Phil's Site

What if the Europeans never sailed to America? What if the Maya Empire expanded throughout both north and south continents and matured as a civilization?

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"Leiz, wake up." My father woke me before dawn.

He put his finger to his lips reminding me that I was not to speak that day. It was the spring equinox. I had turned eleven-years-old the previous summer, but more importantly my nipples had turned brown and swollen during the winter and sat on small mounds on my chest.

I threw the covers off, stood on my bed, and gave my father a kiss, possibly one of the last. I looked longingly at my loin cloth folded neatly over the footboard. If chosen, there would be no modesty for me again until I married. Priestesses serve god as naked as they were born, as god created them.

Every girl dreams of and plays at becoming a priestess. That is their hearts desire. Every parent hopes their daughter is chosen for it is a badge of honor.

For the first time, as far as I could remember, I padded completely naked down to the kitchen. My mother had prepared a bowl of corn mush and a cup of bitter chicory coffee for my breakfast. She hugged me and a tear spilled from her eye. It must be hard for a mother to possibly lose a daughter even if it was to become a priestess. I wanted to say, "Mother, do not cry. For all we know I may not be chosen." Every one said I was pretty and the pretty ones were always chosen, but how would my affliction affect the outcome?

Although fully formed, I was a full head shorter then the shortest girl in my class, more the height of a seven-year-old. My mother told me that when I was still a baby I had a viral infection which stunted my growth. She said I was lucky to be alive as the plague that swept through the village had killed off half the population. That did not make me any less sensitive to my lack of stature.

After breakfast I brushed my teeth and then my father washed me, paying particular attention to the cleanliness of my sex and buttocks. With tweezers, he plucked out a dozen or so black hairs that recently took up residence on my pubic mound. It is the father's responsibility to keep his daughter pure and clean, so it is written in the Book of Summum Bonum, the book of supreme good. It is interpreted literally; the father must wash his daughter.

He picked up a length of rope and knowing what was coming, I crossed my wrists in front of me. Once the wrists were secured, he passed the rope between my legs, through the opening of my slit, up the valley of my buttocks, and knotted it around my waist. It gave me some modesty since my hands rested over my pubic mound. He took another length of rope and tied it to the rope around my wrists. That piece of rope acted as my leash.

I kissed my mother good-bye and, trailing my father by the length of the leash, we made our way to the House of the Gods. There were a good dozen other girls, trussed up like me waiting at the main double doors. We joined the queue as more girls and their fathers joined the line behind us. Just as the sun peeked out from behind the eastern horizon the doors swung open. A priest, with an open robe and his genitals on display, led us in to a room off the main assembly room. Unlike the completely naked priestesses, they were allowed to wear the open robes, but only to delineate their rank by color, brown for the novice up to gold for the supreme priest. All of them were older, having gotten their doctorate degree in theology before joining the priesthood.

The fathers gave their daughters one last kiss and said their good-byes, then handed the leashes to a priest. Another rite, the passing of the leash symbolized the passing of my fate to the House of the Gods.

I looked around. There were girls younger than me and older then me. There were fat ones and skinny ones. There were the ones with flat faces and hawk noses. There were ones prettier and uglier than me. Several were friends of mine. The one thing we had in common was that we were all roughly the same maturity, on the very cusp of adulthood. We had all started puberty since the previous Spring Rites.

Priests from the different sects walked among us, looking closely at us, and had us bend over to inspect our cunnies and asses. I was one of the first chosen. The priest took an icon of the Quarter Moon sect from his pocket and hung it from a chain around my neck. I was led off to a side room. Soon the room filled with other girls with icons hung around their necks showing which sects had chosen them.

We could hear the filling of the assembly room for morning prayers. I was happy that I was chosen and apprehensive of what was to come.

From the side room we were herded into another room. Dense smoke filled our lungs on the first breath and made all of us cough and choke. It made our eyes water and we closed them to stop the sting, and then we wandered around as if blind. Soon though, we became light headed and giggly. All our cares, all our fears went up in the same smoke we were breathing. We stayed there for I don't know how long, but it could not have been very long since the congregation was still in the assembly room. We were lined up in the wing of the room. We all knew what was next, but the euphoria made us forget our concerns.

