Rites

  • Sorry I’ve been away so long, but I do continue to write. If you enjoy the following, be sure and let me know. There’s nothing much to it other than the simply joy of erotica.

After we supped, the head mistress stood.
We had all suspected some burden disquieted her. Mistress Flavius was normally affable, gregarious to a fault. She brought the youngest girls gifts. They might be sweets she had purchased at the market. They might be flowers collected along the temple’s footpath. Though she tried to conceal which girls were her favorites, they were known to us by the little ribbon she might tie round her gifts. And then, until Mistress Morigropios intervened, the girl might wear the ribbon in her hair. We cannot have that, said Mistress Morigropios. I will not take it from you but I mustn’t see you wearing it. Our path is to serve others, not ourselves.
tumblr_l0xaf1UZKZ1qzlro6o1_500_thumb[3]Understand that none of us were here against our will.
We had, all of us, to a girl, been left at the steps of the temple when children. Some of us were too young to remember the reasons, but none of us were ungrateful. We had been saved from poverty, abandonment, starvation, and even war.
Mistress Flavius finally stood. One by one we ceased our little conversations and sat obediently with our fingers crossed in her laps.
I can hide nothing for you, she said.
While we normally might, in one voice, answer—Yes, mistress—our response was a cacophony of scheming. Would it be better to acknowledge her wisdom? Should we all agree that she could hide nothing from us? Such a thing might be impertinent. Should we say—no? To say no would be to impertinently disagree—and so our answers were a discordant confusion of yes’s and no’s. A momentary smile turned the Mistress’s lips, a little moment of mischief, having ensnared us.
But this— she continued. All of you seated here tonight, all six of you, have been chosen. And there are six, of equal age, chosen from the village. For the generosity of the community on whom we depend, as they on us, we offer six of you. They, likewise, shall give to each of you an offering. I shall speak no more of what is expected. Attend.
On that last word we each obediently stood.
When she turned her back, we formed a line behind her and silently followed, hands clasped at our waists. Our long white robs, under which we wore nothing, moved gracefully and with barely a whisper in the otherwise silent hall. We followed her through familiar, and dark corridors. Darkness had descended outside. The corridors were white marble floors and walls with heavily beamed ceilings. She took a candle, lit it, and by that light led us to a doorway beyond which we had never passed, though what lay beyond it had often been rumored. A strange symbol was at the center of many abstractions a26nd diversions—an ovalsky pierced, from beneath, by a spaded shaft. At the base of the shaft were two cups filled with cunning designs. The other end of the shaft, in the center of the oval, released these twisting blandishments, fountain-like, into the heart of the enfolding womb.
The mistress opened the door with a skeleton key.
Then when we followed her into the room we gasped, beholding a large statue of the goddess. She, who ever stood tall, noble and dignified in the halls of worship, was nearly prostrate. Her knees were splayed widely. Her curling spine lifted her buttocks behind her. Her arms stretched before her and her fingers intertwined with a kind of urgency. Her breasts hung beneath her. Her nipples, always merely a suggestion, were swollen and thick. Her chin nearly touched the earth but her head was thrown back. She, whose visage had always been divinely contemplative, expressed a rapturous agony, her eyes rolled back, mouth open in a great O of inexpressible revelation. The effect on us, to behold this rapture, was of a kind that none of us understood but strangely affected us.
Mistress Flavius led us around the statue to the wall behind it. The wall, unlike any other in the temple, was entirely of wood. The designs carved into the wood were perplexing, but most perplexing of all were the six seats so skillfully sculpted from the wood that one might have thought six women had somehow left the imprint of their yielding buttocks. Only the perfect detail of their sexes were absent. Where her sex might have been, there was a perfectly round and gold trimmed hole. Were we to sit in these seats and urinate? And yet there were other fixtures that puzzled. Above each seat was a single iron ring. Three iron rings were below these reliefs and two to each side.
Remove your robes, girls, said Mistress Flavius.
We collectively hesitated, then lifted our clothing over our heads. Before the robes had touched the floor, six Priestesses entered the room. They took our clothes from us and led us, hand at the small of our backs, each to one of the six reliefs. My heart began to race. I knew these reliefs were intended for us, but how?
