Part V: The Priesthood

They had brought her into a temple, their largest and grandest. It stood atop a plateau at the center of their city, higher than any other structure, and it was open to the sky, at least the main part in the middle where their idol stood. The idol was a bull of black metal. Hardly a surprise. She hadn't expected it to be anything else, unless a horned man or some similar combination. Jace couldn't remember what bull-human hybrids were called in Greek mythology, though she'd wracked her brains. Their idol wasn't one of those, just a regular bull. A realistic depiction; it looked ordinary, natural. The thing was not excessively large. Widespread wings were painted across the wall behind it, so they appeared to emerge from the bull's back, but only when viewed from directly before it. The head was bent low to present its horns, as if threatening a charge--threatening to gore you with them. Those horns were encrusted with jewels. It was overdone, in Jace's opinion. Made the horns look gaudy.

The bull's eyes were painted in a rolled-up position so that it was looking at you, despite the low angle of the head. There was a somewhat fussy quality to the line of its mouth, the way it was frowning. Which made the bull seemed more annoyed than angry. Again, that was only Jace's opinion. Others might not perceive it like that.

The priests wore red robes and actual bull skulls instead of helmets with horns, and of course being skulls, they completely enclosed the heads of the priests and obscured their faces. Made the men look eerie, exactly as intended. She knew they were ordinary men in costumes. At the same time, she couldn't help but be frightened of them, and over-awed. And in fact she preferred it like that. It was better to embrace the illusion they presented.

It was better to be the tame captive of demonic monsters. That left no question why she kept allowing them so much control of her. She should still have been able to offer resistance to ordinary men. To demons, there was no point. Demons were too powerful, and all her magic was gone. Almost, anyway. She'd been taken too far from its source. Carried clear across an ocean. The spirits of the Last Jungle had lost touch with her, and she had lost touch with them.

The priests in their eerie costumes let her pretend it hadn't been regular men that had done this to her, but greater, darker powers, so she wasn't to blame.

The country of the Bullheaded men (perhaps an island, perhaps another continent, perhaps another world entirely) was not treeless, but its trees were trees she did not know. Strange ugly conical things with needles instead of leaves, for the most part. They had a glowering, hostile look to them. She didn't think they could be climbed, for their branches were layered too densely and their needles would pierce your flesh. They didn't appear to bear fruit. If they had living spirits like her trees did, she couldn't talk to them. They showed no interest in her.

A Jungle Goddess is nothing without her jungle. There was nothing left to distinguish her from any other slave girl in the stinking, overcrowded city. Especially since her animal skins have been taken from her, and all her other small adornments, the colorful beads around her ankles, the totemic necklace of feathers and teeth. Her hair has been carefully--indeed beautifully--braided. She wears nothing but a thick leather dog collar (with a rectangular metal tag embedded across the front of it) and, separately, a very thin gold chain which is stretched in a Y-shape across the exposed front of her body. The chain is not attached to her collar, and does not restrain any of her limbs. Its purpose is almost entirely decorative. Almost. It also serves another function, which is to keep her body stimulated. Maintaining an intense state of sexual arousal.

The three ends of the little chain are each individually attached to three tiny gold rings. A ring pierces each of her nipples, and a third pierces her clitoris. The Y-shaped chain connects all three rings. It is not long enough to have any slack. It exerts continuous strain on all of its anchor points at once, each of which is extremely sensitive and vulnerable. Every slight motion of her body puts further tension on the chain, and usually causes vibrations through it which further exacerbate the feelings.

There had been earlier times in Jace's life—earlier misadventures, long since concluded and largely forgotten, thankfully—in which she had similar rings put through her nipples. The Bullheaded Men are the first to put a matching ring through her clitoris, and furthermore, to then manipulate that ring and the others with a linking chain. Constantly.

Jace had now worn the Y-chain for three days and three nights. She was not yet used to it. Not even close. Every single breath she took, no matter how slow and cautious, triggered another cruel jolt through her most sensitive parts. While having to walk with the chain on, inevitably, was much harder. Much more intense.

