Sacred Whore of the Time Master: a Tale from Broken Wing (closed)

[shereads]

The ancients built the Temple of Temples on the cliffs overlooking the sea; they planted its orchards and vineyards; they filled its gardens with fragrant herbs, and all things pleasant to look upon. All was done exactly as commanded by Cecil, the First High Master.

Cecil, who bade the people to call him “Uncle,” was a prophet, say some. Others declare that he was more god than mortal. A few believe he traveled through time, and chose the Island Kingdoms as one resting place among many. The wisest of the elders insist that it is of no consequence where Cecil came from, or what manner of man he was. It is enough to know what he did for us.

Cecil united the priest-kings beneath his rule in return for the gifts of peace and bounty. Those who challenged him were silenced when he caused the sun to disappear at noonday, casting the world into darkness. When the doubters proclaimed him High Master and swore their allegience, Uncle Cecil gave back the sun and began his reign, by all accounts a time of laughter and feasting and carnal pleasures and erotic dances, made all the more enjoyable by the gift of the Birth Control Pill.

When the gods were displeased with the people of the Island Kingdoms, no punishment was required as in the darker times. Cecil punished the Sacred Whore in private rituals and ceremonies, which she welcomed and from which she emerged with bruises, but smiling. It is said that she appeared happiest when the gods were most displeased.

When the time came that Cecil must return to his wanderings, he soothed the people's grief with the promise that another High Master would someday take his place. Among the sacred objects in my care is the Scroll of Cecil, wherein is told the story of his last moments among my ancestors:

“Saith Cecil to his Sacred Whore and the girls who were bathing him, 'Again with the tears! You human females have so much going for you, but the crying is hard to take.'

“And he foretold the coming of a new High Master, and commanded that all be kept in readiness, for he could not say whether the One would arrive within a day or a millenium. 'I do these things on impulse, or when I owe somebody, or when the ratings need a boost.'

“And lo! Cecil took some trinkets and a cask of wine, and vanished as the legends say he first arrived, looking at the Wrist Oracle by which the High Masters know when it is time to go. 'When it's time to come,' saith the prophet, 'Master isn't looking at his watch.' Carnalia, his Whore, disappeared at his side.

“The maidens dried their tears and prepared the sleeping bower with new linens and fresh flowers. The gardeners and vintners and orchard keepers went about their work. As Cecil had commanded, a new Temple Virgin was chosen and trained to become the Sacred Whore of the new High Master. The priest-kings kept the peace, and settled their disputes as Cecil had instructed: by drawing the high card or spinning the Wheel of Fortune.

“Always, there were those who loved war, and those who cursed their luck when a spin of the Wheel went against them. But they were kept in check by their fear.

“For the new High Master shall be known by this sign: the sun shall vanish once again, as it did at the Test of Cecil. But within the hour it shall appear again, to bless the presence of the Anointed One. This shall come to pass on the seventh day after his arrival in the Temple Garden. His Virgin shall know him by a secret sign, revealed at the moment of his arrival.

"Saith Cecil, 'Wait for the signs. Don't let some shyster take over the place and manhandle the girls.'

"From that day forward, all would be kept in readiness at the Temple of Temples, as if each day was the appointed day for the arrival of the One."


My name is Ariadne. I was chosen as a young girl to become a Temple Virgin, should those who preceded me fail to achieve the prophesy. On my 18th birthday, I came to the Temple of Temples. Here, until the hoped-for coming of the High Master or my 21st birthday, I would live alone, save for the servants who came each day and left at sunset, and priests who visited to study the scrolls.

I would be pampered with every comfort except the one that mattered: my Master, the One whose coming had been prophesied so long ago that some had begun to lose faith.

Ages had passed since the Promise of Cecil was written down. Virgins beyond count had preceded me, keeping the High Temple in readiness and praying to be worthy of a new High Master. Each of us has counted herself the most fortunate of females...and then the loneliest...and finally, when our time was ending and we had never known his touch or tasted his seed, we knew that none could match our shame. Upon her twenty-first birthday, a Temple Virgin was said to have been deemed unworthy by the gods. On that day, she must leave the Temple and reenter the world, never to bathe the Master in his cavern springs, nor massage his skin with oil, nor wear the Sacred Clamps for him. Never to learn the mystery of the Vibrating Phallus, most intriguing of the sacred objects kept beneath the altar.

Most of the banished Virgins took husbands or lovers, and found happiness. Others, their hearts unable to embrace any man but the Master they were born to serve, became prostitutes for money. There is no dishonor for a woman of our people in selling her body, and her heart can remain untouched.

That would have been my choice. I was saved from that fate with but a day to spare...

Why I am so blessed, I do not know. I am only a simple girl from the village of Fellatia in the farthest Island Kingdom. I was schooled in the ways of the Sacred Whore since I was old enough to read the Lessons of Uncle Cecil. But I am no one special. My breasts are nicely shaped, and I think my eyes are pretty. But I cannot play a musical instrument, I have a weakness for sweet pastries, my singing is only adequate and my nipples are too sensitive, to the point of impertinence. Sometimes, when I despaired of knowing my Master, I used to touch myself and make my pussy wet. A Temple Virgin is forbidden to know carnal pleasure without her Master's permission, and no wonder. It was a frustrating experience; I did not allow myself to climax, for that is a prerogative at least as important to the Master as ending his Whore's virginity.

It was a lonely life, if a luxurious one. I need do nothing all day but wander the gardens, frolic with the tame birds and animals, bathe in the hot springs and fountains, and improve my mind by reading so that I might converse with the Master if he should desire it. I was also instructed to study the duties of the Sacred Whore, but I had memorized them long ago:

1) She must see to the physical comfort of the High Master, overseeing the quality of his food and wine and the beauty of his gardens.

2) She must warn intruders away from the Temple of Temples.

3) She must welcome carnal punishment from her Master whenever the gods are angry, lest they vent their anger in the ancient way, with floods or famine, or with rashes on the priest-kings' private parts.

4) She must help him plan festivals and celebrations so that his people can know the benefit of his wisdom and hear his jokes, and dance for him, and bring offerings.

5) She must take her Birth Control Pill each day when she prays at the altar.

6) She must worship the Object of Desire, her Master's penis. His seed is the essence of life, and must be cherished above all things. He must be helped to bring it forth from his body as often as possible, or he will suffer dreadful discomfort and be unable to commune with the gods.

7) The sacred fluid must never be wasted. If the Master spills it outside her body, it is the duty of his Whore to lick it up and clean all traces of it from the penis.

Yes, I knew my duties and believed them to be the highest privilege. But like the countless Temple Virgins before me, had begun to lose hope of using what I knew in the service of my Master. Only hours before my twenty-first birthday, he had not come. By nightfall, I would be the next in a long line of failed Temple Virgins.

During my final vigil, facing banishment from a paradise that never had been, I fought despair as I prayed. I knelt at the altar, arrayed as always with the Miraculous Vibrating Phallus and other sacred objects that had once belonged to Cecil.

