Feature Writer: ChrisCross
Feature Title: Using the Boy Temple Priest
Published: Copyright© 2018 by ChrisCross
Story Codes: Religious
Nefer, the high priest of the temple of the vulture goddess Ama, showed no surprise as the guards of King Menes of the upper river Kingdom of Anama filed into and along the walls of the temple throne room, a chamber that could be violated by none but the temple’s priests of the year during times of ritual, all of whom were virginal royal males in their fourteenth year. Nefer had already become aware that there would be a ritual in which the high priest would participate in sexual rites that fell short of losing his virginity to win aid from the goddess in the coming battle to save the kingdom. He had been elaborately prepared for the ceremony earlier in the day. As soon as he had seen the approach of the king and his retinue, Nefer summoned the priest of the spear and the priest of the seed, also comely virginial boys of fourteen, to his side from the stone balcony off the ceremonial throne room that overlooked the city.
Out beyond the approaching soldiers and king of Anama, beyond the walls of the city of Anamaian, out on the dusty plain beyond the narrow strip of fertile fields between the mighty river and the desert, Nefer could see the legions of the Assyrian army under the feared monster general, Achillas. And he could hear the beating of their drums as well. The drums had beaten through the night—the death knell of the Kingdom of Anama as it once had been. Nefer was a realist. He knew that bestowing of the victory blessing would have little meaning against the legions of the Assyrian monster general, Achillas.
Nefer also knew that King Menes no longer could avoid battle; indeed, he should have engaged the enemy long before they arrived on the plain outside the city’s gates. King Menes’s decision to engage in battle meant that he would have to come here for the victory blessing.
It also meant Nefer would engage in sexual rites during the ceremony, although he would continue to be high priest until the end of his fourteenth year. If the Assyrians won, of course, it was doubtful he would live to see his fifteenth year.
The two priests, the one of the spear and the one of the seed, came to his side as Nefer stood at the top of the steps to the vulture throne—a magnificent structure in marble, with its series of foot and hand holds rising up on the wings at each side of the high priest’s throne. Nefer held his arms straight out from his body, spread his legs, and planted his bare feet in the foot indentations in front of the throne wings that pointed outward, toward the secular world. His body was perfectly formed, as was required to become high priests. The two priests untied the vermillion sash from the waist of the gleaming white robe and pulled it off the magnificent, bronzed, and youthful, pampered, soft-skinned body of the young high priest.
Nefer’s body was one of perfection, muscled but not overly muscular—lithe and willowy. It was a body of a developing man who yet has the innocence and beauty of a boy. The hair of his head was black and curly, reaching down to his shoulders. He otherwise, however, was hairless, except for a close-cropped, curly V below his belly pointing down to a thickish, but not overlong, shaft and two pert balls. His robe now stripped, he was clothed only in gold jewelry—a thick yoke of gold on his shoulders; gold bands snaking up his upper arms; gold wristbands, with narrow golden roping down to twist around his middle fingers; and gold bands snaking around his calves, with golden roping down to twist around his middle toes. A ring of gold also surrounded his head, sitting low on his forehead. The root of his cock was set in a gold ring from which gold netting descended to encase his balls.
He was clothed for the ceremony of the victory blessing, having realized in the early morning light, at the sound of distant drums, that the dreaded Assyrian general, Achillas, and his army had arrived outside the gates of the city. The ritual of cleansing, massaging, and oiling his lithe body had lasted into the afternoon.
The king’s guard entered the chamber on the half run and poured around the sides of the room. The men were naked except for their gold breastplates, sandals laced up to their knees, gold bicep bands, and helmets with gold flaps descending to protect the bridges of their noses. Each carried a lance, pointed at the ceiling of the chamber. All were magnificently built, as required to be in the king’s guard. All also were magnificently equipped in the shafts and balls of men. The two captains of the guard were more magnificently endowed than the others. Most were at least half hard in anticipation of the ritual to come.
Striding into the temple hall in their wake was a tall, muscular man, who was an older, coarser, hairier version of Nefer himself. Adorned—clothed or dressed would not be an accurate description—much like the soldiers of his personal guard—King Menes directly approached the throne, mounting the steps and standing, feet in the foot indentions directly in front of and facing the throne—toward the sacred aspect of the kingdom. As King Menes presented himself, almost pressing into his high priest, Nefer stepped back, seated himself in the throne, and raised and spread his legs, placing his feet in the foot indentions at the edge of the wings on either side of the throne. King Menes leaned over him and took the hand holds in the marble beside and above the high priest’s head.
