Rathnar, God of Gods

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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In an ancient age, when the spine of the world was formless and the forests still young, the god Rathnar ruled. Chief among the ancestral gods, he was famed for his power and glory—ten paces could he clear in a single step, and his throwing arm could spear game from any range. He dwelt in a golden palace upon a mountain rich in ores and gems, governing the lesser deities and demigods.

The goddesses of his golden palace all lusted for him, and the weaker gods found themselves jealous. Alas, none could match Lord Rathnar's power, and he reigned with an iron hand. Every night he would take a goddess of his court—or two or three or many more—to his chambers, and have his way with their glittering sexes. It was deep in one such night, that the god first heard of that magic stone which would come to dominate his mind.

Rathnar reclined upon his bed as the platinum-haired goddesses Serissa and Saranna—the twin divinites of clear waters—bobbed at the immense shaft of his venerated cock, hungrily sliding their wet lips up and down his length as they basked in his power. They were perfumed and lovely, with smooth skin and bare clefts, and they moaned like hungry nymphs as they laboured to please their lord. Upon his bearded face rode his daughter, Therassa, goddess of the clouds. He lashed his tongue at her drooling slit, sending cries of rapture echoing through his golden palace.

The sister goddesses took their turns mounting him, splitting their splendid pussies upon his pride. It took little time for ecstasy to wrack their indentical bodies, and Rathnar obliged the womb of each with spools of divine cum. Then he took his daughter, hilting into her with all his godly strength. She bounced on his shaft, crying the name of her father, sighing prayers of lust to the balls that conceived her. Rathnar's stamina held for long and the twin goddesses watched entranced, rubbing their cum-drooling pussies at the sight of the god of gods fucking his daughter to honeyed bliss.

In the afterglow, they goddesses nestled up to his body, cooing at his supremacy. Thick cum poured from each of their pretty pussies—fertile seed which would quicken in their sacred wombs—and the musk of sex lay heavy in the chamber. Three pairs of glittering lavender eyes looked up at him with awe-struck love.

But another pair of eyes watched too. On the perch of an open window, a naked woman crouched, her gaze laving over the sweat-slick bodies of Rathnar and his gorgeous mates. Rathnar spied her and shifted up on his bed.

"Who are you, girl?" he called. "You like the sight of mighty Rathnar with his women?"

"Indeed I do, great god," she said, her voice purring like molten sapphire. "I enjoyed the sight of your lovemaking."

Gently she floated down from the windowsill, walking towards the naked flesh on the bed. Rathnar saw that she appeared different to the goddesses of his golden palace. She had beauty to be sure, with breasts bounteous and rose-nippled and a taut milk-white stomach which lead the gaze inevitably downward to the pouting lips of her vulva, but her eyes flashed with knowledge of elder realms. Her hair was long and dawn-gold, falling to her ankles, and it billowed like a dream as she came near. Rathnar felt his cock stirring once more.

She floated up onto the foot of his bed, sitting down and splaying apart her legs to reveal the pink of her pussy. Smirking at him, she twirled a lock of her otherwordly hair about her finger.

"Tell me O Rathnar, is there any magnificent gem in this land of which you do not know?"

Rathnar scoffed, and his women giggled at the witlessness of the question. All knew that Rathnar possessed the greatest wealth in the world, and his treasure hoard was legendary. "Don't jest, strange girl. I have all the riches of earth in my vaults!"

She tittered. "Then what of the Gem of Ordos?"

Rathnar was confused, but then became enraged. He had never heard of such a trinket; it had to be a lie of this sorceress!

"You tell falsehoods, naked witch! No such gem exists in all the world!"

"But it does, O god of gods. It is the rarest and most precious gem in all the realm."

The words of the sorceress rung true. A growing sense of deficiency came over him, and he became aware of that great gem beyond his grasp, somewhere in the vastness of the world.

"What do you know of it?"

"It is in the east, god of gods. In the eastern mountains that the mortal men know as the Athellerons."

"You don't trick me, enchantress?"

She caressed the glistening flesh of her cunt as their eyes met. "I would dare not deceive Rathnar."

"And there is something you wish for, isn't there?

"But of course," she said. "When the gem is yours, you will come to my domain, and make love to me. You shall make me pregnant with your powerful seed."

"It will be done." He nodded. "But what is your name, enchantress?"

