Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
“I love dancing!” Marla exclaimed and clumsily twirled about.
“All right then!” said Portia, smiling at their innocence, “I guess I’m up for a party!”
She was still tired, but how often would she get a chance to see the vestals let their hair down? As if on cue, Palonia pulled the silver combs out out of her hair and shook out her long dark curls. Whatever was going on, Portia was going to go with it and see what happened.
“Lesss go t’the courtyard then!” Palonia exclaimed.
Portia followed the giggling, staggering vestals, shaking her head in disbelief.
What ever was going on with Marla and Palonia was obviously effecting the two priestesses keeping Vesta’s Sacred Flame as well. They had piled on much more fuel than usual and built it into a raging bonfire into which they were staring and giggling. They had shed their robes of office and wore only the gauzy white shifts that served as their undergarments. Even in these brief outfits, they sweated heavily in the heat and the white fabric was plastered to their bodies as they sat sprawled before the fire.
When they saw the high priestess, the flame guardians leapt awkwardly to their feet and hunted guiltily around for their togas.
“Holy Shit!” Palonia exclaimed, staring wide eyed at the bonfire. “That is so cool!”
The two flame guardians stopped their attempt to cover up and stared at their matriarch, then collapsed in a fit of giggles. Marla and Palonia joined them. Portia couldn’t help but chuckle herself.
“Najulia, Kalena,” said Marla, “Thiss is my cuzin Portia.”
“She’s not a whore,” Palonia clarified and then grinned at Portia.
“Nice to meet you, Portia,” said Najulia. Her companion just blushed and giggled harder.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Portia.
“We were jus’ thinkin’ that we should have a fessibal,” Palonia informed them.
“Really?” exclaimed Kalena. “That would be so cool! Can we dance?”
“You bet yer bottom!” the high priestess declared. “Najulia! Ring the bell! Call everybody! We’re gonna have us the bess damn fessibal ever!”
The flame maiden went to a white cord that hung beside the entrance to the courtyard and set a large bell to ringing. Soon, the three bakers and the door maiden staggered in, leaning on one another, their robes in disarray.
“Vassals of Vessa!” Palonia declared, “In honor of Our Lady’s daddy Saturn an cuz Marla’s cuzin is visitin, we’re gonna have us a fessibal.”
The virgins giggled and cheered. Portia was amazed. She had seen no evidence of wine about the temple but the vestals were all clearly plastered. If there was no physical explanation, it must be divine. But how on earth could Bacchus have influence on Vesta’s clergy in Her very temple?
* * * *
“Well, Bacchus m’boy
The goddess took another swig of the golden liquor and smacked her lips.
“An I should know, right?” she continued. “I mean, you shaid sho yershelf, you did. You said, ‘hey! I’m gonna have a feast an I’m gonna invite all the gods so they can try my new ambrosia wine--but what to serve? What to serve indeed?’ An you said to yerself you did, ‘I’m gonna go ask Auntie Vesta, cuz she’s the goddess of the hearth and if she knows anything, iss how ta throw a dinner party!’”
“Thas’a you said an I’m very, very flazzhered. But I gotta tell ya, I’m stumped. You were cowin on me t’ enlighshen you an’ I jus’ fell on my butt!”
The goddess wobbled a bit on her perch on the table and the god of wine stepped forward to place a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Dear, dear Auntie Vesta, most divine of all the goddesses,” he said, looking deep into her addled eyes. “You haven’t failed at all!”
“I haven’?” she asked, confused. “But I tolya, I d’no wha you should eat wif yer wine!”
“No, but your mere presence has proven inspirational!” Bacchus explained, “Because spending the afternoon in your kitchen, watching you imbibe my remarkable vintage, you have inspired me to know the perfect accompaniment to ambrosia wine.”
“I have?” asked the drunken goddess, amazed.
“Indeed!” Bacchus exclaimed, “There is only one thing so exquisite, so divine, that it would not be shamed to be eaten with such a beverage. I dare speculate that beside such a meal, even this, my greatest creation, might pale by comparison!”
“Yer kiddin!” Vesta said, gawking in unbelief.
“No dear Vesta, I am not! And the irony of it all is that this divine meal has been right before us all along!”
“Where?” asked Vesta, looking about.
“Why Vesta, gracious hostess that you are, you have already laid it on the table!”
Vesta looked at the bare table a top which she sat.
“Whateryou talkin’ ‘bout, Bacchus?” she asked.
