Wifealotl

There was no journey to reach New Tenochtitlan.

A simple and short walk had seen them move from the Guild Hall to a Protected Space Lee had put up on Liberty Island. Large black robes covered their modesty during the very short walks, remaining on them as they stepped through the rift Lee tore open with the might of her dimensional magic. It was a little more convenient than using the teleporter in the Order’s headquarters.

The Aztec’s city was located in Bay St. Louis, quite close to New Orleans. It had only recently been dubbed New Tenochtitlan, titled so after Nahoa had placed her Guild Hall down near it. For now, the two Illusion Barriers remained separate, a Tier 1 Guild Hall simply did not possess the scale required to properly house the over twenty-thousand souls that called New Tenochtitlan their home.

If the Lover Class offered another upgrade, that would change in due time. For now, this was the state of affairs.

The city was abuzz with activity. Children and adolescents had been cleared out of it and brought to another Protected Space, leaving only the adults to witness what, indeed, only adults should witness. Today would be a day of carnal exultation. Though the Aztecs had a great fear of their sins, gluttony most of all, Nahoa had made a strong effort not to let her people drift off into a counter-culture of deliberate deprivation. Whatever they became, the demigoddess wanted her people to still be recognizable as her people by the end of it.

A success, no doubt, at the current time. The structures that Gnome had erected had been shaped by the inhabitants in the months since. Skilled attempts at mimicking their accustomed architectural style had been fully turned into an Aztec city. The chiselling of the lines, the painting of the murals, the shapes, the structures of the houses and layers of the communities, they were all recognizably that of the Mexica.

John stepped out of the portal first and into the Aztec city. No ruin was this, no vine-covered, long forsaken remnant of a once mighty realm. A resurgent gathering was this, the old and the new intertwining. Aztec ziggurats stood between long houses made of stone brick, modern windows and doors set into the frames. Electric street lanterns were integrated into surfaces, seamlessly becoming part of a rapidly modernizing culture that accepted the new and paired it with that of the old that was worth maintaining.

The people were uniquely dressed. Colourful blouses and long, wrapped skirts covered the women. The men wore loincloths and triangular cloaks on their bare shoulders. Both outfits were perfectly adequate for the weather. It was well above 20 degrees Celsius and humid. It was overcast, a fact that bothered no one. Deliberate enchantments pushed a gentle breeze through the corridors and streets between the city blocks.

The whole harem travelled through the portal, shedding their robes in the process. Some parted with them readily, putting their practically naked bodies on display, the impressive cloaks fluttering behind them in the magical winds. Others held onto the covering fabric for a few seconds. Moira and Ehtra were the holdouts, both of them resigning themselves to their fate when they witnessed Gnome. The season elemental had been the last to exit the car, but tossed the covering mantle to the ground with such eagerness one of the decorative feathers threatened to snap. The exhibitionist in the cuddle rock had been fully activated. It was not embarrassment that flushed her cheeks.

Throughout it all, the crowd of thousands, flanking the long main street, kept an almost eerie silence. What kept it from being creepy was the clear effort it took them to stay this quiet. They were no passive observers, they were a myriad of droplets joined into one ocean, all holding steadfast to the traditional order of things. The cheer they wanted to give thrummed in their blood, filling the air with a thick suspense.

The length of the street was lined with unlit braziers. Large, flat bowls of red clay filled with charcoal and dried wood. They were placed on the ground and atop flat-topped pillars, back and forth like that. Come night, they would make for an impressive scenery.

John glanced over his shoulder, watching the frayed space collapse. It was regrettable that Lydia and Lulu could not be there. Though the former would join them for the final ceremony, both she and the Heavenly Jade Empress had found it difficult to cram such a short notice event into their schedules. Fianna was also not with them at that moment, instead arriving with Layla via car later on. The brunette had not been enthused at the separation, but she accepted she still was not officially a haremette yet and was therefore not given the exact same privileges. Fianna was going to hide as part of the crowd.

Everyone else was there, standing behind him. The broadest smile on his lips, John faced the street again. From where he stood, it was a hundred metre walk to the central temple, a ziggurat with five layers of grey and brown stone, its carved lines painted in a multitude of colours. Represented there, in the style of the Mesoamericans, was the tale of their fight against Macuilcozcacuauhtli.

“HUEY CIHUATLATOANI NAHOA-XOCO-ATL-XOLOTL OF THE MEXICA!” John roared into the city, his voice carrying far, booming with cultivated authority. “I, EMPEROR OF FUSION, JOHN NEWMAN, HAVE COME TO CLAIM YOU! BE MY WIFE! SUBMIT YOURSELF AND YOUR CITY TO ME, FOR THE PROSPERITY OF OUR PEOPLE!”

