Chapter 10: The Reign of the God of Shadows in Egypt (Part 3)
Patience, like lust, was a tool. And Farah was a master at using both.
For a week, he let the poison of jealousy do its work. He let Opala be consumed in his territorial fury, Amunet wither in the terror of being discovered. She let the scent of the other women in my fur become a ghost that haunted them in their lonely nights of waiting.
And then, when he knew they were at their most vulnerable, he acted.
The summons were not royal parchments or decrees. They were whispers, delivered by trusted eunuchs in the stillness of the night. Messages as simple as they are inescapable.
"The Queen Mother requires your presence in the Black Lotus Chamber. It's a matter of devotion."
The first to arrive was Amunet.
They led her through the same dark corridors that Khafre had traveled, but this time, the destination was a different camera. An even deeper, more secret sanctuary. When the heavy stone doors opened, they found her alone, trembling in the center of a circular room.
The air was dense, almost unbreathable, a mixture of myrrh, black lotus, and the unmistakable smell of ozone that he now associated with me. I was terrified.
'What am I doing here? This is crazy. He knows? Is he going to kill me? I just wanted to... I just wanted to feel something.' His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic, a mouse trapped in the lioness's den.
The second to arrive was Opala.
He entered not with the fear of Amunet, but with the pent-up fury of a desert storm. Her dress was a blood red, and her green eyes burned with a defiant fire. He saw Amunet, cowering in a corner, and a sneer crossed his lips. Then, his gaze fell on the figure that presided over the camera.
Farah.
She was seated on a low obsidian throne, on a slightly raised dais. He did not wear his gold chains or his transparent veils. She wore a ceremonial robe of a deep black, unadorned, which made her look like a priestess of an ancient and unnamed cult. She was perfectly still, her hands resting on her knees, her face a mask of impassive calm.
Opala advanced, her step was that of a predator facing a rival. He stood in front of the dais, his body tense, ready for battle.
'The old witch. She thinks she can claim it for herself. He thinks he can scare me. He is mine. I challenged him. I conquered it.'
The silence in the chamber was a crushing weight. Three women. A secret. A god.
Farah was the one who broke the silence. Her voice was not that of a queen, nor that of a mother. It was the cold, resonant voice of a high priestess addressing her wayward acolytes.
"It smells in this room," he said, his violet gaze moving slowly from Amunet to Opala. "Smell the air."
Both did so, reluctantly.
"You smell of jasmine and fear," Farah said, her gaze fixed on Amunet, who shuddered as if she had been slapped. "A simple, almost pathetic aroma. The smell of a lonely woman".
Then, his eyes fell on Opala. "And you... You smell of wild lotus and fury. The smell of a girl who confuses challenge with mastery. An arrogant aroma."
He slowly stood, his black robe swirling around him. "And I... I smell both. For he comes to me after visiting you. And she tells me your secrets with the scent she leaves on her fur."
The revelation was a stab. Amunet let out a stifled sob. Opala's face contorted into a mask of pure fury.
"How dare you!" hissed Opala. "He and I...!"
"You and him what?" interrupted Farah, her voice now cutting as ice. "Did you have a battle? Do you think you're the first warrior to ever kneel before a higher power? You're a girl playing in the sand. I've been dancing with the abyss since before you were born."
He took a step toward them, descending from the dais. "Our god has been testing us. To each one of us. He's proven your need," he said, looking at Amunet. "It's proven your pride," he said, looking at Opala. "And he has tasted my wisdom."
He stopped in the center of the room, between the two. "And I've learned the truth. He does not desire a single aebanora. A power like yours is not satiated by a single offering."
His voice dropped, becoming a conspiratorial and seductive whisper. "He wants a cult. A harem. A chorus of groans that sing his praise."
Opala looked at her with disbelief and hatred. "You're crazy. I won't share your power with anyone! And much less with you!"
"You don't understand, little lioness," Farah replied, her calmness infuriating. "You don't have a choice. I was the first. I invoked him to this palace. I understand their nature, their hunger. And I will be the one to lead your worship."
He raised his hands, his palms facing up in a gesture of proclamation. "From now on, there are no secrets. There is no competition. There is only service. I am the High Priestess. You are my acolytes. And together, we will give our god such absolute pleasure that he will decide to stay, to make this palace his nest, and to us... in their eternal queens."
"I won't kneel to anyone!" roared Opala, his hands clenching into fists, magical energy beginning to crackle around him. "Not even before you, mother!"
"You won't have to kneel before me," Farah said, and a slow, terrible smile fell across her lips. "You will kneel before him. With me. And you will learn your place."
Amunet, caught in the crossfire, was simply crying silently, her secret little world of pleasure had turned into a nightmare of divine politics.
The tension in the chamber was so thick that it was almost solid. The fury of Opala, the terror of Amunet, and the iron will of Farah collided in the center of the room, a storm of emotions so potent that it seemed to call upon the very god who was its cause.
The largest shadow in the room, the one that lay under the obsidian throne, began to bleed.
It swirled. Grew. And from it, I emerged.
My arrival was instantaneous and total. One moment he was gone, and the next, my colossal form filled the space, my aura crushing his pathetic little struggle of wills under utter indifference.
Silence fell. Opala froze, its magic dissipated. Amunet let out a muffled shriek.
Farah smiled. His plan had worked. Their god had answered the call of his new High Priestess.
My ember eyes moved slowly from one woman to another, judging, evaluating. Three dams. Three offerings. A scared one. A challenging one. And one, the most dangerous of all, who believed he was in control.
