Divine Use

The city was falling...

For three days, the siege of Varethis, protected by Sepharis, their patron Goddess, had raged. Marauders and vandals, driven by greed and a hunger for destruction, had finally breached the outer perimeter. Those who had not fled to the harbor were cut down where they stood, their bodies swallowed by the wanton violence of conquest. Yet the harbor offered no salvation. The great ships, once the people's last hope, had been scuttled by their leaders, fools who believed the city's walls would never break.

There was no escape.

The people of Varethis had only two choices: face a brutal death at the hands of invaders who spared neither age nor gender… or throw themselves into the sea, their bodies shattered upon the jagged rocks, their screams lost beneath the waves.

The air rang with the echoes of slaughter, the gilded streets awash in fear and blood.

But Vaelith Saren was unmoved.

Sepharis’s Veil-Keeper, her High Priest, had warned them, again and again, of the price of their arrogance. And now, as desperate hands hammered against the doors of the temple, pleading for sanctuary, he did not answer. For days, he had ignored their cries, their false prayers, their pathetic treaties for entry. They did not come in faith—only in fear. And fear alone would not suffice for his Goddess.

This was Sepharis’s temple.

There would be no asylum here.

Ages ago, Vaelith himself had been tested. In the sacred ritual of the Veiled Kiss, he had bled freely, drenching the veil of his choosing, and spoken the oath that bound him to Sepharis’s will. He had pledged himself to love, beauty, justice…and vengeance. Standing before the Goddess’s mirror, the veil placed upon his face heavy with his blood, he waited for her judgment. If she accepted him, he would feel the brush of her lips against his own, a sign of her blessing, her favor. He would be granted immortality, invulnerability, and eternal service in her name.

But if she found him unworthy, the kiss would come all the same, and never release him. The veil would fuse to his skin, suffocating him, sealing his fate. But his suffering would not end with death; he would become one of the Hollow Veils, the damned souls who failed Sepharis, condemned to walk the world as spectral shades, tormented by their deceit and hubris.

When the kiss finally came, Vaelith did not tremble. He had no fear.

If Sepharis found him lacking, if she deemed him unfit to serve her, then he had earned his fate. He had no desire to live in a world where he was unworthy of her. If eternity demanded his suffering, he would welcome it. So long as it began with the touch of her lips.

In the end, the veil did not consume him.

And though the taste of his blood still clung to his lips and tongue, something else lingered, a scent, impossible to name. Fleeting, familiar, and forever out of reach like all unrequited love. Never fulfilled. Something on the tip of his tongue, and yet across the endless span of his long life, he had never been able to name it. And then a sigh. Soft, indistinct, and barely there but he knew.

It was Sepharis. He basked in the glory of being her chosen one, proud of being found worthy. That breath, her whisper of love, one that may not have existed at all… It baptized him into a new life.

That night, centuries ago now, he dreamed of the many ways he would serve her, build her presence into the community so all would know the joy of her love and protection. Sepharis came to him in that dream, appearing to him as a mortal woman. Stepping into his chambers with all the grace and command of a Queen. She had taken him, body and soul, and in that exchange, he had known pleasure beyond mortal comprehension.

She took him, rode him, allowed him to take her, again and again, pouring into her as if his body were an endless fountain of devotion. And perhaps it was. For with Sepharis, all things were possible. From that night forward, he never doubted her. He never risked her disappointment. He never invited her wrath.

This would not change today, not even if every soul beyond the temple walls was slaughtered in agony. Because Vaelith Saren knew his duty. Sepharis did not suffer the weak. If the Goddess of love and vengeance had not intervened on their behalf by now, then they were judged.

The doors to the temple would remain closed.

Vaelith turned toward it, drawn by need and dread alike. He peered into the far shadows, where the glow of the temple’s sacred torches gave way to darkness. There, just beyond the reach of the flame, something moved. A silhouette, feline and feminine, gliding through shadow with effortless grace.

“My Goddess… I…”

His voice faltered. The words, fragile and few, fell apart beneath the weight of her disappointment. He didn’t know what to say. And still he only wanted to see. To know she was truly here.

And then, she stepped into the light.

A foot, gilded in golden laurels caught the firelight in flickering splendor. Helpless to look away, his eye drew upward as the rest of her stepped into the light. She was a vision, cloaked in a gown of deep green, woven from silks, emeralds, and sheer fabrics that shimmered like mist. The material clung and drifted with every movement, blurring the lines between fabric and flesh in untouchable sovereignty.

