Callum was empty, but his cock was not going to go down without a fight. As the women collected their thoughts and began to untangle themselves from their orgy of debauchery; it became evident that they noticed it too. His cock was still very much erect. Of course, the magistra was more than aware, as she still had his cock in her mouth. And the look in her eyes told him she knew exactly what to do with it.
Callum felt his arms being held behind him and watched as four acolytes began to release the girl from the alter. When she was released, she unsteadily climbed down. But instead of running away, as he would have thought, she stood by the priestess, waiting.
Suddenly Callum felt a multitude of hands upon his body and he was lifted by the women and set upon the dais. He felt his wrists and ankles being secured, but his attention was more on the priestess, who climbed upon the altar and standing above him, pulled out her inserted phallus, throwing it to one side. She then squatted down, waiting for the eager hands to guide Callum's rampant beast, into her. Her willing, ready lips, parted at the pressure of his large bulbous head as she lowered herself upon him, sobbing in pleasure as she did so. It took a few attempts of raising and lowering herself until she had settled about him to the hilt.
He could feel her vaginal muscles grasping at him, like unseen hands, willing him to get as much pleasure from the act as she appeared to be getting. Two acolytes stepped forwards and sucked her nipples, increasing her pleasure. She came very quickly, gushing about Callum's loins, screaming some ritual words that he did not understand. Panting in her animal lust. Callum was a long way from ejaculating though and as she rose from him, he was still rock hard. And could see the disappointment on the woman's face that she had not made him come by her fucking or her orgasm.
If he had thought that was the end of his torment, then he was wrong, for as unused as he was, to having so many women sucking upon his cock. So too was he in fucking as many. But that was now to change. The acolytes were lining up to clamber upon him and impale themselves. Some could take his full length, some could not. Some took a while to orgasm, riding him hard, some only needed him inside them to come. But all did come. All had noisy, wet, orgasms, leaving his cock slick with their juices. But still he did not come. He seemed to view the whole thing in a strange sort of detachment. That is until the young sacrificial woman clambered upon him.
She was thirteenth in line after the priestess, and from what he could see, the last. Before she took his length into her vagina, she ran her fingers through her wet lips, bringing her juice covered fingers to his mouth and running them about his lips. Then she leaned down and kissed him. It was a passionate, loving kiss, rather than one full of lust. As her tongue probed about his mouth, and began to wrestle with his tongue, so he felt her tightness slip over his slick, bulbous head, and with one, slow, continuous move of her hips, she impaled herself upon his phallus, to the hilt. Her pleasure manifested in sobs as her hot sweet breath sounded in his mouth.
With a move of her hips she raised herself a few times, whimpering softly, then she sat upright, putting her hands upon his broad chest. She began to post upon him, her hips rising and falling more rapidly as her urgency for orgasm increased. She threw of the diaphanous gown, revealing that her breasts were not as small as he first thought, for now she was cupping them, teasing and taunting the nipples which were a deep red against her pale skin, almost matching the colour of the dried blood upon her. She began to pant as she rode him, her tightness and vaginal manipulation slowly bringing him with her. The women about him were now all standing close, placing their hands upon both of their bodies, waiting, watching for the inevitable. The riding girl suddenly cried out several times. "Yes, YES Callum, oh YES. I CAN FEEL the come rising in your shaft. Give it to me, fill me with your seed. Oooohhhhh Callum, God I love thisssss. Fuck me, ohhh fuck me."
She exploded in orgasm, and he quickly followed. She pulled off of him so that only his round head was buried in her and allowed all about to watch his pulsing shaft empty into her cunt. Stream upon stream of it. Powerful jets of lava-like come burst forth into her. She cried, openly. Then removed the final few inches of his cock from her and lay upon his chest kissing him with a passion that made him think that he might know this woman.
About their genitals, the priestess and her acolytes feasted on all of the semen and vaginal juice. He felt many tongues licking his cock and balls. Some too licking at the woman's pussy, sucking out, what had not already dribbled from her. She continued to kiss him and moan gently into his mouth. He felt his softening shaft being sucked deeply into someone's mouth and down her throat until she took him all, down to his balls. She manipulated him with her throat. Then began to fuck upon his near flaccidness. But he was done.
The girl upon him however, was groaning loudly, and was beginning to push back against the intruding tongues as they probed her arse, licked at her pussy, took draught of the come that still spilled from her and tortured her clit between their teeth. Her second orgasm was not as violent as the first, but it was just as quick. All through it she kissed him and played her tongue about his mouth. Suffering the enjoyment that the women were giving her body, but seemingly not wanting it.