"I am Liasella," she said. "And I go where the stars go."

Before their eyes she shimmered into nothing, and as easily as she had arrived, she was gone.

Within a cycle of the moon, trumpets blared from the parapets of the golden palace. Rathnar assembled a great party—a warband of gods and demigods and mortals—to accompany him on the quest for the elusive Gem of Ordos. His stallion paraded through the gates of the palace, followed by streaming banners and armoured deities. With him rode Hymgoth, brother of the twin goddesses, as well as one-eyed Kaltoros, patron of the axe. The army marched out onto the plains below Rathnar's rich mountain, heading east with assurance in their hearts.

Not all was to go as planned. Dark Armonn, ruler of the nether-world, watched from afar in his ebon tower. He hated Rathnar, and his prideful ways. Long had he looked on the golden palace enviously, wishing to make the goddesses and the wealth all his own, to become a mighty lord in his own right. Wicked Armonn drew his power from the grudges held by the lesser deities, and conspired to defeat the quest of the god of gods.

On the second day of the journey a plague struck, rending the flesh of mortals to the bone. Horses and knights died in scores, falling to the mud. Gilded banners which had proclaimed victory the day before became tattered rags of hopelessness, and only the gods and demigods remained to soldier forth.

On the third day of the journey, a rift formed in the earth, a black maw of the nether-world which sought to swallow the gods. Hymgoth and and Kaltoros were swept away into deep darkness, as well as the legions of demigods they commanded. Their honoured weapons lay useless upon a shattered ground, and Rathnar was the only one fortunate to escape.

Rathnar roared with rage. Left alone on the plains, with his warband stolen from him, he cursed the will of the fates. Yet still he did not let the disasters dissuade him. Nothing could stop the god of gods, and he continued east.

It was on the sixth day that he reached the Athellerons. The ridges were sharp and steep, but he climbed with his muscles searing. As he crested the highest peak, he saw a huge hall, one which competed with his own faraway palace for majesty. It was here that he knew this Gem of Ordos would be.

He did not ask for permission of entrance, as the doorway was unguarded—of course he wouldn't have anyway, he was Rathnar—and strode in proudly, with his chest high and shoulders broad. The inside was barren, with vast networks of cobwebs haunting the corners and expansive ceiling. At the centre was a throne, carved from a limb of the world's largest tree. Upon the seat sat an ugly creature, a troll, with sallow grey skin and a hideous face. The troll's huge cock hung down nearly to the ground, and next to it lounged a gorgeous woman with skin like flawless alabaster. She was as nude as the troll, and her lithe arms lovingly wrapped the gargantuan penis that was larger around than her body. Above her tits hung a necklace, set with a gleaming opal-like jewel. It was the gem he sought.

"Who are you to enter this hall?" croaked the troll.

"Rathnar, god of gods," he said. "I desire the gem of Ordos."

"I am Ordos, and you will not have the gem. It is the birthright of my daughter, Beshana the White."

The beautiful woman stared up at Rathnar blankly, hugging tighter her father's huge, wart-riddled penis.

"Then I will slay you, and elope with your daughter," Rathnar announced with fire in his eyes. "Both she and the gem will be mine."

"You will not. As long as Beshana lives, I do, and as long as I live so does Beshana. To slay one would be to slay us both."

Rathnar was caught. No matter how much he coveted the gem, he would not be so low as to slaughter a fair woman to take it.

"You will find a way to part with it," he said. "I do not leave this hall until the gem is mine."

Ordos' wretched face looked puzzled. "If you bargain like that, then a deal must be made." The troll scratched his disfigured chin. "My daughter has lived her years without ever knowing a man in her cunt. I am too big for her small hole, and thus she can only lick my length and swallow my seed. If you take her in the way a woman should be, she may decide to give you the gem."

Rathnar nodded. It was a queer deal, but this troll had lived so long alone with this lovely daughter of his, and never had he been able to properly wield her. He surmised such a burden would take a toll on any mind.

"I accept." Already his cock bulged the front of his travelling pants, and he quickly shucked out of them to become as naked as the woman. Beshana the white gave a kiss to her father's cock, and stood up, coming slowly before Rathnar.