Both symbolically and physically, the sacred aspect of the kingdom, in the form of the high priest, was open, legs raised and spread, pelvis raised, to the mastering of the secular aspect of the kingdom in this time of the need for physical force.
“We must do battle. I have come for the victory blessing,” was all the towering, muscular man said, looking down into Nefer’s eyes.
“I know,” Nefer said. “Begin,” he then said, turning, first, to the priest of the spear on his right and then to the priest of the seed on his left. He raised his arms behind his head and grasped the hand holds in the marble there above and closer to his head than the holds King Menes was grasping. The marble seat of the throne was in a curve and raised and rolled his pelvis up toward the front of the throne. The leaning angle King Menes was naturally placed to thrust his pelvis down to the lap of the high priest, so that the cocks of the two lay on top of each other.
At the “Begin” signal Nefer had given, the two priests at the side reached a hand each over between the high priest and the king, grasped their cocks together and frotted them, stroking them together, causing them both to harden.
All along the side walls, the soldier guards were taking their own cocks in their hands and stroking them to erections. The guards and the two side priests were chanting. The high priest and the king were panting hard.
“Now,” the high priest commanded, looking at the priest of the spear, who produced an enamel-covered box from which he extracted a thin gold rod the length on a man’s index finger. The priest of the seed held the now-erect cock of King Menes cupped in his hand while the priest of the spear slowly inserted one end of the gold rod into the king’s urethra canal, burying half the length of the rod in the king’s cock. The priest of the seed then brought the high priest’s cock bulb in place and slowly, as Nefer moaned, tensed, and then relaxed, while the priest of the spear caused the exposed end of the gold rod to pierce the high priest’s urethra canal, and brought the two bulbs together, making them kiss. The priest of the seed pulled King Menes’s foreskin over the high priest’s bulb and held the two cocks docked and cupped in his hand. The priest of the spear joined the cupping and slight stroking of the two cocks, which were joined together by the piercing gold rod.
With a groan, the sound overlaying the moaning of the high priest, King Menes began to tighten his buttocks and move his pelvis, his cock fucking the high priest’s cock, moving the gold rod inside the urethra canals of the docked cocks.
Taking the swaying of the king’s buttocks as their signal, the guards ringing the chamber began beating their spear butts on the stone floor in the rhythm of the king’s thrusts. His thrusts built up speed and intensity, which were accompanied by an increase of the sound of the chanting by the guards and priests in the hall and of the butts of the guards’ spears on the floor, and the vigor of their own masturbating of their cocks.
Nefer let out a little cry as he came, his cum burbling out from the rim of King Menes’s encasing foreskin. King Menes came nearly simultaneously, marking his spouting by a victory cry. The guards around the wall each came as closely to that of their king as they could.
The side priests released the docking cocks, each to be pulled away from the king and the high priest by the two captains of the guards, who tore the minor priests’ robes from their bodies, pushed them down on their backs on either side of the throne, pushed their knees under the priests’ buttocks, thrust inside them, and fucked them hard on the stone floor.
Using the hand and footholds provided on the wings of the throne, King Menes climbed up the sides of the marble structure until his cock was at the level of the high priest’s mouth. Nefer opened his mouth to the king’s shaft, cleaning off the cum from the first taking and sucking the cock to a second ejaculation.
Around the sides of the chamber, the guards had paired off, with one of each set sucking off the cock of his dominant partner.
The king’s second ejaculation marked the successful completion of the blessing ceremony. He climbed down from the throne, turned, and marched directly out of the chamber, with his guards following, marching in step. Left in the chamber was the high priest, slumped on his throne, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes slitted, the ritual completed but not completely satiating for him.
Panting and moaning on the floor on either side of the throne were the priests of spear and seed. Unlike their high priest, they had been completed and satiated by the monster cocks of the captains of the guard. Their tenures as priests for the year were over and they would be replaced by virginal fourteen-year-olds.
Still fidgety and disquieted late in the night, as Nefer lay on his bed, he heard, with joy, the sound of the rustling of the curtains in the doorway to the imperial apartments. He raised his head to see the naked figure of Ahmose, the next youngest brother of the king, and the king’s chief adviser, approach. He was the spitting image of the king, except that his younger body was more athletic and pleasing than the king’s. He shaved his body hair and was not as coarse in movement and habits as the king. He smelled of roses rather than sour sweat, and he moved like a dancer. His kisses were sweeter than King Menes’s too. There were rituals of the kiss as well, although none of Nefer’s anal canal being penetrated. As high priest, that was taboo to all men.
