The Consummation by Paco Andante Genre: fantasy Prompt: abandoned temple Word count: 3504 Synopsis: Unexpected assistance is found by an elf and a girl in an abandoned temple. The moon hung like a ripe orange in the cloudless sky. Despite its red-orange hue, it cast a silver light over the rolling, grassy countryside. Two figures on horseback provided the only movement on the placid scene. On close inspection, one might notice that the horse had neither bridle nor saddle; only a blanket was cast over its back under the riders. Elvin horses do not require such mundane items as those, for they follow their rider's wishes almost as though they read minds. Perhaps they do. Such close inspection would also disclose that the rider in front was indeed an elf. Tall, slender in the extreme, with long, pointed ears and with silver hair – or perhaps that was the effect of the moonlight. He was dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt and tight leather trousers of indeterminate color. He sat the horse with an air Pudgy only by contrast to the elf, although indeed full-bosomed, the figure behind him had her arms wrapped tightly about his waist, mashing said bosoms against his back. Her brown hair was long, and the occasional gust of light breeze lifted it, disclosing that, in contrast to the elf, her ears were not pointed. Her long, well-formed legs were bare below her knees, as were the slender arms with which she held onto him. Her striped skirt that would normally billow about her was tightly stretched as she rode astride behind the elf, and her peasant blouse fluttered behind her in the warm breeze. It was not the first time that they had ridden out thus, evading elvish curiosity and displeasure as well as her human father's pitchfork reinforced wrath. But this time they rode with determination in their hearts as well as the fire in their loins that had fueled their past trysting. The riders topped a minor ridge, and in the glen just ahead sat a squat building. The stone walls, bleached by the argent light, were thick with tapestries of ivy vines, appearing black in the moonlight, falling like a maiden's dark hair over her pallid cheekbones. As the travelers approached, the neglected look of the place conveyed to them its years of abandoned, overlooked existence. Yet the walls stood solid and the roof staunchly defended the interior from the ravages of rain and weather. Once there had been trimmed gardens about the place, but now “Is this the place?” she asked, incredulity in her voice, as they drew up beside the uninhabited structure. “Don't judge a book by it's cover, Melissa,” he responded, “or a temple by the activity in it – or the lack thereof.” He slid off their mount, then assisted her off. Then he whispered words in the elven language into the horse's ear. The animal wuffled and walked a few paces away and began to graze. The two-legged pair walked hand-in-hand toward the shadows of the building. In those shadows, discernible only by light reflected from the formerly elegant curtilage, were twin doors of heavy, carven, dark wood. They were tightly shut. Melissa tried the door. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Just hold on a minute. Maybe it's just stuck. This place hasn't been used in years.” But the doors remained stubbornly closed in spite of their combined efforts. Gamolas traced the carvings on the door with a finger, but shook his head, unable to make them out. He took the girl's arm and stepped back two paces into the moonlight. He gestured at the moon and muttered several elvish phrases, summoning elf-light to come forth. It seemed to come out of the ground on which they stood, from the cracked walkway, and even the walls themselves. He stepped closer to the doors and read the inscription. “God opens all portals,” he translated for her. “I don't understand. Does this help us get in?” They stood a long moment, thinking, before the girl asked, “In what language are those runes written?” “Ancient Multamian.” “And what was the name, in Multamian, of the god that was worshiped here?” “Uh, Bogomar.” The doors creaked, groaned and unsealed themselves, opening just a narrow gap, and with the slightest effort, the pair opened them. They stepped inside. Although they expected the air to be heavy with age, mildew and the dust of years, the air was clear, cool and sweet in their nostrils. But it was totally dark. The elf-light Gamolas had summoned remained outside, and the doors shut themselves behind them. “Sorry about the dark,” Gamolas whispered, “there is no moonlight in here to weave into elf-light.” “Uh, so what now?” Melissa asked, her voice hushed in the darkness. Apparently triggered by the sound of their voices, or perhaps by the opening or closing of the doors, an eerie red glow began; a light that seemed to emanate from behind the altar, an altar that stood far down the end of the huge room. By its brightening glow, they discerned row upon row of high-backed benches, arranged