Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, May 21, 2018

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.

A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: wendri11.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: MMM+/g(11) Men/pre-teen girl, cons

story_intro: A young girl is selected as part of a centuries-old tradition to become a seer in the hidden truths of the planet. For a year, she is to be kept in a state of nirvana in a very particular way by he priests of the monastery where she is to live.


story_language: English





Wendria: Story 11 - Oracle of the Mysteries

Written by madvlad


	He could hear the singing. Smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his cassock, Father Grigori, abbot of the St. Tikhon monastery atop Mount Elbrus, sighed before turning to watch the procession winding along the ridge of a foothill as the faithful made their way to the cathedral. It was the same every year at this time, when the monastery would admit another female within its walls.

	It had been thus since the fifth year after the pilgrim ships arrived on the continent of Muscovy after their voyage from Old Home. By then, it was suspected that there was more to the planet of Wendria then people could easily see or understand. Naturally, the people here had turned to the learned keepers of the Orthodox faith for answers. The old ways were kept although modified in some ways to meet the demands in this new world.

	Early on, it was discovered that in extreme heightened states of excitation, some minds somehow linked to the planet. This was usually in the minds of the young but those that were old enough to provide a certain amount of mental awareness to translate the wisdom that their minds encountered.

	The first known recipient of these flashes of knowledge was a twelve year-old boy named Gennady. Now known as Saint Gennady, he had been gravely injured while exploring the woods and was found after days of lying in a stupor of agony and fever. Although he expired soon after being returned to the village near Mount Elbrus, he had spoken of creatures and the ways of Wendria as a living planet.

	After other events of people getting glimpses of similar visions in extreme circumstances, the Order of St. Tikhon took it upon themselves to be the researchers and guardians of this knowledge in order to bring their followers closer to becoming one with Wendria. Naturally, the concept of placing youth in states of mortal pain and injury was undesirable, but one of Grigori's predecessors had found a solution.

	Natasha's grandmother's cheeks were wet with tears as she joyously kissed the eleven year-old's cheeks once more. Murmurs from other relatives and townspeople reached the girl's ears. She had been hearing the same since the council of elder priests, chaired by Father Grigori, had selected her. In the week since, Natasha had heard the words "blessed child", "wondrous seer", and the like spoken adoringly when she was nearby.

	Although she was saddened that she would not see her family and friends again, Natasha couldn't help but to be excited. Once a year, a new girl was chosen to enter the monastery where she would, though prayer and ritual, receive the blessings of visions from the living force of Wendria. This had to be a manifestation of God and now she would play her role in assisting the priests in their centuries of study in learning the miracles of this place. She would join the other oracles who resided for a lifetime in great comfort within their own section of monastery as they slowly lit the path to enlightenment.

	Natasha had been told that the mysteries would not end with her. No, there would likely be centuries more but every oracle did her part. Her name and painted image would be reverently recorded and generations after would see her as she was today as she entered the sacred grounds.

	Her mother and aunts fussed over Natasha's long, carefully constructed dark braids as the gates opened and Father Grigori appeared with several other priests. He smiled benevolently and bowed slightly with the other frocked servants of God following suit. With her pale blue eyes shining, she strode forward with what she hoped was grace. One foot slipped slightly on a pebble but she hoped it was not noticed as her feet were covered by the long gown that grazed the ground.

	A familiar hymn, one that she had sung in years past, arose from the crowd as she passed through the gates. This year, she did not sing it. After all, one did not sing a hymn in one's own honor.

	The wine was rich and it had an odd, spicy accent to it that Natasha couldn't place. It seemed to dance on her tongue and, after a while, in her head. In some part of her brain, she was worried that the priests would not approve of her growing lack of balance but instead they provided her a soft bed of silk on which she happily lay back.