It was the most dreadful intolerable stinging—and the most dreadful aspect of it was that she had rapidly grown to enjoy it. To feed on it and savor it. She hated it too. She fed on the hate and savored that hate as much as the physical torment. Every single time. It hurt so much and it hurt so good. The torment was so terrible and ceaseless that the only way to endure it was to enjoy it. To surrender so absolutely to its power that you grew to love the sensations. To even depend upon them. How was it possible? Well, the body learned quickly, when it had to.

Now every time they made her walk somewhere, the chain made her come. It happened to her over and over—never much more than a dozen steps was all it took. Didn't matter how slow she walked, or how fast. Small steps or big. She would come either way. Different manners of walking would give her different manners of orgasm—yet orgasms of one form or another were inevitable.

But Jace gave out no blessings any longer when she climaxed. No matter how hard or how many times in a row she was made to come, the pleasure waves no longer spread to her surroundings like they used to. That gift, or curse, whichever it was, had faded with her power. Jace was no different than any other slave girl in the city.

Yet they still seemed to think she was. They still wanted her to be.

There were three little symbols etched into the tag on the front of her dog collar. The blocky letters of the Bullheaded Men. She could not read them, not really—in fact in truth she can't read much at all—but she knew what the tag was meant to say. It showed the new name she was assigned, the new identity she had accepted. Even though they picked it out for her at the beginning, and even though they'd attached it to her neck, they never seemed happy when she used it. They almost always insisted she use her old name. Because they were bastards. Because they were cruel.

Her ass itched again like it always did and since her hands were not bound, Jace reached behind her and scratched it as she ascended the steps to the idol's platform. Scratching didn't ease the spot; made it hurt worse. A circle of ridged scar tissue on her right buttock. Where she had been branded.

She had only glimpsed the mark a few times in mirrors, and on those occasions she was busy with ... other activities to examine it as much as she wanted —it was too centered on her butt cheek to get a good look at by merely twisting around; she could never see the entire thing at once that way. It wasn't as large as it felt like on her flesh. All the slave girls had them in various versions. The same exact mark that had been put on Jace was put on Ingrid Stronnohoff. That had been her best, clearest sight of it, when she watched Ingrid take the brand just moments before it was put on her.

She would never forget Ingrid's scream, or the look of astonishment on her face at the pain. More surprise and bafflement than horror or agony—and then afterwards she'd burst into tears and blubbered like a baby. Jace's following scream had been louder and longer and higher pitched, and undoubtedly the expression on her face was just as pitiful or more so. Perhaps a hundred times more so. But afterward she hadn't wept like Ingrid had. In fact oddly she'd felt more like laughing at herself—at both of them—than crying. She hadn't done that either, though.

"It's permanent," Ingrid had said, sniveling, "Permanent."

All Jace could do was nod. The symbols that had been burnt upon their asses were rearing little unicorns. Silhouettes. Except in place of spiral horns sprouting from their foreheads, if you looked close you saw the horns were phalluses. Big stiff cocks jutting from the horse's foreheads. Both rearing horses had another erection in the usual place. The angle of the cocks matched. This was the mark of the "Hot House" they'd been assigned to, the Rampant House—where, they were eventually told, their services would be restricted to soldiers. They were Rampant girls, all the girls with that mark put on them.

It was such an absurd symbol. Not just obscene but ludicrous. And it was permanent. It could never be removed. Unlike all her other "misadventures", as she chose to call them, Jace would never be able to entirely erase this one or pretend to. This particular disgrace she would have to keep carrying. It was burned into the skin of her ass.

Jace hadn't seen much of Ingrid since that day. She thought she had recognized her voice among the moans and shrieks that could be heard through the walls of her chamber. She might have been fooling herself about that. A couple times as Jace was passing down a corridor she'd seen Ingrid through a doorway—posed provocatively on a pedestal among several others in a long display gallery filled with men. Jace had never been made to present herself like that, so far. Ingrid had been wearing high-heeled sandals, elbow-length gloves and a large fancy pink wig that obscured the upper half of her face, and she was smacking herself with a flywhisk. The men hadn't seemed to be paying much attention to her antics or any of the women on the pedestals no matter what they might be doing; the men had all just been drinking and chattering among themselves. Which was strange and unsettling. She was glad she hadn't been made to perform in that place.

