A Praise to Bacchus ( Father x Shadow)

[Father Figure]

The temple was an impressive sight, second only to the Temple of Jupiter in the Heliopolis. Surrounded by forty-two unified unfluted Corinthian columns it was a place of awe amongst the Roman people, a place of brilliant and gorgeous beauty, and one of great secrecy. For while comers and goers could be found during the day within the temple, the holy hours were sacrosanct to all but the clergy and those rare few individuals that they invited to partake in the higher mysteries. The temple walls were enriched with refined reliefs and sculpture, drawing the eye to the trapped beauty of the stonework as if ensorcelled to never break your gaze from the god's good works. Deep within was the cella, half columns flanking two levels of niches on each side, containing scenes from the birth and life of Bacchus. Finally, to those called to the god's services was the adyton, the inner shrine, standing above a flight of stairs. It was a place of mystery and frightening power, each piece of art calling to the baser demons of the human soul. Tonight the temple had called upon it's brothers and sisters to hold a masquerade and they had answered the call with eagerness.

The true nature of the temple was not the architecture, but the perversion that could be found inside. The bodies writing upon dais and floor itself were mingled in lovemaking that would make even the most experienced blush with realization of their ignorance at the art of lust. Debauchery was a term thrown around lightly by those who felt they understood the nature of passion and the experience of lust. It was a foolish attempt to compare to the depraved hungers on display within the temple that evening. The smell of burning herbs filled the temple along with the accompanying smoke, a haze that permeated the stone walls and gave the briefest indulgence of intimacy to the acts of defilement culminating about them. Flesh anointed by holy oil slid with animalistic urgency, the sound of throats slick with honeyed wine calling out and echoing within the chamber. A stirring cacophony of pleasure.

At this masquerade it seemed the only clothing worth noting were the masks themselves.

The man standing near the entrance to the inner shine was one known by many there that night. Aurelius Regulus, Senator of the Roman Empire. Tall and austere, his frame still clothed unlike those of the other worshippers. Robes of rich cloth fell over his powerful frame, the shoulders tight and unyielding as he waited for the target that he had chosen. His mask was that of the raven, a portent of things to come, he had chosen it specifically for what it signified - the spirit guide that would lead those who sought his knowledge. He ignored the indulgences that had been placed before him. These things would normally not be beneath him, but his mind was on the true intended target of this evening, a young woman of enviable breeding. Born of a powerful politician and a priestess of Bacchus, the young girl had been invited specifically by the head of the temple to join in the festivities that evening. He would know her immediately, he had little doubt, for she was his daughter - Aurelia.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The night called to her, as it did so often since her introduction to the godly rites. Her time as a trembling, naive virgin had long passed. She remembered the evening well, gathered in a lesser temple on a nobleman's estate, the air thick with incense, sweat, and sex. The man that had deflowered her had been gentle enough in the moment, but it was the last kindness she'd been offered that night. Many a man had used her hence, most anonymous and content to remain so, though she'd taken the occasional friendly lover on a whim.

Her father did not know, of course. Could not know. He was a man of power and influence, seen by many as a pious man and follower of the greater gods. What would he do if he discovered her in the throes of passion, sheets wet with their lovemaking, and bodies slick with desire? And if he'd discovered she'd attended a feast of Bacchus within the god's very temple? A teasing smile tugged at her sensuous lips at the thought of the shock he'd surely feel.

Though only sixteen, Aurelia could hardly be called a girl. Her womanly figure had sprouted early, nearly three years prior, and the passing time had instilled within her a graceful elegance that reproached many a bejeweled noblewoman with a casual simplicity that they simply could not obtain. She was slender of frame and lithe like the willow, walking with poise and decorum not easily achieved for one so young. In her stillness she might have been an artist's depiction of a Roman goddess, carved from living marble, with pale, creamy skin to match the likeness. Her robes were simple, yet draped elegantly over her statuesque form in shades of silver and cobalt, each hem embroidered with silver threads in patterns of leaves and winding vines -- a fitting tribute to the god of indulgences.

Like the others gathered, her face was hidden by an elegant mask. Her partial concealment depicted crashing waves of silver filigree that symbolized playful nymphs, the wild and unhindered spirits of the water. The mask had been a gift from her father, though he'd surely hadn't understood the meaning behind it, nor the purpose for which she'd adorn it. He probably thought it a pretty bauble and nothing more, she thought with some amusement.

Though her stomach trembled with excitement and anticipation, her inner emotions were well hidden. She gazed out at the writhing masses with an air of amused aloofness, as if they were gathered for her entertainment and not to honor their god. Her touch was light against the cool marble column as she paused within the inner sanctum, surveying the scene. The pause was purposeful, drawing eyes to her as she made herself known as another devout worshiper, come to pay tribute with flesh and moans of desire.

Her arrival did not go unnoticed. Almost immediately, a trio of men in various stages of undress broke free of their revelry, each of them moving to greet her. Watching them, she quickly decided that the possible choices were quite appealing.

It would be a most enjoyable evening.

 

[Father Figure]

Of course she would immediately grab the attention of those around her when she entered. She was practically divine in and of herself, a sublime beauty that could only be descended from the gods themselves. He watched with a measure of jealousy as the men began to approach her and perhaps with a measure of incredulity at her quick appraisal and accepting smile of the attentions. Oh, he was not surprised in the least that his young daughter had it within her to be a commanding woman, a wanted woman, and a desired one. He knew of her indulgences, he was no fool and more than that he had planned them himself. Still, perhaps the spark of possessiveness that he had kept banked and unfed these months had finally been set ablaze by seeing it personally himself.

He began to move across the temple towards her, his robes undone to fall without a glance on the stone floor. His was a body unlike many of his compatriots and with good reason. Many called to the temple of Bacchus were perfection incarnate, but they led the soft lives of the pampered. Men and women who emphasized beauty, athleticism, and health were given to lean physiques that followed a sculptors line. This was not the form of Aurelius. In his youth he had led the life of soldier, rising in the ranks with commanding presence before retirement and seeking political fortune. That hard life of the Roman military had stamped itself upon him in classic form, the broad shoulders and strong thighs emphasizing a strength more akin to the bull than the artist. Perhaps he should have been a follower of Mithras, yet his lusts and appetites had led him here early in his life. This was the man that approached her, intimidating in his raven-like mask, radiating a dangerous hunger that shied away the other suitors. He was not one to share, not this prize, not this woman.

