Creative Desecration

Panting, head resting back on her crossed arms, Joanna let her eyes wander across the painted ceiling. Taking in the elaborate artwork depicting the creation of mankind, complete with a grisly scene depicting god rending the soul from his mate to instill life in the new creation, “man,” she sat up and looked to her left.

Under what was probably a very expensive blue altar coverlet laid her… well, perhaps partner was the most politic term. Black hair spilled around her head like a partly unfurled fan, slightly pointed features relaxed in exhausted sleep, Melanie looked nothing at all as a priestess of Belhur should. Her austere gray garb was in several torn pieces at the foot of the altar and her left breast was completely bared, one shapely leg dangling in the air and moving slightly as the woman snoozed.

Now that was decidedly not what I had in mind, Joanna mused as she quietly slipped off the altar and began hunting for her clothing. Plucking her shirt from a candelabra and pulling it over her head, she couldn’t help but look back at Melanie’s sleeping form and giggle. Clearly the superior method of profaning an altar, though.

After a few minute’s search, she found her leggings hanging by one leg from the spear on Belhur’s image, the eyelets at the waist pulled half out of the supple leather and the bit of lanyard nowhere to be found. Well, he is supposed to be a god of passionate and impulsive creation… I wonder if we created something ourselves? Snickering as she stepped into her leggings and carefully fed her limp member down the right leg, she held her pants closed with one hand and hobbled over to the altar.

I am here to be profane, after all. A bit of Belhur’s cloth would be fitting replacement laces for my breeches. Tearing the end of the altar cloth into a pair of long strips, she deftly tied her leggings closed then reached out a hand to push a stray bit of hair from Melanie’s forehead. “Might want to wake up, dear. You had best not be splayed naked on your lord’s altar in an hour when the faithful begin to arrive.”

No response, other than a slight sigh and shift. Damn. Probably should’ve stopped at six. They’re always useless after three or four. Well, this worked pretty well last night…

Grinning, Joanna leaned down and took the sleeping priestess’s bared nipple between her lips, sucking gently for a moment before giving it a rather sharp nip. Feeling the bud harden against her tongue, she heard the expected squeal a half-moment later and released Melanie’s nipple. “Awake now, hmm?”

“You could call it awake, I suppose,” the priestess mumbled as she sat up, holding the cloth to her and shaking her head to get her hair out of her face. Staring around bleary-eyed, she began to blink rapidly in dawning recognition then promptly fell backwards off the altar in a stunning display of complete gracelessness.

“By The Spear!” You could hear the capital letters. “Did we…” she put a hand between her legs over the cloth and began to turn red. Joanna nodded impassively.

“On the…” she pointed a hand at the rather visibly sticky altar and continued her rising blush. With growing amusement, Joanna nodded again and smiled.

“Is this the..?!” holding out the altar cloth with a scandalized expression – an expression elevated to the level of nearly divine comedy by the positively scarlet hue of her face – she let out a choked squeal, alternately attempting to drop and to brush clean the clearly soiled altar cloth. The end result was to expose herself anew and succeed in dropping the already selectively-damp holy fabric into an outsized puddle of suspect fluid at the base of the altar.

“Yes,” Joanna responded calmly, by way of answering all three clipped queries. “Belhur can see your cunny, dear,” sh

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