To the Sacrificial Altar

It is extremely humiliating, to be be steered like an animal - literally led by your cock. At least that one part of you appears to enjoy it's new function as handle. The fairskinned Priestess' hand feels cool to the touch and she has obviously done this before. Her fingers ripple regularly over your sensitive shaft, drawing groans from your as you're escorted around the large bonfire. You notice that the tall, imposing woman glance back at you with mirth in her eyes. You try to keep attention on the surroundings, memorizing details for your article, but with the dextrous ministrations to your cock it's becoming increasingly difficult. You stumble, but the pack of sexy cultists are quick to catch you, their hands continuously roaming over your body, groping your ass with an enthusiasm that feels simultaniously nice and nasty. The womens gushing attention is generally enjoyable enough, but is starting to feel pretty condescending.

The short procession stops on the opposite side of the flames and the women part to reveal a large stone surface, covered by a flimsy fabric. Nearby you stop a few, short wooden benches and a couple of tables, one with a lot of different.. instruments. The angle is awkward and many of them are weirdly rustic, but the wooden fallus is fairly is fairly unmistakeble, likewise is the anachronistic bottle of Super Slik lube. Any further investigations are halted though by a commanding tightening of the fist around your cock. You gaze up into the ice blue eyes of the priestess and she nods slightly towards the altar.

"Lie down." She orders, pumping your cock a few time then walks over to one of the tables where you hear the rustling of papers. You stand there, awkwardly, for a second before you tentatively climb onto the hard stone surface. At least it doesn't appear to be soaked in blood and the last of your worries are forgotten as many hands caress down your arms, down your legs. Between the hoods and your slightly **** state, you find it difficult to separate the cultists - they're just a giant, giggling, voluptous mass of hands and tongues. You feel fingers lacing with yours, teeth scraping over you nipples, hot breath on the inside of your thighs.

And suddenly they're all gone. Falling back into a circle formation around you and you realize that your hands are tied above your head, you try to move your feet and find them stuck too. The head priestess comes back, looking up and down your helpless form, your cock standing pleadingly at a 90 degrees angle.

"Passable.." she says, finally, "Let us proceed with the ceremony."