Feature writer: Cream Pie Boy
Feature title: The Sacred Whore
Uploaded: ASSTR, date unknown
Story codes: M+/f, M+/F+, reluctant, lite bd, gb, drug, orgy
The Sacred Whore
“Not for every man is the voyage to Corinth.” Herodotus.
As they drove along the winding hillside road that overlooked the turquoise Gulf of Corinth, Professor Jon Mitchell thought about the ancient reputation of the city that lay beneath them, in short, he thought about sex. As a history professor of Classical Studies at the American University in Athens, he could imagine it in great detail. Corinth was once Sin City in a way that Vegas would never be sin city.
Straddling the isthmus between two seas, it was the stopping off place for many an ancient mariner. In its heyday, there were over ten thousand prostitutes working in brothels and walking the streets in a city of fifty thousand, and another thousand, mostly donated slaves, who served in the Temple of Aphrodite. He enjoyed fantasizing about walking its streets and “worshiping” at the temple, an escape from his life as a faithful and frustrated husband. It was spring, May 1st, and this got the sap running through his loins.
His wife Laura who dozed on the seat beside him was, though gorgeous, quite straitlaced and entirely incorruptible. Despite her brown bedroom eyes, cute button nose, and a figure that was athletic but with ample breasts, sex with her always occurred in the missionary position and under the sheets. And, though she didn’t mind receiving, she only bestowed the rare blow job as a special treat, one to be immensely appreciated. The one time he mentioned a threesome, leaving the gender of the third party open, she had ranted for an hour. Yet he remained true, if only because he lacked the balls to pursue an affair.
She was wearing her dark hair short, just as the women of Corinth had. He slid a hand up her toned tanned thigh and under her short black skirt; she slapped his hand. Through the eucalyptus trees and holly oaks, he could see the new Corinth, a much smaller city, and the Acrocorinth, an immense outcropping of rock which rose nearly two thousand feet above it, and upon which the temple had been built.
The invitation to the villa of Countessa Sibyl Lagnos for the “Symposium on the New Archaeologic Finds Relating to the Fertility Cults of the Ancient World” was intriguing both academically and due to the Countess’s notoriety of nebulous origin and unclear character. She was old money and was much talked about in archaeologic circles, though no one seemed to know for what. Most of the other invitees taught in other disciplines, and Mitchell suspected that their coming was simply a matter of social status and elitism.
He couldn’t imagine spending the evening with a more boring group of people. It had been far from a blanket invitation to the faculty, and the guests were some of the most prosaic and conservative members of the university. At any party he had attended, Robert Krakow, professor of Economics and incredible bore, and his wife Virginia would drone on incessantly about the need to ban coed dorms and close the Human Sexuality Studies program.
David and Rebecca Fichte, professors of Latin and Psychology respectively, were right wing Republicans who only talked politics and who had sent their daughter to a Catholic school for girls in Switzerland when they found out she had a boyfriend. Julie Preston, whose husband Don taught Sociology, was as cute and friendly as her husband was plain and unsociable, but always refused to flirt with him; and Father Spinoza was a dull priest who specialized in the letters of Paul. The other five or six couples were no more interesting; all in all a lifeless collection. It occurred to him, however, that none of them were old, fat, or ugly.
Shaded by plane trees and bordered by oleander, the gravel side road that led to the villa crossed a stream which nearly ran dry. The jasmin and wild marjoram that grew along its banks were withered, and the surrounding fields were still brown despite the season, there being a drought in Greece and most of Europe. Orchard laborers, working in the olive grove above them, darkly muscled and sweating, turned to look as they passed by.
Laura woke and rubbed her eyes and seeing them watch her, turned away. The massive stone villa was a green refuge in an increasingly arid world. Built into a hillside overlooking the city and sea, it was roofed with terra-cotta, covered with ivy, and enclosed with the color and scent of mimosa and hibiscus. The Contessa greeted each of the guests with a kiss and a pink cistus flower.
“Welcome to my home,” she said, embracing them.
Jon was immediately drawn to her and noticed that Laura warmed to her touch. Her dark hair reached down to her narrow waist, and her olive skin was bared by the pastel green toga which hung on her shoulder by a gold clasp. Moving with feral grace, her voluptuous body was revealed in parts, a calf, a thigh, a breast. He could not begin to guess her age; and when he looked into her eyes, they were wells of experience, spoke of a wisdom of the body.