One by one, the priestesses adorned us with bracelets, ankle bracelets, a waist bracelet and a necklace. Then they pressed us backwards until we felt the cool wood against our buttocks. I grew faint with shortness of breath.
They parted our legs and locked our ankle bracelets to the rings near the floor. They tugged at our gold necklaces and gently bent us over. They fastened a slender silver chain to our necklace and to the central ring at the floor. I begin to quiver with uncertainty when my arms were drawn back, elbows straight, wrists locked together and secured to the ring above and behind me. These things done, there only remained our waist bracelets. Securing the waist bracelet to the rings at either side of the relief forced our buttocks tightly into and against the carvings. The reliefs conformed perfectly to our parted legs and the dividing crease of our buttocks. There were only the perfectly round holes that, by some devious design, vulnerably parted the lips of our sex as we were forced against the conforming reliefs.
The priestesses each stepped back.
Our gazes turned to Mistress Flavius. Seeing us secured and immobile, she turned to the statue of the Goddess. Positioned as we were, now behind the Goddess’s statue, we saw her lifted sex and blushed to see it. It was empty and opened like Goddess’s mouth.
From between her knees Mistress Flavius lifted what looked like a lantern, but this was no lantern. It was a thick beaten, copper shaft that arched upward, the length of a woman’s arm, and with a flaring, spaded head. At its base was a handle to hold it and two reservoirs. As she held the giant object, the two closest priestesses, each holding identically smaller lanterns, filled the two reservoirs with a syrupy white liquor. This done, Mistress Flavius held up the thick, spade-tipped lantern.
The phallus is full, she said, and desires it be emptied within the Goddess.
With the phallus still lifted above her, she turn and turned the tip of it toward the center of the Goddess’s lifted buttocks. And then we saw that the tip of the phallus fit perfectly into the Goddess’s opened sex. Mistress Flavius tilted the rear of the Phallus upward, whereupon the great length of it, metal sliding against metal, descended into the Goddess’s upturned belly. All of us gasped and cried out as though our collective voices were those of the Goddess. How could the Goddess accommodate so great a length? At last, the two reservoirs, rested against the Goddess’s sex. The full length of the Phallus was inside her. Whereupon, as though the Phallus were a key, we heard a giant metal unlocking and the grating sound of a stone door opening. But this was no in our chamber, but in another chamber behind the wall to which we were afixed.
We gazed at each other uncertainly.
Mistress Flavius spoke again. Behold the Goddess, she said. We did and saw that the syrupy liquor that was emptying inside her made two jetting streams at her nipples and one just beneath the penetration of her sex. Three priestesses caught these streams in smaller phalluses.
When the phallus is emptied, the chamber doors shall close. And then Mistress Flavius took a small tambourine from her robe and slowly, ceremoniously, beat it as though marking time.
I and the other girls trembled. We glanced at one another. We hardly knew what to expect. And then the girl closest me inhaled nsharply. Her eyes were wide.
What is it, sister? I asked.
And then I too gasped and flinched at the touch of something at my sex. My fingers struggled behind me but I could not move. I panted. The touch was warm, smooth and glided wetly forward and back again. Each of us, trapped, fingers and toes struggling, could do nothing to move away from the sensations. Our little cries, inhalations, and fearful pantings echoed in the chamber. The touch both repelled and made me desirous for more. The sensitive knot of nerves touched again and again elicited my own involuntary cries. My sisters, like myself, were bent over, panting, confusedly gazing at the floor. And then I saw my neighboring sister abruptly stiffen. And then just as quickly she seemed to struggle wildly before inhaling deeply, arching her back, and groaning. Her eyes, like the Goddesses, rolled upward and her mouth opened wide.
One by one I heard my sisters’ wild exclamations followed by shuddering groans.
The gliding motion behind me had stopped. The smooth touch was centered now. Wildly anticipating the same fate as my sisters, I too struggled. I too yanked at my restraints. My breathing came in little cries. I tried to rise to my toes. I tried to twist my wrists free of their bondage. And then I too cried out and froze. The touch that had been so soft and smooth, that had been so slowly pushing into the center of my thighs, opened me—I felt myself parted and stretched. The touch that had been so soft was inside me and I felt myself stretched round an implacable rigidity. I too groaned. My mouth opened wide in sympathy with my thighs. I felt the same unyielding impalement that did not stop until I trembled with the upward reach in the dark of my abdomen.
I was frozen.
