The Festival of Autumn

Etlyah gasped for breath, looked momentarily a little dazed as Ixemna rose, but then her eyes sharpened, and she regarded Daffodil.

"Is th-that, the biggest this temple's got?" she said, as the panting, laughing halfling withdrew her prodigious, glowing rod.

Etlyah focused on Arcor with a little wave.

"How do I look now, love?" she smirked.

"Like a beautiful mess."

"I'll take it."

"If you're craving something a little heftier," Ixemna said, flexing a meaty forearm, "I can help."

Etylah growled a demand, and the warrior began to work her thick fingers into her, one at a time.

"Is that...?" Arcor trailed off. "Oh my."

"Think of it as practice," said Daffodil, who was watching with interest. She glanced up at him, eyes twinkling. "I tell you, I sure wish I'd gone into my first birthing with a more experienced cunt."

Etlyah was sobbing with pleasure now as Ixemna pushed her entire hand inside of her.

"Keep going," she gasped. "More...Goddess..."

A few heads turned towards the door. Someone whistled. Arcor looked back.

"Krakouin!" someone called out to the massive figure ducking through the archway. Fiften feet tall, thick-built, and chewing on the last of a leg of lamb.

An ogre!

Arcor had never met an ogre, and he was mildly surprised to find that this one did not look like the ugly man-eating villains in the picture books he'd grown up with. But nly mildly. He'd already unlearned a great many things young humans were taught about other peoples.

Other than the skin-tone mottled with oranges and purples that reminded Arcor of a sunset, Krakouin simply looked like an extremely large man -- an impression that was completed by the enormous spectacles balanced on his nose.

The ogre plucked a sizeable leather purse from around his neck and dropped the entire thing into the donation box. A few people applauded.

Ixemna waved to the ogre with her free hand.

"Krak! Get over here!"

"You know him?" Arcor marvelled.

"Ixie ran into him on some of her old adventures," said Daffodil. "He's a sweetie."

The ground was noticeably shaking now, as the ogre approached.

"I've warmed her up for you," Ixemna called up to him.

Etlyah's eyes went wide, and hungry.

"Yes," she hissed.

The high priestess bustled up in her tall hat to do a safety check on her protective spells. Etlyah climbed to her feet, just a little unsteadily, and accepted a sip from a potion bottle.

"Hi, I'm Etlyah!"

"The new schoolteacher, yes?" rumbled the enormous man. He stood before the great stone visage of the goddess now, his scale almost equal to hers.

"Uh, that's right."

"My daughter has been asking questions I can't answer. Perhaps I might send her to you."

"That sounds wonderful. But that's not why you're here, is it?"

"No."

Krakouin loosed his belt and tugged forth a colossal member from his breeches.

Etlyah made an indescribable animal sound as she took the thing in her arms, stroking it, rubbing her nectared face and body against it.

He reached down, and wrapped one massive hand gently around her waist, and lifted her up to his face. Her legs dangled several feet from the ground. Rivulets of come fell from her, spattering the ground below.

"Fuck me," Etlyah said.

Slowly, carefully, the ogre lowered her onto his cock.

"Goddess...thank you," she almost wailed as he filled her. "Yes! You can...more...harder!"

Her entire body was gliding up and down on his cock now. Some gift of Lesht had given her the ability to take on this monstrous thing without complaint.

Far from harming her, the massive cock seemed to be driving her to new heights of sensation. She had her own small hand between her legs, fingers dancing, and was crying out, twisting in what looked like a continuous series of climaxes. Juices squirted from her, running in waterfalls down her legs and coating the ogre's length.

With a bellow that shook the hall and whirled Etlyah's hair around her face, Krakouin dropped to one knee, sheathing himself fully in her. Arcor heard an involuntary moan come spill his own lips as the ogre poured his climax into her.

After a few heavy breaths, he released her from his cock and lowered her gently to the bed of furs. Seed poured forth from her, and she groaned in what could only be utter satisfaction.

"Thank you," Krakouin intoned. "A fucking like this I have not had since my wife passed into the hills."

Arcor knelt by her side. She smiled at him, a little weakly. The priestesses had now barred the doors to any latecomers, and the crowd inside was beginning to thin.

"I think I did pretty good," she said.

"You accomplised carnal feats I didn't even know were possible," Arcor said frankly. She laughed, reaching for where his own cock still strained against his clothing.

"I have one more donor to take care of."

"You look just about ready to go to bed," he said uncertainly. Her fingers were unlacing his trousers.

"Bed? The sun's not even down, silly."

"At least let's get you a bath and some hot tea."

"Are you saying that because you truly don't want to fuck me, or because you're being a worrywort?"

Her hand was on his cock now, hot and slick.

"I'm being a worrywort," he admitted.

"Good. Now," she said. "Fuck me. Soon, I'll lie around and let you take care of me for the rest of the evening. And some other day, we'll have a slow, tender fuck on a lazy, fuzzy morning."

She was caressing his cock with her lips as she spoke, gripping it firmly with one hand, while with her other she caressed her body, still quivering all over, red with exertion and lit with a seemingly unquenchable thirst.

"But right now, I need you to fuck me like a man who's been waiting his turn for hours, getting more and more pent up with frustrated animal lust."

He acknowledged this speech by shuffling around behind her head so that he could lean forward across her entire body. His cock lay across her forehead now, slick in the wetness that criss-crossed her face, nose, mouth.

He gripped her slippery thighs in his hands, lifting her legs into the air, parting them, breathing down sharp and hot on her cunny.

She tilted her chin back to take him into her mouth, just as he slipped one of the temple phalluses between her saturated folds.

He began to rake into her throat in long, sure strokes, relishing her goddess-granted ability to drink him in with ease. There had been times in the past when they had fucked like this, when she had asked him to overwhelm her, to fill her with multiple cocks.

This phallus was different than the one they had at home. Larger, yes, but then -- there was a warmth in it, that surged up his arm, into his brain, like it was a part of him, and he had the uncanny sensation of being doubly pleasured.

She was making lovely little begging noises in her throat, and at last he turned his attention to her clit, circling her just the way he knew she liked it.

"You're so perfect," he said.

Her arms were around his hips now, hands gripping him, pulling him in, holding him deep, letting the goddess breathe for her as she came for him, again and again.

A vision shot through him. He saw a woman walking through the forest. As she passed by each tree, brilliant golden and red leaves tumbled down around her. It was Lesht, he knew, leaving on her annual pilgrimage to the realm of death.

Arcor followed her, through the darkening valley, until they were surrounded by total blackness.

Then, hands rose up around her, many hands, and many faces, ghostly and beautiful, and she fell delightedly into a hundred breasts, welcomed a hundred ageless pairs of lips with kisses and caresses.

Her husband. The nameless god of death. A hundred arms pulled her into a hundred laps, and a hundred pale cocks rose to greet her, ready to spend the dark months stirring up new life to come.

The goddess looked back at Arcor, and winked.

"F-fuck," he rasped as an impossible pleasure bloomed inside him, dragged him out of the vision, back into the temple, leaving him crumpled onto the floor beside his quivering, breathless, shining, lovely, sated Etlyah.

When he brought her home -- bathed, scrubbed, clothed in soft linens, stripped of her holy charms by the temple women -- she was snoring before her head hit the pillow.

She needed her rest. The high priestess had predicted that this year's festival would be a four-day event.