I was one of the first to be led to the altar. The priest asked, "Are you ready to give your life, if necessary, to the Quarter Moon sect?"

I said, "I am." If there were ever an instance of someone saying, no, I never heard of it. Becoming a priestess was an honor.

A bejeweled knife was used to cut my ropes. Symbolically it was the cutting of my binding to my parents and my passage to the sect. Me, myself, and I no longer existed, I was a religious object wholly owned by the sect. They could do anything they wanted with me including killing me in front of a throng of people and the civil government would do nothing. I was led to the sacrifice stone. It was somewhat triangular in shape so that when I knelt before it and I laid over it, my rump was upper most. My thighs were strapped to the upright portion of the triangle and a bowl was laid between my knees. My torso lay on the side that slanted to the floor and my hands were tethered to rings secured in the floor. A double gag was shoved into my mouth and bound tightly around my head.

I knew what was coming and, in spite of the euphoria, a dread started spreading through me. I could not see what was happening from my position, but I had attended Spring Rites enough times to know the high priest was strapping on the holy scepter. My maidenhead was to be broken by the Phallus of God, so it was written in the Book of Summum Bonum. A priest stood on each side of me and stretched open the outer lips of my cunny. I felt the cold rigid member press against my hymen and braced myself. I screamed as the rod pierced my hymen and entered my vagina. It felt like that was going to split open too. My scream was no more then a muffled shriek as the gags absorbed the sound. The blood that dripped from my torn flesh dropped into the bowl between my legs. It was taken and placed on the altar, my personal sacrifice to god.

The worst was yet to come.

There was nothing I could do; no where to go. I wrapped my hands around the ropes holding me down and tugged myself tight over the stone for what was to happen. The one priest put all his weight on my legs while the other did the same to the small of my back. Pinned as I was to the cold stone I could not possibly move. The first thing I felt was the approaching heat. The branding iron sizzled as it burnt into the flank of my buttock. I screamed again long and loud, only to again have it muffled. I cried to no avail. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air. The priests took their weight off me. My body twisted and turned trying to escape the pain. One of the priests applied a cold compress to the brand, but as far as I was concerned it was not nearly cold enough.

I was lucky though, in school they taught that back in the olden days I would have been laid across the sacrificial stone and had my head lopped off. I remembered to thank the gods for the reformation and progress.

With the end of the ritual I was officially a priestess in the Quarter Moon sect. My duties were to attend to the sexual needs of the priests and the spiritual needs of the congregation. It was rumored that they would feed me an aphrodisiac to keep me sexually wanting. It was rumored they would feed me a drug that delayed menses so they could keep me as long as possible. I had no idea if the rumors were true or false. I did know that my length of service would be three to four years. I would remain a priestess until my first menses at which time the sect would sell me off for marriage to the highest bidder.

After being marched to the house of the Quarter Moon, I was given my own room. It was six by six foot square with a canvas cot, a thin blanket and a lumpy pillow. I was told that I had two weeks to heal before I needed to take up my duties as a priestess. The washroom was down the hall. I twisted my neck hard so I could see the brand reflected in the mirror. An outline of the moon in the quarter phase was seared into my flesh. One of the priestess gave me a soothing, healing balm so I could apply it to the brand. Slowly it went from pain to itch. After the two weeks the scab peeled off leaving a light tan scar against my dark tan skin. While the last two weeks were, to say the least, unpleasant, it was well worth it for the lifetime of respect. The scar, forever on display on my flank, will prove I had been a chosen one.

The head priest interview me. First he checked my brand and declared me fit for duty. He told me that night I would be sleeping with him. I was told my assignments were posted on the bulletin board outside his office and for me to check it weekly. That is when I found out I would not only be there for sex and spirituality, but also housekeeping chores.