“I wish for your blessings as well,” Ahmose whispered as he came up on the bed on his knees. He was holding a case with a gold rod in it.
“Yes, yes,” Nefer murmured as he arched his back to the surface of the bed and hugged Ahmose’s hips with his knees. The gold rod was longer and thicker than the one of the ritual. Ahmose’s cock was longer than that of his older brother, the king. The rod penetrated Nefer’s urethra canal deeper than the ritual one had. He moaned deeper and sighed even deeper, as Ahmose married their cock bulbs, kissing each other, the gold rod buried inside both of them, and pushed his foreskin over Nefer’s bulb. Leaning over Nefer’s torso, Ahmose captured Nefer’s lips with his and held their cocks together with one hand, while both of them moved their pelvises languidly to a mutual ejaculation in the rhythm of the cock fuck.
It was taboo for any man to be inside Nefer’s anus, but that didn’t hold the other way around. Four hours until the promise of a coming dawn, Nefer lay on his back and Ahmose rode his cock to a coming—and then another—and another yet. Nefer was purring from the visit of his lover until it was over all too soon and Ahmose had melted away behind the curtain into the imperial apartments.
Walking slowly and deliberately in from the stone balcony off the temple throne room, with the new priests of the spear and seed in his wake, Nefer, the high priest of the Raven goddess Ama of the Kingdom of Anama, mounted the steps to his throne and turned and faced the beaten gold-clad outer doors to the chamber. The two minor priests took up positions at either side of the throne.
A mighty thud was sounded on the double doors, they swung open, and a magnificent figure of a man strode into the hall, followed by two lines of his battle-bloodied soldiers, who marched around to positions along the inside walls of the chamber. The tableau was much the same as that of the victory blessing ritual earlier in the previous day—but with an entirely different, ominous cast.
Achillas, commanding general of the Assyrian army, strode slowly, deliberately, proudly up to the steps of the throne. Nefer looked coolly down into the general’s eyes, gleaming with battle lust. The high priest was calm on the outside, but inside he was in turmoil. He had heard much about this monster of a man, taller than any other man, more massive across the chest, albeit solid muscle, than any man Nefer had seen before. Achillas’s reputation had come to the land of Anama as that of a conquering, vengeful god whose power and wrath could not be escaped. At this moment, Nefer could well believe in this. It should lodge fear in Nefer’s heart—and it surely did—but it made his blood boil as well in arousal.
There was a sensual wildness about the man mountain, with his plaited black beard, his unruly mane flowing down to his shoulder blades, his bulging biceps and chest muscles. His chest, belly, forearms, and thighs were matted with curly black hair. As he had entered the room and strode the length of the hall, he tossed aside a round, black shield worked in a swirling design in silver to one side and a bloodied battle ax to the other. Off came a battle helmet worked in the same metal and tossed aside to one of his soldiers. That he was stripping for action that didn’t require weapons of destruction to fulfill his intent was not lost on Nefer.
His torso, scarred and sliced with new cuts, was magnificent and made Nefer whimper with need, although he had to fight revealing this to those in the hall. The high priest looked away from him as the sight of the fearsome giant was too much for him to bear and not to melt to. He should not have looked away, though, as then he saw that the soldiers who had entered and ringed the room had their pikes lifted, the points toward the ceiling, and each bore at the top a head of an Anama soldier of rank. Nefer could look no further when he saw that of King Menes’s younger brother and chief adviser—and Nefer’s secret lover—Ahmose.
When he looked back at the Assyrian general, he gasped and sucked in breath. Achillas was untying his metal-plated skirt and then his linen underskirt and tossing them aside. Other than the black and silver-worked guards on his forearms and calves and his leather sandals, the monster warrior was naked—and in an erection of a length and girth that Nefer had never before seen.
In two bounds the general had mounted the steps to the throne, where he ripped away Nefer’s robe and then backhanded the high priest across his mouth, sending Nefer, gasping, stumbling back onto his throne—and onto the curved seat of the throne that thrust the young man’s pelvis up, making him vulnerable to the thrust of the Assyrian’s throbbing manhood. Achillas grasped Nefer’s ankles, cruelly wishboned the young man’s legs, crouched down and leaned in, and immediately was into the battle of stuffing the massive bulb of his hard, cruel cock into the virginal anal entrance of the high priest.
Nefer howled in pain, indignation, and fear as Achillas relentlessly pressed his cock inside the channel and began to pump hard and deep. The high priest grabbed the hand holds in the marble throne above his head and held on for dear life as the Assyrian general rode him hard.