What would he do if he was denied?

It was a foolish thought and one that was unbecoming. Yet he knew that he could not hint at anything that would reveal who he might be. Aurelius normally sported a beard, dark and greying, the look of a wisdom. But he had gone shaven this evening so as not to hint to her that there was a similarity. She knew his form, yet had never seen him fully nude, and he trusted in the hidden mystery of the moment to keep her from recognizing his powerful stride. Most of all though his voice could never be heard during this, he could not speak with her and even ask for her attentions. She would know instantly, no matter what he might do, and so it was merely his presence that would encourage her to be with him. His bare feet took the last few steps with determination and then they touched.

It was sweeping, demanding, the way his hands reached and took hold of her taut rear through her robes. The fingers unyielding as he lifted her up against him like a man claiming territory. It brought her head up above his so that all she could see was his piercing eyes staring up at her. Those eyes, so familiar, and yet she had never seen the level of unleashed hunger within them before. Whomever this man was, he wanted her, and it seemed in that moment he would have her.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Like the raven whose mask he wore, the man swooped in, seeking to pluck the shiny new plaything from the pile of drab leavings. She had a glimpse of his toned, muscular form before he dominated her vision, capturing her azure gaze with such piercing eyes that seemed to ravage her very soul where she stood. When his strong hands found her supple flesh through her robes, her body tightened in response, pressed hotly against his as she was lifted above all others like the prize she was. The nymphet stared down at her avian conqueror and trembled at what she saw.

Once, while touring the arena with her father, she'd had the fortune of seeing one of the captured tigers pacing mere inches away in his cage. Though the bars kept her from danger, she had seen the eyes of the predator and knew that if the tiger had been freed, he would have devoured her body in a single heartbeat. She recognized the same predatory look in the man that held her, the same restrained wildness in the way his body coiled, waiting to strike, and in the strength of his grip that held her captive.

It frightened her.

It exhilarated her.

The nervous fluttering within her stomach drifted lower to ignite a flame within her sex. This man would have her, whether she wished it or not, but Aurelia was perfectly willing to be claimed. He was a man of power, dangerous like the flame and she the moth, and that aroused her almost as much as the firm body she felt against her own. Her legs looped about his waist, locking him against the heat that radiated from between her thighs. Her arms twined about his neck, fingers gliding through his hair, and she leaned forward to press her lips to his in a soft, feather-like kiss.

It was a playful tease, meant to entice him into something more, testing his stoic resolve to see how little it would take to enrage the beast within. Her sex ground against him in another obvious display, tantalizing him with what was to come. Only the thin layers of cloth separated them, keeping him from claiming what he sought, but they would soon prove to be no great barrier.

He had her wordless answer to his unspoken question. She was his for the taking.

But she had no idea for whom she'd just willingly submitted.

 

[Father Figure]

The motions of her lithe body against him were enough to entice the passions of any man, but while they did stir him towards arousal the towering behemoth had something far more satisfying in mind than merely indulging in debasement upon the temple floors. His was a purpose that had been growing over the years as she had become a woman in the eyes of their people, a purpose of dedication not just to Bacchus but to their people and their empire. Even if she was unaware of it, she could see the determination in those steely eyes. The sheer resolution that this night would be what he would wish it to be. It was true he could have had her at any point, could have forced himself upon her, but while his actions were being cloaked in mystery in order to lull his young beauty into sacrilegious defilement...he would never harm her. Never hurt her. His were the actions of a man who knew what was needed to fulfill the destiny he had laid out for her and he would never stop until he had achieved his goals.

Yet now was not the time for plotting, now was the time for adulation. His strong arms held her as if she were weightless, a feather that he carried barefoot across stone already slick with merging desires. The steady pace was one that hinted at the past of his soldiering, surefooted and well balanced, and his fingers all the while dug into her perfect backside, forcing the sculpted marble of her flesh to yield to his desire. He did not ignore her entreaties, his lips appreciative as he returned her small kisses, and as they moved across the temple proper he grew harder as his goal came closer to fruition. Taking the steps up to the adyton he moved into the inner shrine without a single hint that he was unwelcome, approaching the raised dais in the middle. He lay her back upon the altar to his god, the sculptures of Bacchus and his lovers gazing down at them from the ceiling above.

As he did so he broke the small kisses they had been sharing, raising his finger to touch her lips with a stern look of his eyes to stifle any questions she might posit about what the hell he was doing. The hands of adoring attendants moved to take her robes, opening them so that they fell to the sides of the stone, serving as an altar cloth for her nude body. Taking an urn he began to whisper supplication to Bacchus as he slowly poured the heated oil upon her flesh, dripping along the swell of her bosom and leading down her abdomen, his eyes growing glazed with his desire...and there was little doubt that he desired her. The fingers of those attendants, faceless behind their masks, began to move long her flesh as they smoothed the oil on supple and willing skin, the large man still whispering and barely heard as the others began to join him in the praise to their god. This offering...Aurelia.

"Bacchus, we raise our voices in the hopes that someday you will join us. The sweetest, strongest wine is ever your drink; the mind's release, the body's loosening, your gift. O Bacchus, ivy-crowned god, we see you in the shadows, we see you on the edges, we see you in the haze of ecstasy where we know the truth of passion, where we find the essence of our being. Bacchus, I call to you!" The mingled voices rose in crescendo as the strong fingers of the raven found her thighs and opened her to him. She had wanted to kiss him and he provided the kiss she deserved.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Though somewhat disappointed that he hadn't taken her immediately on the steps, Aurelia was a patient woman. Her attentions continued, teasing and soft, until they reached the inner shrine. Laid down upon the stone, she smiled against the finger he pressed to her lips, but questioned not his actions. It was implied that she would be a sacrifice to Bacchus, and she felt honored to have been selected. But why shouldn't she be? Her body was a temple, a praise to the god himself, perfectly created by the mother and father that conceived her.

Had he ever seen her completely nude? Witnessed the perfection of those young, pert orbs with blushed nipples that had already hardened to tight buds that pierced the sky? Had he seen the smooth curve of her stomach as it dipped to her sex that already glistened with her desire? How long had he lusted after her womanly form, so nubile and lissom?