“Hear your servant, Uncle Cecil,” I whispered, trying to hold back my tears. “Please tell me how I can be worthy. Have I displeased the gods by fondling the phallus when I was supposed to be dusting it? Did I wait too long between body waxings? I am smooth now, and I promise never to be so lazy again…”

So focused was I on my desperate prayer that I hardly noticed the noise in the garden. Something had disturbed the songbirds.

“I can dye my hair blonde, if he dislikes brunettes,” I offered. “For a taste of my Master's pre-come and the chance to give him a scalp massage, I will do anything you suggest to be worthy of him. Only give me a sign, Uncle Cecil!"

There was definitely a disturbance outside. The peacocks were screeching. The lambs were frightned. There was a sound of splashing. There had never been a trespasser on the Temple grounds, but it was my duty to expect one and send him away. Quickly, I put away the sacred objects: the clamps, the cuffs of hammered silver, the leather flogger and the vibrating phallus, which buzzed briefly to life at the touch of my hand. I wiped away my tears, smoothed my clothing and composed myself before going to the garden. No matter the depth of my private grief, I would not shame the High Master's Temple by behaving as less than a lady…

Or so I believed. Then I heard his voice.

For the first time since childhood, I heard the voice of a man who was not of the priesthood or employed to maintain the Temple grounds. He sounded angry, and I am embarrassed to admit that I hid behind a column and listened, suddenly afraid to confront him.

“Where the fuck am I?

Oh, my. He was definitely not of the priesthood.

Curiosity took over, and I peaked around the column. There stood a stranger more intimidating than any I could have conjured in my imagination. He was taller and broader of shoulder than men of the Island Kingdoms. He was dressed all in black, and not in the loosely draped linen of our people, but in an upper garment, and a lower one that encased each leg separately.

His clothes were soaking wet, for he was emerging from the duck pond. One of the big male geese hissed at him. The stranger hissed back, sending the poor thing race-waddling toward the safety of the water.

For a trespasser, who was closer than anyone had ever come to the wealth of the gods and the secrets of Cecil ~ and with only a girl and some tame animals to stop him from taking whatever he could carry ~ the intruder did not behave as if he liked it here very much. He was looking all about, as if he were lost, or expecting someone. When he turned to face the Temple and the alcove where I was hiding, the scowl on his face made me shudder!

“DeMille, you crazy bastard, this isn't funny anymore!”

He had blasphemed!

Now I had no choice but to confront the man. I confess, I am not very brave. I was trembling when I emerged from the shadows. But when the stranger saw me approaching, I tried to appear calm, as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

For a moment, he seemed as wary of me as I was of him. I tried to take courage from that. “You are trespassing, Sir. I must ask you to leave.”

“Most amusing,” he said. His voice was a rough, slightly threatening purr, seductive as the half-smile that had replaced that awful scowl. How handsome he was! It was terrible of me to think it, but I had been so lonely here…My nipples all but pierced the sheer linen of my garment, as if wanting to go to him.

“I am not here to amuse you, Sir, begging your pardon,” I said, stopping a respectful distance from him, and ready to run if need be. He took a step toward me, grinning now rather than smiling. I flinched, but did not back away.

He was tall as a god, with the powerful body of one of the athletes who performed naked in our sacred games.

What would he look like, naked?

“I know why you're here,” he said. “What I don't know is why I'm here, or where 'here' is, exactly.”

He towered over me, looking me up and down with such insolence that my knees nearly gave way. I threw back my shoulders and tried to seem taller. A mistake, because it only drew his attention to my breasts. Cursed nipples! Such tiny, insignificant pink things, to ache so much and behave with such rudeness.

It would have been a good time to say something in a confident tone. But I have never been able to concentrate when my pussy is becoming puffy and moist.

“You don't work at the Wing,” said the stranger. “I never forget a nicely made pair of tits."

I gasped. No one but the High Master is permitted to acknowledge the female attributes of the Temple Virgin. To do so with a tone of blatant disrespect was the lowest insult!

“You have blasphemed twice, now,” I scolded, taking a tentative step forward. I could not afford to be timid.

“Blasphemed? Bring me Cecil B. DeMille and I'll show you how I blaspheme."

I didn't know whether to slap him or faint. I had never heard Cecil's name spoken in vain, nor been taught a proper response. I was speechless.

He liked that. It seemed to relax him a little, “Seriously, it was an impressive trick and you have lovely tits. But I'm a busy man, and enough is enough. Where is he?”

He seemed sincerely puzzled, which made him less terrifying. I realized he might not know our ways. “It is disrespectful to speak the surname of Uncle Cecil, or to stare at the…person of his Temple Virgin. You did not know, of course but ~

“His what? His virgin?” He laughed. A rich, masculine laugh; the rarest of all sounds in my world. “That rules out Broken Wing, Nevada."

"Did you say 'Broken Wing?!'”

Even among my people, only the most devout would recall such an obscure reference from the Scroll of Cecil. Broken Wing, Nevada is mentioned only once. It was one of many worlds Cecil visited in his wanderings. “You know of Broken Wing? You have been there?"

He sat on a garden bench and began to remove his wet footwear. More fascinated now than afraid, I knelt at his feet and helped pull the cold, wet leather from first one foot, then the other. It seemed entirely natural to help him undress, since he was obviously uncomfortable, and male.

“Tell me about Broken Wing. Is it true about the bandits? The ones with one arm? Is it true that they pour silver coins into the hands of the blessed?”

He upended a shoe and poured water onto the grass near where I knelt. Neither of us cared that a little of it splashed on my garment.

“You're good,” he sighed. “I'll grant you that. But this has gone on long enough. Hand me my things, will you?”

I looked down, following his glance. There at my knees was a card, like the ones the priest-kings used to settle disputes. And beside it was...No, it could not be!

His Virgin shall know him by a secret sign, revealed to her at the moment of his arrival.

On the grass beside the ordinary card was another, extraordinary one. It was the twin of one of the sacred objects I had prayed over each day for three years.

"Where did you get this," I heard myself squeak, surprised that anything could be heard above the pounding of my heart. My hand hovered above the thing, wanting to reach for it but fearing to, as if it might vanish ~ and take my dreams with it.

“The Ace of Spades? I keep one for luck.” He laughed, a bit uncomfortably it seemed. Had he been offended by my behavior? Of course he had! I had all but called him an intruder in his own garden.

“Not that card, Master," I said softly, placing a hand upon his knee in a gesture of appeasement. “The other card. The one that matches Cecil's."

He looked at me oddly, as if I were the one with secrets and mysteries.

“That? That's my MasterCard."

I pulled my hand away, suddenly knowing beyond any doubt that I was in the presence of the High Master ~ and had touched him without permission! I had never felt less worthy, or more eager to do more intimate things. With or without permission.

“You really are the One. The new Uncle Cecil."

