Ishtar (part two of The Vagrant God)

they say that when Ishtar dances that her hips dream rainbows and her ankles sing bluebells. that for every pirhouette she spins a man will bleed semen enough to drown his soul and commit his sins to hell.there was a time when Ishtar meant something to so many but now she is just a vague memory. a name in a reference book. a thing of antiquity, of dim rememberance.a curiousity.being a curiousity does not bother her although she still recalls those halcyon days when men built temples in her name and women made libations to her. but then again, when you have lived as long as Ishtar has there is little in this world, or any other, that holds surprises.upon a time long ago she was a goddess of love and of fertility. some would cast her as a queen of evil and of being cruel, ruthless and heartless as she, spider like, killed all her mates and lovers. nonetheless, she had loved them and had danced for them turning her heels of magic to weave dark lusts within their hearts.they would watch her dance with their jaws gone slack and their manhoods turned to rigid cockstands. they would watch mesmerised as she thrust her pelvis at them and made her belly and thighs drift like the scent of sex before their faces. their hearts would burst. their erections would flood their robes and they would die in a fit of sudden, orgasmic pleasure.her pride and her beauty had been her downfall though, and her vanity for Ishtar believed that she was the prettiest star in the firmament but infact she wasn't.there was one even more beautiful.one who had power beyond reckoning and beauty beyond belief.but she was nameless and now she is gone but still Ishtar plots and schemes and dances her wayward magics.for in truth there is a prize that Ishtar desires even more than the admiration of women and the lusts of men.a tiny thing.a hidden thing.a thing of untold power.a thing in a box.