The Legend 7 - The Icon
 
 
"She's here!" The whisper spread around the village like wildfire. The
goddess of plenty had arrived. Their next harvest would be a bumper
one. The gods would take care of it. It has been ordained.

A rhythmic chant went up, while the villagers dropped to their knees
in supplication as the young woman, in the flowing white robe, walked
gracefully by. Flanked by her bodyguards, and some say, her
tormentors. She stepped daintily through the sucking mud that
succeeded the three day rainstorm, her sandals barely denting the
surface, so light was she.

The headman, who alone could look her in the eye, stepped forward as
the rest of the village cringed dutifully. Only a few may look a
goddess in the eye. Even a fallen one like this. In any event they
couldn't have looked into her eyes, which she kept shamefully
downcast.

The headman grunted and paid the bountiful tribute of the glittering
stones to the temple followers that surrounded her.  That, and the act
that was to follow, would ensure that the forest would yield up  its
bounteous fruits and the tribe will survive another year.

It was just. It was proclaimed. It was the legend. It was foretold
around many a campfire, while the forest rustled in the darkness.

It was said she was the daughter of the most high god. The mightiest
god of all. And she had displeased him, as daughters were wont to do.
So he gave her a task. A sacred mission to fulfil. She was to be the
keeper of the garden, mother earth herself. And it was thusly that she
could change her shape, her hair, her looks. A goddess, taking many
forms, as is her birthright. And her perpetual youth, a testimony to
her immortality. Every year she was young and every year she looked
different. And of course she was always beautiful. She was a goddess
after all and you didn't, couldn't, get ugly goddesses. It was
unnatural.

The headman took her hand. Her dainty fingers lost in the horny grip
of his paw. He tugged her gently towards his hut.  She hesitated. But
a prod with the stick from one of her guardians urged her on her way.
Destiny awaited inside the smoky depths of the foul smelling hut.

The villagers gathered around as the cloths were dropped, decorously
shielding the scene inside. She was trembling as the Headman unclasped
the hasp on her robe, which fell away to reveal her perfect body to
his lustful eyes. 

Her newest manifestation was ripe. 'It surely would be a bounteous
harvest.' He thought as his manhood tried to assert itself through its
protective gourd. He tossed the gourd aside to reveal his power, which
stood proudly high. She whimpered. Even goddesses were impressed with
its size.

He led her, resisting, to his sleeping mat. He sat down and pulled her
towards him. She fell across him and he felt, for the first time, her
nubile new body. He pushed her flat onto the sleeping mat and
insinuated his body between her thighs.

She tried, feebly, to push him away. But he knew his duty. His tribe's
whole future was at stake. He must consummate the joining of his
people and the gods, so he forced her down and open.

He tried to kiss her but she turned away. He was not dismayed. None of
the previous manifestations had wanted to kiss either. He fondled her
breasts with one hand as he stroked his manhood with the other. It
stood straight and true.

It was time.

He settled between her widespread legs, forcing them wider, as he
guided his weapon towards her pit. Earth bound human, a throwback to
the stone-age, entering the pleasure cave of a goddess. His penis
entered her and he heard her gasp, like she did the year before and
the years before that. Whatever her new appearance, whether it be
large or small, she always gasped as he asserted his maleness within
her.

This year she was tight. As if she had been hardly used, although he
knew the other tribes also made use of her services, as she traipsed
the faint trails along the bank of the mighty river. He had to push
hard and he saw crystals of tears pooling in her eyes. This year he
really was appeasing the gods,  especially the most high. He grunted
in happiness and bliss. The gods were good.

His mighty lunges forced him deep, widening her ready for the offering
of his seed. Creating a seedbed just as his motive offering was urging
her to grant them the boon of an overflowing gathering of the fruits
of the forest.

Faster and faster.

Deeper and deeper.

Harder and harder.

While she bucked and moaned and cried.

His back arched. His fingers became talons on her milky breasts as he
felt his offering gathering mightily within him.  The release, when it
came, was like the breaching of a powerful dam unleashing the flood of
his juices within her.

She cried out as she felt him cum.

The natives outside dropped to the floor as they heard the strange,
alien language from within the hut. Screamed out. It was the language
of the gods, lighter in its timbre and with a softer sibilance than
the previous year's manifestation.  As if it were a different
language.

The villagers whispered in awe at the volume of her cries. Truly it
would be a plenteous harvest as her lamentations carried into the
forest. The headman had worked his miracle well.

Inside the hut, Marie Clare the eighteen year old, newly kidnapped,
daughter of a French Businessman screamed out in horror as she felt
the sudden warmth inside her unprotected womb.