Ambrosia of Fertility
(by ammon17)

It was late. The mid-summer heat still lingered in the air as Duchess Silvea slunk towards the multi-tiered granite steps. "I cannot sleep, please let this visit calm my soul." 

Two temple guards stood to either side, intricately embellished plate armor shining in the red-gold rays of the half crescent. They stood impassively, straight razor pole-arms propped at they're sides, eyes caught in shadow under heavy helms. Gold trimmed red bolts of cloth ran the length of their torsos; ending in triangle points below the waist, completing the effect.

Not sparing a glance for the bored sentries, she hurried up the steps, silken robes swishing. Not so much as a quickened breath or weary scrape from her sandaled feet disturbed the crackling stillness as she neared the top; for on either side of the arched entryway, atop waist-high squares of stone lounged golden bowls of oil, burnt in preparation for dusk - to light the late supplicants’ return journey. Silvea hated the way they cast flickering slivers of shadow along each step, making for treacherous optic illusions.

But for now, the combined light of the torrid sun behind and the dance of the firelight to either side, made her long ripples of golden hair shimmer and glint off the golden exposed flesh of her upper thighs; the ascent allowing the pleated length of her white dress to slip between her legs with each stride; soft curves damp with perspiration.

Entering through the arch and without breaking stride, Silvea made her way around and behind the beautiful multi-tiered fountain at the temple’s center; the waters blue gold with the last glints of setting sun. Beyond this lay the soft glow of the 99 wax candles - arranged neatly atop a small, thigh high cabinet - and spilling outward onto the floor in a half semicircle around a small wooden stool. "The god of fools would never accept 100."

Reverently, her steps slowed as she neared the alter. Deftly removing incense sticks from the cabinet and slotting them into place on their wooden holders, she sat meekly atop the stool and began to pray -- sensuous exposed legs like bastions of grace.

Leaning forward to carefully rest her downy forearms along the length of the cabinet - her head just above the golden bowl that sat in a groove between - she entreated." Please oh god of mischief be merciful, let me have but this one gift." In testimony to her murmurs, a single tear traced diagonally along her upper cheek and out to the tip of her elegant nose, before dropping into the bowl. 

…And thus she stayed for long minutes, bent over, voice raising in susurrations of humility.

At last, getting up, the duchess went to fill the golden bowl from the burbling fountain, and so finish the ritual. But on her return -- as she made to lift the offering over the cabinet for a last-ditch blessing – the miracle occurred! Emanating from the center and spreading outward, the cool clear liquid turning hotly opalescent; facsimileing that of steeping egg whites. The candles flickered and dimmed, as if the beaten metal bowel was somehow divesting their heat. Within moments the process was complete, the transposed contents of the bowel thick and white as milk broth, and the candles returned to vigor.

For a long instant Silvea stared in wonder, rapturously transfixed, until remembering what must be done. Tentatively, Silvea raised the now pleasantly hot bowl close; smelling strangely of a sweet and musky, almost primal odor. Not wanting to offend her god, she brought the brim resolutely to her mouth and - careful not to slurp - let the first dribble of goo slip between her lips — the taste surprisingly mild and sweet, with a hint of something… else. Something vital — intoxicating as life itself.

Immediately she became aware of her body as never before; hot with desire, and a craving for more! Nevertheless, she hesitated, the bowl still raised. Truly, the lurid smell was invigorating, getting into her head and spreading down into her chest; tendrils spinning out along the swell of her breasts, their tips inexorably hardening.

…Yet an icy bubble at her heart - encapsulating a fearful doubt - rose up in her breast; trickling up her spine to settle upon her hazed mind. There it popped, depositing a single clear thought. "Could this really be ambrosia?" The nectar of the gods should be drunk by no mortal! But no, this "was" surely the miracle she had wished for...and she should drink it all to be sure it worked.

Pressing her lips to the bowl with near bruising force, this time she allowed herself an unladylike gulp, downing a prodigious mouthful before drawing in a gasping breath. Heat raced down her throat and into her body, spreading outward to her extremities. Almost as an afterthought, the warmth spread downward from her stomach and seemed to burn into the core of her loins.
Sinking down onto the stool she let her head loll back as waves of lust coursed through her. Fine beads of sweat formed; prickling her nerves into sensory overload, and rolling down the exposed flesh of her large breasts — down under the hem of the low-cut dress. Looking down at them with a new-found appreciation, it took an instant for her wavering vision to refocus, and another to realize her legs have started instinctively grinding together. 
With a seemingly great effort of will, she pried them apart and flipped the outer mantle of cloth to one side; revealing her underwear. The pale blue of the cloth stood out dark in a growing wet spot, just below the small decorative bow sewn into the fabric.

Pulling herself from the hot fog, she fervently looking around the empty marble temple, searching out any hint of motion or human form. Only the solid pillars stood sentry around the large room, combined with the quiet tinkle of the fountain – and directly above, the light blue rectangle of the darkening sky.

