In the Temple of Gar the Desecrator

By now I was certain that these women were not ordinary human beings but something far more sinister, and far older than they appeared. I was also certain that somehow, by dint of dark magic or hellish incantation, they had liberated not only our lust, but also that what infuses our flesh and blood with life, warmth and motion, somehow siphoning off this vital essence in order to suffuse the demonic statue with it. And, as the demonic statue became flesh in the process of this unwholesome transformation, impossible as it may be, our bodies were slowly being turned to stone in exchange!

Once again I remembered the sculptures that adorned the walls of the passage through which we had entered this unholy place and, if the rigidity of my body had not prevented it, I would have shivered, nay trembled, in horror, for I now knew these for what they in actuality were: the luckless souls who had been here before us, Heaven only knows how long ago, and who were now frozen in stone, their facial expressions not the result of agony but reflecting their ultimate, final moment of sexual release, at which instant their living flesh had turned into black, glossy stone, their postures unchanged, their members still erect.

And this was to be done to us as well, and I could see no way whatsoever to avoid it.

I knew despair.

We were left alone with our thoughts for many hours, perhaps a day or even a day and a night, during which time Gardner, Bradford and Delarousse regained consciousness. We did not speak, for there was nothing that any of us desired to speak of. I am sure, however, that they felt the way I did, the way we all did. Once during this time our guards entered the cell, and we were given to drink, and whatever concoction was in the cups they held to our lips restored us somewhat, but did nothing to lift our flagging spirits.

A seemingly interminable time later the door to our cell opened again, a group of guards entered and, one by one, we were unshackled and carried out of the cell. We could not have walked, so far had the rigidity in our bodies progressed. When my turn came and the guards bore me into the great hall, I saw that, while the back of it was still obscured by shade and darkness, its front was now lit by many torches and, in the fire pit that separated the altars from the demonic statue, a large fire burned, but its flames gave off an unwholesome green light, and the smoke that rose from it was of a similar unnatural shade.

Eventually our rigid bodies were arranged on the various altars that ringed the fire pit. I noted that the central altar remained vacant, my companions and myself having been arranged around this central position. Once again I felt myself bound to the bier's smooth, stone surface by forces both invisible and incomprehensible. Of course, given my all but immobile state, such a binding was hardly necessary at this time.

Then the High Priestess, once more clad in her robe, strode forward and lowered the hood that once again covered her bald head. "Mortals!" her voice reverberated through the hall. "A great honor has befallen you. You will be the instrument of Gar the Desecrator. Through you, the living god will become incarnate once again, great and terrible, to reclaim the world, and the multitudes will bow before him!"

She turned around to face the fire pit and began a lengthy incantation, once again uttered in that strangely harsh, guttural language. With great effort I managed to raise my head somewhat, and through the sickly green flames I saw movement within the darkness that surrounded the demonic statue, or perhaps it was just the shadows cast by the flickering of the flames, although a soft, grating sound could also be heard, and a long, soft sigh, as if that of a sleeper stirring shortly before wakening.

Then, from somewhere in the shadows that still filled the back of the great hall, a slow drumbeat began. Its sound was vast, low and booming, its steady, measured beat filling the hall, and even in my current wretched state I could feel the sound pounding in my chest, as if a vast, slow heart was beating there.

The High Priestess, still uttering her incomprehensible chant, turned around, raised her hands to the front of her robe, causing it to fall to the floor. Nude once more, she raised her arms as in benediction, and in spite of myself I was again taken by her exotic beauty: the delicate collar bones, the full, high breasts with their pink tips that swelled visibly now that they were exposed to the cool air of the hall, her slender waist, her smoothly curved hips, the smoothness of her pale skin-- she truly was a vision.

Six acolytes then entered the space in front of the altar, walking in procession. As one, they turned to face us, doffed their robes, and joined the High Priestess in her chant. They continued this for several minutes, during which both the volume and pitch of their chanting rose until, suddenly, they fell silent. Only the slow, measured drumbeat, the hissing and spluttering of the torches around us and the soft, sighing, occasionally grating sounds from the niche that contained the demonic statue were the only sound that remained.