Ingrid hadn't seen her passing. Always too occupied with the sinuous movements of her dance. Her expression each time had seemed very serious and determined. Very concentrated. Jace had imagined her thinking something along the lines of: "If I have to be here and do this, I am going to do it properly, and better than all the rest of these bitches."

In fact Jace had not been made to perform for the Bullheaded Men at all, in any capacity, since she was branded and the Y-shaped chain was put on her. Except for regular periods of exercise when she was taken to a gymnasium on the roof the building, she got left alone in her chamber or cell. She slept a lot, and masturbated frequently. There was nothing else to do. She would tug on different parts of her chain, and flick other sections with her fingers. The guards had caught her at this once when they brought her food, but all they did was snigger at her. She wasn't punished for it.

Now after three days and three nights she had been brought to their temple. The priests made her kneel before their idol. Then it turned out they wanted more from her than kneeling. "Prostrate yourself," they commanded. She wasn't sure what that meant. One of the priests gave her shoulder a little shove.

So Jace repositioned herself on all fours, like an animal. At first she pressed her forehead to the floor between her hands. Then she was told to raise her face again and look into the eyes of the idol. In the pose she was in, the statue's eyes weren't pointed at her. She was down too low. You had to be upright to meet its gaze.

"Who are you, girl?" By some mechanism, the priests made a voice boom from within the statue. Was there a man inside it, or was there just a tube running through it?

"I am ... I am Beast." It was the name on her collar, her slave name.

"You're a beast?"

"Yes. YAAUUGHH!" One of the priests behind her had lashed her across the bottom with a stick. What had she done wrong? Then she realized. "No! I mean ... I am a slave. I am a slave called Beast."

"A slave called Beast."

"Yes."

"What were you before?"

"I was ... I was called Jace." She was struck again. "Gahhuughhnn!" It made her feel so small and low, when they forced another cry like that from her. She hated hearing herself make noises like that. Noises of desperation. Noises of pleading. Noises of helplessness. When they cracked that stick across her bottom, she felt it burn to the core of her being. The punishment didn't renew her fury and make her want to fight back. It did exactly what it was meant to do. It made her pitiful and submissive.

"What were you before?" repeated the bull.

"I was ... I was the Jungle Goddess. Jace the Jungle Goddess."

"A Goddess? A Goddess of Jungles?"

"Goddess of the Last Jungle. I am its chosen guardian."

"Are you? Fascinating. But then what are you doing here?"

"I was taken captive. I was brought here and made a slave."

"I see. You have been branded. I see the mark upon you. The mark of House Rampant."

"Yes. I bear the mark of House Rampant."

"They gave you a new name, too."

"Yes. I told you before. It's ... it's Beast."

"A fitting name for a jungle creature."

"If you say so." That earned her another stroke across the ass. "Hoohhuugghh!" If they kept beating her like that, she was probably going to piss. That almost always happened to her when she was whipped, when she was naked. They would be displeased if she pissed on the floor of their temple. They would treat her like it was her fault, not theirs.

"You're not very intelligent," the idol was saying, "Not much of a goddess. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's what brought you to this position."

"I ... I don't ..." Oh, what was the point? Who was she kidding? "Yes. Yes it did. You're right."

"You shouldn't have defied my will, Jungle Goddess. I am Uthulath the Bull of the Night and the Bull of the Day, the Bull of the Stones and the Bull of the Waters. This is my world, and the men of this world are my men. I bear their world upon my horns, and they bear my horns upon their heads in testament of my favor and their fealty. Do you comprehend my majesty?"

"Yes," she said. But she was struck again. "Ahhhaaggh!"

"You do not speak the truth, Jungle Goddess. You defied my will. You attacked my warriors. You slew their king. And you did this for what? For trees?"

"It was duty. You invaded my forest—I drove you out."

"My men will go back. You will not stop them when we do. They will take your precious trees. They will take them all. There is nothing you can do about it. Not anymore. You are powerless now. You are a slave, Jungle Goddess."

"I ... I know."

"Do you regret your actions, Jungle Goddess? You should. I want to hear you apologize."