Her form, divine in its temptation, was unmistakably that of the Goddess of love and beauty. Every curve was designed to entice, to command, to enthrall.

But her face…remained hidden. Concealed behind the veil that bore her name, a lattice of lace and flowers. Delicate, intricate. Her statues bore the veil and paintings honored it. But if any had been blessed to glimpse her true visage, none had ever described it. Perhaps they had not survived it. Perhaps they simply could not describe it as what words could ever capture such a revelation? Or perhaps they refused, coveting that impossible beauty, hoarding it as one might guard a treasure, one too precious.

Vaelith had once seen beneath it or at least had convinced himself of that. And yet, even now… he wasn’t sure if what he remembered was truly her face, or only the illusion of his own longing, projected upon the divine. A treacherous thought and one that had haunted him ever since. A single imperfection in what should have been a moment of pure bliss.

A sliver of doubt.

Vaelith collapsed to one knee, bowing his head in reverence and deference.

“I wondered if you would remember your place, priest.”

The way she continued to address him by his title unnerved him each time she spoke. There was no honor in it. Only disdain.

“My Lady, my Goddess… I—I beg your forgiveness. It will not happen again,” he managed, his voice hoarse with equal parts fear and yearning. He hesitated before asking, “How have I displeased you, Goddess?”

“My temple…”

His eyes dropped to the marble floor…immaculate, polished to perfection. The torches and candles were stocked, tended hourly. The statues gleamed, smooth as the day they’d been liberated from their stone prisons. Surely she did not blame him for the chaos wrought by vandals or the desperate masses clawing at the temple gates?

MY TEMPLE IS EMPTY, PRIEST!

The voice struck like thunder within his skull. Vaelith clutched his ears, instinctively trying to protect himself, but it was futile. She was already inside him, her rage crackling through the chambers of his mind.

He dropped fully to the floor, pressing himself flat, as though he could sink into the stone itself. Though her corporeal form remained still, almost statuesque, the wrath radiating from her was unmistakable.

“You appear to be confused, priest. So I will illuminate you before I decide what is to happen next.”

The measured sound of her golden sandals on the marble approached, each click sharp, deliberate, devastating, as she spoke from behind the veil.

“When I spared you from the Veiled Kiss centuries ago, I believed I had chosen wisely. A mortal worthy of bearing my name, of carrying my cause to man, woman, and child alike. Regardless of station, be they noble, lowborn, sick, or strong, you were to welcome all into my temple. You were to show them the grace… that is Sepharis.”

Vaelith swallowed hard, eyes clenched tight, bracing for the words that would strike far deeper than any blow.

“I was so confident that I allowed myself a pleasure I have never once indulged in during all the millennia of my existence…I fucked my priest.”

Never.

That word echoed through him like the toll of a sacred bell.

Of all the High Priests to have ever knelt at her altar, he alone had known her in that sacred, carnal way. He alone had earned her favor, her hunger. The warmth of that truth surged through him, cutting through his fear, spreading through his chest and limbs, and lower still. His body, even pressed against the cold floor, betrayed him.

His cock twitched.

Eager. Wanting. Remembering.

He willed it still, begged it, to be still, but it was useless. Having his Goddess close again, speaking to him, even in anger, it was impossible to ignore the carnal impulse.

Then, a force seized him.

Invisible, unyielding, it yanked him from the floor, suspending him in the air like a marionette, bound by unseen strings that belonged to no earthly master. He dared glance downward, expecting only to see the dizzying height. But what met his gaze was worse.

His arousal, undeniable and indecent, pushed shamelessly against his vestments. The day he committed himself to Sepharis, he’d been informed that a good number of the women in town wept at his…unavailability. But he gave himself to Sepharis as she was all he would ever need or desire as long as he breathed.

“You dare, priest?! In this moment, in my presence, you dare allow your base urges to sully this sacred space? I should have gelded you the moment I was finished with you!”

Her veil flared with divine fury, a halo of wrath and lace. Vaelith was certain. This would be the night he died. He braced himself for her judgment.

“I am Sepharis. Goddess of judgment, of love, and vengeance. I walk in realms that would unmake your sanity. And you, you, pitiful thing, you dare to covet me? Even now? While my people are butchered outside these walls? While you polish my image in solitude?”