Then the High Priestess clapped her hands once, and the acolytes strode forward until each one of them stood next to her own altar. The one approaching the bier on which I lay supine was exquisitely beautiful. She was tall and had a lovely figure. Her lovely breasts were young and firm, full but unsagging, and crowned with a pair of lovely pink nipples that stood out proudly and appeared to be fully hardened. Below her slender waist her hips were smoothly curved, and when she mounted the altar I saw that her legs were beautifully sculpted. She looked like a young goddess, an irony not lost on me, given the fact that her true nature was by no means divine but rather the exact opposite.

She knelt down between my spread legs and bent forward to kiss my manhood. With dismay I felt the first stirrings of lust return to my nether regions. From the corner of my eye I saw another figure similarly positioned on the altar next to me. I believed it was young Jackson on whom she was lavishing her unholy attentions, although I could not be sure of this in the dim light.

Then the girl kneeling before me took my manhood in her mouth and began to caress it with her tongue and lips, which she applied with a skill even more delicate and refined than those of the girl who had performed a similar act upon my person on the previous occasion. With her fingertips she caressed my sack, which proved my undoing: much as I wished for it not to happen, my rod began to lengthen in her mouth, then swelled rapidly, lifting itself up and hardening under her ministrations. With renewed despair I realized this was the beginning of the end of me. Yet I was unable to resist.

She continued to stimulate me with her lips, her tongue and her fingertips, applying all her fiendish skills, and my pleasure soared as before. Slowly, in keeping with the slow, measured, hollow booming of the drum, her head moved up an down, her lips sliding back and forth across the tip of my rod. The feeling was exquisite and my lust raged unfettered, in spite of my efforts to control it.

She continued this for several minutes, as did the girl kneeling on the altar next to me. Suddenly I noticed that they kept exactly the same pace, moving to the beat of the drum as precisely as a well drilled platoon of soldiers would march across a parade ground, and dimly I realized that this might be of some significance. Perhaps rhythm and timing were essential to the end stage of this unholy ritual? I fought mightily to regain at least some clarity of mind, but the unearthly pleasures induced by the girl's mouth and fingertips on my now fully aroused privates made this all but a lost cause.

Then the sound of a large gong rang through the hall. The girl kneeling before me let my manhood slide out of her mouth and sat up. From the corner of my eye I saw the girl on the altar next to me do the same, apparently still keeping to whatever set pace there was to these proceedings.

She moved forward to straddle my hips, but halted there. Still sitting upright on her knees she reached up to cup her breasts and began to stroke them. With her fingertips she caressed her nipples, which grew larger and firmer under her gentle touch, and the way her upper body moved clearly spoke of the pleasure she derived from this.

Then her hands moved down across the smooth, flat surface of her stomach and past her slender waist, down to where her hips widened, until they traversed the marble pillars of her upper legs. Moving inward, the stroked the insides of her thighs before her fingers slowly traveled upward until they found her nether lips. Parting them to reveal the entrance to her inner sanctum, she began to caress herself there. Soon her sex flowered open under her ministrations, and I could see the first of her nectar glistening between her folds. She dipped her fingertip into her opening to wet it with the fluids of her obvious arousal, then moved it up to the top of her sex where her nether lips met. She used her one hand to expose the small pearl that was hidden there and touched it, wetting and lubricating it with her finger. She closed her eyes and sighed, then began to caress her little pink jewel, stroking around and occasionally across it with her fingers.

Her breathing deepened, and it appeared that she was not alone in this, for sighs of obvious pleasure could be heard between the booming drumbeats that filled the hall. It was not long before her body grew tense and then she shuddered as an forceful paroxysm overtook her. I heard a stifled moan coming from one of the other altars: testimony to the fact that her colleagues were at similar stages of arousal and release.

She sat there for several long moments, then the gong rang once more. Promptly the girl sitting astride my prostrate body moved slightly forward, then began to lower herself. She took my rigid manhood and put its tip against her nether lips. Descending slowly, she pushed down on my rod until it parted those most intimate folds and slipped into her entrance.

