Fulfillment Ch 01 2

A Note from the Author: All humans are well older than eighteen years of age. All beasts are magical and fictional. This is the first of a five-part series, the remainder of which has been completed and is being edited.

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There are no magic words.

Chapter 1: The Defilement of Centrum Carminis

Nothing is sacred.

I emerged from the pine forest into a darkened glade. The temple was difficult to discern in the fog. Though it was shaped as a giant ring, I could only make out a slightly curved wall made of irregular stone. Centrum Carminis had been deep in this wood since time forgotten. Guards were positioned at intervals along the perimeter, but no one remembered the last time there had been a trespasser.

A guard sized me up and said, "Good night to you traveler. You'll be Master Mendax?"

I would be Mendax tonight. Not my real name. Are any names real? You are given a name by your parents before they even know who you are. Maybe your friends give you an inane nickname. But no one ever really knows you, so all given names are lies. The only name that matters is the name you give yourself. But, for the purpose of this night, I would be Mendax.

I nodded. "It is I."

He continued. "You'll be knowing the right words to get in, yes?"

I nodded but did not speak. I saw his hands tighten slightly around the weapon that he held. Even in the cool mist, I thought I felt him begin to sweat. It brought joy to my heart.

Finally, I said, "I know the words. Give by filling. Receive by emptying." I made the accompanying hand gestures. These had never been written, but passed along from acolyte to acolyte over the ages. Anyone might learn the words, but only a chosen few knew the sign. I was trusted.

The guard visibly relaxed, nodded, and stood aside. As I passed, he said, "It's a good night for this place. Safe travels to you, Master Mendax."

The door was a monolith of stone, but swung easily on concealed hinges. I entered and instantly felt the power focusing through the ring structure. The floor was polished marble, but grooves and depressions told of long use. The temple had no ceiling, allowing a full view of the stars. I had chosen my work for the night of a new moon.

Each stone of the wall was a smooth white tile, nearly reflective. A grand cyclorama adorned the center of the inside walls, leaving the tiles visible above and below. The ancient painting told the tale of this place, this land. Taking my time, I walked the perimeter and observed the story. This was the site of a great battle between forces of good and evil. And so on: The triumph of the forces of good. The vow to keep the place holy. Tales of ancient sorcerers gaining power to battle evil. Blah, blah, blah, very instructive. Some minor cantrip kept the painting evergreen.

In the middle of Centrum Carminis, there were two features. The font and the cup. The water came from a deep underground spring and filled the fountain. In the darkness, the quiet surface looked like liquid metal. The cup appeared to be a heavy, polished granite.

The idea was to fill the cup with water from the font, spend the night applying incantations, and then wait for a sign that the spring water had been charged with power. Some texts said that the water took on a luminous quality. Others described a circular wind in the temple creating ripples on the water. Once the sign became visible, the sorcerer was meant to drink the water, and thereby receive power and knowledge. This was not a trick for novices. One had to fully understand the temple, the elements, the power, and how to conjure. One had to be thoroughly trusted to be here. Mendax the Trusted.

It was said that trust was necessary to ensure respect for the power of the place. I knew better. Quite by accident, I had found books that no eye had seen in hundreds of years. Lost books. Forbidden books. The battle in the painting had indeed occurred, but it had ended in a draw, and the temple, like the ground, stood balanced on the edge of a knife. Only those deigned "good" had been allowed inside for centuries, because of the fear of what else might be conjured. I was about to find out.

Approaching the fountain, I carefully removed my robe. Standing naked, I felt the mist surround me. There was such potential to harness the bright power, I felt it ready to go to work as it had for so many before. Such electric brightness, like a child cheerfully waiting to open a present. Like a friendly dog ready to perform a trick. I rejected all of this and began to urinate in the water.

Instantly the brightness was joined by another, darker force. It had been suppressed for hundreds of years, but was finally being given the opportunity for release. The air in the temple became a dipole, positive and negative existing in the same space. My bladder continued to empty into the font. The stream was strong and sure, polluting the water. I grinned and arched forward, hands on my buttocks, spraying the water and surrounding stone. It was deeply satisfying.

I laughed aloud, the sound echoed a distorted, horribly warped version of my voice. Terrible glee filled me. I laughed because they had allowed me here, because they all but opened the door for me, because they trusted me. Idiots all.

I let the last drops of urine fall at my feet. Darkness descended and I began a slow, guttural incantation, my voice resonating throughout the ring. Using words that had not been uttered for centuries, I called out to the cup, singing to it. The fouled water began to overflow on the floor and ran over my bare feet. Formerly crisp and cool, the room suddenly felt warm and I broke into a sticky sweat. In the darkness, I heard the low moan of something in ecstasy. Someone fucking or being fucked. Sex magic.