“Here, let me show you,” he said, placing his hand behind her back and gently lowering her to lie on the table. The round faced god of wine then took his place in a chair at the table and hiked up the folds of Vesta’s toga. The goddess giggled.
“Bacchus, what in the heavens are you....Oh my....OH MY!....By the sacred flame....Ooooh BACCHUS!”
* * * *
Portia and the six virgins where dancing frantically about Vesta’s sacred flame. Augusta and Drusila were outdoing Orpheus himself on the flute and drum, creating a wild and erotic music. All the priestesses had discarded even their undergarments and sweat poured from their bodies, glistening in the firelight. It wasn’t a Saturnalia per se, but Portia didn’t doubt that the lecherous old god would be impressed by it.
The musicians reached a frenzied, fevered pitch, as did the dancers. Their enthusiasm and frenicity more than compensated for their drunken clumsiness. In fact, they seemed to move with a complex yet definite synchrony that Portia could only assume was more inspiration from their Goddess. She was amazed and swept up by their raucous frenzy, her road weariness forgotten in the heat of the virgin’s Saturnalia. At last, both dancers and musicians collapsed, panting desperately as they sprawled naked about their Goddess’ Sacred Flame.
Portia was panting nearly as hard from the joyful exertion, though she had not collapsed. As she wandered among the panting virgins seeking Marla, however, she realized that something more was going on than exhaustion from the dance. Along with panting, the vestals were moaning. Moaning and writhing. This was starting to look like a real Saturnalia.
Marla was laying near the high priestess, her legs clenched together her unfocused eyes looking near panic as she squirmed on the temple floor. Palonia was in a similar state.
“Portia!” her cousin cried out when she saw her, “Portia! I’m so horny! So fucking horny! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! I can’t take it anymore! I need it! Vesta be damned, I need to fuck! Help me, Portia! Help me find a man to fuck!”
“No, Marla, No!” Palonia cried out, “You can’t! You mustn't! If a vessal virgin breaks her vows, they bury her alive! I’ve seen it! Iss horrible! Oh please, Marla, I couldn’t bear it if they took you!”
“I don’ care, damn it!” Marla declared. “I’m so fuckin’ horny! Let’m kill me--I don’t care! It’ll be worth it!”
“Oh Marla, Marla, Marla!” cried Palonia, weeping openly, “I can’t stand to loose you! If you’re gonna break your vows then so am I! I’m really horny too! Lesss go find someone to fuck us then we can die together!”
The two Vestals embraced to seal their coital-death pact. Portia shook her head.
“You know, you do have less fatal options,” she told them.
“Whazhya mean?” Palonia asked.
“Well you know what they do on the Island of Lesbos, don’t you?”
“Huh?” asked Marla, her mentor looking equally clueless. Portia shook her head at the naivete of virgins.
“Well, about three and a half centuries ago, Sappho of Lesbos found that men were not particularly necessary or even desirable in doing service to my Divine Mistress. She and her handmaidens did quite well on their own, if her poetry is to be believed. Am I correct in thinking that in Her mandate that you remain virgins, Vesta simply commanded that you not submit yourselves to any man?”
Marla and Palonia gave each other wide eyed glances, then nodded.
“Well, then, it seems to me that nothings stopping you from meeting each other’s needs.” Portia pointed out.
“But...But how?” Marla asked.
“Oh come on, now. You’ve got fingers, lips, tongues, toes--Surely you don’t think the rites of Venus only involve the genitals?”
From the embarrassed looks on their faces, Portia saw that that is precisely what the virgins thought. With a pitying shake of her head, she resolved to show them.
“Look, Marla,” she said, while spreading wide-eyed Palonia’s thighs with an experienced touch. “Here is Palonia’s mound of Venus. You have one yourself, so you no doubt have some idea what would feel nice. Come here and make friends with it.”
Portia’s cousin approached her mentor’s moistening mound and tentatively reached out but her hand faltered.
“Come now, it doesn’t bite,” Portia chided. “Just stroke it, pet it like the nice soft warm creature it is. Like this.”
Portia manually began to work the high priestess vulva. It was warm and weeping. Palonia moaned, arched her back, and her eyes rolled back as she received the first sexual touch of her life.
“See, it’s easy. Now you try,” Portia encouraged and Marla complied, gingerly at first but then with growing enthusiasm as her eyes filled with wonder at the feel of her senior’s sex beneath her hands. Palonia was quite appreciative of the inexperienced but adoring touch. Marla smiled broadly.
“Now sit up, Palonia,” Portia instructed with an encouraging hand. “You can help out Marla while she helps you.”