That first week I was assigned with another priestess, Abbie, to clean the main assembly room including polishing all the gold ornamentation. Not only that, but every time a priest entered the room I was expected to stop what I was doing, drop to my knees and kiss his penis. He would then inspect my work. If he did not like how I was cleaning I had to do it all over again. It was a lot of work and I was pooped at the end of the twelve hour day. Abbie told me that as a new priestess I would be receiving a lot of corrections from the priests. I ate in the priestess meal room, and then was told to report to the head priest's bedroom.

It was immense compared to mine, at least twenty by twenty. It had a huge four poster bed, tall windows with velvet drapes and thick cushiony carpets on the floor. After I kissed his penis he asked, "So, how was your first day working in the Quarter Moon house?"

"I never worked so hard in my life. Compare to here my life with my parents was paradise."

He laughed. "You must remember that when you were with your parents you were a mere child, now you are a priestess. We never promised you an easy life, but believe me, what you learn here will pay off for you later in life." He took off his robe. I noticed his pubic hair was just as white as the hair on his head. "Up you go," he said, indicating the bed.

I saw that the blankets were turned down to the foot of the bed and several large, thick towels were laid across the sheet. "Face down, hands under your head," he commanded. He lifted my head after I was in position and stuffed a pillow under it for my comfort. He said, "I prefer to break the new priestesses in easy, so just lay back and relax." The priest poured warm fragrant oil on my back and massaged it into my skin all the while reminding me to relax and enjoy. It felt great as he kneaded my neck and back muscles and I did relax. He moved down to my legs. He split them wide so he could sit between them. The old priest again poured the warm oil on before working all the tension out of them. I just lay there enjoying the sensation, it felt soooo good. Back to sitting next to me, he poured the oil on my buttocks and worked at those muscles, being careful to stay away from the brand which was still sensitive. He parted the cheeks and poured in oil. The oil tickled as it ran down the cleaved path, over my anus and down across my outer lips. He slowly worked his fingers down the valley and across the anus. I jumped as he pushed a slippery finger into the opening. I heard soothing words as the finger probe deeper and deeper into my rectum. Never having experienced it before it was a strange feeling indeed.

His hand petted the lips of my cunny then worked their way inside. My father had washed there many a time, but the feeling was never as sensuous as the fingers of the old priest. He plucked at my clitoris and my body followed his receding fingers until my butt was raised in the air. "Down girl," he said laughingly as he gently pushed me back down to the bed.

There are orgasms, and then there are orgasms. The one he gave me was at the top of the list.

He wiped me down with one of the towels, threw all the towels on the floor and we spooned together under the quilt for the night. I had to admit being a priestess was a lot more work then I imagined, but what went on in bed made it all worth while. The next few days just seemed to fly by. I worked my ass off during the day for the sheer joy of having it played with at night.

Abbie said, "We have tomorrow off. Let's go to town." So we did. The town folk were more than generous with us offering candy, cake, cookies, and fruit. They bowed to us and cleared the way before us.

"Wow," I said, "I didn't know this went on."

"It gets better; we can eat in any restaurant for free and enter any entertainment venue for nothing."

"All this just for letting them see my cunny?" Any one of them caught naked in public would have been immediately arrested for indecency.

"They may like seeing our cunnies, but the real reason is Blessing Day."

"You had to remind me."

It is written that only the forgiven would sit at the feet of god after death, and everyone believed god would only listen to the priestesses on behalf of the congregation on Blessing Day.

Two days later it was Blessing Day. The assembly room was packed with people. I thanked god that it wasn't my turn to participate. My turn was the following week. I watched from the side wing. Four of my fellow priestesses were led onto the stage. Their wrists were tied together and they were hoisted up onto hooks hanging from the ceiling. The hooks were adjusted so the priestesses were standing on tip toe. One at a time, a priest stood on each side of the priestess and in unison pulled her legs to the side so the priestess was hanging from the hook with her legs spread. Her ankles were tied to rings mounted in the floor. Her thighs were shackled to a T-bar so she could not move. Her derriere was facing the audience.