in two units about a central aisle. A double row of chandeliers, festooned with the remains of many candles, unlit and dark, hung over the seats from the vaulted ceiling, twenty feet tall at the center, and no less than fifteen at their juncture with the unadorned walls. “Hey! How did that light come on?” she said, grabbing his hand. Her voice reverberated in the empty space. He shrugged. “We came here to check the place out,” he said, “so, let's check the place out.” They walked down the aisle toward the altar, hand-in-hand. That object resembled a massive low table, apparently made of some kind of stone. It was covered with a cloth that might have been white, but took on the color of the red light. Strange symbols, perhaps words in a language all but forgotten, were embroidered in its thick material. “Inside the temple, it looks too well kept to be abandoned,” Melissa observed. As she spoke, a figure appeared behind the altar. It did not simply pop into existence, or rush onto the scene from some hidden alcove; it just seemed to melt into being. It was taller even than the elf, gaunt in appearance, its noseless face dominated by huge eyes. There was no hair on its head to conceal its saucer shaped ears. It wore a robe that covered it from its narrow shoulders down to the ground. Its entire appearance was an almost ghostly white, as though it were composed of fog or smoke, although, once it had come into being, it had every manifestation of being very solid. “Abandoned, yes,” the figure intoned in a hollow voice, “for a very long time, here has come no one.” “What the Hell are you?” Gamolas exclaimed in shock as Melissa stifled a scream. “Be frightened not,” the figure said. “Keeper here am I, Silmané by name. One of the First-born am I. Many, now we are not. Even older folk than elves we are, many aeons older than your people, Melissa.” “You know my name!” she exclaimed. “Surprised not be,” he responded. “Many things do I know.” “How?” the elf asked. “Business of yours it is not, Gamolas,” Silmané gently replied. Thinking him rude, they turned to leave. The Keeper called, “Marry Gamolas you wish, Melissa, but because he is elf, your father forbids. Disapprove also do his elven folk.” They turned back to him, their interest rekindled. “A shaman to marry you, you hoped to find. A Temple for the ceremony, also. This one, you hoped.” “Yes,” Melissa breathed. “Among elven folk, no willing shaman will you find. Not of her tribe, but human, perhaps you will. Then do, after you are wed, what will you? Never agree, will father of Melissa. Shun you, humans will. Stay among them, also elves will allow not. Live, how will you?” he asked. “We'll manage, somehow!” they both asserted. The strange one said, “Your wildest dreams fulfill, can I, for Keeper am I. Performing of marriage I am able. Many things I am able.” The strange one laughed, a sound both comforting and chilling at the same time. “Provide for you, Bogomar in his Temple will. Care for it, worship in it, he only asks. The Temple, inside, care for I have. The grounds, can I tend not. Yours to do, this will be. Within the Temple, in return, a place for you to live will be. Pleasant rooms in back, there are. Provided, food and all needs will be. Children have and raise can you. Marry you, I will.” “When?” Gamolas asked. “Now,” was the curt answer. “What do you ask in return for marrying us?” he asked. “Agreement to the terms, only.” “There must be a catch,” Melissa said. There was a moment's hesitation, the semblance of a grin grew on the strange face of the Keeper, then he intoned, “One small thing only. A trivial thing. You would wish anyway, this thing.” “Well, what is it?” she asked. “Old style, according to ways of Bogomar, wedding is to be.” “And what does that entail?” Gamolas asked. “Consummate ceremony, immediately you shall, here, on the altar.” “Is he saying what I think he's saying?” Melissa asked the elf. “I think he means we are to screw right here. Right after the ceremony, or as part of it.” “On the alter?” her voice trembled with incredulity. “True, it is,” Silmané smiled. The expression was clearly meant to comfort or disarm, but its look was rather grotesque on the strange visage of the Keeper. It underscored the fact that he was neither human nor elf. Melissa shuddered at the facial expression. “I don't know about this!” she argued. “I don't want to be some pervert's fantasy!” “Pervert? But, he's not elvish. Or human, either,” Gamolas riposted. “And think! He's right about nobody wanting us around. Your people won't accept us; my people don't want us. He promised to welcome us. I won't mind being a groundskeeper.” “But... I love and want you so much, but with him watching? You are expecting to watch, aren't you?” “Decree, Bogomas does, that witness there must be. Watching I will, of course. Participate I will not.” “Sensible. Let's do it!” Gamolas exclaimed, hugging the girl. “Wha... what about Gamolas' horse?” she temporized. Silmané