He reached down and retrieved his belongings, as I had been told and had failed to do. “No need to be insulting. I'm Cesar Mabeuse, and I'm no more your uncle than he is."

"Forgive me, I am not handling this well," I whispered, hanging my head to hide a scalding blush.

He touched me then, just a fingertip raising my chin so that our eyes met, but oh! what a touch. His eyes were dark as the night sky and glittering with amusement and delicious wickedness. The hot blush that swept up my body was no longer due to embarrassment.

"Other than a virgin," he said, "who are you?"

Before I felt the impulse, I was clinging to his legs with my head upon his knee, crying and laughing and so excited I could hardly speak.

“I am Ariadne of Fellatia. Your servant, if you will still have me!”

“Still? I haven't had you! I never had you."

“Do I displease you? I promise to change. I will learn what pleases you." I began to massage his thighs, enraptured by the hard muscular feel of him and emboldened by my alert pussy. "Only give me a chance to care for you, and I swear on my life that you will never have a painful build-up of bodily fluids. You will never know a single unassuaged desire that might interfere when you commune with the gods."

“Good god.”

“Yes! Any god, or all of them. The world is yours to shape as you see fit.” I knelt up, drawn to his beautiful face. His lower lip wanted sucking. “How handsome you are, my Master.”

“Master?”

“Master of Priests. Master of Ceremonies!"

"Are you ill? Is this some kind of rehab center?"

"It is the Temple of Temples, and you are its Master. Master of carnal punishments! Master of all you see, to the horizon and beyond."

He looked about, seeming to take it all in for the first time: the Temple of purest white marble; the garden flowers, gathered from unexplored regions of space and time by Uncle Cecil; the potent aphrodisiac steam that emerged from the Cavern of Hot Springs in the mountain behind us; the turquoise sea, the distant islands, home to larger cities but lesser temples. To a man, the people who lived there and the priest-kings who ruled them were servants of the High Master.

“It is yours to command, High Master. And it is my duty to help you by servicing your physical needs." I had begun to work the curious fastenings that held his phallus prisoner within the wet lower-body garment.

“What are you doing?”

"You must be uncomfortable in these wet things. I wish only to...to...To be perfectly honest, I am eager to see your penis."

"My penis."

"None other. I have waited so long. I have studied so hard..."

My hands stilled, barely touching the fabric now, as I awaited permission to continue. It was nearly unbearable to wait, but I had been unforgivably forward.

It moved. My Master's penis recognized me.

All I had read and studied, all I had learned from the prostitutes about the Object of Desire ~ how it would look and feel and taste; how to sense its moods; how to guage the fullness of the sac that hung beneath it, and how to bring forth its burden of creamy fluid ~ all I had learned had not prepared me for the thrill of feeling my Master's phallus responding to my touch. Jerking to life, seeking its mate! I could feel the heat of it even now, when it was caged.

“Who are you, really?" He sounded a little angry, as he had every right to be, for I had not been on my best behavior. But even as he pushed my hands away, his own began to work loose the fastenings. He was going to let me see it!

“I am your receptacle, Master. I am the body you punish when the gods are angry. I am the servant who peels your grapes and pours your wine. I am the Whore whose deepest desire is to be fucked by you, and then allowed to clean you with my tongue."

“Because I carry MasterCard?”

“Yes! The MasterCard will not be proof enough for the priest-kings. They have grown too accustomed to their independence. But do not worry about them. Seven days from today, when the noonday sun disappears and you make it return, no one will dare to doubt you…Already, the servants will be spreading rumours of your arrival. Once people learn you are here, it may be many days before I have you all to myself. Please let me see...Please, Master. I promise not to do more than look, or give it a kiss if you will allow me."

He groaned, and both of us glanced down. We were rewarded with the sight of his rampant male organ springing loose from its confinement. It was purple and angry, pulsing with veins and infinitely threatening as it bobbed toward me. It was the most wondrous thing I had ever seen.

My prayers had been answered. For the first time in my 21 years, I was beginning to feel like a Whore.

Ariadne in the Temple Garden, awaiting the coming of her Master:

http://storage.chatropolis.com/userfiles/shereads/Ariadne.jpg

 

[shereads]

Flashback (forward) to Broken Wing Truckstop & Casino, 2003

Dr. Cesar Mabeuse recalls a romantic interlude

originally posted by Dr. Mabeuse

She was a tasty morsel. A little heavy in the chest, perhaps, but her buttocks were as firm and as succulent as two perfect honeydew melons, and her juice twice as sweet. She certainly was not about to win any major brain awards, but her instincts were faultless and her equipment was exquisite. I split her cleft with my long tongue and the juice fairly gushed from her like nectar from a peach.

My nose was pushing against her dilated asshole, and even there she was sweet as a new born. I kept my fingers dug into her ass and pulled her wide so that I could reach for her uterus with my tongue, stirring it around inside her as her thighs trembled on either side of my head.

Elliot was pushing her head down on my own engorged rod, but Candy needed little prompting. She was one of those women who loses control at the sight of a hard cock and becomes little more than a huge, pulsating vagina, desperate to get that hardness inside of her regardless of the mechanics. She sucked hungrily, obsessed with getting as much of me into her gullet as she could.

She didn’t really care what I was doing down at her juicy little honey pot. She was like a stegosaur, that dinosaur that had a second brain in its hips, and while Candy’s head was involved in pumping up and down and sucking on my stalk, her hips had decided that they liked what my mouth was doing and were grinding back and forth on my face, urging me deeper inside of he.

I slapped her ass to make her spread her legs farther, and slapped her again for the hell of it. I sunk two fingers into her ass and felt Elliot’s come still steaming inside her. The little whore. She shoved her ass back at my fingers, begging for more.

I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back off my cock—no easy matter—and threw the bitch over on her back, then pushed her so that her head was hanging off the edge of the bed. I got between her legs holding my dripping prick in my hand.

“Hold yourself open, bitch!” I said to her.

She didn’t seem to understand so I took her hands and showed her how to hold her pussy open for me as I began to spear the full length into her. She groaned and raised her head to watch. Her toes were curled tight against the soles of her feet. That meant she liked it.

“Fuck her mouth, Elliot!” I said. It seemed a shame to waste all that hot wet suction with the pointless groaning and gasping she was doing, so Elliot came over and fed his prick into her mouth.

“Now play with your clit, Candy. Masturbate for me.”

She moaned in protest around Elliot’s cock. She was a busy young lady, but what I asked was not out of the question. But she was so typical: sucking one man and fucking another and yet at the suggestion that she pleasure herself, she balked, suddenly filled with WASP modesty.

Again I took her hand and showed her how to masturbate (as if she didn’t already know), then I levered myself up on my arms to enjoy the spectacle.

Elliot stood on the floor, his knees bent as he slid his prick in and out of Candy’s mouth, holding her head by the hair. I was arched above her, my prick inside her pussy as her fingers rubbed wildly at her engorged little clit. I could just lie there. basking in the tremulous vibrations as Candy took herself to orgasm, and I rode along.

