Through the doors

Paizar pushed open the massive doors of the temple, the great bronze portals swinging open with the slightest touch of his hand. A waft of perfumed air came out, blowing across his face, bringing with it, oddly enough given the situation, the sound of music and chanting.

Sword at the ready, he walked in. The doors opened into what was called, depending on whom you spoke to, the greatest piece of art ever created by the hands of man, or else the most garish, ostentatious piece of pornography ever created. Stepped into the massive hall, boot heels cracking against the stone floor, he looked up in the dim light of the oil lamps, and saw the story of the goddess.

On the walls, painted in loving detail, the tale of Aroi the Passionate was depicted. It had taken three generations of artists to paint the delicate murals, the detail so exquisite, so perfect, they almost seemed alive. On the far left, a large scene showed the birth of the Goddess. At the dawn of time the gods were engaged in a war for control of the heavens with the demon princes of the Eighteen Hells. For a thousand years the battle lasted, with no side gaining advantage.

Greatest of the demon champion was Typros, a monster who possessed four arms, three eyes, two sets of genitalia, and strength unmatched by any creature, mortal or divine. Nine times the champions of the gods came against him, and nine times they were bloodily defeated. Finally the Seven Daughters of the Goddess Demara hatched a **** plan to defeat the monster once and for all. Descending to his palace in the deepest pit of the Abyss, they danced seduced the dark champion, dancing sensuously before Typros until his lust overwhelmed his reason. Sealing the doors of his palace, he gave into his desire, and copulated with the Daughters of Demara in a frenzied orgy that lasted for a year and a day. At the end, his mighty strength was so drained that he fell into an exhausted slumber, allowing one of the daughters to stab a knife into his heart, slaying the greatest of the demon princes.

The Daughters returned to their kindred, victorious against Typros. As they left, one of them stepped in the blood of the slain demon, and as they flew across the world of the living a single drop of it fell into the earth. From this was created a beautiful orchid that grew for ten years. When it finally bloomed, its massive petals opening, lying upon it was the naked form of Aroi, a being born of divine lust and desire. Though born from demon blood, she was accepted as one of the gods, and would serve well against their enemies.

Paizar moved on to the next scene, the one that had the most significance for him, the Captivity of Aroi. It depicted the naked goddess bound to a pillar while an army fought against a champion come to rescue her, and rthen showed the reward she granted to her rescuer. Turbenus, Lord of the Giants, came upon Aroi once day while she was bathing, and immediately enamored of her, **** the goddess and held her captive in his palace. Then the great hero Arekalin, in expiation of the crime of murdering the sacred horses of Dyanus, came and fought against the armies of Turbenus, rescuing the goddess from her captivity. In gratitude, Aroi gave Arekalin the gift of her love, mating with him, and thus raising him to godhood.

This particular story had the greatest resonance for Paizar because of the tattoo that lay on his right palm, a pair of crossed spears before a upraised sword. As a boy he had been dedicated to the cult of Arekalin the Brave, and found it ironic that he was now invading the temple of the goddess saved by Him.

Ahead was another door, which led into a narrow passage, marching through it, he was struck by the smell of perfumed smoke, making his eyes water slightly. When he emerged from the far end, he stopped, amazed at what he saw.

Twenty priestesses and the same number of acolytes were gathered before a giant statue of Aroi, shown as a tall, voluptuous woman with long hair, her arms held above her head, her expression one of wanton lust. The acolytes were dressed in short shifts of thin silk that barely came to their knees, and clung to every curve of their bodies. They were all young, seventeen and eighteen, and were dancing to the sound of drums and flutes, leaping up and drumming their heels against their buttocks as fast as they could, their thighs flashing as they moved. In lines on either side were the priestesses, chanting a hymn to their goddess. They were long dresses of the same thin silk which left their arms bare. They came from all races, and he even saw several elves and a halfling among their number. Some were slender and willowy, others full breasted and curvaceous. All had the mark of the goddess on their foreheads. None seemed to notice his arrival.

Before the statue a curious contraption had been erected. A giant phallus, perfect in every detail and cast from pure gold, rose from the floor before the statue. On either side of it were two polished wooden poles. The chanting rose to a crescendo, and then one of the priestesses approached, wearing a satin cloak. She was olive skinned, with shining black hair that fell to her waist, full lips, and green eyes. As she walked her hands went to the clasp of her cloak and opening it, letting the garment fall to the floor, revealing her to be naked underneath. Her body was almost a living copy of the voluptuous one of the goddess standing before her, with long legs, an hourglass figure, and large, full breasts.

The chanting reached a crescendo, as the priestess approached the golden phallus, gripping the poles with both hands and spreading her legs above it. Then, eyes open, her eyes and face shining with pure ecstasy, she lowered herself down, the phallus penetrating her cunt and sliding into her body in a single smooth movement.

A loud wail filled the temple as the woman’s body was wracked immediately by a mighty orgasm, the golden phallus now shining with her juices as she rose up and down upon it, her body writhing, her breasts jiggling. The chanting rose again, and Paizar now saw the flush of arousal on the faces of the priestesses.

They were invoking the power of the goddess, he realized. They were praying for Aroi to save them. Sword in hand, he strode into the sanctum. One of the priestesses saw him enter, and halted in mid-chant. “Intruder!” she shrieked, her finger stabbing at him. “Defiler!”

From the shadows emerged a dozen guards, curved scimitars at the ready.....