-general. Yeah, the crazy things a liberal arts focus will get you. It’s a strange thing with me; I heard this crazy-sounding word ‘Xenagogue’ when I was a little girl one day, and curiosity got me to look it up, and then envision what it meant. Utterly fascinating….to those it doesn’t bore to death. Layman’s terms, it’s a tour guide of foreign locales. No, it’s not what I do for a living, and yeah it’s a weird fantasy. Yeah, it’s my M.O. too, what it takes to get to know me better. You never expected to end up where you are, dressed like you are, with a girl dressed unlike you expected her to be, waiting to see where this goes. And a smart boy would with curiosity should consider to himself, ‘if I’ve gone this far, it can’t hurt to go a little further.'”

“And I know it seems like you have to ask ‘where is this going,’ when really it’s better to separately define ‘where’ and ‘this.’ What ‘this’ is can be very much open to interpretation, even abstract. Like how you called the two times you referred to trying to entice me at the club as ‘dates,’ this can be your third and most pivotal one. ‘This’ can be just a talk between two people, friends, friends-with-benefits, more than friends, or so much more in-general. No matter what ‘this’ is, or what it will be, it starts out as talking, and leads into a natural progression. And me being the xenagogue, would that mean that where I’m leading you is some place foreign to you? Things are already that way though, right? Feeling out of your element, yet still pretty comfortable just listening. Uncharted territory, a bold direction to take, with the help of a trusty tour guide. It is easy to trust whatever ‘this’ is, and the sought-after guide with you, isn’t it? It ought to be, as easy as it is to get excited for all the fun possibilities that lie before us.”

“All this talk of the ‘this,’and we haven’t even gotten to the ‘where’ yet. What do you think the ‘where’ is? Could it be where you already are, that comfy cushioning under you that happens to be the best seat in the house? Could it be more than just here? Where can easily be plural, and mean you’ll see more than just this. Who knows what or how each of us will see it too. For all I know, you could be the kind of guy that sees things metaphorically, like envisioning a grand, epic parallel of another experience. Like, what if where could be a sand dune in a desert?”

“And what if that desert was distinct, yet one you’ve never heard of, because the conditions are so mild there. The temperature isn’t scorching, but warm and balmy. It’s as if sun took a short break, letting its bright rays dim slightly and its heat cool to a controlled setting that kisses your skin instead of burning it. Brisk winds traveling across the dunes let you feel how perfect this desert’s weather is, and you love to see the sands shape and reshape, and waft around you, making your vision ahead pleasantly hazy. The sand you’re walking on feels soft and as warm as the air, the kind you’ve love to feel between your toes, and it’s perfectly reasonable for me to not be wearing shoes now, because I’m right there with you, standing a few feet ahead of you. I’m the clearest thing you can see with the breeze carrying the sands making everything else look like a mirage. I look as relaxed and comfortable as you feel, as everything around you feels. I give you an enticing look, an encouraging smile you worked all night to produce, and now it’s not only a reward, but an invitation. The look lasts but a few seconds, and then you see me walking forward. It might be confusing as to why, but you know you’ve come all this way, what’s a few more steps in my direction.”

“You keep up with my leisurely pace easily at first, loving everything there is to enjoy. You see me happily skipping every few steps or so as I scrunch sand between my toes, and so pleased to see you following behind. I would take long walks up and down this desert, over every dune if I could. It’s practically therapeutic to see what it does to you. Muscles slacken and unwind, only barely moving for a lovely guided stroll. The way a breeze will caress you everytime you softly exhale convinces you that the desert and your breathing are synchronized. Every dune you travel downward from feels like quicksand that you can safely sink into while you continue walking up another dune, on the verge of an airy lightness in your step, unsurprised at how the next breeze could carry you on its own. You can decompress here without thinking; no sense of time, of obligation, civilization and all of its burdens are hundreds of miles away. There’s just you and the girl who led you here.”

“And what if you wanted to feel those therapeutic qualities of this desert as you followed me, but felt weighed down by distractions and worries, tiring out as you followed me? You remember when you said you wanted to be my knight in shining armor. It pains me that I couldn’t decode what you were really trying to tell me – you wanted relief from all that unbearable, unnecessary weight off your shoulders. It’s no wonder you find yourself working harder than you should be. In such a place of comfort, what need do you have for armor anyway? You have no need to defend against me, the one you swore to protect from harm, in a harmless place. You have no defense against me; why would you need any defense if all I’m assaulting you with is peace, tranquility, and the freedom you so desperately need?”