A dark sweet red wine, which tasted of spring blossoms in fertile fields, was served as they mingled in the great dining room, a cavernous hall hung with tapestries. Within minutes, the crowd was beginning to drone. He left Laura with Father Spinoza, with whom she seemed content. A collection of stone artifacts was displayed on a large oak table in the center of the room, and Mitchell found Ron Schmidt, the one true archeologist and only interesting person present, examining a figurine of a round, large breasted woman.
“Not much to look at, is she?” Mitchell asked.
“On the contrary, my friend, she is the crystallization of all the wet dreams of that time, much as the Countess is the crystallization of all of mine,” he replied, “Though for that matter, your wife could probably fit that description as well.”
“Always after mine, eh? You know, though she may look hot, she’s cold as ice.”
“Seems to be the order of the day at this party,” Schmidt mused.
“How’s that?” Mitchell asked, inspecting the group.
“Well, every woman here seems to be quite desirable but low on desire. They could all use some Eros in their anima.”
Examining each in turn and putting personalities temporarily out of mind, Mitchell had to agree. Virginia Krakow’s long blonde hair cascaded down to her ripe ass, and her firm breasts swelled within her dress as if eager to be released. Mrs. Fichte was a petite redhead whose tight body was like a coiled spring of unreleased sexual energy. Deb Daniels, Poli. Sci. Prof, true DAR., and total prude, was lean and lithe with dark hair and full lips. The men and other couples were all attractive as well. Spinoza was tall and rugged, Krakow blond and well-muscled, Preston handsome and athletic. Some were cute: he was surprised to see Judy Putnam, one of the dean’s secretaries, approach him.
“Nice to see you Judy, and a little surprised,” he said.
“Hi Professor Mitchell. I’m really glad to see you here,” she replied, greeting him with a pert smile.
Mitchell had always liked her. She was twenty-four, painfully shy, always dressed in plain clothes, and was rumored to be a virgin.
“Yeah, I know. I was surprised I got invited too, but certainly couldn’t pass it up, so, here I am! Isn’t this place cool?” She exclaimed, more bubbly than usual (Was it the wine?)
“Indeed,” he replied, “And what do you think of the collection?” He asked, holding up a life-size stone phallus for inspection.
“Yes, is the size adequate?” Schmidt joined in.
She blushed and stammered, grinning, then was saved by the dinner bell.
They were seated on the floor at low tables arranged in a semicircle, reclining on satin cushions. Some of the women were a bit perturbed, finding it difficult to “lounge” in evening gowns, but held their tongues. Dresses were hiked up, tight zippers loosened.
“It brings me great joy to see you all here tonight,” began the Contessa, “I pray this will be a pleasurable and enlightening evening for everyone.”
There was a general murmur of gratitude and agreement, and she continued.
“Some of you have had a chance to view the artifacts we excavated recently on the Acrocorinth, and I look forward to hearing your opinions over dinner. The main body of the symposium, however, will be after dinner in the form of an interactive presentation. But first, let us have entertainment!”
Six scantily clad girls of various races and in their teens to early twenties appeared. Two ebony and two olive-skinned girls with heavy gold necklaces and bangles began to dance; an oriental girl with a lapis lazuli choker and bracelets played a wooden flute; and a blond girl adorned with pearls and shells played a mandolin. Dinner was a combination of Greek and Middle-eastern cuisine and, as was customary, was to be eaten with the hands.
As they feasted on dolmades, hummus with pita, couscus with spicy lamb, avogmando soup, beef with quince, and shish-kabob, Mitchell noted with surprise that no protest or complaint was raised by the prim and proper. He watched as Virginia Krakow licked her fingers, and Rebecca Fichte fed her husband playfully, then cleaned his mustache with her tongue. The temperature in the room seemed to have risen several degrees, and a sensual laughter rose above the tables like an aroma while more wine was served.
“Did you find my specimens interesting?” the Contessa inquired of Mitchell and Schmidt, who sat to each side of her.
“Not nearly as interesting as this party,” replied Schmidt.
“Indeed. But, yes, I was quite fascinated,” added Mitchell, “Where was your dig?”
“About 200 meters north of the Temple of Aphrodite site. I am somewhat ashamed to admit it, but I had some large pieces moved from the excavation here, as I feared vandals once they were uncovered. We found two altar stones intact.”
“Really? That’s quite extraordinary,” said Schmidt, “When can we see them?”
