The Acolyte kneels on the stone steps of the altar where she has been left. Her eyes are glassy from the tincture she was given, something to help ease her into her new life in service of the god. Under the plain linen robe she was wrapped in her breasts rose and fell with her breath anxiously, her nipples rubbing themselves to hardness and aching on the texture of the fabric constraining them.
She feels as though she has waited hours, as though her fatigue might steal her consciousness, when the Priest enters. His voice is soothing, entrancing, he stills her anxieties easily. ‘Come, girl,’ he commands gently, leading her to the altar itself where she is bent and bound. She notices the scent of an incense that fascinates her, she could lose herself in its nuance. Her legs start to spread, and then she feels the cold of sharp steel at her neck and she freezes.
Her robe splits easily beneath it, the edge grazing her skin so close she’s not certain if it should hurt, as the Priest observes, ‘you won’t be needing clothes any more. Tonight the God will make you his mate, and our plaything.’ It is only then she notices the other men in the room, through the haze, as if she has finally been allowed to see them. The faint edge of panic starts to rise in her throat, her cunt clenching sharply as the training she was given takes over, confusing the fear with arousal.
The spasm slickens her and she is lost in the sensation for long moments, the various drugs and hypnotics doing their work. Weaving her consciousness in and out. The Priest removes a carved relic from a case beside the altar and lays it in front of her. A stone cock draws her attention, fixing her eyes to it, but not like any cock she’d seen before. A slightly pointed head and a slight curve to the thick shaft, something inhuman about it. Her eyes followed the curve to the knot at its base and she shuddered, the panic triggering another of those conditioned spikes of arousal.
She has only enough time to feel the panic rise again before she feels something sliding into her cunt. No, not something. Someone. The cock enters easily, stretching her hungry cunt, pulling a moan from deep within her, the air growing heavier as her noises arouse the person fucking her. She feels the cock swell and twitch with pleasure as its owner luxuriates in her wetness, in how eagerly her cunt prepared itself for him.
She feels a hand on the back of her neck, the texture not quite like skin, but more like flower petals laid over wood and stone. Soft and hard, and it holds her perfectly still as the cock keeps fucking her. The sensations building as it dawns on her that the cock within her and the one in her eyesight are similar but for the knot.
There is no time to wonder about it before the fucking becomes relentless, not violent, just pitiless and firm. Demanding. Pulling a climax from her and pushing her through it to another and another as her voice loses restraint. Her sobs echo against the stone and wood, tears falling to the altar as they must in this ritual bonding.
She is pulled backward abruptly, tearing a ragged cry from her throat as the full thickness of the cock in her threatens to split her. It feels impossible and yet she is coming and the shuddering spasms of her cunt push her partner into climax as well. She sobs again as another sharp thrust buries the cock fully within her, the knot swelling as the God comes in her for the first time, claiming her. He laughs as she shudders helplessly, cunt clenching on him again and again, milking his seed free.