“What is a Goddess,” she spat, “without her people? Without her worshippers? The devout and the lapsed alike should have found sanctuary here. This temple was built to be a bastion, a fortress. And yet it stands empty. EMPTY. An empty temple…as useless to me as a covetous priest.”

Something surged inside him, hearing her speak of the people outside. The ones who had abandoned her. The ones who didn’t deserve her. HIS Goddess.

“Is my devotion not worth more than the devotion of this whole damned city?!” The words erupted from him before he could restrain them. Raw, defiant, full of terrible honesty.

Vaelith cleared his throat and quickly added, “I apologize, my Immortal Queen. I’d made an assumption. You, yourself, had not intervened to save our people, and I believed that lack of intervention to be a judgment against the city as a whole. If you did not defend us against the oncoming horde…who could?”

Her veil settled. He winced at his own words, already tasting regret. Yet… he was not immediately struck down. And that, he hoped, meant she was not entirely displeased by his outburst.

“Bold assumption, my priest.”

He felt his body slowly descend, the unseen force that had held him aloft now releasing him gently, a vast mercy compared to the brutal fall he’d feared. When his feet touched the marble once more, he stood. Straight-backed. Silent. Waiting.

He parted his lips to beg her forgiveness again, but a single finger was presented to restrain him.

“Silence, priest.”

The command cut through him, immediate and undeniable. The words died on his tongue.

He watched her, aching to see some flicker of her face beneath the veil, some sign of grace or wrath. But there was nothing, only ineffable divinity.

The silence that followed was more unsettling than the screams and slaughter Vaelith had grown accustomed to over the past two days. The invaders had dared to rally against a Goddess enraged, one offended by the filth staining the streets of her sacred city. These same barbarians had spilled the blood of her worshipers, defaced her likeness carved into the village square, and desecrated anything that bore her name.

Vaelith remained where Sepharis had left him, retreating into the recesses of his mind. He imagined the invaders attempting to flee once they realized the futility of their assault. But he knew his Goddess would allow no such mercy. Not one would survive.

They would be cleansed, thoroughly, but only after each of them suffered the pain they had inflicted upon her people, returned to them tenfold. Only then, and not a moment before, would they be granted the escape of death.

And yet, even in this terrible form, she was no less beautiful.
Eyes wide and unhinged, Sepharis dragged the great claymore behind her, its tip scraping the marble floor and trailing the blood of her tribute in her wake. Vaelith did not dare move, despite knowing the danger to his life and sanity. Devotion anchored him in place. He would accept her wrath. He would embrace it, even knowing that oblivion would follow.

“Vaaaeeeel-iiiithh….” Sepharis sang as she crossed the threshold into the full light of the atrium.

Her stride shifted, no longer a march, but a saunter. It was less menacing, almost playful; her feet crossing the centerline with feline grace. The motion reminded Vaelith of a predator at ease…sleek, seductive, and utterly without mercy.

She released her grip on the sword. It fell with a clang, the sound of blood-slicked metal colliding with polished stone ringing through the chamber like a death knell.

Vaelith flinched. She did not.

Her eyes stayed fixed on him, unwavering.

Then the transformation began. Her battle garments melted away, replaced by the emerald gown she had worn before. The blood, the fury, the judgment, all gone. In their place stood the Goddess of love and mercy once more. Her skin glowed with the radiance of starlight, not wholly divine, not entirely mortal, but something rare and exquisite that transcended both. Her features were framed by silken hair, her brow crowned with spires of celestial gold. This face, unveiled now, was the one that had forged his love and worship centuries ago. The face that inspired devotion, obsession. Ownership.

And even as he stood there, trembling in reverence and fear, the darkest thought slithered through his mind.

If the world outside had been reduced to ash…if the city had crumbled and every living soul lay perished beneath it, then there would be no one left to share her with.

She would be his. Entirely. Forever.

Even as he scrambled for purchase against the flawless, silken expanse of her skin, the sensation of being buried against her made his arousal flare impossibly hotter. It defied reason. Perhaps it was the friction of his movement, or the rhythm of her breathing beneath him, but he could not deny it. He was overwhelmed. Consumed. And he had to summon every last shred of willpower not to thrust desperately against her breast.

He failed.

The electricity of her initial touch now burned across every inch of his skin—but especially along the shaft of his cock. At the first involuntary thrust, a deep rumble vibrated through her chest, but it didn’t stop him from doing it again, evidence of his excitement dripping from him, slicking the friction between them. The beginning of his tribute to her. And all the while, Sepharis watched him. Then she smiled. No, giggled.