“I can help you, my valiant knight, to ease the stress, to shed a great weight off of you. There has to be times when a knight disrobes; you can still be knightly without it, giving a lady all the attention she richly deserves. That armor saddled onto you is sectioned off, applied piece-by-piece. And it will be removed, piece-by-piece. You can pretend that the straps fastened onto your body become looser with every step you take following me, with every word of mine you follow. The first thing to loosen is your right glove. Through no effort of your own, while your arm sags at your sides, the glove slips off your hands, and your hand is set free, exposed to the wonderful desert conditions. Your left glove surely follows suit, both hands feeling liberated. It isn’t long before the straps securing the metal to your arms come apart. Arms occasionally swaying in your walking, before the right armor falls away, and then the left, arms feeling as free as your hands. Surprisingly, the armor on your legs wasn’t the first to go, for all the moving you’re doing while your hands loosen, but they fall away so easily, stepping out of the right and walking away from it as fluidly as it happens with the left. The sword attached to your hip, the shield needed to protect you, those tools protect you from nothing here, they hinder you against your real protection – me and my guidance into the unknown, and therefore, they fall to the sands as well. The heaviest piece by far is the torso armor, the thickest armor of all the body, and you can feel the immense joy as each strap holding it together falls away, one at a time, until it opens up and frees your body, crashing to the ground with fanfare, leaving one last piece to remove – your helmet. It must be a literal pain in the neck carrying that weight, with that visor obscuring everything, letting you see less of your beautiful xenagogue than you would want. As that last piece falls away, the world becomes brighter, you breathe so much better, and you see me extend you another inviting look as I see you armor-less, defense-less, and now completely in my care.”

“It is unbelievable how much better you feel to know you’re defenseless, that that armor can’t hold you back any longer. You have no issue keeping up with me from this point. And if it remains unbelievable, there’s a trick you can use to help embolden your reality. You can have a small part of your consciousness backtrack, retrace your steps with your memory. What you find should be a trail of armor, what you’ve left behind, ten pieces of armor to count to see how far you’ve come.”

“The tenth being the right glove, freeing your hand from writing, typing, driving.”

“The ninth being the left glove, freeing your hand from pushing, pulling, moving.”

“The eight being right arm, freed from every effort the right hand made.”

“The seventh being the left arm, unshackled like its counterpart from even the need to move.”

“The sixth being the right leg, the strain of moving from one menial place to another gone.”

“The fifth being your left leg, unstrained as it moves towards what it wants.”

“The forth being your sword, no need to attack or take initiative.”

“The third being your shield, no need to resist or oppose the urge to be led.”

“The second being your torso, centering your limbs and your entire body toward its only yearning – wherever I want it to follow.”

“The first, and the last, being your helmet, head cleared everything else, headed in the correct direction – my direction.”

“Now you’re just as I found you tonight, just as I’ve always known you. Well-dressed, charming, persistent, eager, sincere, all endearing qualities that make you worthy of this path I lead you on. But, you could be so much more. It wasn’t until this path that I’ve seen you so relaxed, so fixated, so utterly powerless and resigned to simple, base instincts. You’ve never known steadier, deeper breathing before this; as consistent as every dune you travel up and down, while you exhale and inhale. All you seem to know is what I tell you, and the body you appreciate now more than ever under its own comfort. All you seem to anticipate is the next time I give you that promising look, and everytime I give it, my smile gets wider, as yours gets dreamier. The only will you possess pushes you onward, in-tow of my will, staying the course of whom you obviously desire, who’s only more attractive casually dressed. But, you can tell there’s more. There’s more to you underneath those clothes civilization makes you wear to seem appealing. There’s more to me, more detail of me to appreciate as you close the distance between us, weighed down even less by the clothes you wear. You would be that closer to knowing the same kind of comfort I do, and you so want that.”

“Those expensive-looking shoes, just like with the armor, those laces securing them to your feet come aloose, until there so lose that you manage to step out of the right shoe in your next few steps, tension almost already dissolved from that foot. The left jealously shifts itself to follow suit, and join the right in unconfinment. Those socks look just as expensive, but they don’t seem to be making you happy, so it might be effortless to reach down while walking, to make your feet bare, knowing the exact elation my toes feel, ticklish sand running between them. The increased, disarming freedom starts again from below, so naturally your pants must follow suit. You know it too as your hands reach to unbuckle your belt. Yes, just like that. It smoothly slides out of its pockets and is discarded, while your pants are unbuttoned, unzipped, and fall away. If you only knew how adorable you looked, nearly half dressed, and not a care in the world; you can see a twinkle in my eye as I look back at you again to see. I barely even need to mention the jacket, shrugged off your shoulders without a second thought. I love how you try to make me look back teasingly with the buttons, one after another. You do the same with the tie, pulling at it like a strip tease. My smirk tells you how clever you’re trying to be. Off and on you work at them, sometimes committing to it, sometimes, feigning. You can’t feign for long, you know it’s want I want, what we both want. A teasing look of my own just strikes you, and makes you finish your task though, the tie falling from your lifeless hands, only reviving to remove that shirt. So close to your ultimate comfort, so needy, so hot. The desert don’t seem to be heating up any more, just your body temperature rising as you are even more exposed to me. That wife beater-a horrible name for a man’s shirt, you won’t be wearing those anymore-feels sticky and unwanted on your skin. Having it off your body feels so good, your hands have just enough life to rip into shreds off your body. Oooh, just like that handsome. So nice, so bare, except those pesky boxers, barely able to contain that tentpole within. It might be a race to see which removes it first, your hands or the force of your cock. Your hands move as fast as they can, while you just get hotter and hotter, until they come down and you are fully liberated, open and bare to your xenagogue.”