calmed her. “Gamolas' horse it is not. Father of Gamolas, owner is. Back to father's stable, horse will go. Worry do not. Safe will be horse.” After some discussion, at last the couple agreed. True to his word, Silmané set about creating a beautiful setting, summoning many flowers about the sacristy, the fresh fragrance of them wafted throughout the Temple hall. He also magically transformed their ordinary clothing into ceremonial robes. He replaced the reddish light with silver and blue. When all was in readiness, the Keeper had them stand before the altar side by side as he intoned strange-sounding words in the Multamian language, which he translated into Common Tongue for the couple. Words which affirmed vows to each other much as in any wedding ceremony among any people. But rather than an exchange of rings as was the custom in Melissa's folk, or of bracelets as in Gamolas', or even a ceremonial kiss, the Keeper said, “Undress her now, you will.” The elf lifted her robe over her head, baring her beautiful body. Her pert, full breasts peered among locks of long, brown hair that fell over her shoulders. Her wide hips contrasted sharply with her narrow waist. Her well-formed legs swept up from her dainty feet to the heart-shaped twin prominences of her dimpled buttocks. To spite her dictatorial father, and in order more to resemble an elf, she had shaved all of her body hair, even though it was normally sparse. Her meaty pussy flesh was therefore exposed, and there was nothing to conceal the intricate frills of her protruding inner lips. In short, she was a vision that men, and at least one elf, would worship. Gamolas stood as though transfixed. His adoration of her was obvious, even without the stirring under his robe. Melissa smiled. If she had seemed reluctant before, it now seemed as though her inhibitions had left her. She ignored the presence of the strange Keeper and basked in the attentive gaze that Gamolas raked over her. The elf raised his arms to grasp and enfold her pulchritude, but Silmané instructed him to wait. Addressing Melissa, the Keeper said, “Your turn, now, it is. Robe, from his body, now remove.” Rather than draw the robe over his head as the elf had done to hers, Melissa stepped close and undid the short row of buttons at the neck, then drew the robe down from his shoulders. She drew the cloth slowly down his very thin frame, and knelt to remove it from around his ankles. “Oh!” she exclaimed at the rather thick object throbbing a mere few inches from her nose. Though she had felt his member through layers of clothing in the past, seeing it rampantly revealed, and bobbing up and down so close to her face, garnered a feeling of awe. And the generously filled pouch that hung below it redoubled her wonder. “Pleased, you are with what you see?” the Keeper asked her. “Oh, yes!” “Husband, yours now, he is. Wife, now, she is. Do with each other what would you like.” She grinned, and with a sparkle in her eye, without replying, she kissed the tip of the rampant object that throbbed before her. The elf quivered in delight. She took it in her hands and dragged her full lips, open mouthed, over the underside of the head. She stuck out her tongue and licked it from root to tip. Gamolas groaned. Looking up and into his eyes, she opened her mouth and took into it the bulbous head, then drew her lips over it as she slowly withdrew. The elf gasped and ran his fingers through her hair as she repeated. She giggled slightly, then slid about half of his length into her warm, wet mouth. “Ah!” the elf grunted. “Mmm,” Melissa hummed. For a while, Gamolas stood, trembling, as the girl's head bobbed back and forth, alternately engulfing and retreating; at each retreat her tongue wiped the under-surface of the glans. But then, unable to stand any more, he took her up and placed her on the altar. He laid her down on her back, her knees and calves spread to each side of it, and dove his head down between her thighs while his hands grasped and kneaded her ample breasts. She moaned as his tongue swiped gently between her nether lips. His gentle ministrations quickly became furious, and soon he was feasting on her quim as though he were a starved elf. Far from objecting or pushing him away, Melissa became thoroughly lost in the sensations coursing through her young body. Her head began to toss from side to side, she made little mewling sounds between her panting breaths and her legs began to twitch. Her body stiffened, her breath caught, she lifted her ass from the altar, and her belly muscles hitched in a spastic rhythm as she experienced a massive orgasm. Gamolas continued his work, though gently as he had at first, drawing the event out until her spasms ceased. His face wet with her copious fluid and his saliva, he crawled up onto the altar and mounted her. She welcomed him, drawing her knees up and wrapping her calves behind his legs. She grasped his shaft in one hand, aiming him at her wet and ready core, and