She continued to lower herself upon me, slowly but surely, and my rod parted her inner flesh as her sex continued to slide down around it. Thanks to her recent self-pleasuring her nectar flowed freely now, facilitating an effortless ingress as my hardness invaded her softness. The feeling was delightful, but the knowledge that this was to be the last thing that I would ever feel made it all the more precious, to the point where I felt each and every intimate caress that her velvet passage applied to my manhood. My rod felt harder than ever before as it proceeded deeper and deeper into her sex until I felt myself penetrate the very core of her body. It was as if a fire burned there, surrounding the tip of my manhood. Its heat infused me, flowing down my rod to permeate my nether regions.

This sensation was quite different from what I had experienced previously, possibly because the oil or ointment that had been applied to my nethers then had now been omitted. The restraint I had felt on that occasion was now absent, and as my pleasure soared unfettered to unsurpassed heights once again, I knew that it would not be long before it would reach its inevitable climax.

The girl sitting astride me offered me little assistance in this regard. As she slowly lifted herself up and then lowered herself upon me again, her inner flesh caressed my rod most cunningly, and the smooth, warm, silken caress of her sex sliding up and down around my engorged manhood brought me closer to the inevitable end with every stroke. She applied all her fiendish skill, her inner muscles working on my rod as she moved. Her eyes were closed and she had a look of intense concentration on her finely chiseled face.

I closed my eyes as well, as my last glance of her almost proved fatal. Seeing her sitting astride me, her young breasts gently bouncing as she moved, her slender waist undulating with the motion of her hips, her exotic features combined with her utter baldness nearly brought about my undoing. I gritted my teeth and tried to divert my thoughts from the current goings-on, for I knew what my fate would be, should I loose control.

Suddenly a loud cry rang through the hall, coming from the altar next to me, and involuntarily I opened my eyes. Young Jackson, perhaps lacking the experience of age and affected by the eagerness of youth that so often cuts short the intimate pursuits of young men, had clearly reached that what I labored to hard to avoid.

I wish to this very day that I had not looked, for the sight I beheld was ghastly. Starting from his hips and moving outward, a glossy blackness crept over his skin and, wherever it went, his body froze. All movement ceased, and after what seemed an eternity but surely amounted to only mere moments, poor Jackson was transformed entirely. Where a living man had lain, there was now only a still, unmoving form rendered in glossy black stone. The girl who sat atop him held still for a moment, the paleness of her skin contrasting strangely with the glossy black stone that had taken the place of poor Jackson's body. Then she lifted herself off him and, more than anything, I vividly remember how his member remained upright and motionless, and how it glistened with the fluids which her sex had left on it.

I simply cannot describe the fear and horror I felt, for I knew that this fate awaited me also. This was what was in store for all of us! But, and perhaps worst of all, even the deep despair that held me in its grip in that darkest of hours did not serve to diminish my lust. If it had ever been suggested to me that there would come a day when I would pray for my male strength to fail me, I would have laughed. Yet this is where I now found myself, but my wishes were in vain. Even in the face of this most ultimate of horrors my manhood remained rigid, by what dark magic I know not, and the lust continued to build in my loins as the girl who straddled me continued to caress my engorged manhood most skillfully with the velvet insides of her sex, her body undulating, her young, firm breasts bouncing gently as she rode me, her eyes closed, her movements slow and refined as she used her inner muscles so as to inflict maximum pleasure upon me, lifting herself up before impaling herself once more onto my rod with every stroke.

I shall be brief regarding the hour that followed, for the memories are painful and I prefer not to dwell on them overlong. Suffice it to say that, as time passed, all my companions suffered young Jackson's terrible fate.

In hindsight I should have wondered why I was the last to succumb. I am by no means an exceptional human specimen, nor do I possess any great strength or unusual sexual stamina. Yet, somehow, I endured to a point beyond that where my colleagues all had lost their battle. Perhaps it was the fear in my heart that turned the sensations in my loins into such a terrible mixture of pleasure and horror, thus reducing the exquisite way the girl astride me caressed my manhood with her sex, to the point where it became the most refined of tortures.