“Soon. Ah, you have some hummus on your cheek,” she said to Schmidt, then wiped it off with her finger which she then sucked clean.
The three spent the next twenty or thirty minutes discussing archeology, but neither Mitchell nor Schmidt were able to concentrate much.
Laura, who had been flirting unabashedly with Phil Daniels, grabbed Jon by the collar and, pulling him to her, gave him a deep wet kiss.
By the time they had finished dinner and moved to the “theater,” there was much hugging, touching, and caressing taking place. The women were flushed and the men sweated. The theater was more or less outdoors. Six stone pillars with burning torches in sconces supported a wooden lattice overgrown with bougainvillea, and myrtle bushes with white flowers of amorous scent grew everywhere. Beneath the fragrant roof, three rows of cushioned benches formed a half circle around a stone altar with weathered carvings. The top of the altar was covered with a white cloth, and the end that faced the midpoint of the half-circle was concave, with a golden bowl resting on the tiled floor at the base of the notch.
On a dais above, a second stone altar rested covered with a green cloth and with its side facing the half circle. Upon it were two lit candles, two small glass bowls with golden trim, a golden chalice, a phial of perfume, a stack of seven silver bowls, and an urn of olive oil. Behind this, a large sycamore tree grew, and sheer curtains hung from its lower branches. The musky odor of incense mixed with the fresh night air and the fragrance of the flowers. The moon was rising.
When everyone was seated, Jon and Laura in the front row with her head resting on his shoulder while she stroked his inner thigh, Sibyl approached the high altar and bowed before it. Rising, she turned to face the group of twenty-odd guests.
“Sisters and Brothers, humankind has fouled the earth; we have fouled the earth,” she began. “The Goddess, the source of all that grows, all that lives and breathes and moves, has been forgotten. The rain does not fall, and the sun burns down upon us. The olive tree withers and our throats are parched.”
A boy and girl entered appearing anxious but resolute, and knelt at Sibyl’s feet. They looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old and were also dressed in green robes.
“This must not be,” she said, then took a glass bowl in each hand, one of which contained a cloudy white liquid while the other was filled with a clear fluid.
Jon thought he detected the tangy odor of semen.
“Oh, Goddess of many names, we make a libation to You.”
Holding one bowl high, she said: “The seed of Man,” then holding up the other: “The water of Woman.”
She emptied each into the gold chalice, then supped from it. As she turned again to face the crowd, the clasp of her robe was released, it fell to the floor, and she was naked before them except for her golden necklaces and the golden chains around her waist and ankles. Her muscles rippled and her dark nipples were erect. She was flushed and her eyelids fluttered.
“Praise be to the Goddess.”
Though a few people gasped, some taken aback by her beauty, others by her audacity, no one turned away. Breaths quickened and the smell of arousal mingled with the other sweet odors. Jon caught glimpses of guests touching and rubbing themselves, and reaching over to fondle the genitals of others, not necessarily their spouses’.
Sibyl placed her hands on the heads of the kneeling couple and they immediately relaxed. She brought the chalice to their lips and they drank. They seemed to melt, moaning, glassy-eyed, and panting. When they were stripped of their robes and turned round, the crowd could she her glistening pubic hair and moist inner thighs, and his hard pulsing penis which strained upward.
“The Goddess Aphrodite demands to be recognized. Hectare demands to be remembered. Asherah must be appeased. To Hathor and to Astarte we must make our appeals.”
The two teens walked hand in hand to the lower altar, and she lay on her back at the notched end, her moist gaping vagina exposed to the audience. She looked with heated anticipation into the eyes of the boy and at his twitching cock. He stood between her legs.
“We entreat you, Goddess, please hear our cry, You who make the grass grow, the flower blossom, and the tree bring forth fruit.”
The boy entered the supine girl with a single hard thrust and she groaned in pleasure. As he began to fuck her with steady strokes, she writhed and moaned beneath him while his sweat dripped onto her breasts. Before they could reach release, the priestess held up her hand, and they stopped abruptly. They separated and stood, quivering with passion and sweating.
“Let us ready ourselves for the sacrifice.”
The boy and girl went to the worshipers and began to undress them. As the boy unzipped her dress, Laura pressed herself against him and kissed him, probing his mouth with her tongue. The other guests began to disrobe, some almost ripping off their clothes. Virginia Krakow, normally too modest even to make love with the lights on, was now frantically stripping herself naked before a crowd of near strangers. Jon noted that the men were all hard and the women were flushed with desire as clothing was tossed aside or left heaped on the floor.