Laid out as a willing sacrifice, her body arched against the stone as welcome hands caressed her pliant flesh, rubbing until her skin was slick and fragrant with the holy oil. Her curls, so artfully piled atop her head, now spilled about her face like a dark halo. Little lambs were often brought to the temple for slaughter, but never had one been so willing or impure of thought.

A soft moan rose in praise to their god as his mouth found her, and her legs spread even wider for his worship. She was ready for him, lustfully wet, drops of pearlescent dew collected upon her womanly flower. Her body was flushed and trembled at his touch, quivering with anticipation. Behind her mask, her eyes fluttered closed, but her lips remained alluringly parted as she released a shuddering breath.

 

[Father Figure]

His fingers slid to grip her bottom, oiled and slick, having to grip viciously hard in order to maintain hold. He would bruise her in several ways before this night was over, he promised himself that, and he took in the view with the look of a penitent man being offered salvation. Had he ever seen her nude before? He had in only stolen glances as he waited hidden behind vestibules to watch her engaged with other men and women, or in brief moments where he peered through curtains to see her bathing. He had never seen her like this, a sculpted goddess given life, and in that moment he knew that she was more than just his daughter. She was the vessel of his god, created to bring about the greatest heights of desire and decadence, born to break the will of even the strongest. Perhaps he should have been afraid by what the meant for himself, but he did not give in to such thoughts, not with her dripping sex spread open and waiting for him to partake of.

No inch was left untouched by his ravenous mouth. He leaned close, the heady scent of her aroma caught on the air, the smell of her beautiful flesh. His tongue came out to caress along her labia, slow and steady as he traced every inch to taste her nectar, and with a low groan he moved forward and closed his eyes. His fingers raised her up like a cup that he was drinking from, pressing her completely against his lips. His tongue delved hard into her, again and again, opening her with practiced ease before sliding up to expertly expose her hard clitoris to his ministrations. The moan of the man shivered against willing flesh as he suctioned her, lips catching that exposed flesh as his tongue began to flick with wicked determination, encouraging her to ride his handsome face. All the while one thumb slid, the holy oil making it an easy exercise of pressing hard against her wriggling anus...pushing in with ease.

He was aroused himself, his thick shaft aching, but he paid it no mind nor did any attendant reach to aid him in his endeavors. Tonight was for her alone, she would be the only one he took, and with the way his mask was moving with the grinding of her hips she might very well see who was providing the pleasure she so richly deserved that night. Soon there would be no chance to hide that it was her father, but in his lust he was uncaring, all that matter was supplicating the god with this offering of her ambrosia on his altar.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Perhaps, if Aurelia had been in possession of her senses, she might have glimpsed the identity of the man pleasuring her and been horrified to learn it was her father, but her only concern at that moment was the rising torrent of passion sweeping through her body. His tongue worked in wicked ways upon her sex, lapping at the salty sweet honey that her body provided for his pleasure. She groaned as he entered her with his tongue and again as his mouth found her clit. The tiny node was throbbing loudly, as loud as her beating heart in her ears, as if begging for more. Her slender form arched from the altar again as his thumb probed, providing another swift rush of pulsating sensation to her aching sex.

She was soaring above them all, ascending to new heights, propelled upward by his mouth. Other hands had departed, leaving them alone upon the altar, and she reveled in the worship of her sopping womanhood. Her hips bucked almost involuntarily, seeking to ride his face, wanting more of what he was offering to the gods. His crushing grip drew her close so that they were nearly one in the same, merged by lust and desire, though it still was not enough. She knew not his identity, but she wanted him, wanted that first teasing orgasm, and she was determined to have it.

Rising, one hand upon the altar to provide stability, she used the other to grip his hair tightly and smother him with her folds. His raven-like beak cut into her mound, but even that small pinprick of pain was lost in the moment. Her head rocked back, teeth clamped down upon her lower lip, eyes closed as she whimpered. Higher she flew, hips bucking against his face, unwilling to allow even the slightest moment of rest that could shatter her world. Grinding her sex upon his mouth as he'd so often dreamed, she found the first of the many releases she would surely have that evening.

Mouth flying open, she screamed her pleasure to Bacchus himself, laying her climax at his feet in supplication. It was a glorious explosion, bursting free from the tongue within her folds to crash through the entirety of her being. Wave upon wave pounded against her and cast her adrift in the seas of blissful pleasure. Her body trembled beneath his mouth and he was rewarded with a new rush of fluid that coated his mouth and chin. Quaking with small aftershocks of lust, she collapsed back on the covered stone, hair tousled and limbs askew in a perfect tableau of sexual gratification.

 

[Father Figure]

Even if she had not recognized what had happened, Aurelius had, and in her throes of passion as she supplicated herself before their god...she had also removed that Raven mask. His features were stern, no softness to them, the features of a man given to a rigorous life. It would come as a surprise to so many his predilections, his willingness to pursue the hedonistic aspects of life. It should not though, not psychologically, for many who pursued a life of dedication and devotion were often the ones that required the greatest release from their pent up desires. That brow furrowed as the eyes gazed hungrily at the open and willing flesh before him, his tongue coming to caress across the lips of her cunt and tasted her once again, taunting her even in the terrible aftermath of her orgasm, knowing she was frighteningly sensitive. It would draw her eyes down, but only for a moment, the barest glimpse of the shock of his dark hair before he acted upon his desires.

His hands took hold of her hips and with a swift motion rolled her over onto her stomach. The hands on her hips were rough and calloused, oddly familiar even with the slickness of the blessed oil upon her skin, and with one terrible move he was up and standing behind her, jerking her back so that her legs fell splayed on the edge of the stone. It was abrasive and even cruel to her flesh, the stonework biting into her, and yet it did not deter this beast of a man from mounting her. A hand moved up to fist into her hair, jerking her head slightly back into an arch as his other hand gripped her shoulder to steady her and with one brutal motion he thrust within her perfect body.

He speared her.