Casino owner Elliot encounters Cecil B. DeMille

originally posted by Dr. Mabeuse

I told what Candy to hold down the fort while I checked down how things were going in the hotel.

The place was really filling up with the UFO crowd now, and in the lobby they seemed to be coming in waves, just like an alien invasion staged by Greyhound. One bus would pull up and out they would come in everything from jeans and tees to 70's leisure suits to tinfoil overalls. Well, they'd fill the place up, even if they didn’t gamble that much.

I was walking back from the Casino when I ran into this guy in the hallway, a round little guy who stood out for looking all rosy and very pleased with himself, wearing a kind of heavy tweed suit and waistcoat that might have been popular in the fifties, but was hardly what you'd want to wear in Nevada in September.

"Excuse me," he said to me, "But you are the proprietor?"

"Afraid so." I said. "What can I do for you?"

"Is this the way to the casino?"

"Yep," I said. "Gambler, are you?"

He laughed. "Oh no, not really. I'm here with the convention. I just have to inject a little randomness into the proceedings. A little free will. You're overdue."

He reached inside his jacket and it looked something like when the light goes on in the fridge and the light goes on. The inside of his coat was filled with kind of blue light, and he pulled out what looked like a lit neon tube from his breast pocket. It glowed like a neon sign. It was an impressive stunt.

"Quantum randomness." he said, letting it slide back inside his pocket and patting it with a chubby hand. "A little goes a long way. Oh, and by the way, my card."

He handed me a business card printed on some kind of transparent iridescent paper, but when I took it from him I found myself suddenly holding what felt like a lead sphere, while what I saw was a cube filled with tiny multicolored lights. The thing squirmed in my hand like a trout, like something alive.

"What the hell?!" I yelled and dropped it like I'd been burned. I saw it dissolve into some sort of liquid that hovered in the air for a instant before collecting itself and shooting back to his hand where it seemed to turn back into a card again. I had the distinct feeling that I had offended it somehow.

He broke into a loud, whooping laugh, bending over and putting his hands on his knees.

"Oh man! Your face! You humans! You just crack me up! Wooo! Too funny!"

"What the fuck was that?" I asked him, truly astonished. "You some sort of magician?"

"No, no," he said, slipping what ever it was into a bulging wallet and stuffing the wallet into his hip pocket. "My names Cecil. Cecil B DeMille. I'm one of them. One of the real ones." He stood there glowing, waiting for my reaction.

"One of who? The UFO people?"

"One of the real ones," he said with a sly smile. "I'm an alien."

I looked at him and for a second I could believe it. There was something not right about his face, like he didn’t quite fit it right. I got the distinct impression that it was a mask.

"Yep," he said, chuckling. "It's something like that. Not so much a mask as it is a body I'm wearing. If you knew what I really looked like, you'd shit a brick! Not that you could really see all of me anyhow, but you'd still crap your pants!" He laughed with delight.

I ignored the fact that he’d just read my mind; the lobby was full of weirdo’s and they all had their shticks. I smiled politely. My hand still tingled where I had briefly held his card. I started to back away.

"Well, we're happy to have you anyway, Mr. DeMille, alien or no. Just so you don’t steal our towels."

This cracked him up again and he turned around and slapped the wall as he laughed. I started backing away from him but he grabbed my arm.

"No, wait," he said. "Come on and have a drink on me. I need your help with this randomness thing. I need to know whether your wheels are rigged."

"Thanks, My DeMille, but maybe some other time…"

"Come on, come on," he said. "You should be nice to me. I'm one of the big sponsors of the convention."

“I thought it was the grays that were supposed to run all that stuff. The big gray skinny guys.”

He made a sour face. “Grays-schmays. They’re small time. They like the publicity is all. I work behind the scenes mostly.

"Must be hard to organize something like this from space." I said.

"Nah!" he said dismissively. "Easy as pie! I don’t get a chance to mingle much though, that why I decided to incarnate for this party. I just love interacting with you humans. You guys are just a stitch and a half."

I nodded. "We try."

"You think I'm full of it, don’t you? About being an alien? That's okay. But come have a drink. It'll be worth your while."

I didn’t run into many people who were as damned happy as Cecil here, not happy and sober too, and I let him drag me into the bar. We sat down at a table.

"You probably think my name's kind of weird too, huh? Well, I had to incarnate fast and didn't have much time. That's why I got stuck with this body. It's the same one I used when I was down here in '54. It was okay at the time, but I wish now I'd picked something a little more modern. These clothes really suck too, don’t they? Anyhow, the reason I picked that name was because I'm a producer too, just like C.B."

"Movies?" I asked
.
"Something like that.” he said with his conspiratorial smile. “Sort of, but not quite."

The waitress came over and Cecil ordered four glasses of coke, no ice. I got an iced coffee. He dipped into the bowl of peanuts we had out, tossed a bunch into his mouth and began chewing away happily.

"Man!" he said, throwing another handful into his mouth. "Gustation! How I envy you guys that! We can get pretty close with the sensorium mapping, but to actually feel that shit sliding down the old gullet, man, that's something!"

He was a weird bird, and I watched him for awhile as he chewed away, happy as a clam, full of good will. He really seemed to be blissing out, reaching into that bowl, grabbing some peanuts and pouring them into his mouth, chewing them up and swallowing, his eyes closed.

"Hey, Cecil, watch it!" I said, "That's the ashtray

He'd already scooped out a few butts and was chewing away before he realized his mistake. He broke into a huge belly laugh, opening his mouth wide. His tongue was black with ashes but he didn’t seem to care that much. A few half-chewed butts fell out of his mouth as he yucked it up. The guy was a hell of a sport

"I thought those last few tasted funny!" he said, "But hell, it's all good!"

He just went back to the peanuts, making no move to clean out his mouth.

I felt slightly ill. "Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"Now don’t get all freaked out." he said. "I told you who I am. Or do you mean my real name on my own planet? Friend, even if I told you, you don’t have the senses to hear me or the equipment to reproduce it. I'll tell you this though, if you could see my real body I'd only look like a string of light to you."

He was starting to frighten me a little. As he chewed I could still see the ashes in his mouth

"Where do you come from?" I tried.

"Again," he said, "You wouldn’t even be able to hear the name of my planet. You just don’t have the right equipment. But I can tell you what the name of my planet means in your language."

He looked at me with his eyes twinkling in his chubby face.

I bit. "And what is that?"

"It means 'Home'." he said, tossing some more peanuts into his mouth. "Just about the name of every inhabited planet translates into the same fucking thing: 'Home'. That's the truth! better you should ask me what I'm doing here."

The waitress came and set our drinks down.

"Okay," I said. "What brings you to earth?"

He picked up a glass of coke and held up a finger for patience. He carefully fit the edge of the glass against his lower lip and poured some into his mouth. His eyes closed and he gave a little shudder.