I could not bear any more. I felt as the Goddess must have felt, penetrated by the great phallus of her paramour. There still was more before I felt the root of the thing press against my defenseless sex. I could hardly breathe. My spine submissively shaped its arch to the phallus mastering me. My sisters uttered sharp rhythmic cries, some in time with the Mistress’s tambourine, and some out of time. The phallus withdrew and rather than the slow penetration of my person, the next was a powerful thrust that elicited my own cry.
spank meEach thrust was as an urgent knocking that opened a door within me with an indescribable agony and surrender, a door over which I had no control. I tried to expel the thing inside me but blushed furiously when my own fluids dripped down my thighs. As the door with me gradually swung wider and wider, sweat dripped from my belly. The priestess who attended me brought a smaller copper phallus to my lips, filled by under the Goddess’s teats. I, like my sisters, inexplicably overcome by sensation, licked, sucked, and took the phallus in my mouth. A sweet tasting liqueur spilled warmly down my throat. Some of it escaped my lips, dripped from my nipples, flowing down my thighs. The priestess did not relent but lifted the phallus, pouring more into my mouth than I could drink. More of the sweet liqueur spilled from my tits and soaked my thighs.
Nor did the thrusting of the phallus relent.
I and, my sisters, were trapped. I could not expel the phallus from my mouth, nor from my womb. Next to me I heard my sister’s stifled scream, her eyes wide, the lips of her mouth stretched round the priestess’s copper phallus. She convulsed repeatedly.
I too succumbed. The door against which the phallus knocked opened within me. I was wracked by the defenseless throes of surrender. My vision rolled darkly beneath my eyelids. The impaling phallus held me with a brief motionlessness before I felt the liquid warmth of another’s body pour into the opened entry of my womb.
One by one our noises ceased.
We hung, legs parted, arms drawn up straight behind us, with a kind of torpor. We dripped. Our mouths were warm with the spice of the Goddess’s liqueur. Our wombs were darkly spiced with another’s liquor.
beastiaryThe flow from the Goddess’s nipples ceased. The tambourine stopped. We might have faintly heard vanishing footfall from the chamber behind us. Mistress Flavius turned and ceremoniously withdrew the God of the Sky’s giant copper phallus, its liquor having been emptied in the Goddess of Earth, Water and Life. With a heavy grinding of stone, we faintly heard a door in the hidden chamber behind us close.
When we were at least released and permitted to stand, we didn’t stand as we had before. Our spines subtly retained the shape of our masters. We pressed our palms against our syrupy abdomens, felt the swollen thickness of our sexes, lips and nipples. Our thighs and calves ran with mutual fluids. Our hips moved languorously. We were changed. The priestesses did not remove our bracelets.
Attend, said Mistress Flavius.
Each of us, now naked but for our bracelets, dutifully formed a line.
These bracelets, she said, symbolize your link and bondage to the world beyond this temple. It is only thus that men may enter the Goddess’s temple. Until tonight, you have only understood the Goddess’s triumph over death. Tonight, you experienced her rapturous submission to life. In her, life is renewed. In her, life flourishes. In her, all things are created. Behold her rapture. See how she gives herself to the prerogative of life. It is a rapturous submission that no man may truly comprehend.
After she had spoken, we were led from the secret chamber, our wombs moist and burgeoning with the offerings irrevocably inside us. We dripped. Our nipples glistened. Our breasts and hips already swelling with a tumescent submission to life. How profound is the Goddess! How all us now desired to comprehend the dual nature of the Goddess within ourselves!

Latest Comments

  1. Whippoorwill says:

    Golly! Makes me feel like I want to….

    afk!

  2. Cille says:

    Oh my. Is it possible for it to be dark and full if light? Lovely tale.

  3. Stephanie says:

    I can’t help but wonder what a male perspective / ritual would feel like, written by you….

  4. Caryatid says:

    Ah this plays again, like ole Tentacle, with power and submission in a way that lets me suspend disbelief (or suspend my reaction to the formalization of D/s). It’s sensual, erotic, kinky with churchy feeling, but the girls aren’t being traumatized by their church and sex, but exalted. What fun!

    • willcrimson says:

      Then I wrote it right. :) I want readers to just enjoy these stories for their eroticism—not all, but stories like these. Thanks for reading, Caryatid.

  5. PosterBoy says:

    Miss you, Will, and your powerful stories

  6. Shy Commenter says:

    I love your writing. You works inspire beautiful dreams of being bound and taken over and over.

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