Temple Slave Of Zeboim Ch 01

Note: Zeboim, along with Sodom and Gomorrah, was one of the 'Cities of the Plain' destroyed by God according to the Book of Genesis. We all know (or think we know) what happened in Sodom, but I always wondered what might have happened in those other, lesser known cities.

*

Like so many of this city's slaves, I was not born into servitude. My earliest memories are of high, jagged, snow-capped mountains, of rich pine forests, wooden cabins, and the lowing of our shaggy-haired cattle. And there are two shadowy figures, now all but forgotten, who must have been my parents. My next memories are of the raid: fire and terror, masked men, and the seemingly interminable march down from the mountains that had been my home. The dim impressions of life before my enslavement were all but obliterated from my mind by that ordeal, and by the wonder I felt when I saw the plain of Canaan, and its five cities, more magnificent than anything I had dreamed possible.

We marched past one vast settlement, and as we passed under its high walls the men repeated what I later learned was its name: Sodom. That was not to be our destination. We pressed on across the plain, through its verdant, fecund fields of rippling wheat and barley, until we came to the place where I would be sold: the spectacular hilled city of Zeboim.

After that came years as a house-slave and sparring partner for the son of a minor nobleman, and I grew and became strong along with him. When he reached manhood and received a prestigious military commission, the family gave me to the temples as a sacred offering on the advice of their family priest. I now belong to the gods, under the earthly supervision of the priest-king of Zeboim, who is the gods' representative in this world. I bear their sacred mark upon my chest, just beneath my right collarbone: the brand, made with red-hot iron the day of my sale, that sets me apart as property of the divine.

Some slaves labor in the halls of the war-god Ulek, crafting the finest killing tools on the planet; others in the scriptoria of Aresh, god of wisdom, keeping the imperial records; but I was given to Baiala, goddess of lust and abandon, and it is in her sprawling temple complex atop the western hill of Zeboim that I now pass my days.

I give little thought to my past now. Service in the temple occupies my time and my senses, and why my mind has wandered to those places so distant in time and space I cannot say. But my morning work is about to begin, and I must give it my attention.

Drumbeats from behind me reverberate against the black stone walls of the small chamber, and incense smoke wafts thick and lazy through the cool, damp air. In the dim light provided by the narrow opening in the chamber's ceiling, I stand and watch the young priestess lying on the low stone altar before me as she caresses her magnificent body. She is naked save for the gold bangles around her wrists, which clink together softly as she slides her hands up over her luscious thighs, past the dark thatch of her pubic hair, across her belly and up to her ripe young breasts, her nipples pink and erect atop the soft mounds. Her black hair is tied snugly in a bun atop her head, and so obscures nothing of her exquisitely beautiful face. Her name is Itara, and this morning I am going to drench her with my semen.

I too am naked, and my member, already half-engorged, grows to an aching rigidity as I watch Itara fondle her supple flesh. From behind me the drummer, a priestess whose job it is to keep time in the ritual, calls out a command in the sacred tongue. Its true meaning I am forbidden from knowing, but I recognize it well as the phrase that initiates the ritual.

I hear footsteps behind me, and another priestess appears at my right side. It is wide-hipped, perky-breasted Phari, naked as Itara and myself, accompanied by a white-robed neophyte priestess bearing a shallow ceramic bowl filled with a syrupy liquid. Phari will conduct the ritual, with Itara and me as her instruments.

Phari closes her eyes and solemnly pronounces in the sacred tongue the prophetic question our ritual is intended to answer, a question posed to the temple by some citizen or visitor to Zeboim eager to make use of the temple's renowned tradition of divination in exchange for a generous donation. Then she moves around behind me, and I feel her slender hands as she places them on my warm skin and slides them around to my stomach. I lift my arms, and feel Phari press herself against me, her nipples hard against my back, her cheek resting against me between my shoulderblades. She extends her right hand, and the neophyte proffers the bowl, into which Phari immerses her hand. Then in one rapid motion she withdraws it, slick and dripping, and grabs hold of my throbbing erection.