"Christ on a fucking crutch!" he said reverently. "Nowhere else in the universe you can get Coca Cola. It's one of earth's greatest treasures. I could make a fortune if I could only effect the mass transfer of this stuff back to my Planet. And if I cared a rat's ass about money, of course."

Again the big hearty laugh, but this time he controlled it while he sucked his way through two glasses of coke, humming and cooing like he was getting blown under the table.

"So what brings me to earth? Good question, Elliot." I hadn't told him my name, but then there were plenty of people who might have.

"Like I say, I'm a producer. I provide entertainment to the entities on my planet, kind of like what your cable TV people do down here, but a bit more sophisticated. It's kind of like the ultimate reality TV, you might say."

He picked up the third glass and stared sipping. the man liked his Coca Cola, that was for sure.

"My race has been around a long long time." he said, "So long that we gave up physical bodies back before life even began on your earth. We exist as a kind of energy. It's easier that way: no sickness, no death, no material needs. Of course, no Coca Cola either, and no gustation, and no nookie either. It's pretty sublime. Sublimer than shit, actually, but you know, entities get bored. You can only meditate on perfection for so long before it starts getting old, you know? It's true.
"Well, a couple eons ago some of our young bucks started screwing around with physical bodies again. We can put 'em on and take 'em off, and it became a kind of fad. make up some body, get inside it and get the old sensorium working, start feeling things again: seeing, tasting, feeling emotions. It became very popular. We've got explorers out all over the universe checking out other forms of life, and they would keep us supplied with different bodies, different perceptions. It was all very cool. Then some of our guys found you humans on earth."

Cecil took another pull on his last coke and called the waitress over and ordered four more. I told the waitress to bring us some more peanuts too. Fresh ones this time.

He looked at me admiringly. "You guys on earth, you got it made. We decided that of all the life forms we'd tried on, you humans on earth had the coolest sensoria, the best emotions, the best…well, there's no word in your language for that, but it means kind of like the whole ball of wax, the quality and richness of life. Suddenly everyone wanted to be an earth human. It was the In thing."

He stopped suddenly and a look of curiosity came over his face, as if he were trying to figure something out.

"What's that I'm feeling now? No, don’t tell me, I'll remember. I just haven’t been in a body so long… Oh yeah! Now I remember! I've got to pee!"

He laughed and stood up. "Pee comes out the front, right? Wait a minute… Am I the kind who has to stand or sit? I'm a stander, right? The kind with the dick? Yeah. Okay. It all comes back to me now. Don’t go away. I'll be right back…"

 

[dr_mabeuse]

It beat the hell out of me. I mean, one minute I’m standing there with one hand on the lever of a slot watching the two bars ka-ching into place, the othe reaching for the ass of the bar girl who’d just brought me a fresh Tom Collins, and the next thing I know there’s a flash of light, the feeling of being turned inside out, and I wake up in some sort of water hazard at the Walt Disney Fantasy-World Miniature Golf Course. Seriously: marble temples, cascading springs, bosky groves in sylvan settings. The whole fucking shmeer.

On top of it, there’s some very attractive piece of stuff clawing at my zipper, trying to free Little Cesar, and from the look in her eyes, I’ve got to think this girl has never seen the Real Difference in the flesh before. Her big eyes are shining and her lips are parted in awe. I’ve never seen a more perfect depiction of Blowjob Mouth in my life.

“Wait a minute, sugar!” I yell, grabbing her forehead just before she swoops in to put a liplock on my love-muscle. “Just how much is this going to cost me?”

She looks at me in confusion. “Cost you? I don’t understand. You are the Master, it’s my duty to serve.” she looks at my cock and her eyes widen a little more. “And more than a duty. It is my priviledge, my life. You’re what I live for!”

She’s on her knees looking at me, her back straight, hands clasped imploringly. Through the toga-thing she has on I can see her nipples, as wide as her eyes and standing up at attention like a couple of the Queen’s Own Royal Fusiliers. That a $1000 a night body in Vegas for sure, and she’s got “Fuck Me Deep” written all over her.

So of course there’s got to be a catch. I push her away and she falls on her ass with a little thump. I scope out the place, looking for hidden doors in the scenery or a camera crew hidden in the bushes, but it all looks legit. Meanwhile the girl picks up one of my feet and starts stroking my toes like they’re a matched set of pearls.

Suddenly it hits me: that weird little guy, Cecil DeMille back at the Broken Wing. He’d come up to me as I was pumping the slots and told me to expect the unexpected, because he was going to inject some quantum randomness into the Casino. Sure, sure, I thought, like the Pope sits in the woods. Then I saw him pull some day-glo tube of stuff from his pocket and start waving it around, I pulled the lever, reached for the waitresses ass, and here I am.

“Easy, bitch, easy!” I say, pulling my foot away from her and putting my hand over my cock. She gives me a look like she’s ready to do anything for me, and I mean anything. “I don’t know you from Taco Bell. What’d you say your name was again?”

“Ariadne,” she breathes. “But you may call me whatever you wish. If you prefer Sugar or Bitch I shall be proud to wear those names, Master.”

“No. Ariadne. That’s a pretty name. You must be from LA, huh?”

I can see that she doesn’t have a clue as to what I’m talking about, but her eyes are still glowing, the way a dog looks at you when you’re eating a T-bone.

A warm breeze flutters the fronds and cat-tails along the dge of the pond, a breeze that’s soft and fragranat with the smells of flowers and good, rich earth, like no breeze that ever blew in off the Nevada desert, and suddenly I realize that things have changed. I’m not gonna catch the nine o’clock show at the Luxor.

“So I’m the master, is that it, Ariadne? And you’re my little slave?”

She nods enthusiastically and creeps closer to me, and the look on her face is so open and honest that I decide to bite.

“Okay, baby. Let’s get started. Take off your top. Let’s see if they’re real.”

“My top?”

“Yeah. Up here. Show me your tits. You know, put up or shut up. Let’s get the show on the road.”

She seems confused for a moment, but then dawn breaks over her face, and she quickly unsashes her rope and throws it open, thursting her chest out at me.

They’re just gorgeous. I mean, I’ve seen some of the best silacon jobs on the strip, but these are real, full, and genuine all-woman. The nipples are pinky-brown and drawn tight, the nubs standing out like a hitchhiker’s thumbs.

I reach out and take one between my fingers: warm and firm and yielding as only a tit can be, and I close my eyes and feel a tingle in my already throbbing cock. And Ariadne, she closes her eyes halfway and shudders as if she’s coming right then and there.

“Oh Master…” she moans. “It’s heaven when you touch me!”

 

[shereads]

A warm breeze flutters the fronds and cat-tails along the dge of the pond, a breeze that’s soft and fragranat with the smells of flowers and good, rich earth, like no breeze that ever blew in off the Nevada desert, and suddenly I realize that things have changed. I’m not gonna catch the nine o’clock show at the Luxor.

