Divine Carnality Pt. 02 - Desire

Caravan of the Divine Carnality - 2 - Desire

One last gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as she was lifted up, the lengthy cock pulling out of her and leaving a trail of pleasure and cum dripping down her thighs. She found her footing as the flowering vines around her loosened their grip. Standing over the hermaphroditic form of the sylvan nymph whose cock she'd been riding, Myrielle smiled, then spoke a few parting words of wisdom, her soft voice almost a whisper.

"Remember the Pleasures of Elai, dear Ambra -- together we have reached into the depth of Amethyst Shadows, and pulled forth your deepest Desire. Now, these Desires need not sink back into the shadows; now you must share them, freely and openly. Elai be with you, dear Ambra."

Ambra did not answer verbally, but gave a nod of understanding; they closed their eyes, still basking in the afterglow of their sex. The array of flowering vines that surrounded Myrielle shuddered once more, before slowly pulling back to the sylvan's body, some gently caressing her skin as they did.

As Myrielle climbed the garden wall to leave, she paused, turned her head back to the reclining sylvan, and added one more note -- "But though this Desire has emerged from the shadows, you must never cease to foster more desires. Search the shadows within you, and you shall find a wealth of desires."

And then she slipped over the other side of the garden wall, and into the night.

As Myrielle stalked through the city streets, she deftly wove her hands to open Shasla's Rift, pulling forth ribbons of shadow -- strands of magic, born of the Elai -- to wrap around her body. The ribbons shifted from magical to material, and soon Myrielle's naked body was clothed again, draped in layers of black and purple silk ribbons. Partially clothed, at least -- significant portions of her skin were still bared, and nothing covered her crotch, the still-wet folds of her labia exposed to the cool night air.

It was the fourth night of the Caravan's stay in the city of Silversong, and the fourth night Myrielle had prowled its streets. As Incarnate of Desire, the shadows were her domain, and she had a way of pulling the darkness around herself, remaining unseen. Not that very many were out on the streets this late -- the city center may still bustle with nightlife, but this was a quiet residential neighborhood.

Quet, save, for the whispers.

Myrielle could hear them, softly voices emanating from every home, every apartment. They were not spoken, in truth, but were pulled on silken ribbons from the depths of the residents' hearts -- their deepest carnal desires. Myrielle sensed them, listened to them, and sifted through them.

'I want his touch; unbridled, not holding back.'

An enticing desire -- Myrielle imagined, for a moment, the level of passion that this supplicant yearned for. Yet it was not a desire she could fulfill at this moment for the same gift that allowed her to sense these desires also gave her clairvoyance into the lives of those that hold the desires. The man whose touch this supplicant desired was distant, far beyond the city walls.

She listened for more desires, letting them flow from all around her.

'A cock in my hand, between my lips, while she watches.' -- a delicious yearning for exhibitionist delights.

'Forever on the edge, never to release.' -- a challenge in restraint, relentlessly teased, yet holding back from orgasm.

'Give me more of them, all at once; surround me, take me' -- the desire to be at the center of an orgy, bodies writhing all around. Myrielle would revel in fulfilling such a desire, but she knew it would take more coordination. She would call upon Desire's Acolytes to assist on another night.

Still prowling in the shadows as she listened to these desires, Myrielle had wandered several blocks away from the garden where she'd fucked the sylvan nymph, tangled in its vines. She was in a neighborhood with narrow townhomes, and apartments stacked three and four stories high -- all crafted with the artisanal stonework that Silversong was famous for.

Myrielle continue to listen, silently pulling forth Desires on unseen silken ribbons,

'Under the light of the moon, right there in the plaza.'

'Every inch of my skin, covered in cum.'

'Her sinuous coils wrapped around me, enthralled by her beauty.'

'We could all be together, pets in her harem.'

'Oh give me such beauty, such grace, such raw carnal power.'

Myrielle heard the various desires, and continued to determine whether or not they should be fulfilled by herself, delegated to Desire's Acolytes, or saved for later. It was rare for her to pick up and fulfill more than a few Desires in one night -- with a city so large, only a select few supplicants would get her direct attention.

By now, she had wandered closer to the Artificer's District, and many of the buildings were split purpose -- a workshop or business on the ground floor, living arrangements upstairs. Up ahead, Myrielle could see a light on in one of the workshops -- someone still working at this late hour, or perhaps still cleaning up from the day's projects.