The beating of the drum continued to reverberate throughout the hall as I continued to fight the inevitable. The pleasure in my loins had risen to almost unbearable heights, and the girl atop me seemed to sense this. She slowed her movements, pushing herself up on her knees and thus withdrawing my manhood from her sex almost entirely. Then, reversing that glacially slow cycle at the top of her stroke, her sex slid down around my manhood while she tightened her inner muscles with a degree of skill that under different circumstances would have earned my utmost admiration. Fraction by fraction she forced my manhood, which now seemed more rigid than ever before, back into her warm, moist sheath, and the smooth wetness of her inner flesh caressed the tip of my rod in a manner almost painfully exquisite, until the engorged tip of my manhood entered the heat of the fires that smoldered there, deep within her body, and she could go no further, my manhood havng found itself embedded within her to the hilt.

Certainly the reader is to be forgiven for wondering why am am describing the above in such a degree of detail, to a point where some may judge it superfluous or even perverse. If truth be told, I am not sure myself, save for the fact I was convinced that these were to be my final moments, and every detail, no matter how minuscule, has been burned into my memory forever with a clarity I have known neither before nor after.

Whatever the case may be, my arousal and my despair waged a great battle within me, but there was never any doubt as to which side the victory would go. The pleasure that infused me rose and rose as the exquisite sensations continued to work their vile magic upon me, until I reached that inevitable threshold where I knew I would not be able to contain it for much longer.

At this point she began to chant, softly and with her eyes closed. I could, of course, not make out a single word of it, but it did seem to me that her chanting was somehow subtly, yet significantly different from what I had heard before. This seemed to be not just some incantation, but rather a prayer, following a pattern and cadence unlike the harsh, guttural sounds that had been the hallmark of previous occasions.

Still astride me, he sex caressing my manhood, she subtly changed her technique once again, and the wonderful torture became even more intense. She held me there, at the very edge of loosing control, somehow gauging both my pleasure and my ability to resist it. With a precision that I would not have though possible she kept the two in an exact equilibrium. It was as if her body had become a precisely turned instrument, designed to read the response of mine and translate them into minute adjustments to maintain that precise balance between pleasure and control. The way she moved atop me, the way her sex caressed my manhood in its velvet grip, held me at that very edge, until I thought the feelings would overwhelm me. Yet they did not. Her eyes remained closed, but there was an expression of reverence on her face, as if the was communing with some higher power. Moreover, there was an air of secrecy about her softly uttered incantation.

This went on for several minutes. Then, opening her eyes and looked down at me, she did something with her sex that sent a shock of pure pleasure through my rod. It seemed to swell even further, expanding within her, and suddenly I had lost all control. Through what fiendish skill, magic or devilry I shall never understand, she had deliberately overturned the balance that she had maintained within me, and I realized that the instant was upon me and that there was nothing I could do.

As my pleasure soared out of control and I knew my final moment had come, a huge tremor shook the hall. I would have thought it to be a subjective experience, given the state I was in at that very moment, but the dust and grit raining down from the vaulted ceiling proved otherwise, and I knew the shaking of the altar underneath me to be quite real.

Then my arousal reached its final, ultimate peak and, for lack of a better description, seemed to explode within my loins. Never before had I experienced release like this! It exceeded even what I had undergone during my previous sojourn in this hall, which in turn surpassed anything I had known previously in my life. The raw intensity of what I felt right now was such that it temporarily distracted me from the horrible fate that was now upon me.

Burning like a fire within me, the pleasure sprang from my loins and forced its way up the base of my rod, exploding from it and infusing the sex of the girl kneeling astride me, and she shuddered as I did. She cried out as her own release overtook her at the same instant, but it was not the cry of a woman who experiences a sexual climax with a man. Rather, it was a cry that spoke of religious fervor, of awe and, most of all, of triumph.