In an instant, they were no longer in the atrium. The world shifted, and they were in the High Priest’s private quarters. Not that Vaelith had ever used the space for rest, immortal as he was, but the bed had always remained, a sacred place for his silent devotion. For centuries, he had stared at the ceiling, yearning for her return, aching for the moment she would come to him again, not in vision, but in body. The way she had the first night of his priesthood, to ordain him with her mortal form. That moment had come.

Sepharis now lay reclined across his pillows, her emerald gown gone, her radiant form revealed in full splendor.

The fear of falling no longer consumed him and in that relief, Vaelith set himself to a task. He kneeled at the base of the breast that had just become a mountain to him, a breast he’d cupped so easily in his hand once. The nipple he used to worship with lips and tongue was now the size of his entire head.

“Proceed, Vaelith.” Sepharis commanded.”You wanted to worship me? Then worship me. Show me how your tiny form can please me…if it can.”

Her taunt may have undone a lesser man but for Vaelith, all he heard was his Goddess’s invitation. Her challenge. He would not fail her.

He reached for the nipple, wrapping both arms around it, awkwardly stroking its sides like he might shape a mound of clay. The gesture, ultimately, was pitiful. Laughably ineffective. Sepharis’s laughter rang out like music, rich with amusement and unmistakably cruel. The sheer force of it nearly sent him tumbling from her chest. Panicked, Vaelith flung his arms tighter around the stiffening peak, gripping for dear life. He felt her nipple harden between his arms, the skin of her areola raising in response to his accidental worship. The effect was immediate…and not just on him.

Her laughter deepened, laced now with a clear thread of arousal. She wasn’t just entertained, she was turned on. Visibly, gloriously aroused by his helplessness. His struggle. His reverence. Any other priest, any other soul might have accepted this as the natural order of things: a Goddess indulging her whims. But Vaelith had been hers the longest. Her most loyal. Her most devoted.

Still, he could not be angry. Perhaps that was her point.

Even now, clinging to her nipple, he found his mind slipping toward more primal curiosity. Because even now he contemplated where else her arousal would be evident. Still holding to her nipple, he risked a glance over his shoulder, past her stomach. If her nipples indicated excitement…

Giant fingertips pinched Vaelith around the waist, lifting him effortlessly from her nipple. Suspended in the air, fear surged again until he met Sepharis’s gaze. She looked…frustrated.

“Priest,” she murmured, her tone filled with annoyance, “you bore me now. I’ve decided to use you for different pleasures. But your cock... it’s simply not leaking enough for my needs.”

She brought him toward her lips, rosy and plush, and he watched in stunned awe as they parted. Her tongue slipped out, slow and deliberate, sweeping up the entire front of his body in one long, possessive stroke. The sensation nearly shattered him. He clenched every muscle, fighting against the urge to spill his seed on her tongue without permission. The humiliation of such loss of control, on her lips, no less, was unthinkable.

She smiled, knowingly. Her lips parted again. Another slow, indulgent lick. The warmth, the wetness, the obscene strength in even the tip of her tongue. It spread his legs with effortless pressure, seeking out every drop of his desire. He was drenched in her saliva, glistening from it in her grasp, and still he tried to convince himself she didn’t hunger for him. That she couldn’t possibly want him.

Impossible. And yet…

“There. That should suffice,” Sepharis mused aloud, as though evaluating a tool for her next task. “Now…”

She whisked him away from her face and held him high above her body, giving him a breathtaking, overwhelming view of her nude glory. Her legs parted below, revealing the sacred landscape of her divine sex. Glimmering, flushed, and calling to him. Awe and dread gripped him in equal measure.

As he descended, drawn closer to her heat and scent, he breathed her in and silently longed to be covered in her nectar as thoroughly as he’d been soaked by her tongue.

There was no warning. No ceremony. Just purpose.

Vaelith Saren bowed his head before the effigy of Sepharis, lost in quiet contemplation as war raged in the distance.

Something unexpected pierced his reverie. A scent, impossible to name, but familiar all the same.

His breath caught. The fragrance lingered, fleeting yet unmistakable, slipping just beyond his grasp like a half-remembered dream. Hopeful, he tore his gaze from her marbled visage, turning away from the cold, sculpted veil that perpetually hid her face and studying the silence that stretched through the temple’s vast interior. The shadows lay undisturbed in that silence until…

“PRIEST!”