Assured she was undisturbed, Silvea relaxed; returning her lips to the bowel and sinking back into her spell. Her hands itched to lower themselves to her other pair of lips — only the need to hold the bowl steady, keeping her from wantonly tracing their heated folds. “I will drink oh god; that my barrenness be made whole.”

…And now she was gulping down mouthfuls of creamy white; with each swallow the burning of her sex intensifying.

Consummately downing the last swallow, she absently returned it atop the alter; her every movement sending sweet fire arching along her frame.

Returning a libidinous gaze to her panties, she discovered them now sodden with a combination of sweat and her juices. In fact, rivulets of moisture trailed down her inner thighs from under her rose embroidered underwear. Hand shaking slightly she reached down, stroking her two middle fingers over the dripping, slotted bulge in her panties.

Caressing her plump womanhood with one hand, she reached up with the other to remove the damp cloth over her shoulder, letting it drop down over her perky breasts. Two large pink <puffy> areolas were revealed, nipples stiff with arousal. Surely this was the feeling of fertility.

Cupping her right breast – fingers plying the aching tip with attention - she sped up her other hand’s carnal caressing along …through, her soaked panties. Pinching her proud nipple elicited a flood of pleasure, and Silvea dipped deeper into her needy pussy, pressing the fabric a little way into her burning orifice. Drawing her hand up to her clitoris, she began rubbing softly in circular motions, switching attention to her other breast in the process. Grabbing her other nipple she repeated the process; pinching and twisting it. Moaning low in her throat she crooned softly into the air as sweat droplets slide down every part of her thick, toned body, curves highlighted amorously by the glow of candles.

Without thinking she stood, her upper body still in a slight hunch as her right hand played along her cunt — loosing her soft leather belt and letting her robe rumple to the ground before plopping back down on the stool. Gone was the reserved supplicant of a god. Now with both hands she rubbed her swollen labia salaciously; pinching her strangely hard vulva through her panties. Unable to control herself, she slid her left two middle fingers under her panties from the side, spreading her pink soaked pussy as she slid them in and out, in and out…

"My god! My pleasure nub is so hard! I-is it bigger?" she thought to herself as she built to an orgasm; her breaths heavy and rasping. This was like nothing she had felt before. Her spine slowly arched as waves of pleasure ran over her; through her. She couldn’t think -- her eyesight blurring -- lost in ecstasy as her clitoris throbbed under her fingers. A faint thought fleeted through her hazed mind "is my clit… longer?” she felt like she was rubbing an inch of herself between thumb and forefinger. These thoughts were driven out of her head by a still greater cascade of pleasure as she came.

Spreading her legs on either side of her stool and pulling herself up into a crouch supported by her arched feet, she bowed back even farther as her body convulsed, her hips jerking back and forth. A wave of clear nectar gushed, nay blasted from between her legs and seem to hang for a moment in the heavy air; sparkling in the light before falling in a shower onto the candles in front of her, making them flicker.

Before she could even think to move, a torrent of bliss again washed over her as a fecund spring opened up from her nether gates. Spouts of sweet smelling nectar erupted from her loins, covering the shrine in juice that filled the candle hollows and ran down the sides of the alter in grooved channels. 
A turgid pain exploded between Silvea’s fingers. Still enwrapped in pleasure she looked down at her pussy. Her rigid clit was turning a vibrant purple! Then -- right before her shocked eyes -- expanding outward; pressing her fingers apart -- her clit grew frantically in size. In the space of two frenetic heartbeats her clit stood out two inches thick and 4 inches tall! 

Her eyes wide open and staring - mouth gaping in a silent screech as stabbing jolts of pleasure and pain shot through her - Silvea lost all connection with reality; watching in a stupor as her clit grew faster — spreading outward and upward - an inch a second — sliding steadily out of her as if unsheathing from inside… if not for the painful sinuous snapping and popping of tendons as it grew. 

Nearing its full length_the foreskin began pulling back, revealing the topside of her thick glands and light purple head as it slowed its rapid growth — creeping up the last two inches as a striation of veins abruptly bulged outward against the skin, and clear sticky pre-cum oozed from the now twitching tip. Mouth still open in shock and ecstasy, she stared at her newly disgorged foot of glistening rod. 

Perched on her --by now-- searing arches, she gasped for air as a few final orgasmic shudders crackled through her, trailing off to a pleasant afterglow.
Thumping back down onto the stool - her slippery backside barely finding traction - she slumped in her seat — amazed she had not cried aloud, which would surely have summoned the guards.

Just as she was starting to regain her breath, here came yet another, yet more unfamiliar pulse of pleasure which shot through her chest; as if resonating straight from her heart down to her new lust pole. As if in slow motion her cock jumped once, then without warning shot a single globous strand of creamy white goo directly onto her face, splattering into her mouth. The baroness fell backward off the stool in shock - barely softening her tumble onto the marble with an arm; suddenly so tired she couldn’t hold her eyes open for a single moment more. Still, she had the presence of mind to fumble her dress back over herself. The last thought on her mind before she faded into blissful unconsciousness: "My seed tastes… not all that different from ambrosia.”