The declaration, one whose wording he had been given, was more aggressive than John would have designed himself. Because they had already joined their people in a previous ritual, this day’s rite was not that of a foreigner but that of a higher member of the accepted hierarchy taking a lower member as his wife. It was the emperor’s right to leverage his greater power and status. Aztec culture put great stock into emphasizing the differences between strata of magical and societal power.

Two heavy stone doors atop the temple opened up, each drawn by three adult men at the peak of their physical strength. As soon as they had finished their task, they lined up to each side of the open gate and dropped to their knees. Their eyes were closed, heads lowered, for they were unworthy of casting their gaze on another man’s prize.

Nahoa emerged from the temple in her full regalia. She wore little more than they did. A cross-laced strip of verdant cloth ran diagonally over her petite breasts, scarcely covering her nipples. The wispy bit of cloth dangling before her womanhood was every bit as suggestive as the counterparts the harem currently wore. Those parts of her outfit were more of a mild surrender to modern sensibilities than part of the regalia proper.

It was the cloak, the crown and the staff that truly signified the bottom-heavy woman’s authority. The green-blue feathers of her crown bobbed alongside the pinkish red frills of her axolotl gills as she descended the temple. The metal end of her staff created a reverberating, rhythmic sound. Her cyan cloak swayed in its own wind. All of her regalia had been enchanted with effect in mind.

Nahoa walked on naked feet. In silence, she reached the foot of the temple. Behind her, other priestesses streamed from the inside of the temple, carrying with them bones and mummies that they had managed to save from the collapse of the Eternal Sanctum. The remnants of the ancestors were placed on the layers of the ziggurat, sorted according to their importance.

John ignored the dead. A task made most easy when the living demigoddess sashayed towards him with such a swing to her hips. On each step, she placed the advancing foot slightly across her midline, emphasizing her bare, juicy thighs and the width of her bottom. One hand was raised to gesture at her people, the other to keep holding her staff. Four priestesses kept pace with her, each of them a dark-skinned beauty of their own right. Their black hair made Nahoa’s white mane stand out all the more. Their marks, painted in red, lacked the elegance of the pale swirls, rings and arrowheads that were part of Nahoa’s divine body.

Though he regarded his axolotl maid as a bottom-heavy shortie, John had to admit that, compared to the women of her people, she was relatively tall. He himself stood a full head above the men of the Aztecs. Hopefully, a generation or two of not having a god of gluttony devouring most of their crops would fix that.

Lust roused within John’s loins, his gaze transfixed on Nahoa’s mesmerizing gait. His cock rose to its full size. He was under no illusion that he had the gaze of many an impressed female on him. Tall, toned and well-endowed, his form, bedecked in gold, certainly was that of a man worthy to wed a demigoddess.

The scars on him only furthered that fact. John wore each of them with pride. The shadows of his bones on his right arm from where the Lorylim had once buried into his flesh due to Salamander’s wish to face them. The six evenly spaced marks on his back where Arkeidos had thrust Inkaryl onto his back during their final fight. The silver line across his chest from Romulus’ whip, gained when he had invited discord into his city to get one up on Mengele. The bite mark on the left side of his neck where Thana had dug her teeth into him as revenge for using her.

John proudly wore these pieces of history on his tanned skin. Even prouder, he displayed the marks on his hands, the counterparts to the Lover’s Will marks on the women behind and the queen before him. Proof of mutual ownership, of a bond beyond words.

Nahoa stopped within arm’s reach. One of the priestesses took the staff from her, another lifted the crown from her and the attached cloth with it. Nahoa was left completely naked, save for a multitude of golden bands that she had put on for the occasion. Her body shimmered, as if freshly oiled, as it always did.

The two other priestesses stepped forwards. One held Nextloaolli, the dagger resting on a blood-red cushion. The other held a bowl of a waxy, yellowish substance. John recognized it as axin, a balm that the Aztecs had produced by harvesting an insect and processing its secretions. Even with modern methods, it was expensive to get and outcompeted by scientific solutions. Still, it had its place in ritual.

Nahoa gave the options presented to her the ponderance expected. To respond with violent resistance or to submit through expenditure of a precious resource, that was the dichotomy presented. After the minimum time had passed, the axolotl woman immediately turned to the bowl of axin.

“I, Nahoa-xoco-atl-xolotl, accept your proposal. Emperor of Fusion. We will wed and you will be Huey Tlatoani of the Mexica.”

The crowd finally broke out of their silence, stomping their feet and cheering with unbound joy. The energy discharged was incredible, spilling over the edges of what John expected to be normal and rapidly reaching a fever pitch of tribal indulgences. Most were happy to simply continue to cheer, but some went much further, feeling it necessary to live out the bliss of the moment by beginning to fuck right there in the crowd. The moans mixed with the cheers harmoniously.