The voice rang out, bodiless yet absolute, shattering the hush like a mirror against stone. It reverberated through the sacred chamber, the sound bending and folding upon itself, until it reached Vaelith’s ears again.

His stillness was rooted in equal parts hope and fear. He had not laid eyes upon his Goddess in centuries. To behold her now, in a moment of pain, ruin, and reckoning, was almost more than he could bear. And yet, some part of him already knew.

Sepharis was not pleased.

“No, my priest... I am not pleased.”

The voice came again, this time closer, quieter. More intimate.

Then her hand dropped, slow and elegant, fingers curling around the hilt of a weapon that seemed to form from shadow and fire-light itself. A great claymore that grew in her grasp, longer and longer still. A metaphor, Vaelith thought bitterly, for her devastating touch. Any joy in that thought was dampened by the realization that the blade was likely meant to sever his head from his body.

Sepharis planted the sword beside her bare leg, revealed through the slit of her gown. One curve of flesh, one edge of steel...both shimmering in the torchlight. One beckoning him forward, the other waiting to end him. Each a promise of conquest, and neither inclined to mercy. Only his Goddess could offer both pleasure and war in a single, effortless gesture.

“Priest…”

Vaelith dropped to his knees and lowered his head, sure that the next words to leave his Goddess’s mouth would be the ones declaring his death. Still, he dared a glance. If he were to die tonight, he would meet his fate with her image as his final vision. The vibrant green of her gown dissolved before his eyes, shifting into hard leather more appropriate for the battle to come.

“No, priest, not yet,” Sepharis announced. “Your judgment will come. But first I will clean up the untidiness that has been loosed upon my city, upon my people.” She lifted the sword, cradling it not as a weapon, but as something beloved. A lover, perhaps. A child. The gesture was at once both tender and terrible.

“Once these invaders have paid their penance, I will return to you, my priest…and then you will receive my judgment.”

Vaelith swallowed hard, but there could only be one response to her promise.

“Yes, my Goddess.”

On the heels of renewed silence, the heavy temple doors exploded and the smell of war invaded both its immaculate interior as well as Vaelith’s senses. He’d been insulated from the stench of violence until the moment Sepharis returned, drenched in the penance that was hers to collect.

Blood.

Beneath the acrid scent of burning wood and the sweat of failed conquest lay the unmistakable tang of blood. And when she emerged from the darkened doorway, vengeance revealed its true face. There was no veil now. Nothing to shield him from the pure, unfiltered madness in her eyes, eyes that burned like twin furnaces beneath the horns of a demon. Her gaze, molten and unyielding, scorched both flesh and soul alike, radiating a divine purpose none had escaped. And on her brow, a mark: red, raw, and unfamiliar. A sigil Vaelith had never seen before. In that instant, he understood. It was not merely a symbol of power. It was a proclamation. No one defies the divine will of Sepharis and survives.

Sepharis reached for Vaelith’s face, sweeping an errant lock of dark hair behind his ear before cradling his cheek in her palm. She smiled. Her touch sparked against his skin, electric and divine, stirring that familiar ache deep within his fragile, human form. He almost wished for death, if only to stop his body from betraying him.

She looked at him with what he could only interpret as amusement.

With a slow, graceful gesture of her free hand, his vestments tore away, disintegrating into nothing. He stood naked before his Goddess…exposed, aroused, stripped of everything but shame.

“I left you alone too long, Vaelith,” she said softly. “Your soul was beautiful once. I had such hopes for you, my priest, that your devotion would guide my people along a better path. But your will... your mortal desires have grown wild. Unruly.”

Her hand slid down to his throat, then around to the base of his skull, fingers curling in.

Vaelith closed his eyes, accepting that his end had come at last. He focused on the heat of her skin, the only comfort he would know in his final moments.

But then she pulled him forward, pressing his face to her chest. His tall frame bent awkwardly at the waist, and uncertainty flooded him. The last time they’d shared such closeness, both had been naked. And his arousal then? Welcomed. Encouraged.

“My Goddess…I do not underst–”

She hushed Vaelith midsentence and pressed him harder to her breast.

“Ssshhh, Vaelith. This is not for you to understand. It is meant to remind you... of something you’ve long forgotten.”

And suddenly, he was no longer bent at the waist.

“You are human, Vaelith. Immortal, yes—but only because I made you so.”

Her hand had shifted. It no longer fit the back of his neck. It had grown, impossibly large, now pressed fully across his back.