Myrielle, peered, from her hidden location, into the workshop, seeing there a woman - a human woman, arranging an assortment of tools hanging on the wall of her workshop. As the woman turned to wipe down her crafting table, Myrielle admired her honey-golden skin, luxurious black hair, and supple curves.

'I need to pleasure her, to be the one who makes her cum.'

The Desire almost caught Myrielle by surprise, as her attention had been held by the woman in the workshop. Tracing back to where this Desire had been pulled from, Myrielle turned her gaze up to an open window on the third floor of a building across the street. Standing in the window was a silhouette, backlit by the light of an oil lamp. Myrielle didn't have to rely on her gifts to know that the woman in the workshop was the subject of the watcher's desire.

Curious, she sought out the desires of the woman in the workshop.

'Bind me, hidden lover; make me yours.'

Myrielle almost gasped with excitement, realizing with a thrill that the two Desires were uniquely compatible. The figure watching from the window desired the woman in the workshop -- to give her pleasure and bring her to orgasm. The woman in the workshop, wanted to be bound by a stranger, given pleasures by someone unseen. Yet, Myrielle could see deeper than that -- could see that it wasn't just a stranger she yearned for as an "unseen lover."

This would be the perfect opportunity for these two supplicants.

Already excited at the thought, Myrielle slipped a hand down between her legs, to where the silk ribbons left her pussy exposed. Slipping a finger in, feeling her arousal, and the dripping remnant of the sylvan's seed, the Incarnate of Desire shuddered. She traced her finger up and down her silky labia, then swirled around her clit, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the sensations of self-pleasure. Bringing her finger back up to her mouth, closing her lips around it, and savoring the flavor of her sex, and the remains of the sylvan seed.

Myrielle opened her eyes. It was time to begin her work.

She opened Shasla's Rift -- the direct connection to her magic -- and the sensual caress of power slipped over her skin. Through the rift, she spoke to both supplicants, her voice a velvety whisper in the shadows.

"Divine Carnality hears your hidden plea; your silent supplication; will you be elevated to the pleasures of Elai?"

Both figures startled, in their own ways, at the disembodied voice. The woman in the workshop stumbled back, leaning on her workbench, looking around. The figure in the window flinched, then cautiously leaned forward, looking out the window. This gave Myrielle a better view, the figure no longer a silhouette -- revealing a woman with a gorgeous mane of red hair, brilliant green eyes, and ample curves, adorned in a fine gown. Short white horns curved back from her forehead -- she was daemar, the offspring of human and demon.

Despite both being startled by the voice, it only took a moment for them to recognize what they had heard. Everyone knew the initiatory words of Desire's Incarnate -- everyone longed for the day that they would hear them, and experience the pleasures that follow.

Individually, the two supplicants regained their composure, and spoke their ritual response.

"Elai hears my unspoken plea, now unveiled before Desire's Incarnate."

Their voices spoke separately, yet Myrielle heard them in unison. She felt a rush of power from Shasla's Rift, as the ritual commenced -- ribbons of shadow swirled around her, gentle caresses, teasing, enticing. Then they flowed through the dark city streets, into the third floor window and into the workshop, to dance around the two supplicants.

Myrielle's words addressed them individually, seeking more.

"Sitra," she called the woman in the workshop by name, her voice in the ribbons that encircled the artisan, "your hidden appetites have been seen by Desire's Incarnate. Speak them to me, and they will be fulfilled this very night."

Sitra trembled with nervous excitement, but answered, "I desire to be tied and bound... restrained. But by someone hidden. I'm blindfolded... I cannot see them, only hear them, feel them. And they... they fulfill their every desire with my body. I am theirs." She paused, for a moment, then added the words required by ritual, "This is my desire, the hidden plea. Elevate me to the pleasures of Elai."

Myrielle listened to the words, even though she already knew them. This was an important part of the ritual -- an acknowledgement of what they would be agreeing to in the fulfillment of their holy supplications. Consent was always required by the Divine Carnality.

"Then your plea shall be answered, dear Sitra. You will be bound, at the mercy of your hidden lover."

Sitra, the woman in the workshop with honey golden skin and graceful curves, let out a moan of pleasure as she felt the powers of Desire's Incarnate begin their work, and the shadowy ribbons closed in around her.

At the same time, Myrielle had been holding a similar dialogue with the other supplicant, the daemar woman in the third floor window.