There was no time for foreplay—Rathnar had been nearly a week without a woman, and the god of gods was hungry for new flesh. He reached down and wrapped his hands around her plush bum, hoisting her into the air. He positioned her plump slit above his steel erection, and an idle droplet of the pale woman's excitement drooled from her pussy, landing on the crown of his cock. It sizzled on him like liquid lust, and she wrapped her arms about his neck, her amber eyes half-lidded with craving. Steadily he brought her down, spearing open her slit, easing in his shaft. She quivered with a silken moan as he invaded her vagina, and perverse Ordos watched intently.

Hungrily Rathnar began to fuck her, bouncing her white body upon the titan length of his cock. He had never gone six days without release in all his immortal years, and his balls throbbed to be free of their load. Still though, he had to impress the lovely girl, if she was to part with her birthright, and he gathered his endurance as he pounded her.

Beshana's juice poured from the linkage of their bodies, pungent pussy nectar that smelled all the more fragrant in the rotting hall. He buried his face in the valley of her bouncing, milky breasts, rolling his tongue across her white flesh. With every thrust his balls smacked her buttocks, filling the hall with echoing slaps. Her walls clenched and wrung with need, velvet-soft and moist and hot.

For delirious hours the fucking continued, until even Rathnar's skin was beaded by sweat. He rutted her from above, pounding her mercilessly against the stone below, her legs wrapped around him. Countless sighing orgasms had been hammered into her greedy pussy since they began, and even Rathnar's endless endurance was waning. With a roar he slammed to the hilt, his crown crashing against her cervix, sending a shudder of pleasure through her body as she spasmed below him. Thick streams of cum flooded her womb, ballooning her belly with seed. Soft mewls met his ears, and his great arms heaved as his balls strained to pour their lot into the girl, load after load of semen streaming into her tight, tensing depths.

In time, he waned, and he pulled from her with a wet slosh. Musky cum drooled from the ravaged pink slit of Beshana the White, spilling onto the floor, deflating her swollen belly.

She gazed at him, reaching up to caress his beard, her mouth hanging agape with the blissful void of her first true orgasms. Her cheeks were a burning red and wordlessly she drew him into an amorous kiss, pulling off her necklace and pressing it into his hand.

Rathnar stood up triumphantly before the hideous troll, dangling the Gem of Ordos in his grasp. "It is mine."

"And it is," the troll growled. A sheen of precum had formed on the perverted troll's crown. "Beshana's birthright is hers to do with as she wills, and you have pleased her. Now take it and begone!"

With a last prideful look, Rathnar strode out of the hall. As he left, he saw Beshana climb back into place around her father's cock, and she was nuzzling and kissing it with love.

Outside it was night. A vault of stars glimmered above. The journey had been costly, but the last great gem of the realm was his. He gazed at its opaque opal surface, his vast memory whirling with thoughts of his lost army, and the way the earth itself had consumed Hymgoth and Kaltoros. The price had been paid many times over, but there was still one last debt...

A rift opened in the air before him, an ever-shifting multihued expanse beckoning on the other side. He stepped through.

He stood at the peak of a grand palace, which lay among other palaces, and strange spires as far as the eye could see. The palace was a thousand times grander than even his own fastness, and a hundred times greater than his godly mind could have ever dreamt of. Golden arches and walls extended infinitely on the horizon, with a sky a rich dark blue and cluttered with foreign stars.

He could feel her approach before he saw her. The eldritch enchantress came to him, her eyes meeting his own.

"Liasella..." he murmured, shocked by the splendour of her realm, and how her divinity seemed to here far surpass his own.

"Welcome Rathnar." Two of her graceful fingers rubbed at the lovely lips of her pussy. "I knew you would arrive soon."

"Your words were true," he said. "—but this realm of yours, enchantress... It is grander than anything I have ever known."

"It has existed through all time, as I have," she said. "But let us waste no more; come to my bed. My womb is waiting."

She led him by the hand under massive archways and past huge, stately domes. The materials of the constructs were not those of his own realm, and every surface reflecting a sharp glimmer that did not tire the eye nor pain it. A staircase loomed before them, spiralling up so high as to look unending, but within a moment they had reached the top. They came to a chamber open to the dark sky, which had nothing other than a rich bed that shimmered in a thousand etheral colours.

She climbed onto it, lying back on her fan of pale-gold hair and spreading her legs. "Well, god of gods?"

