Interlude - Dorothy

Dorothy is in communion with the dark mother. She often is. Running a cult is a lot of work, and a lot of paperwork, but it’s severely overplayed how much of a labor it is. In truth running a sex cult is quite fun. She often finds herself in communion, here surrounded by fifty of her closest followers, writhing with her in the holy waves of an orgy.

It was a glorious thing, her life. Filled with purpose, pleasure and power. It hadn’t always been that way. During the purges there had been very little pleasure at all. A genocide has a certain effect on your libido even for people like her. In truth the last few hundred years had been quite a lot of fun, if not a tad stagnant. She had a large stable of lives to breed and tend to like the master of a perverse garden. Branches of families designed for pleasure, some for pain, and others for simple service. She’d taken loves, and apprentices, she’d had children and had watched their children die of old age.

She was dying of old age. She didn’t look it, she was as youthful as when she first earned her stars. But vanity is a virtue to Bellowyn and she’d made sure her beauty would be eternal, only 5-stars stopped aging completely. She was rather like a fruit that rotted from the inside out. Yes even as one of her minions tries to rearrange her insides she can feel them aging. She is nearly 400. If she isn’t already she would soon be quite old for a 3-star.

You can hear the goddess. Faintly in the moans of the worshippers. You just have to know how to listening, how to elicit the right frequency of joy for the goddess to peak through. Yes because wherever there is sex, there is the goddess sharing the bed with you.

She squeezes herself around the meat of her current lover, enough to make him whimper. She snarls happily at this and leans in so she can take his chest. He moans in delight and bucks his hips hard enough to life her off the ground. “Yes!” She groans holding on to him like a bucking horse. An admirable comparison she thinks, given his girth.

It was not always so for Alexander and his line. In fact they were quite cursed when his ancestor first came to Dorothy. Back when The Kingdom was a Republic called Bellsora. She prayed with that man and brokered a pact between he and The Prince of Beasts. Animal like vigor and prowess for the price of his soul. And the souls of many men to come. A year after they came of age a young man would be visited and given the same deal. A profitable arrangement for all involved.

Dorothy Benefited from it even now as she…

She...

There's a scream within the orgy, and then the orgy is a scream.

It doesn't take a priestess like Dorothy to decipher the signs, the nosie is all she can do to not cover her ears.

She sees a flash of the goddess, she sees ****, she sees... the herald.

"Oh no." She gasps pulling herself from a net of screaming lovers. He'd done it, he'd gotten himself killed. Just like she knew she would.

Then the goddess in all her love... brought him back.

The effort had killed her.

Dorothy stalked the hall the members of her orgy still screaming, still in communion with their dying God. This was the end, she knew it. The connection would kill them.

Why?

Why?

Why sacrifice her life for him? Since when did she tolerate failures?

"Retrieve!"

One of the convulsing cultists moans. Dorothy snaps to attention recognizing that voice, that **** rattle. "Yes my goddess?" She asked, tears streaming from her ageless eyes.

"My!" Another fucking body gasps from the other side of the room.

"Palace!" Said the third the whole room cumming, and fainting all at once, all together.

——-

Dorothy is ready to leave the compound an hour later. She did not relish returning to the world, it had not been kind to her on her original blush with it. A prudish, blighted place but one that should rightfully return to her goddess. Perhaps she forgot that somewhere in her slumber.

Her attendants run behind her like worried mothers. "Do you not wish to pull an artifact from the vault?" They ask with fear, with worry.

Dorothy just adjusts her cape and scowls. She’s naked other than the cape and a pair of boots. This is the end of the world, should she hide who she is a moment longer? "You think I need an artifact?"

The attendants cower. "No of course not your lustfulness. But..."

"Speak." Dorothy snarls. She has no time for pitifulness. The goddess is dead and all hope of her revival rests with The Herald. She shudders even thinking about it.

"We worry...." One hedges.

"The goddess is dead!" The other shrieks. "There won't be a cult for you to return to if you leave."

"Yes mistress." The other wept. "This has always been your cult more than Bellowyns! If you leave us they will..."

Dorothy slaps them both with a single blow, they clatter to the wall in shuttering piles. They both whimper in pain and fear. "Maybe I have grown weak." She says looking at her hands. She can almost imagine the livid with liver spots. "I meant to kill you.” She shrugs and returns to securing her horse. “Shugga will keep them in order."

"Yes mistress."

"Until then." Dorothy pauses. "Be kind to one another."