“Human. Mortal. Temporary. And across the vastness of time and space, across dimensions and planes of existence… you have barely existed at all.”

A strange weightlessness overtook him. His feet no longer touched the floor.

“Vaelith, my priest, you must be reminded…”

He looked down—the marble tiles of the temple were receding. Or rather, he was shrinking.

“…that you are tiny. Insignificant. And you serve only at my pleasure.”

Panic bloomed in his chest as the full weight of his predicament settled over him.

“You do not own me. You cannot own a Goddess. That delusion will be corrected. And in the end, you will either understand... or you will die.”

He clung to the folds of her emerald gown, now vast and overwhelming. He sat, small and trembling, at the edge of her palm, his legs dangling far above the marble floor. Immortal though he may be, he was not immune to pain. A fall from this height would be agony.

She had made him a minimus. Something she could tuck into her pocket, carry with her wherever she pleased. Like a child’s toy.

“Yes, my priest,” Sepharis said, her voice curling with satisfaction. “An apt comparison… a toy.”

Vaelith dared to look up at her from his precarious perch in her hand.

He had forgotten what this kind of fear felt like, the helpless, bone-deep terror of being utterly powerless.

Sepharis pressed Vaelith further into her chest until he lay draped across the curve of one breast. She withdrew her hand, letting it fall away after carefully wedging his legs into the soft valley of her cleavage, leaving him to fully grasp the precariousness of his new size.

Vaelith had dreamt of touching Sepharis again for centuries. He’d spent countless nights trying to summon the memory of her body beneath his hands. But never like this. Never as something so small, so weak.

He watched her clit swell against the strokes of his cock and the abstinence of one-thousand years unraveled. As she swelled against him and her pleasure threatened to break like a tidal wave, he reached the point of no return and let go. Vaelith came with her name on his lips, a litany of devotion lost beneath the sound of Sepharis’s own cries of release. He poured himself out in long, powerful streams, his seed mingling with her sacred nectar. The sounds of her pleasure were music to Vaelith’s ears and his stock of seed seemed neverending. It occurred to Vaelith in that moment that his millenium of restraint had very simply made him the only one worthy of this moment. Worthy of serving his Goddess. Only he, her most faithful, could give her this.

In a flash, he was torn away from her body. She lifted him, turning him in the air, with Vaelith disoriented and still trembling from the force of his climax. He looked down and saw her, sprawled in divine glory, legs parted, her entrance still pulsing with excitement. The fingers of her free hand spread her lips apart, and he regarded her glistening pink entrance, waiting to claim him.

Sepharis moaned, commanding him to give her more pleasure still, and without warning, she pushed his feet and legs into her body. He felt her warmth enfold him, her slickness pulling him deeper. Fingers that spread her lips moved to her clit and he watched his recently delivered juices mingling with hers, dripping along the sides, lubricating her masturbation as she rubbed herself with growing fervor. Her moans pitched. She drew him in and withdrew him again, each motion deeper than the last. His waist breached her, her walls clenching around him with intoxicating pressure. The tightening sensations once so delicious to his fingers, tongue, and cock now felt threatening…as if her body would crush him or consume him entirely. Yet he held tight to her fingers, praying her grip would hold because he did not want this to end. Not now. Not ever. He’d never felt closer to her, to any woman, and she was no mere woman.

She was his eternity.

His arousal returned, aching and insistent, as her body welcomed him inside. Her hips bucked. Another orgasm was building. Her body gripped him tighter and he smiled through the pressure. The pressure Vaelith took to mean her body did not want to let him go. His own body responded in kind, the embrace of warmth and wetness bringing him to his own edge. He wondered if he came inside her this way, would his semen be able to impregnate her…could a mortal man breed a Goddess?

At that thought, the sight of Sepharis touching herself, accepting himself as nothing but her fucktoy, being pushed deeper and deeper into her core, he came again. She had not given him permission and maybe he would pay a price for it, but whatever the price was well worth it. He would happily surrender, be completely inserted into her body, suffocating in this warm velvet corridor, drowning in her wetness. Being lost inside her would be nothing less than paradise. It was where he belonged and he would always be a part of her.

Her motions slowed. Her sighs softened.

The quivering flesh that had enveloped him gradually found its own stillness, and Vaelith realized, with a pang of disappointment, that he had not been fully taken into her body as he’d hoped.

