Serafina blushed as a woman, too young to be so weathered, knelt in front of her on the rough cement floor of a large shallow trough. The attendant’s spine was bent with the pained posture of hard labor. Her hands were wrinkled and stained from her task. She submerged a thick sponge in a bowl of herb-steeped water then stood up tall, stretched her arms as high as she could, and squeezed.
Serafina flinched as the cool water dribbled down her naked spine then relaxed with the soothing motion of the sponge on her shoulders. The sharp herbal fragrance cleared Serafina’s sinuses and made her head spin. For the first time since last week’s beating, she forgot the pain.
The attendant knelt again to soak the sponge.
This time, Serafina prepared herself as the cool liquid trickled over her collar bone and meandered around the slopes of her breasts. The caress pleased her, as did her own immodesty. She had always felt enormous pride and satisfaction in her body and saw no reason to hide that fact, even in the midst of this awkward display.
When the attendant knelt again to soak the sponge, her warm breath brushed the inside of Serafina’s calf. The small gust of heat, followed by cool intakes of breath, played upon Serafina’s skin and raised tiny bumps of pleasure from her flesh. She focused in rapt anticipation of the next warm gust of air. Lighter than a feather, the woman’s breath traced a winding uneven path up the inside of Serafina’s leg, past the crease where thigh met hip, and across the cool plane of her belly. The sponge followed, circling higher up Serafina’s thigh but never quite high enough.
Again the attendant knelt, plunging the sponge in rhythmic pulses that sent lapping sounds of promise to Serafina’s ears.
A shudder. A tightening. A calming breath. Then focus, surgically keen, as the sponge and breath intermingled and crept their slow, tortuous path up the slopes of Serafina’s leg.
Every fiber of her being yearned to separate her bare feet further and offer a clearer, more direct path, but she feared to disturb the curious scrutiny that had obviously captivated the young attendant. Trapped between need and propriety, Serafina allowed her knees to slacken and offer whatever slight invitation might be perceived.
When the sponge crept higher and rubbed gently against the sensitive flesh between Serafina’s thighs, she gasped and pressed against the pressure. The attendant responded in kind. Together, they played the tune, pushing the crescendo to the final chord when a single digit plunged deep into swollen flesh.
A low growl rumbled in Serafina’s chest as the finger retreated, leaving a naked breeze where once had been such heat and texture. The absence, nearly too full to bear, betrayed itself with a single trickling drop.
Serafina followed its bold, languid progress down her inner thigh, hoping and dreading that the woman would notice. A cry caught in Serafina’s throat as a touch, too wet and erotic to be anything but a tongue, intercepted the evidence of her pleasure and retraced its journey.
“Claudia,” the Mãe de Santos said. “I think Serafina has been sufficiently bathed, não?”
The young attendant hurried to stand, bowed to the Mãe de Santos, and made a hasty departure.
Serafina shifted her weight into a posture she hoped would convey dignity, or as much dignity as she could manage while standing naked in a cement trough.
The Mãe de Santos smiled. “There is no doubt that you are a beautiful woman, Serafina. And it is obvious that you have a strong effect on both men and women. But while you are here, preparing yourself to become a bride to the gods, it would be inappropriate, and in fact forbidden, for you to engage in sexual relations of any kind. Is that understood?”
Serafina lifted her chest in unconscious defiance and glared.
The Mãe de Santos chuckled. “I have nothing against sex. How else can we explore the depths of who we are if not by engaging in the crudest of all human desires? But when we have sex, our bodies are turned in on ourselves, ready to give or receive the seed of life. The same is true for a woman during menstruation when her body is rejecting a part of herself. In both cases, we are closed. We are not whole. A medium must be whole and open to receive a god. Does this not make sense?”
Serafina relaxed her posture. The Mãe de Santos’ explanation, while peculiar, sounded reasonable—at least enough to keep listening.
“Umbanda is not like Catholicism. We have no sexual or moral judgments, only practical rules pertaining to the medium-ness of our people. Even men, though admittedly there are fewer of them, must abstain from sex when they are preparing to receive a god.” She winked. “Surely, even one so alluring as you can survive the rest of the night without seducing anyone.”
Serafina nodded and smiled with embarrassment. The Mãe de Santos chuckled. Serafina did the same. Soon they laughed freely about the absurdity of it all.
The Mãe de Santos gestured for Serafina to follow.
“Let’s get you out of that trough and into your new clothes. I don’t want to leave you naked any longer than is absolutely necessary.”