"Wintermoon, your hidden appetites have been seen by Desire's Incarnate. Speak them to me, and they will be fulfilled this very night."

Wintermoon had her answer at the ready, knowing with certainty that a ritual with Desire's Incarnate would deliver to her exactly what she had long hungered for.

"I desire Sitra, the woman I watch from my window every night; who I watch right now. I will have her, pleasure her, bring her to orgasm. She will be my lover. This is my desire, the hidden plea. Elevate me to the pleasures of Elai."

Myrielle smiled. She liked Wintermoon's assertive answer; the desires of the two supplicant were perfectly in sync.

"Then your plea shall be answered, dear Wintermoon. She will be yours; you will pleasure her; you will be the one to make her cum."

Wintermoon's red lips curled with satisfaction, and the shadowy ribbons closed in around her.

As all three of them -- Myrielle, Sitra, and Wintermoon -- were enveloped and caressed by the shadowy ribbons, they spoke in unison, the words of sacred sexual prayer.

"Divine Carnality, embrace our flesh; rouse us to sensual worship; let Desire's Amethyst Shadows unveil the pleasures of Elai."

The rite of supplication would begin.

Minutes later, Wintermoon stepped out onto the street, wearing a sapphire blue gown with a plunging neckline and high side slits, her creamy thighs exposed with each graceful stride. Her long red hair flowed behind her, and golden jewelry glittered in the moonlight. The ribbons of shadow flowed around her, leading her on -- though she very well knew her destination -- though some ribbons had coalesced to form a mask of delicate lace over her eyes.

Myrielle watched from the shadows as Wintermoon strode with elegance and authority, directly to Sitras workshop. She strode in through the open door, standing before the woman she would take as lover.

Sitra was bound, the shadow ribbons wrapped around her outstretched arms, binding her in place. Her feet, too, were spread slightly by the shadowy restraints. And her eyes were covered in woven shadow and silk, blindfolded -- she could not see the daemar woman that stood before her, who would this night deliver her to new heights of ecstasy.

Wintermoon stood still, for several moments, gazing upon the bound woman before her. The woman she had lusted over in secret for months now. The woman who was surrendering to her, this night, to experience every pleasure she might give to her. The voluptuous redheaded daemar took in a deep breath, then stepped forward.

She placed a hand on Sitra's chest, gentle, soft, tracing along the neckline of her black silk shirt -- it was a common yet fashionable style among the craftspeople of the Artisan District, sleeveless with a cropped top that cut of just below her supple breasts, with a floral embroidered decal. Much of her torso was left bare, a lovely expanse of smooth golden skin between the shirt and her black leggings, save for a thin gold chain that came down from Sitra's neck, then split above the navel, wrapping around her back. Wintermoon's other hand brushed across the bared stomach, the silky skin. and Sitra cooed softly.

Stepping around the bound Sitra, Wintermoon caressed her side, her back, and around to the front again, taking her time to explore her helpless lover. Hands sliding down her side, up her back, closing around her neck, gentle but firm, before raking down the front of her chest, over her breasts and down to her crotch. A brief, teasing stroke between Sitra's legs, and the captive woman gasped in pleasure and anticipation.

From the darkness, Myrielle watched, creeping closer, gazing in through the open windows, to watch her beautiful supplicants. Knowing that the shadows would keep her hidden, she leaned against the stone wall, one hand sliding between her legs as she looked in upon the sensual tryst she had orchestrated. For so long as she held Shasla's Rift open, pleasure would course through her with a steady thrum -- between that and the lurid show before her, she could not help but indulge in a little self-pleasure.

Wintermoon now stood behind Sitra, one hand in her hair, pulling her head to the side, while her red lips whispered wicked promises into her lover's ear -- a vow to deliver pleasures unimaginable. Myrielle could not make out the words, but could hear Sitra's reply, clearly.

"Yes, please, yes!"

Reaching back to the workbench behind her, Wintermoon retrieved a pair of shears, dragging the flat of the cold steel across Sitra's bared skin, before carefully cutting away at the black cloth of her leggings. Sitra gasped, but held still, maintaining composure despite the anticipation. Soon, her leggings were cut open from front to back, the cloth peeled away to reveal a well-manicured bush and thick pussy lips. The flickering lamplight glistened on her already moistened sex.

