Cowritten by Alfie Quinn
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That night, Augustus slept like a dead man, his bed a tangle of sheets and limbs that belonged to at least ten individuals stuck out at odd angles.
As the first rays of the rising sun slipped through a gap in the heavy curtains however, a gentle but firm hand reached into the mass of slick and sticky flesh and managed to find the thoroughly, delightfully well used Prince, and shake him awake.
"I don't wanna," he moaned sleepily, clinging to someone's thigh as he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter in defiance.
"Your Uncle has found his final rest," Agrippina said with a nearly-detectable hitch in her voice. "As Prince-Consul, you must go to the Temple now, and be judged by the gods."
"I suppose that's a pretty good reason to get up," he said after a moment of silence, slowly pushing himself out of the sleeping forms of a goodly portion of his handmaidens, only to find three more standing ready at the side of the bed behind Agrippina with a tub of steaming water, towels, and a plain white robe.
The bath was quick and thorough, nothing erotic about it, even though ti was three beautiful strangers soaping up his body and one beautiful not-stranger helping him into his robe.
The walk through the palace was a quiet one, a kind of pilgrimage to a holy place, just very short.
Augustus knew of this ritual from his school days, and while most of his school days were a blur of MILFy teacher cock, some lessons managed to stick. Somewhat. The Sanctification of the Successor had three stages. The first was purification, that had been the bath; the second was humility, he long walk from the Royal Chambers to the Temple of All-Gods. The third stage was unknown to all save the attendants of the temple, and those few who went through the ritual, save that some point the claimants to the throne would somehow hear the gods.
The ritual began as soon as the previous ruler's tomb was sealed, as opposed to any set time, so Agustus counted himself lucky he'd managed a full night of sleep. He was also surprised at how many important figures he passed along his way through the palace, memories of Gaiaus complaining of lazy nobles who slept until noon clashing with the faces of the finely dressed highborn who watched him through almost every hall. Their gazes were piercing, judging, appraising him even as he felt them strip him naked on the spot and finding him wanting.
By his side was his Voice, but no one else. Her take was to guide him on a set path through the palace, to offer a comforting hand, but as they finally reached the small servant's door that Augustus was to take, she bid him farewell.
"This next step you must take alone, my Prince," she said softly. "But worry not, for the gods have never failed to bless your line."
"Thank you," he said, turning away and opening the door to reveal a carefully trimmed sward a hundred yards across, and on the other side, the temple.
Many religions, faiths, and philosophies will claim humility as a virtue, that their followers must exhibit it at all times, even to the point that they built their places of worship and meditation small and practical. Not so the pantheon of Weyland, who preached decadence and excess in all things, ordering adherents to live hedonistic lifestyles and build elaborate feats of architecture in which to worship whenever possible. The Temple of All-Gods on the palace grounds was no exception.
The first thing any visitor would notice was the size of the thing, easily four stories of brilliantly scintillating marble topped by a massive glass dome. Augustus knew that the massive doors were made of oak and banded with iron, but what he saw was a massive pair of golden slabs mounted on the doors, depicting the Gods of Weyland in all their glory. At the very top stood Gladius, their King, the Lord of Valor and War, patron of the royal line and all of Reme. Legend had it that the royal house of Julii was descended from him.
Other parts of Weyland once disputed which god was in charge, as each of the Eight held sway over specific regions. As Gladius ruled Reme, so too did Eisenfrau, Lady of the Mountain, rule the Grey Elves until their conquest, so did Ichi, Lady of the Deep, rule the elvish islands of Anto until they joined the Empire, Bethal of Fertility in Gord, and Equusa of the Kho. They all still worshipped their patrons, but they knew that Gladius, as with Reme, ruled all.
Such ran through the Prince's head as he approached the doors, the grass soft beneath his feet. Before he reached them, the massive doors opened, as silent as a whisper, closing just as quietly behind him.
Within, the great structure was dominated by one massive chamber, brilliantly lit by the rising sun reflected by hundreds of mirrors carefully and artfully positioned along the walls. While the exterior was largely rounded and decorated with graceful columns, the inside was octagonal, each wall devoted to a god with its' own four-story mural and an altar at the base.
The floor itself was a mural, or rather a series of them, arranged in eight concentric circles. Each circle was a mosaic of scenes of a certain god's glory, discernable by color. The innermost circle was done in shades of red for Gladius, the next made of hues of gold for the lady of Dominance Sesteci, then grey for the Lady of the Mountain, yellow of the Lady of Fertility, purple for the Lady of Night, blue for the Lady of the Deep, green for the boy of the Woods, and finally brown for the Grand Stallion. The outermost ring ran against the walls beyond the murals, made of marble stone.