On the floor on either side of the throne, Assyrian soldiers were tearing into the priests of the spear and the seed, fucking them hard—in tandem, not sequentially—fucking them both into the other world.
At first, it appeared that Nefer would join his priests in the beyond—that he could not endure the length, thickness, vigor, and intensity of the Assyrian general’s cocking, but slowly, ever so slowly, he found that he could take it. And that he could not only endure it, but could take enjoyment from it. He had grown tired of sexual rituals that aroused him in every way except the ultimate taking. If Ahmose had wanted to fuck his anal channel, Nefer would have let him do that and would have kept the secret from the king and the rest of the Anamaian world. He had wanted Ahmose to fuck him. But the second in line to the throne was not willing to override Anamaian tradition.
Luckily for Nefer, now that the Assyrian general was riding him with a monstrous cock, the high priest had taken matters into his own hands over the past several months—in the form of a marble penis nearly, but not quite, the size of Achillas. Although there was nothing like the real thing, Nefer’s own frustration and willingness to take a risk and some precautions had saved his life. If one were to suggest that the high priest listened to the rumors of both the preferences and the equipment of the Assyrian general and planned for contingencies accordingly months in advance, he would not be wrong. The only error would have been in fully assessing the dimensions and cruelty of the general. From the screams—now having died away—of his minor priests, Nefer could believe that the priests of the spear and the seed had kept to the rituals and had, as a result, been shredded internally.
The conquering Assyrian general had no such qualms as Ahmose—his lifeless eyes now looking upon the debauchery of his erstwhile lover from the top of a spike—and had come to Nefer from a bloody battle in which he had vanquished Anama. He now was intent on vanquishing Anama’s religious underpinnings—by fucking the untouchable high priest.
Achillas’s soldiers had brought in the quavering remnants of the imperial court to witness the completing of the Assyrians’ conquering of the Egyptian delta city state. They stood there, in witness, after the Assyrian general had stridden into the chamber, as Achillas did the unthinkable—debauched the untouchable anal canal of the high priest. When Achillas was saddled on Nefer’s body on the throne, they could clearly see the bulbous buttocks of the general rear back and then they could see the high priest jerk and hear him cry out in surprise, violation, and pain as the general thrust his hips forward. Pull back, thrust. Pull back, thrust. Nefer cried out again and again, until, as the thrusting continued, his cries subsided into whimpers and his head lolled over to the side of the throne, his eyes glazed over, his mouth open in an O of total surrender.
The assault continued, Achillas fucked on, as the court survivors were herded out of the temple throne room to spread the word that the conquering of Anama was now complete.
The man’s cock was stretching Nefer’s channel to the splitting point and he was thrusting hard and vigorously. Nefer had no doubt that he planned the same fate for him that the Assyrian soldiers were wreaking on the priests of the spear and the seed. So, Nefer did what he had to do. He came back to full consciousness and yielded fully to the assault. He would not surrender so easily. There were battles that could be won on the field and those that could be won in the bed.
Nefer gripped the general’s head in his hands and brought Achillas’s mouth, first, down to his own for the sweetest kisses he could manage under the circumstances of being stuffed to the limit by a punishing ram, and then down to his nipples. Nefer let the beauty of his body entice and entwine the general. He moved the heels of his feet to the general’s buttocks and rubbed them in the rhythm of the fuck, and he began to move his own pelvis to the rhythm as well. He made sounds that the general would understand of enjoying—wanting—the fuck. He enveloped the warrior in the sweet yielding of his body.
And he slowly won the general over so that, when Achillas ejaculated deep in Nefer’s channel, Nefer did the same up the man’s hairy belly—and then purred for the general and held the man’s face into his youthful breast.
Rather than finishing the high priest then, therefore, with a roar of victory, Achillas pulled off the boy, picked him up, slung him over his shoulder, and strode through the curtain at the side of the temple throne room, into the imperial apartment. Entering the first bed chamber he came to, the Assyrian general threw Nefer down on the bed on his belly; jerked Nefer up to his knees, his buttocks presented for mounting; crouched over the boy’s hips; and fucked him again.
They didn’t leave the chamber or the bed for a day and a half, and when they did, there was still a victorious general reigning over Anama, but it was questionable who was the commander of the couple.