There was no other description for the act of what he did to her, for in that thrusting of his hips he hilted her in one swift vicious motion. It was not the impressive length of that weapon used to breach the young woman, forcing her to accept him fully, that would wring a cry from her. It was the thick girth of that shaft, the man's own hand barely able to wrap round the heavy cock. It was this which pummeled her open and once he took her properly the true nature of this moment became apparent. He would sate himself with her tight flesh, he would break her upon the Bacchus's altar, and her cries would reach the ears of the god himself. Fingers tugged her back into each vicious thrust, slamming deep, each motion nearly taking him from her body before impaling back into the core of her. He wanted to hurt her, he wanted to please her, he wanted to imprint himself upon his daughter's flesh so that no man who came after him could ever compare.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The teasing lick to her sensitive pussy made her shiver and moan softly, but Aurelia didn't move from her sprawl until he physically flipped her onto her stomach. The sudden shift with those powerful hands made her gasp in surprise as did the jerk that brought her halfway off the altar. Her breasts were saved by the robe beneath her, but her legs and stomach were abraded harshly by the stone. If there was any pain involved, it scarcely had time to register as he took hold of her and penetrated her inner depths with his meaty cock. Though sufficiently lubricated by virtue of his wicked tongue, she'd contracted in orgasm and was tight around the shaft that pistoned inside her. The feeling was almost too much to bear. She was being split in twain and each powerful thrust of his hips drove him further into her depths. It was the largest cock she'd ever taken and the force of it made her knees weak with pleasure.

Her body shook on the altar as he pounded, hips and legs crushed against stone. Her toes barely touched the ground and scrabbled to maintain support as he increased his tempo. Caught by the hair, her body arched backward like a bow, strung tightly and waiting to launch an orgasmic arrow into her throbbing cunt. His attack, like the man himself, was direct and vicious, but, as in life, her body grew accustomed to his demanding assault. The feeling of his cock ramming inside her was glorious. Her delicate hands pressed against the altar, and she used the leverage to push back against him, firm breasts bouncing wildly with every countered thrust.

Their bodies were soon moving together, slamming with a ferocity she had rarely seen, and had unknowingly missed. She screamed her cries to the heavens, vocal in her praise of the man's prowess and her intense love of his cock. Rarely, if ever, had he heard such filth spew from his daughter's lips. Aurelia's conversation was careful and strategic, never vulgar or crude, but here, in the sight of Bacchus and his worshipers, he had unleashed the wild animal trapped within.

The Bacchanalia continued about them in a clamor of writhing naked bodies and masked worshipers, but the crowd had long since fallen from her consciousness, made invisible by the misty haze of lust. Aurelia had no knowledge of anything save the strong hands that gripped her tight and the massive tool driving her ever closer to another orgasm.

 

[Father Figure]

There was little that he could do to prevent the oncoming onslaught of his own orgasm, it had been stirring within him not just in his time at the temple but for the last year as he bided his time and waited for his daughter. The sheer level of willpower he had exerted in ensuring his purity for this moment in the name of their god, for it was not merely an act of praise but an act of piety. The greatest sacrifice the god of wine could ask of his supplicants was to abstain and so Aurelius had refused the carnal lusts of his soul in order to wait for this mystical moment entwined with his sculpted goddess wrought of flesh and hungers unspoken. This night, this moment, was everything he had been preparing for and now it was culminating and he knew it was too soon, he could not let this be without ensuring Aurelia understood who it was that she was with.

He wanted her closer, this would not do, this could not be the end that he felt approaching. His hands moved so that he brought her near to him, one circling round her throat as the other gripped perfect breast with bruising fingers. He brought her up against him, her back pressed against his strong chest, changing the dynamic of that thrusting within her. It made those motions shallow, his hips conforming against her perfect rear, strong muscles ensuring each thrust was keep deep and within her. The fingers on her bosom cupped her, molding her flesh to his, turning from cruelty to reassurance that she was in good hands. He could have hurt her, it was often accepted in the name of the darker pleasures Bacchus encouraged at times, but the hand on her throat was one of steady guidance and not oppressiveness. It was the hand of one who treasured what he had been gifted with this night.

His head turned against hers, tongue catching along the edge of her jaw as his thumb raised from her throat to press against her and turn her into the demanding kiss that he pressed upon her. It was at that moment that their eyes met and she would understand with complete surety who it was that had breached her flesh this evening. He let that moment linger, just for a moment, and yet it felt like eternity to stare at her in this way. His features were hard, those eyes powerfully intense, but they softened at the sight of shock he knew he would find within her features. It did not stop what he did, no instead it made him quicken the strokes, the tight grip of her cunt on his flesh milking him as he felt the boiling blood within him. He knew it was time. His lips found hers, taking away the vision of the moment, tongue delving into her mouth as it had when they first met on the floor of the temple. The acolytes understood what had happened, they were versed in lovemaking and it was breathtaking to see the man's ass begin to flex as those strokes grew harder and as he kissed her their voices raised into a triumphant cry to join the rush of pleasure.

He came.

He groaned into her lips as he did so, his arms wrapping around her to keep her there, holding her as a lover and a father. It was darkly twisted, the horrible culmination of depravity and yet it still was one that spoke of affection and loyalty. Even in that moment as he gave voice to his pleasure, even in that moment when he came within her, spilling his seed deep into her womb....he tried to reassure her. He had encouraged his daughter to follow her hungers, to explore her frightening deviant soul, and yet he was uncertain if he had a kindred spirit in that moment that would approve of his bedding her in this manner...or a shocked and defiled angel. The sickening part, the part he dared not whisper aloud even to himself was that he was not sure which he preferred.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The claiming was welcome and she shifted to his whims, positioned as easily a toy solider moved upon the field of 'battle' by a young boy. She moaned loudly as he thrust even deeper into her core, teasing her orgasm higher with the touch of his talented hand upon her breast. Her body curved, pressed back against him, head tilting to rest upon his shoulder. It lengthened her neck and torso, creating an elegant line from the pulse beneath the fingers to the curve of her stomach and mound beneath. Her eyes were closed in pleasure, living in the moment, focused only on the orgasm she felt would soon be upon her.

Her chin turned at his touch and she welcomed his mouth upon hers, pressing one hand to the back of his neck as their tongues met and twined. That kiss drew another moan from her throat, reverberating through them both. This man was exquisite in his technique, in the power of his thrust, and forcefulness of his hold. The tenderness in his hands was also strangely familiar. Feeling the mask no longer upon his face as she caressed his cheek, her eyes fluttered open to gaze adoringly at the instrument of her deliverance from mediocrity.