The dark haired senior clergywoman looked like a timid novice as her hand delved Marla’s depths, filled with awe at what she was doing and what was being done to her. Then the thrill of it was too much and she giggled. Marla giggled in turn. Both vestals’ hands were working in earnest now as their owners stared into one another’s delighted eyes. Portia put a gentle hand behind each of their heads and propelled them into a long, passionate kiss.
Portia looked about. The other moaning, panting vestals were staring in amazement and lust. Kalena was actually drooling.
“Well what are you waiting for, ladies?” Portia asked, “It’s obvious you all want it. It’s not hard and learning how is half the fun. Just do what you think would feel nice and ask your partner if you’ve succeeded. She’ll let you know. If it feels good, do it.”
The virgins turned their gaze from Portia to each other and then the floodgates opened. Soon the courtyard of the Sacred Flame was a scene that Saturn would be proud of. Portia went about giving advice on technique but the vestals were quite creative on their own. She would never have believed such uninhibited lust could come from virgins. There was only one explanation--Vesta must be being very, very naughty. Portia giggled and wondered how she had gotten into such a state.
* * * *
Vesta's robes lay spread out on the floor. Bacchus' raiment lay in a crumpled pile beside them. The god of wine lay naked upon Vesta's kitchen table, unashamed of his corpulent form, grinning from ear to ear. The goddess of the hearth straddled him, impaled upon his godly member, riding him at full gallop, causing his vast belly to quiver.
"Oh Yesh!" she cried out drunkenly, "Oh Yesh Oh Yesh Oh Yesh!"
Her immaculately coiffed hair was a shambles, intricate braidwork unraveled, stray locks flying free or plastered to her sweat-soaked face and body. Her bounteous bosom bounced and bounded with each thrust of her womanly hips. Millennia of repressed passion streamed from every pore and radiated out into the universe leading conservative housewives throughout the Roman republic to indulge in shocking fantasies as they prepared the evening meal before their hearths.
“Oh Sweet Goddess of Fire!” Bacchus declared. “You ignite the god of wine! You always have! Every smoldering glance has always set me burning!”
Vesta filled the air with slurred exultations and unrestrained laughter. Her servants came scurrying to aid what they assumed was her distress, only to blanch and retreat, eyes downcast. This caused the inebriated goddess to laugh all the louder. Entwining her fingers in her wild mane, she slammed her sodden sex down all the harder on Bacchus' hard member.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she cried out.
She grabbed the jug that bounced beside them on the table, tossed back her head and poured its remaining contents down her throat and down her body. The golden liquid streamed between her breasts and along her belly to splash where she and the god of wine met in divine coitus.
She threw the empty jug across the room, grasped a full breast in each hand and screamed out in triumph, rapidly shaking her head so that drops of sweat and wine sprayed the room.
She fell forward over Bacchus, her breasts pressing against his bosom, and the younger god grabbed her head and kissed her roughly. Their tongues intertwined. He tasted of ambrosia wine and her own divine juices. She grunted with pleasure and clenched her sex about his member.
His hands moved to her divine rump and squeezed. Their kiss broke off and Vesta raised herself on her hands to see Bacchus grinning wickedly through the jungle of her hair.
"Oh Vesta, Vesta, Vesta!" he exclaimed. “You do so know how to make a guest feel welcome!”
“Less go do it in the garden,” the drunken goddess suggested.
Bacchus laughed.
“Of course, my insatiable hostess! Lead the way!”
* * * *
Portia looked out on the scene she had had a small role in setting. Marla and Palonia had their faces buried between each other’s thighs, rocking and moaning, sharing all their years of restrained passion. Augusta had found a novel use for her flute, having stuck it deep inside a delighted Drusila as she abandoned her drum to beat on her fellow musician’s flanks. The flame guardians, Najulia and Kalena, had retrieved ritual tapers and seemed to be trying to determine just how many of the candles could be put in their various orifices. The young, formerly self-righteous door maiden was staggering determinedly toward her, leaning on the youngest of the bakers, both vestals’ faces glistening with each others juices as they grinned naughtily.
“Um, hi. I’m Brutia. This is Bertia.” said the diminutive blonde door maiden, “We fergotta introduce ourselfs afore.”
Bertia nodded a bit too enthusiastically and the pair almost fell over.
“Yes, I remember,” said Portia. “You were a bit brusque with me when we first met.”
The blonde girl blushed furiously.