"I did my duty. I would do it again. The cost was high, but I will pay it. You have defeated me and I am your slave, but I will not apologize. Haahhaauuggh! If ... if you continue to beat me, you will soon force the words from my mouth. I cannot defend myself. I cannot escape. But it won't be real. Huuhhaauuggh!"

"We can make you take those words back."

"Yes. Yes you could. It won't matter. Whatever you make me say, it won't change things. I did what I had to do, and I would do it again if I could. You had no right to invade my forest and take my trees. You know it's true. What you did was wrong. It was wicked."

"I don't care. Your judgment is meaningless. I am Uthulath! I am a god! I take what I need and I take what I want. I take anything I have the power to take. You cannot stop me! You cannot judge me! You are too weak!"

"You are evil. You are a monster. A monstrous evil monster of ... of evilness! Yahhuuggh! Yuuhhooww! Yahhaahhaaarrggh!"

"You are mine, Jungle Goddess. There is nothing you can do about it. You fought me and you lost."

"No I didn't. I saved my forest. I am willing the pay the price for that. If I cannot escape you, if I never return home, a new protector will take my place, in time. A better, stronger one. I accept that, if I must. Whoever they are, they will stop your men just as I did. You can whip me as much as you like—it won't change that! Ahhuugghhnn! Ahhaahhuuggh! Oh damn you! Damn you! Ohhoohhuugghh!"

At that point she lost control of her bladder, as she'd been expecting. Well, she'd known it was inevitable, and she made no effort to cut off or limit the stream once it started to fly behind her. Instead she savored the feeling of warm tingling easement while it lasted. She thought about saying: "This is what I think of your temple." But she didn't do it. She couldn't quite summon the courage. It remained a mortifying thing, to piss in front of her captors and tormentors. To not be able to stop herself. While the physical release was not unpleasant itself, that fact only increased her mortification. She wished she could pretend it didn't matter to her. She wished she could do it in front of the men with a shrug or with defiant glee. She couldn't. It was simply too gross and too pitiful and too mortifying.

After it was done with, to her surprise, no comment was made. Not a word. Like no one had noticed.

"Perhaps you're right, Beast. Perhaps I will never completely possess your forest. Time will tell. Meanwhile, I have you. You and your body I do possess. Completely. And forever."

"Ahhhaahhuuggh! Ohhoohhuuggh!"

"I will not force a false apology from you, Beast. I demand something else from you instead. You said you were willing to pay the price for what you achieved. Very well. Show me. Swear an oath of fealty to me. I want to hear you acknowledge my power and authority over you. And my superiority."

"I've done that already. Haven't I already done that? Gahhuuhhaarrhh!"

"Pledge your obedience, Jungle Goddess. A formal and irrevocable pledge!"

Just a short time ago, a twist of circumstances had compelled Jace to make a very similar pledge to Ingrid Stronnohoff. She hadn't needed to follow through on that humiliating vow. Its terms were no longer valid. She had meant the words at the time she spoke them. At least she was fairly certain she had, if for no other reason than she couldn't think of a means to wriggle out of the promise afterward. Then, luckily or not, the whole matter had been taken out of her hands—both their hands, in fairness. If that had happened once, it could happen again. Perhaps.

"I ... I, Jace the Jungle Goddess, pledge myself in ... in submission ... in absolute submission to ... to Uthulath, Bull of the Night and the Day, Bull of the Stones and the Waters. With your high priests bearing witness, I humble myself before you, and I swear to obey your will and your whim." Wasn't that enough? She kept the words going. Somehow she couldn't stop, now that she had started. She was afraid she would be whipped again if she didn't keep going. And at the same time, another force was propelling her words, from within ...

"You are my enemy," she went, "and you are evil and you are a monster! But I am captured and disgraced. I prostrate myself naked on the floor of your temple. I bear a brand of enslavement. Your priests have whipped me for over and over for my defiance and my insolence. There is nothing I can do to prevent it. I am powerless before you and your men. You are mighty and you are cruel. All I can offer is my submission. I am a goddess no more. I am only a slave called Beast, and you, Uthulath, are my master."