It was perfect, this moment. Aurelia had dreamed of such a night from the times that she and her young friends had begun to attend their own feasts and orgies. The lesser temples and private estates had charms in the form of intimate settings and a cultivated attendees, but none could rival the splendor of worshiping in the presence of Bacchus himself and his chosen acolytes. Her body surged with the power of the divine, every fiber of her being dedicated to the praise of her god. She had sacrificed much to achieve the position of honor, laying herself out for lesser men time and again to hone her skill and technique, to learn the ways of pleasure from those that could teach. The pinnacle of her adoration was finally at hand: to be fucked upon the altar of Bacchus himself, sealing herself to his glory forever. Her climax was close, spurred on by the thrusting cock inside, and she could feel the trembling of her body that ached for fulfillment.

But in an instant, in a single look, that perfect moment shattered into a thousand shards that cut her soul to shreds.

Paterfamilias!

She found herself staring into the eyes of Aurelius Regulus, her father and namesake. The man with his cock buried inside of her, that had already buried his face into her cunt to bring her to glorious orgasm. She was riding her father's cock.

The shock was evident in her wide eyes and the parted lips that opened, not to moan, but to gasp in horror. She was masked, had been masked since she'd arrived. He could not possibly know her identity! He barely saw the mask he'd helped her to purchase. Surely there was no way he could have recognized it! Surely not!

It was the only avenue of reasoning left open to her that could seat itself within her spinning mind. She tried to scream, to cry for him to stop lest he condemn their souls further, but her cries were lost in the press of his mouth against hers and the moans ripped from his chest. The tempo of his thrusts increased as her befuddled mind tried to comprehend, panicked in the revelation, traumatized by the act itself and the defilement it represented. He could not know! she screamed in silent anguish.

As he spilled his seed within her womb, her tears began to fall. Her own threatening climax dwindled to nothing, shattered like her soul, ground to dust by the heinous discovery. She lay pressed against him, trapped by his arms -- the same embrace she'd sought comfort from as a child. Now it held a much different connotation and stained the memory of her childhood. With a strangled sob, she pushed his arms away, trying to free herself from his hold and the cock that impaled her. She could still feel the offending member throbbing within her cunt. She had to escape before he discovered her identity! She had to escape with her mask intact to preserve her name, else they would both be brought low by the deviance.

Fighting against the twisted embrace of her loving father, she struggled to flee.

 

[Father Figure]

Ah, the recognition!

He had known it would be coming, he had planned it of course, but his young daughter did not know that as of yet. His answer as to how she would react had come as swift as Jupiter's lightning, the sob catching and tugging at his heartstrings even as his seed spilled deep within her womb. How could he explain the twisted horror inside of him that actually appreciated the emotional trauma he had just inflicted on his own flesh and blood? The defilement that even Bacchus himself might not even forgive? Perhaps it was to Pluto that he owed his actual allegiance, this man who had twisted the very fabric of his daughter's life and terribly thrust upon her this sin without her willingness to be party to it. His hands tightened as she struggled to flee, the strong arms turning her attempts into small jerks that the others there could not interpret as panic on the young woman's part. It would do them ill for the high priests and priestesses of the temple to recognize that something was amiss, even if they did not know what.

His voice was quiet and determine as he spoke into her ear. "Calm, calm, if you must flee then do so, but with a purpose. Do not let this night end in sorrow. You are nobility, show some reserve and pull yourself together." Did that mean he knew who she was? Had he guessed at this from the way she had moved and presented herself? He had not reacted poorly to her attempt to flee the premises, but instead had cautioned her against doing so with haste and lack of control. The words were something her father very well might have said to her in a lesson on proper public etiquette, discussing the finer points of never revealing your true feelings to an enemy for all to see. It was always that way with Aurelius, every lesson had a barb to it, a reminder that the truth of one's being was a weakness to never be shared. Had it been his intention all along that his underlying lesson was to lead to this moment between the two of them?

The answer would remain a mystery as he took the time to kiss her once again. There was a roughness in the moment, a demand that even in her tortured state he would not let her leave without ensuring the night went the way he had dreamt that it would. His lips were not cruel, there was no depth to the kiss, but instead it was a kiss consoling her. A slow and gentle pressure of his lips which turned her face away from the crowd and kept her locked against him in their final moments. That thick prick within her gave one final pulse before slipping free, his cum dripping out of her tight flesh to spatter against the floor and dribble along her inner thighs. Already a one of the acolytes had come to clean them both, lapping the sacred fluid from the marble tile before wrapping her mouth around Aurelius's cock and cleaning him slowly.

He paid no mind to the ministrations of the young priestess, his focus solely on Aurelia and as the kiss ebbed his fingers eased their hard grip upon her shoulders and chest, his voice soft as he whispered gently into her ear. "Steady and calm. You may go."

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Aurelia grew still at his words, her body petrified as she struggled to understand. Nobility? Reserve? Were those guesses? Her mind screamed at the alternative. If he had known, had taken her knowingly, what sort of monster did that make him? What did it make her?

Despite the horrors racing through her mind, her body reacted almost automatically to his presence, his calming voice, the even tone of advice so freely given. It was a voice she knew, one she trusted, and one that had ever steered her feet toward the proper path. He still did, she realized. He urged her to draw upon the steady grace that she'd known with her station, the poise that quieted her inner turmoils and hid her weaknesses that others might turn against her. His kiss was safe, without lust, the kind he'd given her many times as she'd grown.

He could feel the change almost immediately. Her tears ceased to fall. Her trembling body stilled against him. Only the slightest shiver rolled through her as he slid his cock free. His spoken command released her more than his open arms might, and she stepped from the altar, once more in control of herself. She quivered within, still trying to deny the events that had occurred and the pleasures he'd given her, but there was no outward sign of her inner struggles. She was disheveled in the service of Bacchus, but there was purpose in her step and determination in the line of her naked back.

She did not look at him as she took her robes from the altar and slipped them back on to cover her shameless nudity. She did not look at him as she descended into the pit of lustful orgies that raged on about them. His seed leaked from her, spilling down her creamy inner thighs, dripping from her cunt, and still she revealed nothing of her discomfort. She was of House Regulus. Failure would not be tolerated.