Her hairless pussy was glittering with dew, and his cock quivered at the mere sight of it. Towering over her, need coursed through his veins, a hot hungry lust that wanted to consume her. He had been hungry to fuck her since she had teasted him in his bedchamber. No female had ever denied Rathnar. Now her rosy pussy was wet and waiting before him, and he thirsted for it with an unearthly urge.

She wrapped her legs about his waist, drawing him closer, and the head of his cock pushed at the mouth of her pussy. His crown split her bald lips, and a moan that came from her mouth—but also seemed to tremor from out of the mysterious realm's core—thrummed through his awareness with a spasm of ecstatic pleasure. His hips lanced forward, spearing the sugary depths of the enchantress' pussy with a hungry thrust. Wetness met his cock, hot slavering walls that splayed perfectly apart as he drove forth, as if her sheath was made just for him, every contour of her vagina matching the ridges of his penis—every bit of her pussy wrapping him exactly, squeezing tight, clenching her desire. Slumping forward, he kissed the sumptuous flesh of her tits, losing himself in her chest as he eased further. He felt her touch on his back, encouraging pats urging him to push deeper, her legs around his waist squeezing him, wordlessly pleading for him to hilt himself.

He began to thrust with all his power, her echoing gasps singing through his mind. Her pussy was as soft and warm and tight as any he had ever known, and his pleasure ascended by magnitudes with every drive into her supernal cunt.

On his realm the fates controlled destiny, but now this enchantress was weaving a new future for him with the clasping of her pussy. She cried his name—a thousand names, yet each was somehow his—and the sound of her voice became a pleasure all of its own. The heat of their bodies melded, two bodies becoming one, two souls pledging devotion until the ends of time. He knew he never wanted to return. He wished to stay forever, making love to this sorceress—this supreme goddesses—who had bound him with her ideal, juicing cunt.

He dropped forward, his hips positoning with a rutting strength that knew no tiring. Her hands clutched his back, her tongue found his own. Her walls quivered about him in a primal rhythm, imploring him, yearning for him. Flowery drooling love wet the nexus of their sexes, the aroma an earthy musk mixed with sweetness. He could not contain himself any longer in her depths, and slammed himself against the gates of her womb, feeling his strength drain from him as he came.

Rivers of cum poured into her uterus. Life essences merging, masculine virility mixing with feminine ferility. Endless offspring, endless daughters she promised him. All she would bear for him, and all he would glady give to her. Ropes of silver semen gushed into her depths, into a womb that seemed immeasurable with the amount of his seed it could contain. He wanted it until the end of days, until the time when the gods could die.

And then all was hollow. He was alone on the peak in the Athellerons, with the familiar stars above. His cock throbbed with the need to be embraced by her sublime vagina, his length still slick with her nectar.

He slumped to the ground with an exhaustion which could never otherwise take a god. Looking into the opal stillness of the Gem of Ordos, he wished for his enchantress, his Liasella, to invite him again to her unending realm, to the unending union between her legs.

Coming unsteadily to his feet, he felt hair brush against his chest. It was his beard. It had grown so long as to nearly reach his knees, and the hair was an ancient white. Reach up, the hair on his head fallen away, his curling locks gone, leaving his scalp bald. His body which had thundered with the strength of the god of gods was weak, his muscles wrinkled from an age of withering. Even the hall behind him was collapsed, its ancient wood turned to ruined stone.

Divining by the stars, he saw that a hundred thousand years had come and gone. He had been in the dream realm for as long as his own realm had existed, and his godly power was slipping away.

It took an aching week to climb down the Athellerons, and it seemed that the peaks had grown taller in his absence. It was three cycles of the moon to cross the plains westward, and the once green grasslands were blighted.

He saw the shadow of his palace before the palace itself. A corruption lingered on the pathways that lead to it, with broken trees and stones that bled. His home upon the mountain was gone, and what stood in its place shook his once godly heart.

A massive citadel of ebon steel crowned the mountaintop, carved with foul statuary and wicked reliefs. Green grot oozed from the cracks of the stones, and a cloudless black sky hung overhead. The golden palace had been stolen, its corpse desecrated. A history of feasts and tournaments and lovely women had faded, and a new order of sin had taken its place. In the ages of his absence, dark Armonn's armies had conquered, and his will was now law.