It was along this path Augustus was led by a tall woman wearing a crimson toga, her lustrous red curls cascading around her shoulders. At the base of each wall, the elaborate altars sat with a person-sized statue of that wall's deity enshrined within, and to these augustus was bid to kneel and offer a prayer.
"I ask you to find me worthy," he said softly, head bowed. Eight times the process was repeated until he'd made a complete circuit of the room and once more stood at the entrance.
While he had prayed, the devout who worshipped regularly in the temple had gathered, coming into the central chamber through hidden doors and prostrating themselves upon the rings dedicated to their chosen god, eight for each with Gladius' supporters crowding rather tightly in the center.
The priestesses all wore togas colored for their gods, but these women were all nude, something Augustus couldn't help but notice as the head priestess led him to the very center of the room.
"Now," she said softly, the first word he had heard since Agrippina had bid him farewell. "You must prove yourself to the gods, Augustus Julius, by pleasure the devout here today."
There were eight women in every circle, and a circle for each of the eight gods.
"Sixty-four women?" the Prince asked, swallowing his nerves.
"There is no time-limit, your Grace, but we will not legitimize your rule should you fail."
"Can I choose my methods?"
"Certainly," she answered, clapping her hands.
At the sound, all rose and walked to the Prince with knowing smiles as he slowly turned to look at them all.
"Take me," he said softly, his robe dropping from his shoulders to pool at his feet and bearing his supple young body to their hungry gazes. "Take me in any way you please, until you are satisfied."
With that permission, he was seized by those closest to him, the followers of Gaius, and forced to his knees.
As his mouth was filled with pulsing femcock, he looked up at its owner to find he recognized her as a palace guard, and the woman next to her was the captain of the city's Shields, the local militia and policing force. Many of the devout were familiar to him, he realized even as he felt his throat violated and forced to stretch around the cock sliding down into it. They came from all the peoples of the empire, and though most tended to stick to their own region's god, Augustus could see(during fleeting moments of lucidity as he was passed around like a party favor) that it wasn't a rule.
While the outermost ring was made up entirely of the horse-cocked muscular Kho women of the Peninsula where Equus ruled, there was one of them in the circle devoted to Bethal, a few pale elves slipped in with the followers of Sesteci, and so on.
For hours Augustus was used, stuffed and stretched and flooded again and again, sixty-four cocks thoroughly abusing his instruction to 'take him' to the absolute limit. All across the floor he went, sometimes walking on shaky legs, sometimes crawling, sometimes being carried. It got to the point where the poor boy wasn't sure where he was in the room, or who was using him, or how long he'd been there.
And then time seemed to slow. Not in the pleasure-drunk way it had been, but a far more profound way, a way Augustus could feel as it happened, the noise of the gangbang fading away to a deep drone, everything slowing to a crawl as his awareness seemed to reach a higher level than it was meant to.
Of all the things that had happened since he had entered the temple, this was one of the few he'd expected, yet still he was filled with fear and apprehension. The warm light of the sun took on a strange quality, as though viewed from underwater as it shimmered and shifted, a red hue filtering fitfully through for a moment before suddenly being unquestionably overtaken by glittering gold.
"Do not fear, O Prince," a voice spoke into his mind, sensual to the point where he could practically feel teeth on his ear and fingers on his body. "You will wear your crown and rule your empire, and you will be a sign of great change in this world, just as your predecessors were; but you shall be unique even among them all, for none who sat the Golden Throne have heard my voice, save you."
In this strange place in time, Augustus was unsure how to communicate. He could not move his body, and even if he could his mouth was thoroughly occupied by cock. So instead, he thought to himself.
"But all the Consuls of Reme heard Gaius..."
"Do you really think that old man has such a pretty voice as this?"
And just as suddenly as it had come, the moment passed, the light mellowed and time progressed with one significant difference.
Everyone in the room was suddenly cumming, and cumming hard. Easily the most powerful orgasms of their lives, judging by the sudden screams of surprise and ecstasy, as well as the most lasting. Even after everyone had collapsed to the floor, thick ropes of cum were still jetting into the air or onto feverish flesh. Poor Augustuswas fit to burst by the time it finally stopped, but of them all, he was the only one to sit up again, panting, sweaty, sticky though he was, and look around for the head priestess.