Several overtures greeted her as she moved through the devoted worshipers, but she spurned them with an outstretched hand. No, she would not be enjoying the delights of others this night. She could not. The memory of her father's cock thrusting inside of her haunted her every thought. No man would be able to entice her to lust after such an experience. She gathered her cloak from the antechamber and stepped onto the street, soon lost in the maze of roads and paths that sprawled through the city.

Her careful restraint dissolved the moment she found herself alone within her chambers. Releasing the sob that had been building, she threw off her mask, flinging it from her violently. It struck the wall and landed upon the floor, the delicate metals battered like Aurelia's soul. Her clothing fell to the floor and she plunged into the sunken tub, steamy waters splashing over her. Frantically, she scrubbed away the feel of his hands upon her, the press of his back, the winding fingers threading through her hair, but it was not enough. Her body might be cleansed, but her mind could never be. The images replayed again and again, each detail etched into her memory forever.

In the end, she could do naught but huddle within the tub, holding herself as her father had once held her. The woman was forgotten. It was the girl who wept.

 

[Father Figure]

Their home was a small but well appointed abode of a Senator. The small estate was deep within the center of Rome and yet felt like it remain separate in all the ways that mattered. A small wall kept it partitioned from the rest of the city, a well kept garden and tasteful sculpture hinted at an eye towards the aesthetic, and a small shrine to Jupiter was kept on the grounds. The domicile itself was two stories, hardly lavish considering the sums of money that Aurelius could draw upon, and outside of the few choice luxuries he did not indulge himself in the frivolous. The two lived without the accompaniment of sycophants constantly impeding their lives with only a small contingent of guardsman and servant staff allowed in the private halls of their home. He was a hard man and he had no need for the pampered lavish lifestyle that others sought.

Yet there must have been some need for that outlet, for that feeling of power, and it seemed her father had chosen to express it in the depraved ways of Bacchus than to have it enter his public life. He was a man who had spent his early years subjugating any who dared raise hand or voice against Rome. Was it that his years of power, having risen to command, had left him with a taste for rulership that went far beyond his voice in the Senate? Perhaps, if one were to wonder as to his actions, his work in the military had let him use his soldiering to conceal darker deeds done to the ladies of the provinces? It would not be surprising to him that he had left many bastards in his wake. Yet there was only one individual that mattered in his life and this evening he had shattered her security in their relationship.

The dichotomy of his feelings made him smile even as it turned his stomach and filled him with uncertainty as he returned home having allowed her time to come to terms with what had occurred. Or at the very least a reprieve from his presence. He had a choice in that moment as he stood in the entryway to his home, looking down at the small pathway that would lead him towards his destiny. He could confront the dilemma head on or he could let it lie until she came to him to discuss it. It was an easy choice for a man such as he to make. Too much time had already been wasted on grooming her to become the woman that he wanted. He glanced at the guardsman that stood at the gate and commanded them to remove any house staff before relieving themselves of duty. Aurelia and he would need this evening alone to come to terms with what had happened and for her to understand the choices he had made.

As his men moved and cleared the halls he waited, he would do nothing until the sound of silence finally ruled the home and in that moment he began to move. His stride was sure, his pace steady, she would easily hear him coming for her. He would not ask permission in this moment, he would not ask for her attention, such things could not enter his mind. All that he could focus upon was meeting her eyes once more so that he could explain, so that she could grasp his reasoning, and perhaps deep down with the final realization of what he intended to do he understood that he didn't just want her to understand...he wanted her to accept. It was a small break, a small chink in his armor, exposed in those intimidating eyes as he stepped into her room.

In the dark she heard his voice, his shadow caught by the lamplight of the hall behind him, and he said the only thing that mattered. "I am here." How she would take it he could not know.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Her tears had dried and her sobs quieted. She felt too weak to mourn the loss of what had been, too weak to lift herself from the tub. So she settled in its warmth, forehead resting upon her knees, her arms holding her thighs tightly against her chest. She drifted as the water stilled about her. It was quiet, though she could still hear the revelry in her ears, the moaning, the cries of pleasure and pain. She had once enjoyed those celebrations, but now the memories soured and twisted.

She heard his steps upon the hall before her mind recognized the sound. Even when he spoke, the words failed to register. Her mind felt muffled and sluggish, as though she'd imbibed in too much wine or had slept too little. A flicker of shadow drew her gaze to the doorway, pulling her from the vicious thoughts that plagued her, plunging her back into a reality she didn't wish to rejoin. Her chin lifted as a spark of something filled her chest. Anger, she realized. He'd known and had still completed the rites. He'd known.

Reaching for her robe, she drew it about her naked body as she rose from the bath, water running in rivulets down her skin as she strode to meet him. He could see the anger there when she neared, the same expression that appeared upon his own face when his will was defied. She'd had her wallow in pity and pushed it aside to embrace the rage that welled up within her chest. The strength of it fueled her to do something she'd never done before.

She struck him.

Her palm connected with his cheek in a crack that bounced off the marble tiles and filled the room. Tears fell, rolling down her cheeks, though did nothing to dampen the animosity within her gaze. She hated him in that moment, or at least hated his depraved nature. Just then, they were one in the same.

"You knew," she accused him in a hissing whisper. "When? When did you know? From the moment you saw me naked? The moment you heard my voice? Or was it when I arrived? You knew and still you allowed this to happen! Deny it! Deny it and I shall believe you!"

 

[Father Figure]

He was not surprised at the vicious blow, nor the accusations been levied against him, and she had every right to spew her anger upon him. It was for the best in truth for the anger would be like a poison on her very soul if they allowed it to fester within her. This moment would serve not as a balm, but as a blade which would cut the wound and allow that terrible emotion to come free. Yet he did not waver in his countenance, the stoic features accepting the blow as his head turned just a hair's breadth as the strong muscles of his neck and shoulders tightened in practiced response. His daughter was no frail waif and he had seen that she had never wanted for instruction in athleticism and the soldier's arts, even if she was a woman, and the blow levied upon him was fierce. It did not split the skin but the sound of the impact resonated in the room as his cheek darkened. Surely he would bruise.