I gasp as her hand clenches around my member, quickly coating it in the lubricating fluid from the bowl, a special substance derived from sacred reeds that grow in the temple gardens. Once it is slippery enough, Phari begins vigorously stroking my shaft, and starts to intone the words of the divination ritual. Itara, hands still running over her body, gives a shiver of excitement as the ritual begins, and sits up, sliding forward to the edge of the altar and leaning back on her hands. She is about a foot away from me now, and she spreads her legs and presses out her chest, presenting her body to me. Her lovely breasts rise and fall with her heavy breaths, and she licks her lips in anticipation as she watches Phari stroke my cock, then looks up at me hungrily.

Phari slides her other hand down between my legs and begins massaging my testicles. She has completed the words of the ritual, and now begins the chant that she will repeat until the ritual is completed. Itara joins in, repeating the same syllables in the sacred tongue.

"Ota ferem uli kesh, ota ferem uli kesh, ota ferem uli kesh..." they murmur over and over, and now the neophyte and the drummer join in, their voices combining, feeding one another's intensity until the words resound through the chamber.

I look down at Itara, her mouth mindlessly forming the words, and notice a trickle of liquid sliding down the side of the altar between her legs. So aroused is she by the expectation of my semen, I realize, that her pussy is literally dripping onto the altar. I had tried to hold back, relishing the feeling of Phari's skilled hand sliding up and down my slick shaft, but this realization sends me over the edge. I reach back and grab Phari's juicy ass, filling my hands with her soft flesh and grunting as I feel my orgasm rise and explode within me.

I roar ecstatically, my knees momentarily going weak, and lean back against Phari as I clench her ass in my hands. She continues to stroke me unrelentingly, still chanting, and squeezes my testicles as the sperm comes surging up the length of my cock. The first spurts are enormous, and strike Itara right in her gorgeous mouth. Some of its splatters over her lips, some across her cheeks, and some shoots right inside her mouth, but Itara never stops intoning the ritual chant, my thick semen pouring from her mouth and over her chin as she continues to speak the sacred words. I continue to come, my next spurts less powerful, drenching her neck with slippery cum that drizzles in sheets down between her breasts, and she shudders involuntarily with pleasure as I soak her with my seed. My body spasms, shaking my dick in Phari's hand and sending my next blasts across Itara's delicious tits, splashing her erect nipples and coursing down her orbs to hang in sticky strands from their perfectly rounded undersides. My last few spurts spray down over her belly and run down into her pubic hair, and then, at last, my orgasm recedes, and a few last drops spatter down onto the cool stone floor.

As one, the priestesses stop chanting, and Itara grins up at me, giving another little shiver before lying back on the altar and lifting her arms above her head. Phari gives my dick a final squeeze as it starts to soften in her hand, then releases it. I let go of her ass and she steps around to face me, placing the first two fingers of her left hand on my forehead and speaking again in the sacred tongue the words that mean that I am dismissed. The ritual is over. I nod, take one last look at Itara's incredible cum-soaked body, and turn to leave the chamber. I pass the drummer as I go, her nipples visibly hard beneath her sheer white robe, and head up the stairs and into the temple complex's eastern arcade, a sort of covered colonnade with entrances to several underground ritual chambers like the one I was just in. Blinking in the bright morning sun, I head for the cleansing pool, where all temple slaves must go after participating in a ritual.

Once I have left the chamber, Phari will examine the patterns of semen sprayed across Itara's body, and use them to arrive at a prognostication regarding the donor's question, perhaps instructing the neophyte in her methods of interpretation. This is among the most common forms of divination practiced in the temple of Baiala, but it is by no means the only one. The day is young, and before it is over I may participate in any number of rituals of lust intended to invoke the goddess Baiala's power and favor. As I make my way through the delightful temple gardens, the smell of flowers in the air, I wonder what else the day could have in store for me.