The ritual was about to begin. And I'd be the only god they'd worship tonight.
…..
My presence crushed the small rebellion before it could begin. Opala's fury froze, her crackling magic extinguished like a candle in a hurricane. Amunet let out a muffled screech and shrank even more, a trembling ball of terror on the ground. But Farah... Farah was unfazed. She looked up at me, not with the fear of her companions, but with the satisfied look of a summoner whose rite has been a resounding success.
She was the only one who understood. This was not an interruption. It was the answer.
"Our god has come," her voice echoed in the silent chamber, not with the warmth of a mother, but with the cold authority of a high priestess. Her violet eyes moved, ignoring me for a moment, to rage on her daughter defiantly. "And a god demands tribute."
Opala looked at her with pure venom. "I won't kneel," he hissed, every word a razor.
"I haven't asked you to kneel," Farah replied, and a cruel, thin smile curled her lips. "I'm ordering you. This is your first lesson as an acolyte. You will learn to serve."
Farah moved. He slithered from his throne like a snake, his black robe swirling around him, and knelt beside me, not in front of me, but next to my huge front paw. Her position was deliberate: she was not a supplicant, but a mediator, who presented the offerings.
"Daughter," he said, his voice a silky, lethal whisper. "Go to the feet of your god. And worship him."
Opala's fury finally erupted. "Never!" he roared, and with a savage war cry, he lunged, not upon me, but upon his mother.
He didn't get very far.
I didn't move. I didn't need to. My shadow, the same patch of darkness from which I had emerged, came to life. Tendrils of solid night, faster than a cobra, sprouted from the ground. They coiled around Opala's ankles and wrists, stopping his attack in its tracks. He fought, he squirmed, his strength was impressive, but he was like a fly caught in amber. The shadow tentacles did not crush her; they simply held it up, nullifying its power with absolute indifference.
"The priestess has spoken," my voice echoed in Opala's mind, a silent thunder that shook her soul. "Obey."
The tentacles dragged her. He scratched the ground, his nails broke against the stone, but it was useless. They dragged her across the chamber floor, a sacrifice that resisted, until they unceremoniously laid her at my feet, directly in front of my exposed manhood.
My cock, completely erect from the storm of emotions in the room, hung heavy, a throbbing column of red flesh the size of his thigh. It dripped slowly, the pre-falling onto the obsidian floor with an almost inaudible hiss.
Opala was pinned to her knees, her arms and legs held by my shadows. His face was a mask of humiliated fury, his green eyes burning with tears of rage.
Farah moved again. He crawled from my side and positioned himself on the other side of my member, in front of his daughter. He looked at her, not with compassion, but with cold satisfaction. "Learn and observe, girl," she whispered.
So, to prove her status, Farah began her own worship. He didn't take my phallus in his mouth. That was for the lower acolyte. Instead, he leaned over and began licking my heavy testicles, his expert tongue running over the taut skin, his mouth sucking and pulling gently. It was an act of submission, yes, but one that she chose, one that positioned her as the one who tended to her god's deepest needs.
"Now, you," I ordered in Opala's mind, the command was inescapable.
She clenched her jaw, one last act of defiance. In response, one of the shadow tentacles slid down her back and coiled around her neck, not to strangle her, but to apply gentle but unflinching pressure to the back of her head, pushing her forward.
I had no choice.
With a muffled sob of sheer and utter humiliation, Opala bowed. His trembling lips brushed the tip of my member. I could smell her fear, her rage, and underneath it all, the inevitable surge of excitement that her treacherous body couldn't deny.
He opened his mouth.
The sensation of her furious lips was a delightful contrast to her mother's expert devotion. I took it mercilessly. The tentacle on the back of her neck pushed her down, forcing the head of my member into her throat, causing her to choke instantly.
His eyes widened, filled with panic, as he choked. By her side, Farah continued her work, oblivious to her daughter's struggle, or perhaps, reveling in it. It was a symphony of depravity. The mother, worshipping the source of my power. The daughter, being forced to swallow the result.
I began to move, not my hips, but my will. The tentacle holding her began to fuck her mouth, a slow and humiliating rhythm. Her muffled moans, her gagging, the sounds of her throat being raped... they were the music of his pride breaking.
I could feel the struggle in her. His body wanted to give up, his mind refused. But then, through our forced connection, I felt their resistance begin to falter. The taste, the size, the pure, undeniable reality of my power filling your mouth... they were corrupting it from within.
A tremor ran through her, a spasm that was not a struggle. A groan, different from the previous ones, was choked in his throat. It wasn't a panicked sound. It was a sound of pleasure.
Her eyes, filled with tears of rage and humiliation, met her mother's above my body. Farah looked at her and smiled. A smile of pure and absolute victory.
At that moment, Opala broke.
His body slackened, his struggle ceased. He stopped resisting the tentacle and began to move with it. His lips, once pressed together in a line of hatred, now sucked and clung to me with hungry desperation. The challenge was dead. The acolyte had been born.
The new order had been established, not by words, but by an act of forced submission that had been transformed, to Opala's horror and ecstasy, into his deepest and darkest desire.
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A/N
Hello everyone!
Sorry for not uploading a chapter yesterday, I've been very busy.
Today I will upload 2 chapters to make up for yesterday's.
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I would like to know what you think of the fic, what you would change, if it goes too fast, slow, etc. I read your comments.
Mike.
@Patreon/iLikeeMikee