A teenage girl, blond and beautiful and cloaked in a white robe, was led in by the dancers, now nude except for their jewelry, who firmly gripped her arms. Jon started when he realized he knew her: she was Justine Williams, a sweet high school exchange student from Missouri who had audited one of his courses. She looked afraid, too afraid to speak, as she was led to the green altar. The dancers pushed her down by the shoulders in front of the Priestess, and held her down. Sibyl raised the chalice in her hands.
“Great Mother, source of love and life, hear us as we consecrate this virgin unto you.” Then to the girl: “Drink child of the elixir of life.”
She brought the chalice to Justine’s lips, and when the girl hesitated to drink, the dancers pushed her head forward, indicating to her that she had no choice. She wrinkled her nose as she swallowed the pungent fluid, but didn’t gag. As she stood, apprehension still showed on her face, but her body had relaxed, softened and warmed. The girls removed her robe revealing her supple body, youthful and golden, her small pert breasts pointing upward, and her chest heaving slightly.
Her wrists were bound together by soft leather bands. She was led to the lower altar, and her hands were secured at one end while her feet were tied to the notched end. Her knees were bent, her legs spread, and her buttocks slid down to the notch displaying her virginal cunt to the crowd. Its lips were swollen. Sibyl carried the phial and urn to her side, then poured a thin line of oil down her body which the dancers immediately began to rub into her skin, massaging her breasts, arms and thighs, and pausing at her mound of Venus. Drops of perfume were dabbed on her forehead, between her breasts, and at her navel and pubis. Jon felt intoxicated as he inhaled the aroma. She was becoming aroused and moaned softly.
The teen couple came forward, and the girl climbed on the altar on her hands and knees with her pussy inches from Justine’s face. The boy entered her from behind with his still erect cock and began to pump into her. Justine could she their joining organs and smell their sex, their fluids dripped down on to her lips. As he came, screaming, he withdrew and spurted his heavy load of cum on to her face and in her hair. She writhed beneath them reaching out with her tongue to collect as much of his emission as possible. The girl reached down and scooped it up with her fingers and fed it to her eager mouth.
A large black man cloaked in red entered and stood at her feet. The guests looked on, excited but horrified at the thought of what might be about to happen. They were relieved to see that, when he dropped his cloak, he did not hold a knife. Instead, his spear of flesh, at least ten inches in length, bobbed before his muscular form, its veins pulsing and pre-cum dripping from its end. This was to be a different kind of blood sacrifice.
“Oh, Goddess from whom the juice of procreation flows, seed of man and water of woman, accept this sacrifice and hear our prayers.”
“Please,” Justine whispered as she gazed up with hunger and fear at the black’s large organ.
Jon couldn’t tell if she was pleading for release from her bonds or from her desire. The black placed his cock at her opening and slowly eased into the tight orifice. She cried out in pain and pleasure, her eyes squeezed shut. He withdrew till only the head remained within her, then plunged again till he filled her to the hilt. As he began to fuck her with a slow rhythm, he reached up to fondle her oiled breasts, pinching her nipples as she trembled beneath him.
“Please. Fuck me,” she moaned.
His tempo increased till he was pounding wildly into her, his massive balls slapping against her ass. He groaned as he reached orgasm, and she let out an animal cry, guttural and savage, as she shook uncontrollably. Jon could see tears in her eyes and wondered if they were tears of joy, pain, shame, or all three. The ebony cock was coated with their juices and with a thin film of blood as he pulled it from her. A few drops of the crimson liquid oozed from her open cunt. Justine lost consciousness.
Sibyl came down from the dais to kneel between Justine’s legs, then slowly and with great relish, licked up the products of the initiation.
When she was clean, she stepped back and, with hand extended in invitation, said, “Come, share in the ritual of sacrifice to the Goddess. The Goddess be praised.”
A collective sigh rose from the worshipers, and their breathing was rhythmic, almost synchronous, like a single organism in heat. Some of the women were frigging themselves with their fingers, eyes glazed with lust. One by one, woman alternating with man, the twenty walked up and knelt be tween Justine’s spread legs. On Sibyl’s bidding, they kissed and licked the overflowing cunt, then the men thrust into her with their throbbing organs till they filled her with their cum. With each new fucking, semen was squeezed out of her and, that which was not consumed by the participants, dribbled down into the golden bowl. Proper men and women, many of whom had never even tasted a penis or pussy before, were now lapping up the bodily fluids of a crowd with gusto. Justine woke , moaning and crying for more, when the first man entered her. When all the men had spent themselves within her violated sex, Sibyl lifted the golden bowl above Justine’s head and said “Drink.” She opened her mouth wide to receive the excess semen, licking her lips as she swallowed. Some was dripped onto her body which the dancers rubbed in with their deft hands.