At the touch of my Master's fingertips, my body was suddenly hot and weak. Had I not been on my knees at his feet, I would surely have fallen.

He was truly The One, the long-awaited High Master who would bring the Island Kingdoms back into communion with the gods. If I had harbored any remaining doubt, it was banished when he gently pinched, and then not-so-gently pinched and rolled an impertinent nipple between his strong thumb and forefinger. I gasped and bit my lower lip. I could feel myself blushing, a scarlet flush of virginal embarrassment, for despite my training, nothing had prepared me for the flood of liquid arousal I felt between my legs. Could the Master tell? Would he scent my excitement?

"Okay, Ariadne of Fellatia," he said. His voice was a low, rough whisper, so commanding that I was instantly alert, eyes wide and rivited on my Master's handsome face. "Let's see what you can do." Yes, let's!

He relinguished my nipple, now hard as a pebble, its twin begging for equal attention, and placed his cupped hand at the back of my head, gently urging me forward. With his other hand, my Master quickly made an opening in his lower garment, and brought forth his penis: the Object of Worship, released from its cloth prison. Here it was at long last, bobbing and throbbing in rigid, purple splendor, only inches in front of my lips!

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes please let me." I heard myself begging, my voice so small and tremulous I could hardly form words.

"Let you what? Let you lick it?"

My Master teased me mercilessly, almost brushing my lips with the round head, and then stepping away, so that I leaned forward, and almost lost my balance. I dared to place my hands on his thighs to steady myself, but I longed to hold his penis. A thin trickle of clear fluid had escaped from the small slit at the top. The sacred cock was weeping for me! It needed my kisses!

I lifted my gaze to the Master's face and tried to sound calm.

"Yes, let me lick it. Please. Or kiss it. Or - or anything! I have waited so long, Master, please don't tease me anymo - mmpphh?!"

He had taken pity on his slave. Before I could even wet my lips, the Master's penis was so deep inside my mouth that the broad, round head butted the back of my throat. I fought a momentary impulse to choke.

"Lick it. Right," he growled.

He withdrew a little, just enough to make me worry that he might have changed his mind. Instinctively I began to suck, fighting to keep him in my mouth. My tongue petted and soothed and cajoled. My small hands clung to the fabric that covered my Master's thighs. When he relented and thrust forward again, I moaned in relief and gratitude.

My Master's cock was hot and hard as a brasier, but the skin was velvet-soft and of a perfect texture to slip in and out of his whore's wet, suctioning lips. He began to pump his hips, taking my mouth and throat in a rhythm that both pleased and pained him, judging by his suddenly harsher breathing.

"Shit. Shit yes," he whispered.

I was the most blessed of women!

As my Master fucked my mouth, I relaxed my throat and invited him deeper. I allowed my eyes to drift closed and was half-aware that I had begun humming, a tuneless expression of my delight; I cannot call it an expression of contentment, for although I would have changed not one thing about that moment, my female part was far from contented. The part of me that had had been kept smooth and bare and pink and infuriatingly chaste in daily expectation of the High Master's arrival, was feeling neglected now that he was finally here. My poor, pulsing pussy was so swollen with arousal that it hurt. I could feel my juices streaming freely now, as if in answer to the saliva that bathed my Master. A scalding rivulet of wetness trailed down each inner thigh, and would soon reach the short-mown grass upon which I knelt.

A soft breeze tickled the nape of my neck; the High Master's hands were fisted in the hair at either side of my bobbing head. The garden was quiet, except for my humming and slurping, the tranquil music of fountains, a flight of songbirds heading for their evening roost...and the vaguely familiar sound of someone striking a gong in the distant village. The servants would have departed by now, having set out the evening feast, lit the inner temple with lanterns and prepared my Master's sleeping bower - as had been done each evening for countless eons, in preparation for his coming. He was here now, and he was allowing me to worship him with my mouth. The dream of countless Temple Virgins was coming true, for unworthy Ariadne of Fellatia.

The Master bent his knees more, and angled my throat with a jerk of his hands so he could deepen his fucking. He grunted like a wild beast. I sucked happily, all but lost in a trance...if not for my needy pussy and the echoing noise of the gong.

The gong. Oh no!

I remembered now. The gong had been struck three years ago, during the hour before sunset as I was led up the hill and into the Temple Gate - to take the place of the previous virgin! It was almost time.

"Mmphh!!!" In a panic, I pushed my hands against the Master's thighs and tried to pull my mouth from his cock. (I shudder even now, remembering how I disgraced my training!) But the Master hardly noticed. He was grunting and fucking in earnest now, his knees bent, his powerful hips pumping faster and faster, sending his cock-head deep into my throat. My feeble struggles only caused him to strengthen his grip on my head and snarl a warning. I remembered my duty then, and continued working him with my tongue and hardening the suction of my lips on his tense stalk.

I no longer hummed, though. Soon the sun would set and I would be 21, and too old to fulfill the Prophesy of Cecil. To the priests and elders, it wouldn't matter that the Master of All Things had arrived at last, on my watch, and that I had worshipped him with my mouth as he desired. Tradition decreed that I would be deemed a failure for not having taken him into my body in time. I would be banished from the Temple of Temples and never see him again.

I had taken a class in Veil Dancing with the virgin who must even now be on her way to take my place, climbing the winding stone path from the village in the company of priest-kings in their ceremonial robes. She was Titiana, Princess of Labia. A tall, willowy blond of the sort that men seem to find inoffensive, no matter how obviously they may flirt, swaying their hips like drunken camels when they walk and giggling for no reason at all. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Titiana was a lovely girl, and unlike me she would be 18 and in the prime of her femininity - not a wasted hag of 21. But Titiana would never understand my Master and love him as I did. Already, I felt a special bond, particularly with his penis.

It's fistlike head lovingly pummelled the back of my throat, faster now, and harder, and I felt my master's big body begin to shake where my hands gripped his thighs. He gave a violent shudder and suddenly an eruption of thick, warm cream began flooding my mouth. The Master was coming! My sad thoughts vanished beneath the greatest joy.

I swallowed as rapidly as I could but there was so much cream, some escaped from the corners of my mouth. I suckled and tongued the pulsing, jerking rod of flesh, whimpering with pleasure and excitement.

"Fuck! Fuck," the Master snarled.

Yes, fuck. Fuck my pussy before sunset or I shall lose you forever.

Flexing his hips and raging like a lion tearing into its kill, the High Master spurted his seed into my mouth again and again. My own juices poured from my excited pussy; poor wanton thing, oblivious to the approach of sunset and the end of her chance to be fucked by the Object of Worship.

I savored the moment - perhaps my only moment with him - as I savored the precious swallows of male essence. I tried not spoil these few minutes with sad thoughts of the future. Temple Virgins are to harbor no negative thoughts. Ideally, they are not to think at all except when studying subjects that might be of interest to the Master. But sometimes I couldn't help it.