If he was any other man he would have quailed in fact of such animosity, instead his gaze turned back upon her as he stepped closer. Facing off with her. The voice held measured repose, even in that moment, cool and collected. "I do not deny it. It is far worse than you can imagine. It was I who orchestrated the events you attended, I who watched as you spilled your cries to the heavens, and I who understood the kind of woman you are. You may hate me, but will you deny me? Will you deny what you have found within yourself, twin to my own hungers, or in your hatred will you turn away from the truth of your needs?"

The words almost seemed curious as to the response he would receive but the eyes, the eyes said something completely different. As if they were speaking on another plane of reality. Those eyes were wild with fire, the adulation and lust, with a wish for her to accept him as he was. Who else could accept him, who else could understand him, but her? He had defiled her, true, yet she had been exalted in the defilement. Worshipped and adored, taken and possessed, and this was the man who had done so. Standing before her, standing there, and even if she was the one who was near nude in his presence. Even if she was the one who stood with tears falling down her face...it was he who felt vulnerable to the only one who could ever make him so. In creating her, in raising her, and in pursuing her he had created the only human being in the world who could ever hurt him.

This man could never say what was in his eyes.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The revelation came like a physical blow to her gut, and she took a few staggering steps backward, one hand pressed to her chest in a vain attempt to quell the frantic beating of her heart. She stared at him in bewilderment, seeing a stranger in the face she'd known her entire life. His eyes were not the eyes of her loving father. She had seen those eyes before in the look of men that wished to possess her, those that lusted for her, in the sex-glazed stare of one indulging in her body. Those eyes would haunt her, she knew, and she would never be free of them.

It was far worse than she could ever have imagined. Not only had he known her identity before taking her as a lover, he'd engineered her life of depravity! Aurelia's chest constricted as her world crumbled about her. Her mind raced, remembering every invitation, every stolen caress, every man that had used her body during the rites of Bacchus, each time she'd taken a man to her bed and the excitement of doing something deliciously naughty beneath her father's roof without his knowledge -- all of it had been him. Perhaps he'd never touched her inappropriately before that very night, but just the same, every hand upon her had been his and each cock thrust into her had been his doing. Bile rose in her throat at the sickening thought.
Worse yet, he was not wrong in his assessment of her.

No matter who had orchestrated her rebellious life of sexual exploration and corruption, she had enjoyed every indulgence, reveled in each moment as the object of someone's desires. The path had been set before her, yes, but she had been the one to place her delicate foot upon it. Step by step, she had descended into that wicked immorality, seduced by the prospect of being worshiped and abused, cherished and desecrated. No one had forced her into the lifestyle nor enslaved her to devotion of Bacchus. Perhaps he'd made the introduction and awakened her darker nature, but it was she who had given the shadows a place to flourish.

Her legs struck her reclining couch as she took another step back, and she slowly lowered herself to the cushioned surface, her eyes falling away from his. Staring at the wet tiles between them, she tried to focus on her brightly burning hatred, but it was growing dimmer with every passing heartbeat. Perhaps she would always carry with her a smoldering ember of contempt for what he'd done, but she would not let it consume her. He had trained her far too well to allow such decay of spirit.

But could she deny his words, returns his accusations, flog him from her room with words alone? No. It wasn't possible. He would not flee so easily, nor could he be so easily broken -- not by her, nor anyone. Her expression was unguarded in his presence, open to his scrutiny, and he could see the struggle of emotion warring for dominance in the draw of her brow and set of her lips. He saw her answer before she ever opened her mouth to utter the words.

"No, Father," she whispered. "I could deny you nothing."

 

[Father Figure]

It should have been a heart breaking moment for the father to see his daughter in such a moment, to see her pushed to the point that she was off kilter and uncertain in her intentions. Even for him it touched something deep within and he felt part of himself wanting to reach out to comfort her. Yet, this was not the man he was and while he might provide stability it was always a cold comfort. Perhaps there was more to him than the wrought iron soul that seemed unyielding. Perhaps he could bend. Some part of him called out to her in that moment, a deep seated wish that their loved had never changed and that she would always gaze upon him with admiration, and yet he could not say such words at the moment. It was there in his eyes, the small measure of regret hidden behind the certitude that he intended to keep moving forward with his conquest of the only woman he had ever truly loved.

He moved to stand next to her and his hand came to rest upon her shoulder. He did not move to pursue anything of the sort that he had indulged in, this night was over and the terrible passion that had consumed them had sputtered our and died in the temple proper. The strong fingers grasped her through the fabric of her robes and provided some measure of foundation to this moment. How often had he approached her and touched her shoulder in the same fashion as she struggled through a particularly vexing problem? This was no different as she came to terms with what she had just said, as she began to understand the vista that might open up before them due to tonight's events, and he said nothing as he merely let her gain a measure of her composure. If he was any other man to have her sitting so lost before him he might take advantage of that moment, but he was not any other man nor would he indulge in the need to have more from his young beauty.

His voice was calm and quiet as he spoke. "It is late and the morrow comes soon. It is time to rest, my princeps." His princess, an old nickname to be sure, one hardly used these days, but one that seemed all the more fitting now. His hands moved to bend over just slightly, his legs bending as he picked her up with an ease that would have been astounding in most men his age. There was no effort on his part, barely a hint that he exerted himself as he cradled her in his arms, having not asked permission to do so and it had never occurred to him to ask for it. He had informed her it was time to rest, now he moved to ensure that she did. His shoulders were strong, his back broad, and they would make a comforting place for his young girl to rest her head as he carried her to her bed to lay her upon it. It would be for her to decide their course now and he would cede that decision even if she had already whispered it into the air. She would deny him nothing, would the truth of that hold?

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Morning dawned and brought with it dreary skies and heavy rains that mirrored Aurelia's mood. She woke alone in her own bed, still wrapped in the robe from her bath, hair disheveled from not being properly combed. The cooling rains pattered upon the tiled roof and tinkled musically down copper fixtures that diverted the water to the cultivated areas of her private courtyard. The stones were slick with the rain, reflecting back the dark clouds that rolled over the city. The scent of moisture filled her room, and a slight breeze danced about the sheer curtains hung at her windows. For a moment, that single moment between slumber and wakefulness when lingering dreams befuddled the mind, her world was perfect, quiet, and still.

But perfection was an illusion that shattered all too easily.

