YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN for this ritual because of your ability to hold space for others, and because of your nearly perfect ability to contain your sexual energy. You have also been chosen because of your extraordinary beauty and desirability, and a certain quality of your eyes: their ability to make soul contact. Whatever the man you will be serving says, you will remain silent, though you may respond by eye contact. There is only one point at which you will speak.
The Ritual of the White Mirror has been temple practice in Japan for thousands of years. It is an initiation ritual, and only a select few priestesses are allowed to perform it. The men sent to the ritual are either royalty, men of authority and power, or those elevated in religious practice who have otherwise taken vows of celibacy. Certain others are young spiritual adepts who will be trained in the arts of divination and alchemy.
Your ability to maintain strict secrecy is one of the reasons you have been chosen for this honor. Still, you have agreed to give your life if you betray the identity of one whom you initiate.
You understand that your role in the ritual is to be an objective witness: silent, neither encouraging nor actively involved, but simply present. You will neither touch, nor be touched. Your extraordinary patience will allow you to maintain this posture for hours, for the duration of the ritual, during which you will kneel in meditation, though with your eyes open.
You will be dressed in a thin white kimono, nearly transparent, beneath which you will be naked. The space is a large, empty and immaculate room, with polished floors, well lit with sunlight, and exposed windows. On one wall of the room is an enormous, floor to ceiling mirror, in front of which is a wide mat, big enough for you and your ritual partner to be about one meter apart, and for him to lie down if he needs to.
On the mat is a round mirror, which is backed by a layer of unusual white stone. You are the mirror bearer. There is also a carved white phallus on an antique tray, which is your responsibility to hand to him when you are asked specifically, and to take from him when he is finished with it. And there is a small, crystal bowl of clear, scentless fluid, which you may lift and make available or apply to the carved phallus, if you are specifically asked to do so by your ritual partner.
You understand that doing what you are asked in this way is designed to place him in the position of requesting specifically what he needs, and thus revealing himself to you. While you seem to be the one in the servile role, in making specific requests for what may suit his pleasure, he must in essence humble himself before you.
Your ritual partner, the man for whom you are serving as priestess, will enter the space. You will already be there. He will acknowledge you, and then surrender his silk garments to you, which you will set aside.
Your presence alone will stir the deepest desire in him. One week earlier, he has spent some time with you in conversation. Your intelligence, softness, and compassion have left a deep impression on him, which has only deepened in the time that has passed. Now it is your silent awareness, masking your deeper responses, that will be the catalyst to evoke his yearning, needs and desires. As long as you remain in a neutral affect, that is, not revealing your deeper emotions, you are free to feel what you are feeling. That you can do this so well is an extraordinary gift.
Seeing you, and noticing the subtle and whelming effect of your presence, he becomes erect quickly. Kneeling up before you, he wants you to see his penis, but you have been carefully trained to look only at his eyes. This is one among many aspects of this ritual that compel him to experience himself more deeply.
He looks at your gentle eyes and feels penetrated by them, utterly naked. He is still unaccustomed to the posture of your being dressed and his being exposed. It is unusual for most any man, a role better suited to a woman.
He cannot help himself: he must touch himself. You can sense that he is yearning more powerfully for you to look at his hand stroking his erect member, but what you see is his face, at once joyous and needy, at once desperate and gratified. As you face into his face, he feels examined at the depths of his existence. You sense each subtle movement of his emotions, from the shame of being exposed this way, to his sudden, unmistakable desire to strip you and fuck you, to his need to ejaculate, to his desire to make the pleasure last.
Slowly he feels this. He merges with his desire to penetrate you. You can feel him wanting, you can feel him feeling what it would be like, the abject delight of your releasing yourself to his splitting, fulfilling penetration, and the power of being embraced in his arms.
You gaze at him compassionately, understanding his momentary pain that he will not penetrate you. For in this ritual, he will penetrate himself.
Finally, too soon, close to the brink of his climax, he requests the stone phallus, speaking the words with fear and depth and finally with love. He asks that you coat it with the clear liquid. You understand it is not easy for him to ask. You see that something in his mood is breaking down, that he is beginning to surrender. Now, instead of being ashamed of being seen by you, he begins to crave and need your gaze, which you give to him generously.
In the practice of this ritual, when he is in penetration posture, he must give up the deeply gratifying vision of you, and gaze into the mirror that you hold in front of his face. You will study his face directly as he sees himself in the mirror. But the moment his gaze shifts to you, which it invariably will, you must look away. When he is penetrated, he may only have eye contact with himself. When he is willing to look deep into his eyes, only then may he have the comfort of knowing you are looking at his face.
He lies on his back and pulls up his knees. You kneel near his head, and then hand him the lubricated white rod. He looks at it and seems to see its whiteness, knowing that if it emerges from his body having been stained, you will see this clearly. Even this will be revealed to you.
Once he holds the phallus, you lift the mirror to his face. You follow his expressions as the object makes contact with his anus, and then gradually he pushes it in. The clear liquid is mixed with herbs to create a hot sensation as it enters his body. His eyes open wide, and you understand what has happened. A moan escapes him, at which moment he glances to you. For a second your eyes meet, and then you look away, demur, as he studies you in profile.
