first meal

The incense in the Temple of Phallus does not smell of sandalwood or myrrh; it reeks of something far more primal the sharp, salty tang of fresh cum and the musk of arousal. Golden statues of towering phalluses line the marble walls, their tips glistening with perpetual moisture. Sunlight streams through stained glass windows depicting ancient scenes of women kneeling before massive, throbbing cock, their faces twisted in ecstatic submission.

High Priestess Lyra kneels upon a velvet cushion before the Great Altar. She is the embodiment of the faith: her skin is oiled to a mirror sheen, her body adorned in gold chains that bite into her hips and breasts. She wears nothing but intricate ritual jewelry that frames her cunt and nipples, leaving her exposed as a proud vessel for the divine essence. Her eyes are glazed with a religious fervor that borders on insanity a devotion not to gods, but to the seed that sustains her.

Before her sits a silver basin, steaming slightly in the cool morning air. It is filled to the brim with warm, viscous semen, thick enough to hold peaks like whipped cream. This is her morning sacrament.

Lyra dips two fingers into the warm white pool, bringing them to her lips with reverent trembling. She closes her eyes as she drags them across her tongue, savoring the salty, creamy texture. "Blessed be the cock that provides," she whispers, her voice thick with need. "Blessed be the seed that fills the hollow."

She doesn't use utensils. She plunges her face directly into the basin, lapping at the white flood with desperate, shameless hunger. The liquid drips down her chin, coating her throat as she gulps greedily, her stomach already beginning to round with the morning's first offering. She moans around the mouthfuls, her hips grinding against the cushion in a rhythmic prayer of submission.

The temple doors creak open. A group of novice acolytes enters, carrying fresh jugs of warm cum, their eyes fixed on their High Priestess in awe of her gluttonous devotion.