Her braid was seized and tugged back hard. A man was kneeling behind her, his legs straddling her calves. It was the priest that had been whipping her. He had tossed aside his stick and tossed aside his red robe. He left on his skull mask, however. He pressed the head of his cock to Jace's sex, then he spanked her ass, the opposite cheek from the one that was branded. He did not push himself inside her—by spanking her and jerking on her hair, he made Jace rock herself backward to engulf him. To impale herself upon him as deep as he could reach. She cried out as she took him, and her feet tilted from the floor, toes curled tight as they could squeeze.
"Uhhuggh!" Her first and only thought was "Finally!"

He slapped her ass again. "Fuck it, Beast. Fuck yourself on it. Fuck!"

Jace obeyed. She could not disguise her eagerness. She didn't try. "Huuhh! Hoohhh! Hughhnnuggh! Haarrhh! Haahhaahhuugghh!"

The priest never moved at all, except when he wanted to give her ass another slap. He kept his cock still as a statue. "Jungle slut! You like that cock, don't you? You like fucking yourself on that cock? Tell me! Let me hear you!"

"I like it! I ... love it! Fuck! Uhhuugghnn! Love ... fucking ... cock! Cock! Haahhuughhnn!" She was bringing it into herself exactly where it needed to go—exactly where she liked it best. The pace was perfect since he was letting her set it herself. Each time he spanked her, each time he tugged her braid again, it made her clench and shiver inside and tripled her sensations. So much pleasure it was horrifying or it would have been except that it was pleasure ... She wanted more and more. She wanted it to never end.

"You're a beast! A dirty fuck beast! A dirty jungle fuck beast!"

"Yes! Yesss! Beast! Dirty beast! I'm a beast! Jungle fuck beast!" She'd be a slave forever—and she wanted to be. Nothing but a slave. Nothing but fucking! "Dirty! Dirty! Beast! BeeeEAST!"

"You want to come for us? Come for your masters! Will you come on command? You belong to us now—I bet you will. You must! Come, Jungle Beast! Come on this cock!"

"Ah!Ah!Ahhaaggh! Coming! COMING! Master! Coming! Huugghuugghhhugghhnnn ..."

He shoved her off of him, so she flopped flat on her face, nearly busting his nose and biting her tongue off. "Roll over! Right now! Roll over, bitch! Bitch! Gaahhaahhuugghh!"

As soon as she'd flipped around, semen splattered across her body from her knees to her chin. She writhed and whimpered under the scorching onslaught. "Ohhoohh! Ohhuuhhooh! So much!" It wasn't only from the man that had been inside her. Three or four of the other priests had already brought themselves to climax with their hands while they observed. Every direction she looked, another penis loomed above her like an enraged serpent, spitting venom.

For her this was the true mark of slavery, not the brand. The mark of domination. The streaks of seed scorched her body as powerfully as the whip had done, and the brand too. She felt pride and indignation all jumbled together, when men covered her with come. It was very confusing and very intoxicating.

"Oh look at me! Look what you did to me! Look how dirty you made me with your cocks!"

"What a goddess," one man said. It wasn't clear if he was mocking her or if he meant it.

Then the next man that spoke, his tone was unequivocally scornful. "If the spirits of her forest could see her now. Ha!"

Jace squirmed and moaned. "Punish me. Punish me more! I should be punished! Punish me harshly! Please! I deserve it!"

"Yes you do. You certainly do."

"She is so beautiful," said another of the priests, and it was like he was talking only to himself, "She is the most beautiful slave we've ever had."

But the next one that spoke, he took charge again: "Back to your knees! Upright, face us! Present your breasts, Jungle Beast. Don't cover them, don't you dare! Lean back—grab your heels and hold them! Yes, just like that. It presents your breasts perfectly!"

"Ohhh. Oh my. You are going to whip them, aren't you? You are going to whip my breasts. I can't bear it. I won't be able to bear it. But I must. I have no choice. You are my masters and I must obey. You want to punish me and I deserve it. I know I deserve it. Ohooh. Ohhoohh."

"Are you ready? Are you? Make yourself ready." SWACK! SWACK! SWACK!