He returns to his own gaze. The penetrations become more assertive. You watch as he sees himself surrender to each plunge, opening himself wider and letting go of his voice. As he recognizes you really are listening and seeing, he is able to do this exquisitely, with the need to expose his pleasure to you. You empathize deeply, and your breath is long and soft. With just your feelings, you encourage him to take the penetration deeply, as deeply as he would give it to a woman. If this unfolds well, he will relax past the urge to ejaculate, and forgets for a while.
He then sits gradually up and faces you, kneeling up before you, penetrated, and begins to stroke his penis, which is firm and long and projects outward. He is penetrated and thus must gaze into the round mirror. You hold it before him, and witness in his face a nearly unbearable need to climax. You understand this well, and you are beginning to yearn for his release, for him to surrender himself. But this you do not reveal.
Finally, he knows what he must do. Desiring eye contact with you in his moment of giving-over, he un-penetrates himself. Then, deliberately, he passes to you the object which has been in his body. As your hands take it, there is a small brown streak where it has penetrated him. You see the fear flash through him, and then his reassurance that you are calmly accepting. You place the phallus on its tray.
He seems to have decided that it is time for him to let go. He remains kneeling before you, now looking deep into your face as you look into his, kneeling before him. You hold the white mirror in your lap. He goes for an extraordinarily long time, seeming to negotiate his surrender. You are calm and present. Finally he seems close, but then cannot let go.
At this point, you are allowed to intervene in one way, and you do.
Setting down the mirror, you open your kimono, giving him one momentary look at your body. You open your legs, exposing the fully blossomed, very wet flower at your center, and with one hand reach into yourself, collecting some of your dew. You place your hand before his nose. He may not taste: he may only smell, and not for long. This primes his thirst deeply. Wishing to give to him, you leave your hand within the reach of his scent perhaps a moment longer than you should. Then you take it away.
You close your kimono. His face seems to express deeper resistance, and then he begins to let go. You move the white mirror to beneath his penis, never losing sight of his eyes. A feeling fleets through you, triggering him. His orgasm is a seizure, and then it rips free. At this point, you may speak, in an ancient dialect of Japanese. Your words, reaching into the depths of his surrender, stun him.
You are love. You are death.
These words enter him. In the moment of his deepest vulnerability, you are steady and clear.
His energy doubles at the sound of your gentle voice, as does his yearning to give himself over completely. You watch his face as the waves pass, and look at his eyes as his voice moans his release, and he studies you, encouraged by the sight of you.
His ejaculation is powerful. Some of the abundant semen splashes onto your wrist and sleeve, and you angle the mirror slightly so this does not happen again; then very nearly an ounce of it, collected inside him for so long, spills onto the mirror. You want to look down; you do not. He does, and you see the astonished expression as he does so, knowing he has glanced his face as the climax has touched him.
With each jet of orgasm he lets go of a deep moan, and then he is looking suddenly back into your sweet face, your most gentle eyes.
Now you hold this mirror before him ritually. In doing so, you both acknowledge the presence of his semen. You see the pool of luminescent fluid gathered there. It seems to be alive, illuminated in the soft sunlight. Its grassy, fresh scent fills the space quickly.
He leans into the pool, understanding that he must keep his eyes open at all times. Now comes the most vital part of the ritual: the deep smelling of his own seed. He must examine the scent of his seed while looking at his face, as his excitement wanes quickly. He must do so for eleven breaths.
At the last breath, you will raise the mirror the last few inches to his mouth.
An eternity passes as he takes in the scent of his own life. You count his breaths patiently.
And then, at your gesture, he licks his own seed from the glass, drawing it into his lips. Your own heart thunders with love, with compassion, with freedom, yet so deeply contained within you.
He takes his seed at first reluctantly, and then delicately, then with great thirst. You glance at his eyes as he sees himself doing so. As he drinks his ejaculate, relentless waves of warm emotion course through your body, seeming to illuminate your belly, your breasts, your heart and your sex.
When he has drank the last drop of his humility, he looks at you, his face and lips wet with himself. One last time, you show him his face, now in the semen-smeared mirror.
Then you set the round glass down.
You bow to one another; you stand silently and walk through a door out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts, feelings and the remnants of his expression. You walk into another space: the space behind the mirror, through which two other women have been watching.
You will now be evaluated. Out through the mirror, you can silently see the one you have initiated in the well-lit space you have just occupied. He is kneeling up. His penis is again erect, and he is looking at himself. There is yearning in his eyes. It appears he will need to gratify himself again. You would assist him gladly. You can barely leave him alone.
But instead, you return your attention to the dimly-lit space you are in. You must now drop your white robe to the floor and face the women, naked. It is your turn to be exposed. For a long time, they will look at you, and sense you. They will sense for how you feel you have done, for whether you have given this man the gift of himself completely enough. You are wet, and your vulva is engorged. You can smell your own scent rising up to your awareness.
The two women look at you. You respect them deeply. They are delicate beautiful: more beautiful and desirable than you. They have performed this ritual for men hundreds of times. This was your first time. If you have done your part well, they will reward you with unspeakable pleasures, pleasures known only to women amongst themselves.
If they approve of what you have done, they will drop their own kimonos wordlessly to the floor to tell you.
If they do not, you will not be allowed to receive the gratification you so desperately need right now. They can see your nipples standing erect, and you feel the slick coating that is all over the insides of your parted thighs, soaking the thick heat at the center of you.
Your heart trembles as you face them.