Previous Episode | Read from the beginning
The orcs raped and tormented Sy'lathris for a week and a half before she finally spotted an opportunity to escape. The moon was new and the drunken orc guarding the post she was tied to had begun to snore. Working the crude chains carefully, she managed to weaken the rusty link she'd noticed enough for it to crack, breaking free and collapsing to the ground with a stifled cry, every hole aching from the orcs' rough use. She was tempted to strangle the orc with the remaining chain, but given its already weakened state, contented herself with stealthily setting a few nasty traps concealed in the area where she had been bound. That ought to keep the orcs busy, she thought with a vengeful smirk before grabbing what supplies she could and slipping away.
Having escaped her harrowing captivity under the orcs, Sy'lathris spent the next couple of days staggering through the forest, still aching from her torment. She could feel the pull of the spell laid on her even more strongly now, drawing her towards her destination. It had to be close now. The forest here was thicker, hotter as it seemed to be giving way to a more wild jungle. With every step the drow's eyes flicked side to side in paranoid alertness, half expecting another ambush at any moment.
Still, it was quiet but for the fauna calling out in the trees. Stumbling forward, the drow found herself in a clearing, the throbbing of the spell laid on her becoming suddenly more keenly insistant. In the center of the area rose an ancient ziggurat, half overgrown with vines. Surely, this was the place, the fabled Melcadia; Sy'lathris could feel it calling to her. Ascending the steps with a tingle of anticipation and apprehension, she readied herself to face whatever guardian might have been left to protect this place. The dusty corridors seemed long abandoned, dusty and drab, but there were no traps, no monsters as she wound her way through the halls to a larger worship chamber at the temple's heart.
There was, however, an idol. The naked, bestial figure wore a grimace of lewd laughter, a sizable shaft rising from its loins, perpetually standing in a highly excited state. As she stepped closer, she almost felt as if it looked at her, even though there was no sign of actual movement on the graven features.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Sy'lathris reached out tentatively, covering her hand with a rag cloth to grasp the obscenely detailed phallus as she checked if it was a lever of some sort, but tugging on the golden penis didn't seem to have any effect, it remained rigid in its place.
She cast her eyes around the chamber, wondering if there were any clues in the other decorations in the temple. The walls were laden with carvings that had once been colorfully painted, the hues faded and flaking but still lingering in some spots. As she looked closer, she saw that the images appeared to depict priestesses, scantily clad with more jewelry than clothing, on their hands and knees, worshipping the idol, each one placing their head in its lap.
"Really?"
Using the cloth, the drow began to slowly polish the idol's rigid phallus, her slender fingers squeezing it as she stroked up and down with a scowl creasing her exquisite features. Up, down, her eyes fixated with disgust upon the obscenely detailed golden shaft. Up. Down. There was still no indication of anything happening, and Sy'lathris squeezed a little tighter and rubbed faster with frustration. The cloth wasn't having the desired effect. With a resigned sigh, Sy'lathris sunk to her knees in an imitation of the images in the chamber. Slowly, she lowered her glossy black lips around the sizeable shaft, beginning to suck the idol's cock, her ears drooping with humiliation.
She felt it immediately, a jolt, a tingle along her lips and tongue, and the vague sense of some mind not her own contacting her thoughts, not communicating, but a vague presense. Startled, she almost drew back, but then, remembering her task, continued to perform her unwilling worship of the ancient god's metallic shaft, rolling her tongue along the underside of it, letting her jet black lips press and stroke along the golden skin, taking him as deep as she could. Sy'lathris knew how to please with her mouth when she chose to. She rarely chose to, but in these circumstances there seemed to be no other option.
As the drow continued to suck, the smooth, shiny golden penis began to feel warmer in her mouth, alive and throbbing in response to her attentions, though when she looked up disgustedly at the graven face of the god, it was still as unmoving as ever. Only the idol's cock had yet been brought to life by her attentions, the erection seeming to strain for more, no thrusts powering it, only a throbbing desire along the sculpted veins as the shaft grew hot, feeling feverish with desire now. Ears drooping low, the drow reached up to tentatively caress the statue's massive balls, cupping her hands over each hard golden orb to stroke and tease while she sucked.