Her face crumpled as memory returned and the mental image of her father's deception crashed into her with full force. She turned away from the window, burying her face into her pillows as though to hide from forbidden acts in which they'd engaged. She'd had no knowledge of his identity until he'd revealed himself to her, but Aurelia was no innocent party. Perhaps she had been manipulated, even as a child, and guided to one path or another, but she knew that had she not dedicated herself to the worship of Bacchus, her father would have never had the opportunity to defile her.

Perhaps our natures are similar, she conceded. If he had the power and influence to arrange for her to join the rites in the great temple, if he was so well known to the priests and priestesses there that they would allow him the main sacrifice upon the altar, then it stood to reason that he had worshiped Bacchus for far longer than she -- perhaps his entire life. But he hid it so well! There had been no outward sign of his inclinations. Never had he laid a hand upon her in any manner save that of a loving father. Truly, she had never seen him lay with a woman, but she assumed he hadn't the need to take another wife, nor even the drive to seek comfort in another woman. I bet he's been fucking his way through priestesses for years, she thought unkindly. No matter that she'd been doing the same with the priests, debasing herself at every opportunity.

Angrily, she threw one of her cushions at the wall as she rose from bed. Drawing the robe about her, she collected her brush and then settled near the open doorway to run the bristles through her dark chestnut hair, easing it over tangles as she stared unseeing into the courtyard. The gloom made it impossible to know how late in the day she'd slept and how many meals she'd missed, but she found that she had no appetite for food. She craved the life she'd had, before the truth had poisoned her love, wishing to return to the moment the invitation had reached her so that she might emphatically decline.

She wanted to hate him, but every fault she saw in him she also saw in herself. She loathed him for that, and loathed herself because of it.

 

[Father Figure]

Loathing was as familiar to him as it soon would become to his daughter. It was part of his existence and one that he kept far hidden, even in the recesses of his own mind, something that was central to his core. A strong man was not created by merely being born, it was the tragedy and hardships of their lives that established them as a figure worthy of recognizing. Aurelius had not just face the trials of the life of a soldier, he had also faced the tribulations of a soul that was torn in twain. A soul which so desperately wanted to be a good man, one worthy of respect and admiration, and yet which hearkened to the thirst that could only be slaked with wine and flesh. How often had he whispered prayers to Mithras in hopes that his needs would be tempered with wisdom and clarity and how often had he found that clearheaded perspective only after hearing the cries of a young woman as he thrust deep inside of her, his cock used like a weapon to break her? He had long ago decided he was more monster than man.

Yet a monster still could love.

And he loved her, by the gods he loved her with all of his heart. If he could only express that to her in a way she could truly understand and yet he knew that such a thing might be impossible after the previous night. He would kill for her if she but breathed the words for him to do so, he would ensure she wanted for nothing and never would, and he would sacrifice all he was to make her smile. Yet that monster had needed something in return for all the fealty he would have given, it needed to be paid with the claiming of her. Oh, others had touched her and had her, he was the one who had ensured it. Yet he was the one who had claimed her in that moment. She might not understand it, that kind of possessive love that needed to define it's territory and not just keep the one cared for...but own them. Or...perhaps his daughter was in the spirit the same as he and as such she might very well understand that need.

He had not slept that night. No, he had lain awake long into the hours of the evening staring at his ceiling and wanting to join her. What he would have done had he attempted to do so he was not sure. Would he have responded to her entreaties for him to leave with force? Would she have welcomed him and cried against his chest as she had when young? He did not know and he felt a small measure of uncertainty at that lack of knowledge. For once the path before him had branched and he did not know the destinations they would find. Yet he knew he would only walk them hand in hand with her. He knew that with ferocious determination. This would not be the end, he sword such things inside himself...in the darkest parts of his mind he was reassured. She was his.

When he finally walked the halls of their home he once more gave leave to the servants. The guards were to remain on post, but all others were not welcome until he gave them his leave. They would need solitude to come to terms with what they had together. He did not wake her as she slept, though he had checked on her often, and he stepped into the courtyard to cross it in order to look in upon her once more. The stone was slick but his feet were steady as he began to cross only to stop and pause, raising his head at the feeling he was being watched. She was gazing into the courtyard and saw him standing there, his eyes locked upon her and he made a simple gesture, one that she knew well. Come, he commanded without words, come and approach me.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

For a moment, Aurelia thought to defy him. What would he do if she simply turned away, ignoring his entreaty? Would he pursue her? Would he press the issue? Would he come to her bed in the night and force himself upon her? No, she thought, he is not so base as that. She truly did not think he would hurt her, ravage her without her permission, for he could have done that so easily at any point in her upbringing. No, he wished for willing submission to his needs, a willing partner to fulfill his incestuous desires.

For a moment, she thought to defy him. The impulse flitted across her expression, though the slightness of it was lost in the distance between them and the dim lighting of the stormy day. A flash of memory rose -- of his mouth buried in her sex, tongue exploring her folds, the first burst of orgasm that flowed through her as he devoured her clit. She wanted to defy him, but those memories were still too fresh for her to ignore. The moment passed. She sighed to herself as she set her brush aside.

Stepping from her room into the rain soaked courtyard, her bare feet met the cool stones unflinchingly. In a matter of moments, her robe was saturated with water. It soaked through the thin, white material to reveal all the robe once concealed. The fabric clung to her curves, outlining her womanly figure, both alluring and lewd in a way that sheer nakedness could not obtain. Her dark hair hung heavily with the rain, soft waves clinging to her face and neck, dripping with tiny prisms of light that clung for but an instant. Her heart fluttered in the pulse at her throat as she paused with a few feet between them still. She would not embrace him as a father. That privileged affection was lost to him and would be slow to return.

Sullenly, she stared through the rain, judgment within her eyes and a hint of disapproval tugging at her full lips. She'd confessed in the night, crushed by the realization that she did share his nature, but the weight of that confession had yet to be tested. Would it hang heavily with truth? Or flit away as easily as a feather caught in autumnal winds?

Moments passed and her nipples hardened with the chill, easily seen as they puckered the translucent fabric. She knew, of course, and made no effort to conceal herself from him. It was a teasing gesture, one he might likely resist, but it gave her a slight thrill to know how difficult she could make his life now. Such torment she might inflict simply by revealing the curve of a breast or the glimpse of her shapely rear. Would he be able to withstand the tortures? Or would he allow his baser nature to control his cock? She waited patiently to see.