he made one grand thrust. Her eyes flew wide open, a little cry of “Oh!” and they were joined. “Are you alright?” he asked, basking in the warm, pulsing wetness enveloping his manhood- er, elfhood. “Just hold still a moment. I think I need to get used to it. I feel so.. so full!” she whispered, wrapping her legs even more tightly around him. Gamolas was transported. All the evenings of sneaking, evading her father's detection and stealing away from his own people were over. The frustrating times of groping in darkness or at best in moonlight; the passionate kissing, the tentative touching, first through clothes then daringly under them, were at an end. He was lying naked atop her nakedness, his cock firmly within her, feeling every twitch and pulse of her warm, wet vagina. Despite the urge to pump, he was content to be still in such circumstance. “Please move, now,” she urged, not a moment too soon, for his own need to go had reached the breaking point. And go he did. He slid out, all the way out, then reentered, slowly, a millimeter at a time, until he was once more buried entirely. She groaned, not in pain but in blissfulness. He retreated once more, but not as far, before burying himself again. Then again and again, increasing in tempo in an easy accelerando, Melissa meeting his every thrust with eager undulations of her own. For some time the only sound in the temple was the squelching of his elvish cock sliding in and out of her very wet tunnel. In due course, she clutched at him with her arms as well as her legs, holding him tightly against her, his member fully within her, as she precipitously went over the edge once more. He paused and the elf was treated to the incredibly stirring sensations of her tight, muscular tunnel's spasmodic constricting and releasing of his deeply planted member, which itself was throbbing with fervent need as she cried out. Yet, Gamolas did not explode. When Melissa's spasms lessened and she eased her clutching, he resumed his grinding motions. “Wait,” she wailed, his thrusting making it a two syllable word, “let me be on top for a bit.” The elf grinned, “of course,” stopped his humping and pulled out of her. They rearranged themselves. The elf lay on his back on the altar cloth, and the girl moved astride him. He reached up and fondled her titillating tits as they hung over him. She took his appendage in hand as is stood up between them, aimed it and sat down, impaling herself slowly but completely on it. It was Gamolas' turn to moan. He raised his head to view the juncture of their bodies; how her wide-spread lips hugged the root of his organ, how the shaft of it disappeared into her depths. She bent to see it as well, her hair cascading down over his arms. She smiled as she began a slow, sensuous, wave-like motion. “I love your big cock in me,” she told him, her passions overcoming her. “I love it in you, too!” he replied. “You feel so good!” “I want it everywhere!” she cried, her emotions becoming more frenzied as did her motion. “Oh, god! I'm coming again!” “Bogomar, you mean,” Silmané whispered, though they didn't hear it. She collapsed onto him, tightly clenching his pole in her body as she shuddered uncontrollably. “Everywhere?” he asked when she stopped quivering. “Mmm,” was all she said. She seemed as pliable as putty as he guided her onto her knees on the altar and he got up behind her. She put her head down on her folded hands, raising her plump, round rump into the air. Both elf and Keeper gasped at the sight. But it was the elf whose dick lay wetly in the valley of that rear, its reddened shaft and nearly purple head dripping with her emissions; his cock whose head probed at her tight, back hole. “Oh!” she erupted as the bulbous arrow-point penetrated the little ring. “Wait!” But he didn't. “Ah!” she moaned as that object, lubricated by her copious liquid, slithered deeply into her rectum. “Still OK?” he asked. Wide-eyed with surprise, she said, “I don't know! I feel so full! But don't stop. Oh, god, don't stop!” In a bit, out a bit, then in a little more, he advanced until his balls pressed against her pussy, his shaft no longer visible, buried deep in her bowels. He retreated, only to plunge deeply once more. And once more, over and over, pounding his body against hers. She began a protracted wail, not of pain, but of unbridled ecstasy, and soon he was grunting as well. Her fist clenched, bunching up a handful of the altar-cloth as her other hand found and massaged her clitoris. With a huge gasp, her insides clenched on him as she exploded, the constrictions driving him over the brink as well. Gush after spurt after jet of elf-seed erupted in the human girl's gut as the two filled the temple with their cries of mutual release. They collapsed together, still joined, his shaft not yet deflated, their panting and sweating bodies heaped on the altar. Silmané, his grin nearly splitting his face, intoned, “Elf and wife, I now pronounce you. Well shall you live!”