Withdrawn from between her thighs, he was returned to the soft rise of her breast, though he was drenched from chest to toe in the mingled evidence of their union. She let him fall gently onto the curve of her chest, her eyes closed and her heart still beating wildly in her chest. She did not want him to be proud but in this precise moment, nothing but pride swelled in his heart.

“Vaelith…” Sepharis began, her voice softer than before. “I fear that in the throes of my own wantonness, I’ve undermined the punishment I intended for you tonight. Instead of correction, I have only deepened your misguided devotion.”

She opened her eyes then, divinity settling over her features once more. “Still… your worship has revealed a new form of service you might yet render.”

Vaelith, still on his knees where she had left him, bowed his head in reverence and gratitude.

“My Goddess,” he said, voice low and steady. “My only wish is to serve you in whatever capacity you deem fit. Speak the words, and my will is yours.”

Sepharis smiled, beautiful but cruel.

“Then hear me, For what I decree now may have you wishing I had crushed you inside me and ended your existence tonight.”

Vaelith steeled himself.

“Vaelith, you are no longer my High Priest. For a thousand years you served me faithfully. But you failed my people. And in failing them, you failed me.”

He bowed his head further, accepting the stinging truth in her words.

““A quick death would be far too merciful. You shall serve still…but not me. You will return with me to the Pantheon and be presented to my brothers and sisters. You will serve them all, as you have served me tonight. For one full millennium.””

She was right. He wished she had destroyed him instead. Tears filled his eyes, the heartbreak of being given to others. The thought of offering his devotion to any being but Sepharis was nearly unbearable.

But this was her will and he would not fail her.

“Do not lose hope, Vaelith,” she said, the sharp edge of judgment softening just slightly. “You will use this time to learn. To indeed prove yourself. And when your sentence is fulfilled… if you have pleased me… I will allow you a choice.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“Death… or an eternity of servitude. At my side.”

Vaelith already knew the answer. There was no choice. So long as she was the reward, he would endure anything. He would serve gods and monsters alike, crawl through agony and fire, kneel before power and cruelty…if only it led him back to her.

He sat back on his heels, his face unreadable, but his heart utterly resolute.

“As you wish, my Goddess.”

She pressed him to her pussy, pinning him firmly against her slit. The plush folds spread to either side of his legs, her clitoral hood partially retracted to reveal the sensitive nub just under his chin. Pressure from behind, her fingers on his back, pushed him harder into her clit, grinding his chest against it. The wetness. The heat. The friction. Pinned between her sex and her will to dominate him completely, she was stealing his breath away.

She was using him. Masturbating with him. Stimulating herself to climax on his helpless, devoted form.

Her moans, low and resonant, echoed above him as soft as distant thunder. Her body flushed a deeper pink, glistening and trembling. She slid him up and down between her lips, her slickness coating every inch of him. Sometimes, his feet dipped into her entrance, brushing the threshold of her core. Other times, his cock aligned with her clit, inadvertently joining her in ecstasy.

Her moans shifted slightly when this happened. Despite his diminished size, his cock was not so small it escaped her notice, or her pleasure. Slowly, deliberately, she shifted his body, adjusting him with care, using him as a living toy. A tool. A favored instrument of worship.

And Vaelith, her most loyal priest, surrendered completely. Vaelith matched her rhythm instinctively, thrusting in sync with her movements, his cock sliding alongside her clit as she pressed him deeper into her flesh. Her moans grew louder, and he felt the tremble of her powerful thighs surrounding him. He knew that if they closed around him now, he’d be crushed. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He slid his shaft beneath the hood of her sensitive skin, grinding it against the aching nub beneath, as his climax edged closer.

“Pay me… my tribute, priest.” Sepharis breathed, her voice trembling with building ecstasy. “Loose yourself…and then lose yourself,” she panted, arching her back to grind harder against him.

The weight of her hand crushed him against her with divine force, until every breath was a struggle. But the only pressure that mattered was the one coiling in his core, at the base of his cock, the heat and the longing for release. Now, she not only allowed it… she demanded it. He no longer wanted to hold back. All his mind could think of was bathing her sex with his cum. At hearing her ominous instruction, his thrusting quickened. Her moans washed over him as did the heat coming off her skin. Barely able to hold himself in place as her wetness surrounded him, he chased the orgasm she permitted him to have, hoping to join Sepharis as her own peaked.

With her voice in his ears and her body surrounding him, Vaelith surrendered. His thrusts quick, ragged, desperate.