The women were panting and sweating by now, unable to achieve release despite their desperate efforts, and the dancers took them by the hands and led each to a pillar. Two each were chained to the iron sconces of the corner columns and one each to the center columns. The chains were long enough to allow them to kneel or squat, but prevented them from laying down. A silver bowl was placed at the base of each pillar, the seventh before the upper altar. The dignified lady professors and stuffy wives now were frantic, squirming and pulling on their chains and begging the men to take them.
Jon saw Laura in the corner, growling like a beast and crying out, “Please fuck me, fuck me now!”
About fifteen orchard workers entered, sweaty and dirty from a day’s work, and throwing drachmas in bowls, began to undress. The husbands joined them as they began to penetrate the women in all their orifices, humping their mouths, cunts, and asses. The women grunted and groaned with pleasure, shook with orgasm, their juices flowed down their legs as semen sprayed onto their bodies and into their hungry mouths.
Jon watched, transfixed by the sights, sounds, and smells of the orgy, as Judy was laid upon the notched altar. He was the first to stand between her legs which opened wide to receive him, her pubic hair glistening with her cum.
“Please,” she pleaded, “Please give me your cock.” As he drove into her, his rod still slick with Justine’s juices, he saw Laura in the corner as she rode the black’s huge cock in a frenzy while sucking on Spinoza’s hard member.
In another corner, looking delirious, Virginia Krakow serviced three dark Greek men, one slid his thick cock into her drooling mouth, another pounded her ass, and a third entered her pussy. Her blond hair matted with sperm, and her large breasts bounced obscenely with each thrust. Jon began to pump into Judy’s tight tunnel as she screamed and wriggled. His rhythm was constant, in sync with the stroking of all the other men, their heaving breaths and panting were in time, moving in and out as one as the theater became hazy. After he filled her with his seed, another man stepped up, David Fichte, tossed money into the bowl, then thrust his cock deep within her. She whimpered, overwhelmed with pleasure and passion.
Jon fell back onto the cushions and looked up to see Sibyl standing like a queen before the green altar, surveying the work of her magick. She was pleased. He gathered all of his money and valuables and crept over to kneel before the upper altar. He placed everything in the bowl at Sibyl’s feet, his cash, his watch, and, his wedding ring. She smiled down at him.
“You understand fully, just as I knew you would.”
She lifted him up with her soft hand and led him behind the sheer curtain to her bed at the base of the sycamore tree. Laying him gently down, she caressed him, took him in her mouth and suckled him till his desire grew. Warmth spread through his body, and his vision blurred. The fresh air and all the scents of the night, that night, the eve of Mayday, flowed through him like a life-giving stream. As she mounted him, he felt like the whole earth was embracing and enveloping him. And, as she began to ride him, it pulsed, all nature pulsed in rhythm with her strokes, with the throbbing of his penis, with the breaths, cries, and strokes of the other revelers. They were echoed by the voices of the frogs and crickets in the forest. They became the ebb and flow of the tides and the cycles of the moon, all in unison with the movement of the earth. When he came, shuddering, the world exploded in color as new life burst forth, waves of green covered bare soil, snow and ice melted in his passion. His orgasm was an eternity. Then, sweet sleep covered his spent body like a soft mantle.
They all woke the next morning naked on a green hillside field. Just down the slope, Justine and Judy danced, the sunlight reaching between the clouds to paint their dew-drenched bodies gold. Some of the women tried to cover themselves, but most didn’t seem to care. No one spoke. Suddenly, it began to rain. It rained in heavy sheets of water as if heaven had opened up its gates. It rained, soaking them and washing them clean. It rained, and the odor of fresh fertile earth filled the air. They ran down the wet hill laughing with joy.
As they collected their clothes, they were told by the solitary maid at the villa that the Contessa had left on an excursion into the mountains and was not expected back for sometime. Laura was quiet as they drove back to Athens, and Jon wondered what she was thinking, was unsure as to what he himself thought. She stroked his inner thigh and kissed him on the cheek as Corinth disappeared behind them.