Legend tells us that Uncle Cecil could copulate several times a week without tiring, although the Scroll of Cecil simply says he "loved nookie." I had no way of knowing how soon the new High Master would recover the need to wield his holy Weapon. If he agreed to help me, was it even possible to end my virginity before sunset?

Would he wish to help me, if he knew that a taller, blonder, younger virgin was on her way to take my place?

He shuddered the last of his climax, and I suckled more gently, reluctant to end our congress but deeply grateful for the gift. Whatever happened, this afternoon had been more than worth the years of lonely waiting. I had been given an incomparable privilege.

Saith the Prophet, "It's hard to beat a blow job."

Amen.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

You just can’t beat youthful exuberance.

I’ve had the Hoover run over the dusty old Carpet Snake by some pretty good pro’s back at the Broken Wing, but when you get right down to it, fancy technique loses out to natural talent every time. This Ariadne got down on her knees and I slid my joint between her lips and it was like she’d died and gone to heaven and taken me and Little Cesar with her, Moaning, humming, clawing at my thighs and sucking at me like there was no tomorrow, and all I could do is stare down at those full young lips glistening with saliva and my own precum and those nice, fat tits wobbling and swaying as she worked me off in her mouth.

I would have liked to play around with her a little, maybe make her get herself off with her hand while she gobbled my knob, but she just blew me away, and in no time I’d grabbed two fistfuls of her thick dark hair and was fucking her rosebud mouth like it was a pussy, slamming the meat down her throat. Most chicks would have gagged, but not Ariadne. She did something with her throat and I felt the knob of my cock caressed by the soft wet back of her throat and I lost it.

“Oh Fuck! Cunt! Bitch! Whore! Suck my fucking cock! Take it, baby! Take it all!”

I threw my head back and felt that come start way down in my feet and boil up out of me and then I was there, shooting thick streams of love paste into her hungry mouth as she mewled and gasped and swallowed every drop.

Just about knocked me out, and I pulled my unit out of her love trap and had to grab hold of some marble pillar so my legs wouldn’t collapse. I shook my head to clear it and there was Ariadne feeding the strands of come into her mouth with tears streaming down her face. In the background I could hear some kind of gong ringing.

“Oh, Master! Master!” she sobbed, shuffling forward and throwing her arms around my legs. “That sound is my death knell! How shall I live without you? For my life is surely over!”

“Whoa, there, sugar! What’s all this fuss?”

“Today is my birthday and I shall be twenty-one and therefore too old to serve as a temple maiden. See! Yonder comes the procession to replace me even as I speak.”

I took a gander down one of the primrose paths and saw a bunch of Hari Krishnas or something strutting along with a young blonde in the middle. Nice face, nothing in the tit department from what I could tell. Fashion model type.

“Well, that sucks limp dick!” I said. “I like you, bitch. You’ve got a world-class mouth on you.”

She grabs my foot and puts it on her head and starts blubbering about being unworthy and all this crap. I mean, the girl just didn’t have a winning attitude. But finally it comes out that if she can just get her lock popped before she turns twenty-one, then she’s got no worries, she’d be able to stay.

Problem was, of course, Little Cesar was hors de combat and wouldn’t be up for cocktails for a few minutes yet.

So here come all these priests or whatever, humming and moaning in a most serious fashion, swinging those smoke bombs and waving fans and shit like that, and I can tell Little Ceeze is not going to get up before they count him out. So I’ve got to think fast.

But hey, from what Ari has told me, I’m Lord High Muckity Muck around these parts, and so I tell her, “Quick! Strip, bitch. Get on the bench and spread ‘em.”

For a bitch with her SAT’s, she’s not real quick on the uptake, and she looks at me like she doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. Luckily the procession is winding around a clump of trees so I just grab her by the arm, pull her to her feet and she gives a little squeak as I throw her ass down on this marble bench.

No time to waste, I grab her gown and pull, ripping the sucker right down the center. A few more tugs and it’s hanging on her in rags, showing me one gorgeous expanse of feminine torso, from those fat, overfed tits to her cute, little-girl pussy, all puffy and wet now and absolutely hairless. Ari’s holding on to the edges on the bench, legs apart slightly, looking up at me in absolute horror as I strip off my threads like they’re on fire.

“Oh Master!” she moans. “I fear it is too late! Even now the last strokes of the evening gong are sounding. My time is up!”

“Shut the fuck up, would you?” I get on top of her and start feeding the limp noodle to her. “Who calls the shots around here anyhow? Those bald fuckers or Mr. Wonderful?”

She finally understands what I’m doing and I see a gleam of excitement in her eyes. She spreads those gorgeous legs wider, and I get little Ceeze pressed into her crease. At the mere pressure of him against her swollen little clit she arches her back like a cat and her eyes roll up into her head.

“Oh by the Blessed Cecil! This is heaven beyond my wildest dreams!”

Meanwhile the procession has stopped by this big stone temple. I can see them through the bushes, but they can’t see us.

“Ariadne of Fellatia! Show yourself! Your term of Blessed Service is Over! Show yourself and…”

“Fuck off, baldy!” I shout.

There’s a big hubbub amidst all the priests. they don’t know what the fuck to do.

In a situation like this, you’ve got to take command. I part the bushes so they can see me laying on top of Ariadne, and I shake them a little. I make my voice real deep and I say, “I’m the Burning Bush that Isn’t Burning! Take off your fucking shoes because this is holy ground!”

There’s more hubbub and confusion, and things are getting complicated now because Ariadne has her arms around my neck and is starting to move against me a little, trying to get a sleepy Little Cesar to rub all over her honey pot. She’s giving me little kisses on my chest too.

“Who’s back there?” one of the priests asks. “What mortal man has dared to violate the sacred ground? Death awaits you, transgressor!”

“I’m no mortal man, asshole!” I yell, shaking the bushes again for affect. “I’m the real fucking deal! The one from the clouds or wherever. In the name of the great swindler Cecil, I order you to get your sorry asses out of here now, or I’ll make it rain piss and vinegar on your fucking parade! Now go! And let me finish putting the choad to this Ariadne piece, whom pleases me fucking greatly and isn’t a virgin anymore anyhow!”

Now these suckers are scared, so I hit them with my corker.

“Cecil B DeMille, that little guy in a tweed suit from Broken Wing Nevada who drinks coke and eats cigarette butts, commands you! And so do I for that matter. And I can kick Cecil’s ass!”

They all fell down in a heap then, kowtowing and blubbering and shaking in their sandals. “Forgive us, oh Great and Powerful One… We did not know… We had no idea… The prophecies have been fulfilled… We must tell the others! We beg your forgiveness…”

“That’s okay, boys. Just beat it. And leave me the blonde’s number. Is she bi by any chance?”

They all backed up and stumbled away, and I turned my attention back down to Ariadne, who was looking quite fetching. Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted, and she was arching up at me, pressing those beautiful tits into my chest.