The beautiful redheaded Wintermoon crouched down, her milky white thighs exposed through the twin side-slits in her dress. Fingers ran up Sitra's legs, then found her moist and eager sex, sliding in, caressing. Sitra let out a low moan, the anticipated pleasure now emanating from where Wintermoon massaged her pussy. The moans became steady, tossing her head back, her body writhing in the shadowy restraints, as the daemar's fingers did their delicate work.

"More," Sitra begged, "please, give me more."

Wintermoon smirked, her emerald eyes glistening. She stood, and pivoted around to Sitra's front, where she tilted back her head and kissed her neck, licked it, slow, sensual. One hand continued the work of fucking Sitra's dripping pussy, while the other reached up with those shears, again, and cut open the front of her black silk shirt. Casting the shears aside, she groped at Sitra's chest, her firm breasts, her dark nipples. The captive woman gasped and moaned in delight, in pleasure, in rapturous bliss, at the hands of her unseen lover.

Lips met lips, and they kissed, hot, passionate, tongues dancing. The wet sounds of their fiery kisses matched the wet sounds of Sitra's pussy, a lewd duet of pleasure. Myrielle wondered, for a moment, if the sloshing sound of her own fingers, frantically stroking in and out of her pussy, might be heard joining them, but knew that the powers of her gift would smother the sounds in shadow.

Sitra gasped again as Wintermoon broke the kiss, moving her head down to suckle a nipple between her lips. Kissing, licking, sucking. A wicked grin spread across the daemar's lips, and dexterously moved her free hand in the sign of a minor magical cantrip.

Myrielle's eyebrows raised as she recognized the magic Wintermoon was employing -- a popular one among the women of Silversong city.

A flash of green light, from Wintermoon's spell, and Sitra's breasts swelled -- not dramatically, but still noticeably. Sitra moaned, recognizing what was happening, and cried out, "Oh yes, thank you!"

The spell evoked, Wintermoon's lips fell upon Sitra's nipple again, while she reached for the other nipple with a hand. With just a little suckling, and a little massage from her fingers, the milk flowed, thick and creamy. From the one nipple, into Wintermoon's hungry lips, and from the other, dripping down her hand, her arm, to splatter on the floor of the workshop.

Myrielle licked her lips as she watched the milk flow. The spell of lactation would last through the night, her breasts continuing to offer their sweet nectar until the first light of dawn. It was a spell designed with utility in mind, but just as often evoked for pleasure. Both women, it appeared, were thoroughly enjoying its effects.

The creamy white milk spilled from Wintermoon's lips as she suckled, dripping down Sitra's body -- rivulets of white in stark contrast to the darker honey skin tone of the artisan woman. Wintermoon, attempted to move her head down to catch the milk with her tongue, but soon gleefully accepted the futility of her efforts. The sweet milk did not slow, continuing to drip down her lover's body.

Lower, now Wintermoon lifted one of Sitra's legs, placing it on a footstool, and giving her the access she desired to the woman's luscious sex. Leaning in, her lips closed over the vulva, and she suckled. She licked. She devoured.

"Mmm, oh fuck, yes!" cried out Sitra, as her pussy was orally attacked by the hungry Wintermoon. Her body writhing, convulsing, tugging against the restraints, milk still flowing from her swollen breasts, her thick, dark nipples. It was clear to see that Wintermoon possessed a talent for eating pussy, and Myrielle almost felt a twinge of envy, wishing it were her own pussy that the sultry redheaded daemar woman was ravishing.

Pulling forth more power from Shasla's Rift, Myrielle conjured up more ribbons of shadow, to dance between her legs, to rub her pussy alongside her fingers. She was panting, losing herself to voyeuristic self pleasures.

Wintermoon's efforts did not abate -- her tongue pushed up into her lover's sex, writhing around, tasting and teasing. Her tongue was long, as was natural in the daemar, at least three times the length of a human tongue. She could reach in, deep, fully exploring the pussy of her captive. It send waves of ecstasy coursing through Sitra's body, and her moans grow louder, the climax approaching.

The shadow ribbons massaging Myrielle's pussy coalesced and merged into one, forming a silky tongue of shadows, to plunge into her own depths, mimicking the lewd pleasures of her supplicants. At the same time, she rolled her nipples in her fingers, inching and pulling, letting ribbons of shadow rub across them and down her body, as though dark rivulets of milk.