Two weeks later and life had settled down in the occupied imperial city of the Kingdom of Anama. The rape and pillaging and burning of buildings that followed any conquering and sacking of a city state had died down. The relationship between the Assyrian general, Achillas, and the heretofore high priest, now catamite of the victorious general, Nefer, had also settled down. The two had moved to the king’s bed chamber and neither Achillas nor Nefer required the general’s hard cock to be throbbing inside Nefer in every waking moment as they both had for that first day and a half of coupling.
Now, for the ease of keeping the surviving Anama population subdued if sullen, Nefer sat on the king’s throne during the day, with Achillas sitting in a slightly less magnificent throne beside him, with Achillas making the decisions and Nefer proclaiming them. Achillas didn’t mind as long as his own soldiers knew he was in charge. Nefer was fine with the arrangement as long as he controlled the hardness of Achillas’s cock.
One of the first requests Nefer had made to test his control of the sex-chained Assyrian general was that all of the surviving court that had witnessed his debauchery be surviving no more. Achillas had conceded this to Nefer. Thus, the authority of the high priest, having moved over to the temporal throne, was held pure in the eyes of the populous of the kingdom that still lived.
The nights had become as this night, with Nefer dancing, naked, for Achillas in the king’s bed chamber as the general lay in luxury, propped up on the bed pillows and swilling strong wine. Following this, Nefer came up on the bed and charmed Achillas with what had been the victory blessing ritual of frotting their cocks together and introducing the general to the intimacy of the marriage of the cocks with the gold rod and the sheathing of Nefer’s cock bulb with Achillas’s foreskin until lust overtook the general and he performed a reenactment of the deflowering of the high priest.
Late into the night, Nefer moved from Achillas’s encircling embrace, tonguing down the hirsute, hard-muscled body to Achillas’s shaft, which Nefer brought to hardness with his mouth before climbing on top of the general, sheathing the shaft, and moving in a variety of ways on the cock until the general awakened enough to grab Nefer’s waist and slam him cruelly up and down on the long, thick cock, with Nefer screaming in pain-pleasure until both were spent again.
Achillas liked to conquer by force and Nefer liked the sensation of being taken cruelly without his choice. In later years, it would help him rationalize that he did what he had to do and endured much hardship in the effort.
As sleep overtook Achillas again, Nefer slipped away from him and to the water closet. In the corridor between the two chambers, he was shocked to be pulled into the darkness of a side chamber.
“What? King Menes!” he exclaimed in a gasp. “You live.”
“Yes, it is I,” the king said. “We must be silent, and we must be quick.”
“But the battle—”
“Second brother Ahmose went in my stead. I did not see the prospect of winning. And there must be a member of the family alive to rule here. I hid myself for the good of the kingdom. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes. It was just such a shock to see you alive,” Nefer whispered. And it was a shock. Cowardice was much in the character of Menes, but when Nefer had seen Ahmose’s head on a pike, he’d assumed Menes’s head was on one as well. He just hadn’t looked any further down the line of heads. “But what is it you want?”
“Here. Take this dagger. Go back to the general and do what you have to do. The Assyrians will be headless and in disarray. My men will help me retake the palace and we will fight on from here. Can you do what you have to do?”
“Yes, I can,” Nefer said, taking the dagger from the king. Just as he believed in Menes’s basic cowardice, he wasn’t the least surprised that he wished Nefer to do the deed and very likely be quickly dispatched afterward by the general’s guards.
His decision was instantaneous and not the least difficult to make. Holding his hand over the mouth of King Menes, who looked at him with wide, questioning eyes, Nefer plunged the dagger into Menes’s breast. He pulled it out and plunged it in again.
As the erstwhile king of Anama sank to the floor, the next king of Anama muttered, “Yes, I know exactly what I have to do. You forget, former king, that, with you and Ahmose dead, your line of kingship dies and moves to my family, of which I am first in line. I was no less a captive of your court than I am now of the Assyrian general. And I know what you don’t know. General Achillas is a military conqueror, not a governor. Soon he will be gone, leaving me on the throne of Anama, as its legitimate king.”
Leaving the corpse of his former king there, Nefer returned to the king’s bed chamber, stretched out beside the snoring general, nudged Achillas to roll over on top of him, spread his legs, raised his pelvis by bending and pushing up on his knees, and guided the giant’s cock head to his entrance. By now Achillas was awake enough to thrust deep inside and begin to pump on his own. Nefer laughed from deep inside his belly, clutched at the general’s shoulder blades, started his pelvis in motion, and began once more to weave his own victory charm over what he chose to think of as a pleasant interlude foreign visitor to his, King Nefer’s, kingdom—one with a very satisfying cock.