The high priest said from the pulpit, "This is blessing day, the day your sins are passed through these priestesses to the kingdom of the Quarter Moon God for his forgiveness. Send forth your sins through your thoughts to the priestesses. May they sing your sins to the ears of god. Let the scourging begin." All of the priestesses had their buttocks whipped by a priest. Their screams and cries were amplified by microphones hanging in front of their mouths. The sound reverberated throughout the room to an earsplitting crescendo.

After the sound died down the high priest again took to his microphone. "Always remember, these priestesses suffer grievous injury for your sins." He went on to give them a sermon imploring them to sin no more so that the priestesses would no longer have to suffer. Of course next week another Blessing Day would come and four more priestesses would suffer for the town folk sins. It was impossible not to sin, even accidentally stepping on an ant was a sin. Next week it would be my turn to hang from the hook and get whipped. The only saving grace was that I would be given the following week off to recuperate.

I continued to sleep every night with the high priest. Naturally, I had heard of pussy eating, but I had absolutely no idea how enjoyable it was to have a man's head between my legs licking my cunny. As far as I was concerned it could have gone on all night. The next night he fucked me. What a wild ride that turned out to be. I had orgasms, but nothing like that night. A grenade must have gone off in my vagina, or at least that is what it felt like. I quaked from the climax from head to toe that night, I enjoyed the same fate the next night, and the night after that. Fornicating is fun.

On Blessing day I was led out on the stage with three of my companions. A priest tied my wrists together. Another lifted me off the ground as the first one caught the hook on the rope around my wrists. I stood on my toes until the priests pulled them apart. Because of my size and the spacing of the rings my legs were pulled far apart. I knew that my pudenda had to be cracked open and the inner vulva had to be on display to the whole congregation. As the priest tied my thighs to the T-bar he whispered, "Give them a good show. Scream and cry as loud as you can. Make it sound like you are in agonizing pain."

I did not have to make it sound like I was in agonizing pain, because I was. In comparison; it was worse than losing my maidenhead, but better then being branded. Afterward, when I looked at my buttocks in the mirror it was just one big red blur. In spite of a cooling balm I applied to my buttocks, for the next three days I could not sit. I thought that, perhaps over time I would get used to the whipping, that the pain would subside from repetition, but I seriously doubted it. I started doing the math, once every three week times three years. I gave up my figuring in despair.

The high priest examined the welts on my buttocks and uttered words of approval. Perhaps as a comfort, the high priest told me the following story. "The priests were arguing as to whether the assembly hall was always packed on Blessing Day for the congregation's absolution of sin or to be titillated by watching young, naked priestesses get whipped. They finally took the argument to the high priest for the solution. The immortal words of the high priest were, 'I don't care what the answer is. The important thing is that it fills the collection plate,' and that is exactly the same reason we continue the practice today." He swore it was true and I believed him.

My parents came and visited me that week. They said they were in the congregation the day of my whipping and cried for me. My dad was very interested in knowing what it felt like to be a conduit between the people's sins and god. I told him very painful. I think he thought I was talking mental pain when I meant physical pain. I did not correct him, nor tell him I did not meet god. I let him think I actually talked to god and passed on the sins of mankind. I could see he took on a sudden new respect for me. My mother, always the practical one, was wondering if I got enough to eat and sleep. I assured her I did. Why worry her by telling her I spent half the night being fucked silly.

Saturday night I looked at the assignment board. I was again assigned as a maid to the high priest's quarters for the up coming week. On the sleeping arrangement list I saw that the original priest I was assigned to was crossed out and the high priest's name was penciled in.

After breakfast I got myself a cleaner's cart and pushed it to the high priest's quarters. He was in the study. "Come here little one." I blanched at the nick name. I hated being called little.

I stood before his desk. "I have chosen you to be my personal maid and sleeping partner for several reasons. Your diminutive height makes you cute and I find you sexy. I like your well rounded shape and the fact that while your vagina is tight it is long enough to accept my full erection. I love the exuberance you have for sex. At my age I need all the encouragement I can get. I don't want the fact that I have personally chosen you to be my maid and sleeping partner to go to your head, so I have instructed the priests who handle your whipping on Blessing Day to be extra hard on you."