“Golly I’m sorry about that! I had no idea whazh I wazh talkin’ ‘bout! I was jus’ tellin’ Berita that if I knew how fun it wassa fuck, I woulda been a preisess of Venus too. Isn that right Berita?”
“Yep!” said Bertia with another destabilizing nod, “Thas wha she said all right! An I said, ‘yeah, it’d be cool t’be a whore’, an’ she said ‘she’s not a whore she’s a preisess an’ she’s the mos’ bufital preisess ever!’ an’ I said ‘yeah, she’s really bufital an nobodies fuckin’ her’ an we both thought that was really sad.”
“Yeah,” said Brutia, “So we was thinkin’, since yer so nice an so bufital an we’re so grateful that you showed us howa fuck, that maybe we could, um, be nice to you...”
They smiled with shy, drunken lust in hopeful anticipation of her answer. Portia gave a rye chuckle. It didn’t look like she’d get much sleep tonight either.
“Very well, girls. Come show me what you’ve learned.”
The giggling vestals advanced and Portia guided their mouths to her full breasts. They suckled in tandem, their tongues teasing her nipples. They embraced her, pressing their nubile breasts against her belly as their hands caressed her back. Portia let out an appreciative hum. She hadn’t realized just how horny the vestals’ spectacle had made her. She sighed as Bertia’s hand moved up to knead the nape of her neck while Brutia’s moved down to caress her bare bottom. The young vestals each had their spare hand on the other’s backside, fingers digging into their firm flesh.
The young vestals’ mouths were sloppy and unskilled at her breasts but their passion more than compensated, with the added thrill of the same divine synchrony that had choreographed their drunken dancing. It was their fingers, however, that made Portia glad she had agreed to join in the fun. Countless hours of bread making had made the girls’ hands remarkably strong, yet delicate and dexterous. As Bertia drew all the tension from her neck and shoulders, Brutia did things to her buttocks that had never been done in all her years in the temples of Venus. It would never have occurred to her that she should be jealous of a loaf of hearth bread!
The vestals’ fingers made their way to each others welcoming mounds and they began to mewl and squeal at Portia’s breast. They were becoming a bit too enthusiastic, sucking just a bit too hard and Portia began to worry that if she didn’t break it off, the girls’ teeth might play more of a role than Portia really wanted. (It was a common danger with beginners.) Besides, the girls’ adroit fingers were actually making her weak in the knees and remaining upright was becoming a distraction.
Gently patting them on the head only encouraged them to increase the fervor of their adoration, so Portia slid her thumbs along her breasts and into the young priestesses’ mouths, popping them off her nipples. Hooked on her thumbs like two inebriated, horny fish, they continued to suck for a moment, looking confused.
“Did we do sumping wong?” Brutia asked around her thumb.
Portia removed her digits and lovingly patted their cheeks.
“Oh no, dear girls,” she told them, “You’re doing very, very well! So well that I just can’t stand up anymore!”
The girls absolutely glowed as they basked in her compliment. Portia was taken aback. She wasn’t used to being idolized like this and she found that she liked it. A lot.
“Very well, my young apprentices,” she said, lying down on the ground, spreading her limbs in welcome. “Show me what more you have learned!”
Giggling, the two girls dropped to their hands and knees and crawled to Portia’s beckoning body. Brutia on her right, Bertia on her left, their fingers continued to work their magic, doing astonishing things to her thighs, hips, belly and breasts.
“Oh sweet Venus!” Portia swore, “You two are amazing! Don’t be shy, though. Come and explore my cavern of wonders!”
They obediently descended upon her mound of Venus, kneading it with those marvelous fingers of theirs and slipping them inside. She could see the awe in their faces as they came to recognize the differences between her well-worshiped personal temple and their virginal vulvas. Three of Brutia’s slender fingers fit easily inside. Portia decided she would not have properly instructed them in Sappho’s methods without at least an introduction to fisting.
“Come now, Brutia dear,” she instructed, “Make your hand into a flower bud, like this.”
Wide-eyed, the door maiden did as instructed and Portia guided her diminutive hand into her welcoming sex. Berita giggled wickedly when she realized just what they were about and started to stroke Portia’s labia, helping her open up for Brutia’s entire hand. Berita started to lap at Portia’s pleasure nubbin and Brutia began to knead her buttocks with her free hand. The young virgin’s lust was truly inspired. They worshiped Portia’s body with the determined obsession that Portia had only seen manifested before in her fellow clergy and devotes of Cupid. Portia had no doubt now that Vesta must have been making a drunken slut of herself. As difficult a concept as it was, it was the only plausible explanation.