"AHHAAHHUUGGHH!" The strikes felt a thousand times more savage across her breasts than they'd been on her ass. And her golden chain channeled the shocks directly to her clitoris. It was unimaginable agony, like she was dying—yet she came again at the same time. It wasn't the same sort of climax as the cock had just given her, of course. Still, it was another climax. A climax like death. Her soul exploded out of her body, the agony of transcendence. She toppled over backwards in a swoon. As she fell, another stream of fluid flew from her crotch, sizzling. Maybe it was more urine or maybe it was another kind of spray.

The stone floor was an unkind surface to land upon. The smack of her impact instantly jolted her back awake. From a swirling heavenly rainbow vortex of mindless bliss, she was yanked back within the confines of her subjugated, overstimulated body. Gasping, blinking. For a few moments she couldn't recall where she was or what was being done to her. Until the men resumed. That soon, very soon, brought everything back.

Three more priests took her in succession. None of them needed more than a couple moments to come, hollering their heads off as they did. One just thrust himself into her mouth and immediately unloaded. The next one fucked her properly, face to face. Or rather, bull skull to face. He held her legs suspended on either side from beneath her knees, and might have got her to come again if he had been able to last a little longer. But he couldn't. He came inside of her. Then the next man, perhaps put off by his predecessor's mess, didn't enter her at all. He grabbed her ankles and fitted the arches of her feet around his cock. He just fucked her feet and yet it brought him as much joy as the others had experienced. Soon, too soon, he spurted down her flexing legs. Then he used her toes to squeeze out his last drops before releasing her, staggering backwards and wheezing as if about to collapse. Jace took great delight in watching that. Just her feet had driven him to a frenzy and drained all the man's virility. Just the graceful symmetry of her feet had been all it took.

"More?" Jace whimpered, "More?"

"Crawl under my statue!" boomed the voice of the idol, "Crawl to my scepter! Why do you hesitate? Obey my command! Crawl beneath me to my scepter!"

It took her a few moments to realize what he meant—the phallus of the statue. She hadn't noticed it had one. In fact she was nearly certain that it hadn't until just now—for now that it was there, how could she not have seen it? The ghastly thing was too enormous and absurd for her not to have spotted it from the first moment she entered the temple.

"Crawl to it, slave! Kiss it, Beast! Worship it! Worship me! ME! Take it in your mouth, take it all! Take it as deep as you can! You swore to serve me—now serve! SERVE!"

Jace did as she was told. It wasn't easy. She gagged herself on the thing, scraping her teeth on the metal surface as she did, and she had to stretch her mouth so wide she thought she felt tiny tears open in her lips. It was no fun. Her eyes watered and her nose ran. There was a thundering in her ears. She thought she might pass out again. But no transcendence this time, darkness only ...

"You don't like me in your mouth, Jungle Beast? Well, shall we try the other way? Give yourself to me, like you gave yourself to my priest. Impale yourself upon me, and fuck me 'til you come. Serve me, Jungle Beast! Pleasure me! Pleasure yourself for my pleasure!"

"Yes, Master. As you command, Bull of the Day and the Night. I obey! I give you all I have to give." She swiveled herself around beneath the sculpture and backed her sex against the scepter. It wasn't easy to get him inside of her, but she persevered. She strained and sweated. She grunted and gasped and groaned.

"I grow impatient, Jungle Beast!"

"I'm doing it! I'm trying! It's hard, Master! You're so very big! I'm doing my best! I'm ... trying ... my best!"

"You better try harder!"

"Ahhaahh! Ahhuugghh! Ahhuurrghhnn!"

"There you are. There you go. Now fuck it, Jungle Beast. Fuck it, you slut! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it harder! Fuck it!"

Ridiculous as it was, she felt a hundred times more dominated this time than when the priest had penetrated her. For Jace it truly felt like the statue on top of her was alive and fucking her. She was doing all the work again, the only one that was moving, and yet somehow that only increased her own sense of the god's power and ownership. She belonged to the bull. He had laid claim to her. She must give him what he demanded. What she'd pledged and what she owed him.

Jace kept bonging the top of her head against the underside of the statue, and also her shoulder blades and her buttocks would scrape painfully across the gritty metal. Sweat dripped from her face and from her breasts as they swayed beneath her. Her knees and elbows were burning. She wondered how silly she looked beneath this bull. The priests watching her, were they excited by what they saw or was it just a comedy to them? Jace the Jungle Goddess, slave of the Bull God Uthulath. Just whispering that to herself, the idea alone—she felt it stronger more than anything else. The image of herself as she pictured it, and all its resounding implications.

