Temple of Titillation

I saw him watching me sometimes when I went to bring my offerings, and although he thrilled me, he frightened me too.

"What do you bring the goddess this day?" he would ask every time, and the deep richness of his voice made me quiver.

"I bring her young rice shoots from my father's paddies, and incense from the market," I whispered. He would look at me as if I were a tender piece of meat and he was a starving man, and then he would intone the blessings of the fertility goddess and send me on his way.

Now, my village was a small one, nestled against the curve of the mountains. He was the new priest at our very old fertility temple, where every farmer went to pray for a healthy harvest. My father sneered at his light features, because he was from the flatlands, but I thought about his blue eyes every single night.

I had started touching myself every night after he came to our village in his simple robes. I found that I could bring myself pleasure from touching the little bud nestled at the top of my folds, and I struggled to keep quiet as I ground my hips into my bamboo pallet and whimpered into my pillow. Waves of lust crashed down on me as the arousal coiled in my stomach. I was dripping wet, panting in the sultry summer heat as I imagined his strong hands all over me, squeezing my generous breasts as I straddled him.

To whoever is reading this account, I want to say that I was a good girl. I certainly tried to be. My name is Catelya, like the delicate orchids of the spring, and everyone in my small village certainly thought I was virtuous. I scarcely knew about sex when the priest began to make me his, and it all happened on a day when I was more aroused than usual, so I shall tell you abou that fateful day before I tell you too much more.

My father was a rice farmer like any other, but he made extra coin on the side by going down to the valley and harvesting cinnamon among the lowlanders. He brought back a friend of his to stay for a few days because of a looming storm on the horizon.

"This is Adel," Father told me curtly, "Fetch him some dinner, will you?"

"Yes, Father. I've made enough for all of us, and for Priest Levon too."

"Ah, let that flatlander starve for all I care," Father muttered, and Mother chastised him as I set about tending the lamb stew that simmered on our hearth. After a time, my parents left to go tend their paddies, and I was left alone with Adel, the stranger.

He didn't speak to me when he came to stand next to me at the hearth. I just felt the animal warmth of his body, and I was frightened. I always grew frightened when I felt the eyes of men upon me, and my very fear excited me. I smelled the cinnamon of his hands and I saw the broad set of his muscular shoulders.

He didn't speak to me when he walked behind me and slid his rough hands under my blouse, laying his palms flat against my soft stomach before he reached up and touched my breasts, rolling my nipples between his calloused fingers as I held back a squeal.

"I've heard things about mountain girls," he whispered, and his husky voice sent a thrill down my spine, "I've heard that there's no one to fuck up here but your brothers and your goats, so you'll lift your skirts for anyone."

I should have pulled away. I should have slapped him and screamed and flung the stew at him. But maybe, because I was as docile as the lamb bubbling in my stew, I stood still. Maybe because I was as sluttish as the lowland prostitutes, I stood still. Because I was growing wet, slick with the horrible lust that consumed me every day, and I feared that Adel knew it was dripping down my thighs.

"I've brought some wine for our guest!" Father called out as he opened the door, and I jumped away from Adel, yelping like a little kitten.

"I could use some wine, thank you," Adel said with a wide smile as he stepped away from me.

Later, I lifted my blouse and saw the faint hints of cinnamon powder across my brown skin. I ate lamb stew, refusing to look at our guest, and when evening fell, I spooned some stew into a clay pot and wrapped it in a piece of cloth.

"Where are you going, girl?" Mother demanded, "Don't you see the rain outside?"

I looked out our small window as the rain sluiced down our tile roof and a distant thunderbeat roared in the darkness.

"Priest Levon told me he's been feeling poorly," I lied, "I think some hearty food could do him a world of good."

Without another word, I rushed out into the rain. It wasn't a long way to the temple that stood on a little hillock beyond the rice paddies, but it seemed long as my torment wrestled with my conscience. I was a virtuous girl, and I stood there and let our guest touch me. I had let him touch me, and I grew wet from his touch. Tears began to burn my eyes as the rain and the wind tousled my long curls, and I rushed towards through the temple doors, grateful to see a little lantern burning in the window.

"Miss Catelya," Levon said, looking up from his prayer book, "This is a surprise. What brings you here on this rainy night?"

"I thought you'd like some dinner," I whispered, suddenly wondering why I had been so foolish. He stood up in the shadowy dimness of the temple and walked towards me, taking the clay pot from my hands and placing it on a low table.