-------------------
He rolled to the bed-side and slipped his legs onto the floor. Involuntarily he groaned. As soon as his body was up-right the searing headache hit him. His legs were a mass of bruises that he could not recall getting, his stomach felt like it wanted to evacuate its contents as quickly as possible and his eyes felt like they were bleeding on the inside. He needed a drink badly. Casting an unsteady gaze at the bottle of Smirnoff that stood on the bedroom floor, he licked his dry lips; he then looked back at the bedside clock and realised that he was already late for work. "Shit, shit, Georgia is going to kill me!"
He stood and regretted it almost immediately, sitting down again, his spinning head clear testament to the amount of alcohol he drank last night; if indeed he had and this was a hangover? He did drink last night, didn't he? Not that he could remember much about what happened? In fact, he had to admit hi couldn't remember anything about last night!
A moan from behind him made him quickly turn; a move he instantly lamented. Lying face down in a pool of strawberry-red hair; was the pale-skinned, slim, medium-breasted proportions of a sleeping woman, the single silken sheet just covering the double mounds of her bum; but only just. He tried to get his addled brain into gear. Who was she, had they slept together, 'well that was obvious;' had he known her long or did he pick her up last night? He just couldn't recall. Upon her pale back, a swirling, lithe, tattoo, of a serpent seemed to play. The multitude of colours in stark contrast to her paleness. As her body rose and fell in sleep, so it appeared to writhe upon her skin. He realised that he was suddenly more interested or distracted by the serpent, than he was the girl. Where had he seen that image before? Where had he seen her before? For some reason he was suddenly filled with dread and his stomach churned again. He looked back at the clock and murmured "Oh, come on; get your arse into gear!"
He scrambled out of bed and into the shower, hitting it before the water had had chance to warm up; the coldness against his skin began to awaken his 27-year-old frame and made him feel a little more like his perky old self. He looked down at his rising erection about to tut in feigned disgust, "What the fu..." He was completely hairless about his genitals. And more, other than the hair on his head, he could see nor feel any other evidence of any. "What the hell? What was I drinking last night?" He thought about the woman in the bed. "Maybe she...?" He left that thought and continued to wash away the grime of the night before; his mind playing over and over proceedings, repetitively reaching the same point where all cognition stopped. He was sure that he had some information to tell his partner, but for the life of him it would not surface. Hopefully it would come back to him; maybe if he recounted to Georgia his movements from last night, step by step? At least until the point he no-longer remembered anything, which was probably most of it?
He towelled himself down then wrapped the towel around his waist and proceeded with his early morning wet shave. The face peering back at him was unfamiliar, it looked tired beyond belief. Heavy lidded eyes with darkened bags evident, sought out the square jaw noting his stubble was more than a few days old? He found that strange as he shaved almost religiously every morning? His bloodshot eyes looked almost rheumy, aging him by fifty years. God, the drinking had to stop!
Brushing his teeth, he walked about the bedroom quietly selecting his clothes, and then moved back into the bathroom to dress. Callum liked to wear a suit; he thought it presented that air of professionalism in a business that rarely had any. Often thought of as crack-pot, delusionary or even accused of preying on the weakness of others. To him and Georgia, it was deadly serious. The paranormal, was something that he had dedicated his life to, up until now.
Securing his tie and slipping on his shoes, he returned to the bed. The girl had not moved, but moaned again contentedly in her sleep. He wrote her a quick note explaining that he had to go to work, that he couldn't remember if he had given her his number, wasn't even sure which name he'd given her, whether his real name or a pseudonym? Finally leaving his phone number and a couple of kisses, he walked around to her side of the bed and put the note on the bedside cabinet. As he looked at her face, he was shocked at just how stunningly beautiful she was, his mind and more likely his penis, saying 'get back into bed.' He kissed his finger-tips and planted them on her exposed bum cheek, then turned to leave; the scent of the woman, her nearness, her nakedness; stirring his loins and making it a certainty that if he stayed there another minute, his resistance would fold and he would be back in that bed, slipping into the woman's warmth.
Spotting her dress bag on the chair by the bed, he opened it to see if he could at least get a name. He found a small purse with some credit cards in, and the name S Munroe upon them. 'S Munroe,' he thought, 'S Munroe'... Nothing rang a bell. He found her phone and went through her contacts; his name and number were there! He could not see any other numbers or names he recognised though. Going through the options screen he found the phone's number and wrote it down. Putting everything back as he found it, he went back to his note. 'So, she does know my name,' he thought, 'but I only know of her as S Munroe, unless it comes back to me?' He changed the note to read my dearest S, and then left the initial "C" at the bottom.