"I'm going to come! I'm going to come again! I'm already going to come! Master! Oh my Master ohh oohhoohhuuuggghhnnn!"

It went on and on, much stronger than the earlier one. Very shameful. Very pitiful. She gave up everything she had to the metal bull, exactly as she promised. She couldn't believe how hard that phony metal cock made her come. She paid out surge after surge of orgasm upon its merciless length, shuddering and grunting, weeping like Ingrid had done when she was branded. But this was the tribute she'd promised to pay to her master. She had made the pledge and now she delivered what she owed, the full measure of devotion. "I am yours, Uthulath. I am your dirty Jungle Beast. You make me come so good for you. Oh yesss." Of course she did it to herself much more than the bull god had done anything to her—this didn't make her feel the slightest bit better about what had just occurred.

She could see most of the priests had jerked themselves off again while they watched the spectacle she made of herself beneath their idol. Their seed couldn't reach her skin that time. They didn't let themselves get close enough. They didn't dare soil the body of the bull.

Then, panting as she was trying to slide herself off Uthulath's thing, it broke. She felt the shaft snap off at the root while it was still more than halfway embedded inside of her. She had just emasculated the idol.

The priests were going to be so furious with her. She collapsed into hysterics. She laughed so hard she farted.

"What are you doing? What's wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? Come out of there! Right now! Listen to us! Come out of there, slave!"

When Jace did, she had pulled the broken phallus out of her pussy. Holding it in front of her, the length and thickness of her forearm, it was like a kind of a club. A bent metal club.

"What have you done? Put that down! Sacrilege! Blasphemy! You have desecrated the temple!"

They tried to grab it from her, and one of the men at the same time slapped her across the back of her head. Jace lost her temper. She didn't surrender the club. Instead she started to make use of it.

Less than a minute later, she was the only person still standing in the temple. None of the priests was ever going to get up again. Their skull masks were shattered, and so were their actual skulls inside of them. She hadn't really intended to go that far when she started. The club was heavy. Solid metal. An object like that did a lot of damage when you hit somebody with the thing. More than you might realize.

Jace felt rather sheepish. There was gore—not blood alone but many other various bits and pieces—dripping to the floor around her from all over her body. She realized she must look disgusting and fearsome.

"Shit," she said, "Now what?"

So much despair and degradation. She'd gone so far this time, and she'd gone there willingly. But now she was holding the severed cock of a deity in her hand. Maybe, just maybe, Jace was going to get herself home to the Last Jungle after all.

There was a sudden tingle in her bottom. A strange sharp chill. "Ohh! What?" When she reached reflexively back there, her fingers couldn't find the ridges of her brand. The place was entirely smooth.

Her brand had vanished. Somehow all the sudden her body, of its own accord, had just erased it.

And that meant ... everything.

Jace considered disguising herself with one of the priests' robes, and perhaps she could find another of the skull masks (all the ones on the floor were ruined). Then after a moment she rejected the notion. When she strode out of the temple, she was going to do it just as she was. She wanted everyone in the city to see her like this. None would challenge her, not with Uthalath's cock in her hands, smeared with the brains of his entire priesthood. Of if anyone dared, she'd be ready to give them the same medicine.

She undid her braid and shook her hair out like she preferred it, and then she unbuckled the dog collar from her neck and unclipped the gold Y-shaped chain from the rings on her nipples and her clit. She shuddered and sighed a little regretfully as she did the last thing. And she did not try to remove the rings from her body. She would keep those. She would keep the chain too, coiling it around one of her forearms. It could come in useful later, one way or another. The dog collar with the Beast tag, she left behind on the floor with the priests' bodies.

That wasn't her name any longer. She was, for now, hopefully, a goddess again. Herself. Her actual proper true self. Well, the other one, the other version, anyhow.

Both were real, maybe. Neither of her selves was more real or more true than the other. Nobody is just one thing all the time. Nobody has to be.

With a determined smile and a glint in her eyes, Jace the Jungle Goddess strode from the temple, and she playfully twirled the weapon in her hand as she went.