Hello darlings. Be My Myrrh is a very brief narrative script, a sweet little tease, inspired by a few lines in ancient erotic and religious poetry from the Middle East. It's an excerpt from the new Ravishagirl book Song of Songs: An Erotic Tale at the Edge of the Desert.

Find more of my scripts here.

Be My Myrrh

by u/ravishagirl

the wind from the desert is warm on his love-slave’s face, but the flush in her cheeks has nothing to do with the desert; it is a different heat that burns in her tonight; as we hear her soft, sensual voice, we also hear in the distance the strains of desert music, the soft sighs of dancing slaves within the perfumed tents, the bleating of flocks on the slopes in the distance

… and most of all, the quiet breathing of an aroused, loving slavegirl

perhaps only she can hear the wild thunder of her heart

her voice is slow and sensual, lingering over each phrase, and so full of yearning

HIS LOVE-SLAVE:

At night, when the sun is only a memory and my eyelids are heavy, I take a little pouch of myrrh and let it rest between my breasts. Myrrh — that gum from an Arabian tree that gives such a delightful scent. It is mixed with fat, and as I sleep, the heat of my body, the heat of a passionate slavegirl, melts the fat. The myrrh sinks into my soft flesh, its sweet oil anointing me, until my breasts smell like paradise. I leave the sachet resting between my breasts all night. It is a strong scent, and in the morning, I wake smelling like myrrh. The scent lasted all day. In the evening, when my Master feasted in his banquet hall, I knelt, soft and sweet, at his feet, and my perfume filled the whole room, fragrant, enticing, … seductive. My Master’s eyes blazed as he looked at me. I blushed and lowered my eyes, trembling. But I smiled too, because I saw my Master’s strength rising like a tower.

Then he took me in his arms, so strong he might break me. His kisses made me WANT to be broken.

He took me. I cried with joy, again and again, at his thrusts, at his kisses, at his arms holding me captive. He took me. Then he slept. And my Master was like a sachet of myrrh resting all night between my breasts. He had anointed my breasts with his oil, with his strong scent. And when morning came, I woke smelling him on my body.

reverent, aroused Oh, the scent of my Master!

His fragrance is as sweet to me as a cluster of henna blossoms in the vineyards of En Gedi, that oasis in the desert, in the wide desert by the shore of a dead sea. A place to which a weary traveler comes at last after days of hot thirst. Suddenly the air is heavy with water and smells like henna, and the traveler sinks to the grasses with delight, his face wild with joy. That is what my Master is like. That is what I feel when I smell him on my body, when I wake to find my breasts still sticky with his scent. Ohhh … each night, I want my Master to rest between my breasts.

Be my myrrh, Master.

Anoint me with your warm oil.

Perfume me.

I am yours.

These breasts are yours to anoint.

softly, longingly Let me wake each morning smelling like you, Master.