"That's very kind of you," he murmured, and I could hardly stand to be so close to him. I looked like a drowned rat and he looked like a demigod, with his brown hair falling to his shoulders and his blue eyes sparkling in his face.

"You're all wet," he said with a roguish grin as a blush rose to my face, "Why don't you stay here until the rain passes?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude," I faltered, looking away from him, "I know you're working."

"Perhaps you could help me with that," Levon murmured, coming closer to me, "When you pray to the goddess for fertility, what do you see in your mind?"

"I-I see green rice paddies," I stammered, "And-and tall bamboo stacks. Trees with ripe mangoes and a big harvest."

He looked at me with that slight smile of his, as if he knew I was lying.

"Why don't you take off those wet clothes and we'll discuss my work some more."

It wasn't a question, it was an order, and I began to tremble as my clit throbbed. I couldn't undress in the presence of a man, and certainly not a priest. I was eighteen, I hadn't been a child for a long time. I recalled the feeling of Adel's hands on my skin, pressing cinnamon powder against me as he breathed against my neck, and I knew that it was a slippery slope.

"I won't," I said quickly, "I c-can't. Unless perhaps you have something for me to wear."

In an instant he had my wrists in his hand, and with his other hand he ripped my blouse open in one fell swoop.

"Please stop!" I cried, trying to pull away from him. What if someone were to walk into the temple and see me like this? I would be disgraced. I looked up into his eyes, tearful onyx meeting cruel, amused sapphire. My breasts were nearly exposed, and with another vicious tug, he tore my blouse and let it fall to my waist.

"This isn't a very prosperous town," he whispered, "There are droughts every year, and fewer and fewer children are born. I have a theory, Catelya, do you want to know my theory?"

His hands rested on my waist, and I shivered. I was soaked to the skin, but if I wasn't, my thighs would be covered with the slickness of my arousal already. I wanted to feel him inside of me. The thought startled me, and I hated how much I wanted to touch his cock. I had never touched a man's cock before, never felt it throbbing in my hand. Never tasted it. The girls at the village school, the ones she was supposed to stay away from, whispered about sucking cocks and spitting out the seed that spilled, and I always wanted to taste it too. His touch on me seemed to burn me, and my breath grew feverish.

"People in this village don't give themselves up to pleasure enough," he murmured as I whimpered, squirming as I grew more and more turned on.

"We shouldn't," I tried to tell him, but he reached for my skirt, digging his big fingers into the space between my damp skin and my waistband, and I let out a whine of pure want.

"They don't open themselves up to pleasure," he continued, and then my wet skirt was a puddle around my ankles.

"What if someone sees?" I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to pull away from him. My cheeks were red with fright and embarrassment. He was seeing everything, and I felt horribly exposed as he took me in.

"It's storming outside, Catelya," the priest murmured as his fingers traced a path down my stomach, "No one will see. And if they do, let them watch. I need to teach this village how to open itself up to pleasure, because only then will they be able to experience the blessings of their goddess."

In an instant, he had me bent over the low table, with my face pressed against the window. His fingers went between my legs and I squeaked, trying to jump away from him. With a low chuckle, he held me tight and slid a thick finger inside of my wet cunt.

"You've never done this before, have you?" he asked, and then his other hand found my throbbing bud and I couldn't form words for several moments. He was making me come undone.

"No," I managed to whisper at last, "Don't."

"I always like to plow untilled soil," he said, and then he was inside of me before I was even ready. The sudden thunderclap drowned out my scream as he held my hands behind my back and forced his thick cock inside of me.

He took up a punishing rhythm, not heeding my screams as my poor cunt felt as if it were being ripped open. He was inside of me, the man over whom I had lusted for so long. He was inside of me, and it was the best kind of violation. I was utterly helpless as the power of his muscular body slammed my hips into the table, bruisingly hard. Little whimpers fell from my lips as I pleaded with him not to. I heard nothing from him but grunts, harsh and animalistic. He reached out and grabbed a handful of my long hair, yanking my head back and sinking his teeth into my neck.

I'm ashamed to say that I came, all over his cock. He was raping me and I was squirting and squealing like an unashamed whore. A few seconds after I came, he did too. He dropped my hands and dug his fingers into my hips, and I felt him pulsing inside of me.

It wasn't until after he let me stand up that I realized what he had done. His white seed was dripping down my brown thighs, and he looked at me with those wicked blue eyes.

"Please," I begged him, starting to cry, "You-you-"

"You opened yourself up to pleasure, my dear. And surely the goddess will reward you."