Holiday Indulgence – Chanukah

Written by Dirty Di. Dirty Di is the author of Astray, Deborah and Aviva and the Holiday Indulgence series.

Each installment can be read as a separate piece, although because of the character and the story’s development, the author wouldn’t advise it. The first part, Shavuot, can be found here and is followed by Tu B’Av and the High Holidays. Please note that the author means no disrespect to Jewish history and customs. This piece is meant to be fun and recreational.

The place was dark, illuminated just by a faint ray of light that could be seen from afar. Malka couldn’t make out anything much, other than the raspy surface of the walls that surrounded her. Stone. Her footsteps barely audible in the dark, as she felt her feet walking on a soft sandy surface. A cave.

“Hurry,” a man said, grabbing her by the arm. Startled, she let herself be guided away from the feeble light and into the darkness. “You have to let it in.”

“Let what in?” She asked, still being dragged by this unknown man.

“You are fighting against the wrong things.”

“I don’t understand. And will you stop pulling me?” No one pulled Malka Berkovich if she could help it.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, still pulling. “But we are about to lose the war.”

“What war?” She asked, getting especially annoyed.

He stopped running, making her bump into his back. Instinctively, her hands shot up to shield herself, only to find smooth, uncovered skin under them.

“You know nothing of the war?” He said, walking away from her. She could hear him moving and shuffling around her until finally a small light started glittering, emanating from the torch he was holding. “The Greeks.”

“What about them?” She asked. “And who are you?” She then demanded with her most don’t-mess-with-me voice.

“Hi,” he said, beaming a brilliant smile, visible in spite the darkness of the place, and extending his hand for her to shake. “I’m Mattathias.”

She stretched her hand and grabbed Mattathias’s, feeling the slightest attraction towards the man running through her arm and throughout the rest of her body. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, squinting hard, trying to make out the lines of his face, until she heard a throat rasping from somewhere behind. Abruptly, she snapped her head, cursing herself for the brief moment of weakness she just had, as she took in the scene developing around them.

This Mattathias was wearing a tunic that barely covered his chest and arms, and behind him, a group of poorly-armed men stood in similar fashion.

“They are winning,” one of them said.

“Winning what?” She asked, feeling more and more confused by the minute.

“The war! Have you not been listening at all?” Another one said. “You have eight days.”

“Eight days to do what!” She said, the last word barely audible, as she started feeling lightheaded, her mind reeling between confusion towards the people surrounding her and attraction for the man in front of her. Something was not right.

“Eat sufganiyot, spin the dreidel,” the same man said sarcastically. “What do you think. I told you she was an idiot,” he said, that last part addressed to Mattathias.

“I don’t appreciate you calling me that,” she spat to the man behind, trying with all her might to regain some composure.

“I couldn’t care less what you do or don’t appreciate-”

“That’s enough, Judah!” Mattathias said, bringing all the eyes to him. “Malka, there’s not enough time.”

Malka was done with it. She was going to scream, kick and yell until she got a straight answer from the bunch of weird guys judging and prodding her like she was guilty of whatever nonsense was going on. As she filled her lungs to inform him so, strong arms wrapped around her own and her legs, lifting her into a horizontal position.

Before she could react to being manhandled in such an uncouth manner, she was placed on top of a stone table she hadn’t seen before. She watched as the tunic-men came closer to her, surrounding the table and hovering over Malka. Several pairs of hands deftly removed her clothes, leaving her bare in front of the audience.

She tried to fight against the invasion of hands, but her muscles were not responding. Her voice abandoned her as her eyes opened widely, fear masking her face.

“Relax,” she heard Judah said. “Don’t fight it.”

The cave was too dark for her to clearly identify what was happening around her. These people worked efficiently and left no time for doubts or contemplation. She breathed in and out, as apparently that was the only thing her body was answering to.

Mattathias stood next to her head with a bowl in his hands. He placed it next to her and sank his hands inside, covering them in whatever was inside of it and took them out, dripping the liquid throughout his hands and arms.

“This is blessed oil,” he said as he put his hands on the arm closer to him and rubbed them against her oddly warm skin. “It will give you the answer you seek.”

The smell filled her senses as he applied the oil. Her annoyance and fear subsided and a small hint of arousal took its place. These soft hands were awakening every cell on her body as he massaged her arms and chest, her legs and torso, leaving her most sensitive parts untouched.

A moan of relief left her mouth when she felt her nipples being slightly pinched, feeling as they hardened under the attention. Hands spread her legs widely as Mattathias’s traveled her body with expert hands down her body. They turned her around to allow Mattathias to work on her back.

“She’s ready,” he announced as she was forced on her back again, when not an inch of her body was left without ointment. And then, someone was lifting her. She could not see, only feel. She was being placed on top of Mattathias, who had taken her place and was now sitting on the stone table.

Someone grabbed her legs and wrapped them around the figure in front of her as his organ impaled her, settling deep inside her body. It wasn’t painful, she truly was ready; she wanted this. Now.

As Mattathias’s manhood penetrated her, someone wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands palming her breasts in a steady movement. Her oily skin made it easier to slide against more skin. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t process. She could only feel.

“Do you get it now?” She heard the sweet voice from behind. “This is for you.” Ah. Judah.

Suddenly aware of her surroundings and feeling self-conscious, she forced herself to open her eyes as she moaned softly, nervous because of the others watching her in such a wanton display of shameless desire. The smell of sex reached her nose and she saw the people around her ignoring what Malka, Mattathias and Judah were doing and sharing their bodies with each other.

Something was touching her clitoris. The contact made her jump in surprise. It wasn’t Mattathias and she wasn’t expecting it. It was hot, but not too much, and hard, like a metallic blade, coming from Judah’s strong hands that held her from behind.

Her head fell back, the scene around her forgotten once again, resting on Judah’s shoulder. She was close, she could feel it. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.

“I’m sorry,” she heard her own voice on the back of her head, interrupting the glorious friction that coursed through her body. “I can’t do this, Hannah.”

Her senses were mixing, she couldn’t think straight, but her own voice came to her as clear as day. “I can’t be in a relationship with you. This is not who I am.”

“Now you understand?” Mattathias’ voice came from the actual person in front of her, as her own mirage voice faded. “You’re losing the war, Malka. But’s it’s not too late.”

She came loudly and shamelessly, rolling her hips against the other body.

The sound of her own moans was gradually lowering its volume and giving way to a melody. The music grew stronger and she thought she recognized the melody from long ago.

“Who can retell of the heroic deeds of Israel?” The song asked. Malka was not sure when was the last time she heard the song, but she was transported to her childhood, lighting the chanukiah in front of the windows.

It was nice feeling like a girl again. No responsibilities, no worries, and the feeble well-being that came from feeling protected and guarded. It was no longer dark; instead, a bright light illuminated everything, leaving no place for shadows, for doubts or fears.

“My refuge, my rock of salvation! ‘Tis pleasant to sing your praises.” She heard, the last word so loud it shook her out of her slumber.

She woke up with a strange feeling of fulfilment and emptiness that oddly didn’t contradict each other, not really remembering what she had been dreaming just a while ago.

But somehow she knew exactly what to do. She took her cellphone and searched through the contact list until she found the name she was looking for. She clicked on it hoping the nagging she was feeling in the back of her head would leave her alone.