It was out of John’s frame of reference, but it was not barbaric. The only sounds that echoed, be it cries of lust or screams of joy, were that of a happy people. No spilled blood, no sacrifices, no wanton destruction, just unity in purpose and indulgence in a moment this culture deemed appropriate. It was far, far removed from the Aztecs under Macuil’s control.

As her people chanted their names, Nahoa squeezed the axin between her fingers, testing the consistency. Satisfied, she lifted the mass out of the bowl and slathered it on John’s chest. It had a consistency like grease or very soft wax. She spread it from his chest to every part of his body, anointing him with the precious unguent.

She spread the material to his cock last. By then, his body heat had already turned the initially somewhat solid material entirely oily, giving his entire body a golden sheen. He groaned as her slender fingers pumped his length. The louder, the better, he had been told, as vocalizing his desire for her deeply honoured the city that had produced such an attractive woman.

Nahoa had to force herself to stop stroking his length, to continue the ritual as planned. Already squatting before him, she fully sunk to the ground, prostrating herself nakedly before him. The twin spheres of her maid-sized bubble butt rose prominently above the artful curve of her slender back. Her forehead rested on the back of her fingertips, placed flat on the stone tiles of the road, new and yet made in ancient ways.

“You are anointed, John Newman. This woman submits to you, to be your wife.” The two priestesses holding her staff and crown approached John, offering both to him. “My authority is your authority, great emperor. My city is your city, ruler of our people. What, in your great power, will please you to do with me?”

The first part of the ritual had emulated a peaceful takeover of a surrendering city. Now, the conqueror got to decide what to do with his prize. John took both the staff and the crown, raising them above his head so all could see they were his. He could have kept them, he could have smashed them, he could have done whatever he wanted as long as he was willing to face the consequences.

But there was only one thing he wanted to do.

“It would please me if you raised your head,” John gave the traditional response. The crowd grew quiet again, the voices lowering to whispers and the moans to little sighs. “Stop rutting, you brute!” he caught the outcry of a woman particularly annoyed with her unaware partner. John suppressed his amused laughter.

Nahoa sat up straight, staring up at him with her deep green eyes. He placed the crown of feathers back on her head. The crowd erupted into cheers for a brief moment, then held its breath again as he bid Nahoa to raise her right hand. Another wave of cheers when he handed her the staff back as well. Symbolically, he had now sworn the oath that she, as his wife, would remain in control of her people both socially and militarily.

That was the end of the traditional Aztec side of the opening ceremony, but they had made two choice additions. The Aztecs watched with a degree of confusion when John gestured for Nahoa to raise her left hand next. Jane stepped forwards in the same moment, presenting the prismatic ring on her left hand from which all others split.

John pinched the ring as he had before, pulling back without removing the original. A pure ‘cling’ like a silver bell ringing filled the air.

Nahoa’s ring took the shape of two snakes, coiled around one another in a continuous band. One was black with brown eyes, the other white with green eyes. The material felt more like stone than metal and the carving honoured the origin of the woman it belonged to.

The ring slipped perfectly down Nahoa’s finger, stopping only momentarily on the joint of the lowest segment before settling beneath it. The crowd cheered once more, a bit weaker, at the observance of the foreign tradition. It would likely remain foreign for long. Marriage procedures for the rulers were detached from the other classes of society.

One final addition to the ritual had been made by Nahoa’s desire. “You have honoured me, husband of mine, man above all men, and I shall show my gratitude.” One of the priestesses produced a small stick of golden wax from the tiny pouch on her waist. Nahoa took it and spread the thick material graciously on her lips, painting them a shining gold in two swift motions.

John’s cock twitched, knowing what was coming. In front of thousands of her people, the demigoddess effortlessly took the full length of his cock into her throat. The men whispered in jealousy and awe, while the women both respected the display and groaned at what they would be likely expected to learn soon.

That was their problem to solve. John’s was to hold back a spontaneous orgasm while the glutton’s throat enveloped him in all of its wet heat and massaging pulses. ‘God, I love monster girl holes,’ John thought. It hardly qualified as a confession. Everyone knew this already.

Nahoa pressed her gold-painted lips against the base of his cock. She remained there for a long time, then glided back and forth in minimal motions to add a few more layers. It was a sticky substance, binding to the axin he had been covered with. When Nahoa did pull back, she had painted a golden ring around his shaft in the most ecstatic way possible.

“A ring for a ring!” Nahoa declared, rising to her feet with the help of John’s hand. Her legs were shaky, her pussy dripping, her body craving the taste of his seed. “Let the day witness the festivities, so that the night may listen to my cries as our emperor sires a demigod!”

John could not lie, hearing several thousand people cheer at that announcement had him rock hard.