“Oh, Master.” she moaned. “This fucking is wonderful beyond imagining. Never have I felt anything so glorious!”

I looked down to see if she knew something that I didn’t.

“You silly bitch! I’m not even in you!”

It was true, but I could tell that at last, little Cesar was ready for round two. Ariadne didn’t seem to mind, she was having the time of her life just pressing that hot little cunt against the underside of my cock, bathing me with her hot juices.

I got up on my knees and she looked at me in hurt and disappointment.

“You’re one good looking bitch,” I told her tenderly. “But you got to have more than just looks, baby. You’ve got to be hot. Understand? Nasty. Slutty.”

She looked at me through her half-closed lids in confusion, so I took one of her hands and put it on her pussy.

“You know how to play with yourself, whore? You know how to make that little cunt feel good?”

Yeah, she knew. I could see the guilt in her eyes. “Master! That is forbidden! My body belongs to you!”

“Yeah, and I say play with yourself. I want to watch. It makes me hot. Do it, bitch!”

I could tell that, despite her cock-sucking skills, Ariadne was something of a prude, which was precisely the trouble of course. But I pressed her fingers against her pussy till she got the idea of what I wanted, and then nature took over, She was so fucking aroused, swollen and dripping, that the touch of her own fingers made her groan and bite her lip and her hips jerked up like she’d been bit. Her other hand came up and caressed her breast.

:Yeah, baby. That’s it. Show me what a slut you are. Get me good and hard!”

“Mmmm!” she moaned, opening her legs wide as her fingers played against her clit. She took her nipple between her lovely fingers and began to roll it back and forth, and that did it for me.

“Open up, bitch! Daddy’s coming in!”

I was hard a rock now, and if she thought we’d been fucking before, she was in for the surprise of her life. You should have seen her face! Surprise, shock, disbelief, horror, then a look of absolutely female pleasure as I speared into her, breaking down everything I found in the way, spreading that pussy open and filling her up and making a woman out of her.

She moaned, gasped, sobbed, then screamed. She spread her arms and legs wide, then wrapped them around me like she’d never let go, holding on with all her might.

“By all that’s holy!” she whispered in my ear as her body heaved against me, “Fuck me, Master! Fuck me!”

 

[shereads]

Ariadne of Fellatia

"Now go! And let me finish putting the choad to this Ariadne piece, whom pleases me fucking greatly and isn’t a virgin anymore anyhow!"

It shames me to admit that I experienced my first crisis of faith that evening, even as I lay beneath the Master whose presence I had prayed for and whose body I desired above all things. It began with a troublesome moment of doubt when my Master spoke to the priests.

At first, it seemed hardly worth considering. What mattered was that the High Master had found me worthy. Since the Departure of Cecil, no whore in history had been as fortunate as I!

My new Master had allowed me to worship him with my mouth, and had rewarded me with the gift of his sacred male essence - at least a hektius of it! There was so much cream that it spilled from my lips, no matter how greedily I swallowed.

He had compared my mouth to that of Hoover, patron goddess of the Kingdom of Fellatia where I was born. No wonder I believed with all my heart that Master Cesar was the true Heir of Cecil.

Miracle of miracles, he had chosen to keep me with him, and had sent away the replacement virgin and her entourage of priests. And he had bound me to him by fucking me just in time.

Or so I thought.

"Oh, Master," I moaned. "This fucking is wonderful beyond imagining."

“You silly bitch! I’m not even in you!”

"But - "

But he was between my legs, his body pressed to my bare mound and his marvelous cock was moving between my swollen labia, coated in my juices. I could have sworn we were fucking.

If we weren't, he had lied to the priests. Would the High Master do such a thing?

I thrust the heretical thought away. Titiana of Labia was on her way back down the hill with the suddenly silent processional, and I was here with my Master. It was meant to be.

He ordered me to play with my pussy, and I let him show me how to do it. I think he suspected that I had broken the rule against touching myself; it had been a long, lonely wait, after all. But he seemed to like showing me how to do it, and it felt good when he guided my hand. When he stood back and watched, I closed my eyes and lost myself in the pleasure. I loved knowing that my new Master watched me work myself into a froth of desire, making my body ready for him. Soon my hips were lifting and circling, beckoning him to mount me. Inside, my body was as warm and pliable as butter set out in the sun. I was whimpering with need.

I had violated the no-touching rule, but I had never allowed myself to climax. A Temple Whore's orgasm is her Master's sacred prerogative, like taking her virginity. But I had read all about orgasms and had made an "A" on my essay. I knew from my studies that it would be pleasant, like floating. So much tension had been building since I took my Master in my mouth, I was quivering with anticipation when he knelt between my thighs and prepared to guide me to paradise. I was about to be deflowered in a ritual as old as time. What could be more romantic?

“Open up, bitch! Daddy’s coming in!”

There was a strange but deeply pleasurable sensation of fullness as my Master began to feed his hard prick into his slave's tender pussy. It was a tight fit, of course, but it felt heavenly. At first. The discomfort increased a bit, which was to be expected, but I bravely tilted my hips, biting my lower lip nervously when he flexed his powerful hips and prepared to deflower me. Then, with a fearsome snarl, he lunged.

"HOLY CRAP," I cried, quoting the Prophet Cecil. "That hurts like a bitch!"

Clearly, there had been some mistake. Either my pussy was several sizes too small or they had lied to us in Sacred Prostitute School. He was supposed to deflower me, not dynamite a tunnel through my pussy.

"Wait - Wait! It's not working," I panted, trying in vain to squirm away.

If this was fucking - and deflowering - then he had definitely lied to the priests before. I had still been a virgin when he sent them away. The most ignorant virgin ever.

"Can we stop now?"

He had lied to the priests, and the priests had lied to me. My pussy was sore and the bench was too hard. Carnal pleasure. Ha!

"There's been a mistake," I panted. "Your penis - doesn't - oof! - doesn't fit."

He didn't seem to hear me, what with all the heavy breathing and the wet, smacking sound of hot flesh-on-flesh as his tightening ball sac pounded the tender skin of my bottom.

"Seriously, Master. I don't think -

He was fucking me harder and faster now. Astonishingly, the burning pain inside me was transforming itself into some other sensation, neither purely pain nor pleasure. Things were getting out of hand.

"This is not...Oh!...This is not - like it was - in - the h-holy book!"

Fucking was supposed to be heavenly. This was an inferno.

"Eee!"

Was I really supposed to trust this ruthless, virgin-pummeling stranger to use the Sacred Clamps? The mysterious Vibrating Phallus? The holy cooler of Coca Cola?!

"Don't...Stop...DON'T! STOP!"

Holy Mother of Cecil. Maybe I was being fucked by an imposter!

"Don't stop don't stop don't stop"

Maybe this was not the High Master after all, but a merciless sex-beast from another world who was going to make me -

"Don't make me!"

He was going to make me come.

Imposter or not, he was really being mean!