“My next look shows an excitement you feel endlessly coursing through your veins. You can’t believe how hot you are, how naked and at rest you are. But that disbelief doesn’t last for long, because you know exactly how to convince yourself again. A simple step-retrace, following the new trail you left behind, ten more articles of clothing, ten more exhibits of proof telling you you’re not just disarmed against me, you proudly hold nothing back and are prepared to open yourself to me like you’ve done for no one else, like you will for no one else in your life.”

“The tenth exhibit is that right shoe, relaxing effort from the sole.”

“The ninth exhibit is the left shoe, equally relaxing both feet.”

“The eighth being those socks, letting your feet breath as easy as your lungs do.”

“The seventh being that belt, resting in the sand like a pacified snake, as harmless as you always are around me.”
“The sixth being those pants, giving more air to those legs that move only for me.”

“The fifth being that jacket, the facade of strength you show the world, realizing what a burden strength is that you loved to be released from.”

“The fourth being that tie, society’s collar discarded, so much more comfortable wrapped in mine, made of up of my words.”

“The third being that shirt, unsheathing the powerful chest of a docile pet following his owner.”

“The second being that ripped shirt with the awful name, as anything should be that doesn’t signify my power over you.”

“And the first, and last, being those boxers, freeing the healthy sign of a male, pulling you obediently towards me as a sign of an obedient male.”

“You love this obedience, this sense of being owned that you feel. It will allow you to accomplish wonderful feats, and do great things in your life, for yourself and others. You’ve already accomplished a feat in itself, crossing this vast desert with the help of your xenagogue whom you trust like no one else. With just a look, she’s helped you cross from one end of the desert to another, endless dunes, endless steps, leading the way until you see me stop at the top of the last visible dune ahead. Off to my side, a foot behind me, you see an oasis ahead, white sands and an ocean, breathtaking in its vastness, almost as beautiful as me. You’ve never expected to end up in such a wonderful place, but you know the journey behind me itself was worth the price of admission. Seeing me running off to the shore, energy surges through you to do the same. It’s ok if you lose sight of me in the excitement, you know I’m still with you. The white sands are so bright in the sunlight, they bleach all thoughts that aren’t mine from your mind, until you’re practically blank. That doesn’t stop you from reaching the water, where you dive into it, naked and cleansed by everything I’ve done for you. Not only is your mind blank now, but it drifts away as you drift away in the water, ever-anchored to me.”

“How wonderful is it to see what you see, which is what you want to see, which is what I want you to see. The question was rhetorical, but the answer you gave anyway was excellent. The answer is what I see before me, a hapless, naked, kneeling, enslaved man able to appreciate what he is with some persuasive assistance. How silly you would’ve looked if you knew what I had in-store for you, you and the many men before you. All of you faithfully cross that vast, empty desert you call minds, following the object of affection you’ve underestimated, only to become objects of sorts yourselves. Kneeling next to this comfy couch while I rest my ankles only you, who knew this would be your ideal Saturday night? You didn’t know a lot of things before me, and ignorance is no longer bliss. You love knowing what I can do to you with just a look, or a word. You love knowing in the back of your mind the appeal of ‘clothed female, naked male,’ and secretly can’t wait to assume that sexy position, as you’ve never been more comfortable. You love knowing that my comfort means more to you than anything, and the steps you’ll take to maintain it will be substantial. You would love to know that word that will instantly take you back to that desert, back to nakedness, back to me, and what a lucky pet you are that you get to hear it – Xenagogue. It’s what I am to you, synonymous with guide, with leader, with Mistress. It’s certainly not a common name, and is perfect for an unprecedented woman like me. You hear my name ‘Xenagogue’ and you follow, no different from this day, really no different from the rest of your days. If you could only see how happy you look, knowing what your Xenagogue has done for you.”

“And would you look at the size of this wallet. Those pants really were heavy weren’t they? Lucky you, it will be lighter than when you arrived soon. We’ll see what services will make me most comfortable. The suit tells me financial will certainly play a role, and who knows were else, handsome. Until then, say my name boy.”

“…….Xe..na..gogue…….”

“Good boy.”

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