What could I say except, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

When I went to his bathroom to clean it I looked at myself critically in the mirror. What did he see that I didn't? Everybody says I have a pleasant face and a nice smile. My mother always harped about my posture so I walked erect. I was happy with the development of my breasts so far. The flesh was growing making them jut out. My stomach could have been flatter. My pubic mound was somewhat fleshy with the slit starting in a deep dimple. Did that make it sexy? I did not know. I turned and looked over my shoulder. My back was straight and the shoulder blades did not stick out like some girls I knew. My buttocks, alas, could stand to lose a few pounds, it stuck out too far as far as I was concerned, but the high priest sure did like playing with it. It seemed to be my favorite feature with him.

I got to work cleaning his quarters. I knew it was an honor to be chosen his maid and I worked extra hard to make sure I lived up to his expectation. At least there were no priests wandering in to tell me what I was doing wrong. I did not have to go down to the priestess meal room for lunch or supper; instead I sat on his lap and held his genitals and petted it as if it were a kitten while he fed me. Strange, but fun.

After supper he sat on the couch and had me lay with my tummy on top of his lap. He played with my butt. He again ran his finger into my rectum.

"Did you feel the presences of god when you were strung up and whipped on Blessing Day?" he asked, while pushing his finger in and out.

I hated to lie to him. He has been very kind to me. "I am sorry; I think I was preoccupied with my own pain to recognize anything else around me."

"I have just the solution, it is a drink made from sacred mushrooms that you take before your whipping and will help you focus."

I spent the next two week polishing his furniture during the day and giving myself over to a reckless abandonment of sexual pleasure at night. He said I made it good for him. I thought just the opposite, that he made it good for me.

Come my Blessing Day the high priest kept his word and gave me the magic elixir. I was again tied up and hanging with my legs spread wide and my groin secured tightly to the T-bar. The whipping began and as was promised the priest whipped me extra hard. I did meet god. He floated in the air before me. He was ruggedly handsome with a flat nose, full lips and a jagged scar on his right cheek. He put his bony fingers in my vulva. He pulled and twisted my clitoris. With his fingers playing with my sweet spot and the pain from the whipping shooting through my body I was deeply aroused. I had the wildest orgasm ever.

Suddenly god was gone and two priests were taking me down from the hook. I was dizzy and feeling faint. I nearly barfed bile, swallowing it down at the last possible second. I stepped in something wet. I wasn't sure if it was god's semen or my own pussy juice. A priest was helping me off the stage. I stumbled and would have fallen if he did not catch me. He sat me down in the wing. The priest said I somehow freed myself from the T-bar and nearly ripped myself off the hook I was jerking from the whip so much. He said he never seen anything like it. I was to shaken to explain that god did it.

The next day I went to the high priest and explained how I met god and everything that took place.

The high priest told me that others have met god after drinking the elixir, but I was the only one to have sexual contact with him.

Three weeks later exactly the same thing happened, except god kissed me on the mouth. It was like kissing a cloud, there but not there. He told me I would be a high priestess, although there never had been one. He said he would give me a sign. I told that to the high priest, who then related it to the supreme priest.

It started as a small light red dot, nothing to be concerned about. It grew and spread across my outer lips until it covered me from pubic mons to the crease at my buttocks. It went from pink to deep purple-red. The doctors called it hemangioma, better known as port wine stain. It is a birth defect and the doctors were at a loss as to why I developed it so late. I knew and the high priest knew; it was the foretold sign.

At fourteen I had my first menses. I was not sold into marriage like the rest of the priestesses when they start menses. I was transferred to the House of Gods and given a robe the same color as my outer sex. I was operated on to have neither menses or the ability to become pregnant. My other cheek was branded with the star of the House of Gods. I became the first high priestess of the land. I was given my own scourging room. I was privately scourged for VIP's and visiting dignitaries. Once the whipping was done I was offered to the visitor for their sexual enjoyment. Even the supreme priest came once a week for his private absolution and orgasm. He said he was certain I would be the first female saint.

Saint Leiz, that sounded good to me. I completely stopped growing at four foot six, but even though I am the shortest priestess there, I walk tall among them.

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