I touched myself and began to grow hard. The moaning seemed to increase in intensity, which added to my excitement. What manner of beast moaned just beyond my sight? Whatever it was, we were mutually getting off. I began long, slow strokes. I held the top joint of my middle finger against the sensitive frenulum and gently wrapped my thumb around the top of the head. I leaned over and allowed a long string of saliva to land in my palm. The moaning was closer. The memory of a mouth around my penis brought more blood to my erection. I continued my slow masturbation and methodic chant.

I sang a song of knowledge, both a display and a request.

The temple, already dim, was almost totally dark then. Clouds may have obscured the stars, but I also felt the darkness ooze from the floor, rising into the sky. I could barely see my own sex. The wet sound of fucking seemed all around me. The moist scent of sex was everywhere. I continued to stroke but I could almost feel something unseen tongue my engorged head. Was my memory this vivid, or was it a real sensation? My hand fell away and unseen lips circled the head, tongue working the underside.

What was that dark thing? In the moment I did not care. It took in my entire penis and then the mouth felt as if it had two tongues at once, circling, lapping, teasing, nearly penetrating. I sensed the presence of teeth. Perhaps fangs.

Bodiless whispers from around the temple registered at the edge of my perception. I realized that the whispers were overlapping, coalescing into a chant from the darkness.

"Give me. Give me..."

I felt my orgasm awaken deep in my balls, churning and undulating. The mouth at my cock continued to tease and it felt as though more tongues carefully licked my balls, more probed my perineum, more on my anus. Impossible tongues. Something wet and warm flicked at my ass and my cock began to twitch. This was more than a memory, but was there a mouth at all? I sensed pre-cum literally drip on the floor.

My ass spasmed as the first contractions of orgasm started to move through me. The tongues penetrated my ass. More inside each ear, tickled every nerve. On my nipples, my thighs, my toes. Multiple tongues swirled in unison around my aching cock. My balls were gently suckled. I felt my entire body awash in warm wetness. My entire body, fucking. No tongue violated my mouth, as the incantation continued. The darkness willed me to continue. The entire structure seemed to vibrate as if it were placed atop some monumental engine.

Did I hear pounding at the door? Screaming from far away? I didn't care.

Concentration was difficult, but I focused the last of my rational mind on the song. Some unseen, muscular wet thing entered my ass and began a slow massage of my prostate. What felt like a wet ribbon worked itself into my urethra. The pain seemed far away, or perhaps welcomed. Every part of me, covered and filled with wet tongues of every size. Even my eyes covered my warm wetness. I felt as though my balls were being coaxed from every direction. The head of my penis felt so engorged that it seemed it might burst.

Release. Release in a torrent, release until not a drop remained. I felt my body lifted in the air by the myriad of tongues. Such was their strength and number, I was fondled and fucked by them as if I were a doll. The moans were everywhere around me. Inside me. Emanating from me.

The orgasm struck in great heaving blasts. I had no idea where it was spraying. No idea what mouth might have been consuming it. Voices cried out in delight and ecstasy. No concept of time or direction or anything at all except release. My entire body felt as though it had liquified and pumped through my cock. My mind drained through my cock. I could not speak and the incantation stopped.

And then it seemed over. No tongues, no warm wetness, no mouth, just me standing in the same place I had started the incantation. The room was again dimly lit and appeared empty. I noted that the grand painting, formerly colorful and vivid, had faded and much of it had chipped and fallen on the floor. The bare walls were a featureless matte black. It was quiet and the air was still and foul. The water in the font was likewise blackened. My erection quickly faded. I fell into a fetal position, spent.

Some time later, my eyes opened. It was still night, but I thought the first light from dawn might be visible to the east. I looked in the cup and saw that it was nearly a third full with semen, presumably mine. I had never come so hard or so prodigiously before or since. As I watched, the iridescent liquid took on a dim inner light. I started the final portion of the incantation, and in that moment finished a perfect circle of spellcasting. The cup glowed with luminous inner light.

I knew what I must do. I picked up the heavy cup and drained it in three large, warm gulps. It occurred to me that it may be the seed of some beast, but I drank it just as eagerly. Sex magic.

I suddenly knew many things. I knew who had written the forbidden books and why. I knew why the temple was built and by who. I knew myself in a way that I had never imagined. I knew secret, forbidden things. My mind was opened, and filled with song. Songs long forgotten by men. I had what I had come for, and life would never be the same.

Tying my robe, I noticed that not a trace of the grand painting remained, rendered dust by the foul spell. Erased by truth.

I walked outside. The guards had fled and I briefly wondered what they had seen or heard from the outside. The temple itself now appeared much older, as if it might collapse at any moment. I recalled the ruined cylindrical painting and mused that the cycle had started again. A new story, a new poem would start that day, though some poems are tragedies. I considered that, perhaps, my image would appear on a future cyclorama. When I weighed the treasure of knowledge I had received, I smiled in the darkness recalling the long-fled guard. He had predicted a good night for this place.

I made my way back into the pine forest. Dawn was certainly imminent; the sky had traces of deep pink. I smiled to myself and relished the new day. Fresh opportunities awaited Mendax the Trusted.

I planned to shake everything that they held dear.

Nothing is sacred.