She half expected the statue's orgasm to fill her mouth with some sort of fluid, but instead she only felt a strange presence creep through her as the idol shuddered with its climax, the whole temple shuddering with the pleasure of its god as if by a small earthquake. Dust trailed down around the drow, but that was not what alarmed her most. The alien presense that she sensed was touching her mind more strongly now, searching through it, leaving her bare to its inspection. Her feeble attempt to shut the doors on it were to no avail as it probed into her thoughts. All her memories of sexual encounters came flooding back, the enjoyable ones at first, then all the torments of her recent adventures, drawing a scream from her glossy lips as she struggled against the feeling of a mighty force atop her and within her. The spirit of the idol was mounted on her now, invisible but tangible against her skin, the huge penis ramming between her ebon nether lips in a deep, forceful stroke that made her scream once again. It pounded into her then with all the eagerness of one denied the worship of his followers for centuries, the mighty thrusts rocking the hapless drow roughly on the mossy stone floor.
Sy'lathris howled as the invisible presence pushed her down. It was rough, lustful, yet she could feel something else too, different from the orcs, or the troll, or Roithujgah, or even the country bumpkin. Unwilling though she was, there was a tenderness, an admiration of her beauty in those invisible touches, on offer of shelter of a sort that only seemed to make the whole ordeal worse. Her body was still sore from her recent captivity, her mind tormented again and again by the things she had experienced in the mad world above ground. Still, the spirit thrust into her, unseen hands stroking her hair and her breasts as she was settled on all fours, the presense in her mind seeming to croon soothingly by the moments ticked by, each thrust of the ethereal being felt as surely as if it were real flesh.
Closing her tear-stained eyes, Sy'lathris rocked beneath him, retreating into herself as much as possible as she let his presense roll over her until she once more felt that the spirit of the idol was reaching its climax, no seed flowing into her yet a sense that the god was reveling in its orgasm. Slowly, as she lay panting on the ground, she felt the probe of that presense in her mind once again, examining other thoughts now, the quest that had led her through these ordeals.
"So, that is what you want." said a booming voice in Sy'lathris mind, the first the spirit had actually spoken to her after using her as a vessel for its pleasure.
She was confused at first, ears drooping, shuddering as she looked askance up at the unmoving golden face.
"I am the Malkhephon whose skull you seek. But I warn you, the path you are on will bring no joy to you. Stay here. Be my worshipper, revive my cult, and I will assure your protection."
"You sick fool." Sy'lathris answered in a low growl of contempt. "I shall worship no greedy, lustful male who assures 'protection' in exchange for worshipping his dong."
There was a long moment of silence during which the presense seemed to her almost sad. "I hope you will not regret your decision." the voice in her head answered at last.
"Is that a threat?" the drow spat.
"You have nothing to fear from me."
"Sure." Sy'lathris answered acidly with a roll of her eyes, "I already got you off, just give me the skull."
"As you wish." the voice answered wearily, "I guess it is time for me to be quit of this place. You are the first to worship me here in a long, long time."
The temple began to shake again, this time a sort of pained shudder as, before Sy'lathris' eyes, the golden idol began to crack from the top downwards, a hiss as if of steam escaping. Tumbling from the cascade of broken gold that spilled down, an ancient, bejeweled skull fell to the ground before the still-sulking drow, who gazed at it, taking a moment to realize what it was before seizing it and turning to flee the temple, fearing its imminent collapse. As she dashed out into the open, she looked back, and though the total collapse she had expected did not come, the whole ziggurat seemed to tremble and let out a sigh as if the building itself were dying, dust rising into the air and catching the rays of the afternoon sun.
The pull from that place was gone, and in its place, Sy'lathris felt a tug from the north, drawing a long, low groan from her. Of course. The witch had not forgotten to make sure that the skull was delivered once it was retrieved, either. Sitting down on a boulder for a moment, she turned the relic over in her hands, steeling herself for the journey. The pull came again, and she rose with a sigh. It was time to go.
She hoped she would not encounter any angry orcs who had survived her traps.
To be continued...
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