	The material was most exotic, perhaps from Hokkaido or Xinjiang, and Natasha loved how it felt on her hands. As she stroked it, she wished her own gown was made of it. The priests were most accommodating as they understood and she found herself removed of the dress and the garments of modesty she had worn beneath it. Sighing, she luxuriated in the caress of the silk against her nude body, only sitting up to take more wine before she lay down to slowly twist on the material.

	To the accompaniment of the priests' low chants, Father Grigori anointed her with oil. It made her face warm where he applied it and then his firm but gentle hands were rubbing it over her chest. The girl inhaled sharply as the stuff made her nipples tingle and harden and she thought it funny to have such an odd reaction in a place where her breasts were still as flat as a boy's.

	Then Father Grigori was working the oil into the smooth skin of another place - her "womanly place" as the nuns called it. But she knew it wasn't quite womanly yet - that wouldn't happen for another four or five years before the first silken threads of maturity would finally sprout. And yet, the abbot's fingers made her long for the things she imagined might happen there.

	There was a jolt down there between her legs. It made her realize the heat that bubbled more deeply inside and she looked at Father Grigori in puzzlement. But the priest smiled and praised her for devotion to becoming an oracle.

	So this was what it was like to be an oracle, she thought fuzzily. She lifted her buttocks from the silk, briefly sacrificing the touch of the cloth so that she could push her narrow hips toward Father Grigori, enticing him to touch her harder in there. He did, parting the folds of her young mound to stroke in there with a finger. Then the manipulations changed and Natasha heard her anxious moans floating around her as if they came from a hundred others.

	Grigori rolled the child's inflamed clitoris between his thumb and forefinger. The oil had made the flesh harden and extend painfully from beneath the hood but in her state, Natasha could only translate discomfort into needful pleasure. It was time to begin in earnest.

	Spreading her legs, the priest pressed the head of his erection against the preteen's hairless sex. The soft labia dimpled inward before opening and the man's glans was oiled by them by the time it was bearing against the untried portal. Grigori's hands closed around Natasha's slender waist and he thrust forward.

	The girl stiffened as Grigori encountered a momentary bit of resistance from her maidenhead. When he pushed again, he unsealed the eleven year-old's font and plunged his hardness into her feverish body. The tearing inside her translated into an unimaginable frisson that made the innocent child call out in wanton desire. Penetrating the new oracle for the first time, Grigori was greeted by the virgin tightness as her slippery flesh stretched to take him.

	When he started stroking, Natasha was panting and once again answering his movements with upward launches of her pelvis. The priest worked his turgid organ through the grasping, syrupy channel of his prepubescent partner. On her gleaming, otherwise flat chest, Natasha's nipples were swollen from the effects of the oil and the wine and now her own young body's reaction. Sliding his hands up her slim torso, Grigori pressed his thumbs against the sensitive nubs and ground them.

	Natasha screamed the song of her first orgasm. Through the additives in the wine and the priest's skill, her climax was prolonged. Grigori did not pause as he kept thrusting his member in and out of the preteen's convulsing tunnel. The child's freshly deflowered sex pulled and squeezed at him and the moving contact of his thick organ against the tender girl flesh ratcheted the level of Natasha's orgasm, refusing to let it die out too quickly.

	But even Grigori's years of experience couldn't keep him from reacting indefinitely. As he knew it would, the thick ropes of semen he pumped into her started another climax that rolled in over the finally fading spasms of the first one. Squirming, the eleven year-old felt the lava-like liquid of the priests' sperm saturating her womb.

	In the peak of her current frenzy, Natasha began to see it. Roiling mineral that crystalized in formations of deep blue. The azurine, the energy lifeblood of the planet was a constantly renewing thing from the depths.

	Huge, speckled eyes of those who dwelled inside the Wendrian crust saw into the girl's mind and she felt touches of both the benign and the malignant from different hives of them. They sought contact with her in tendrils of thought she could not yet comprehend, much like they used tentacles to seek out the physical.

	Natasha was not even aware of her words as she muttered what she was seeing in a stream of consciousness unbridled by structure. A priest recorded everything on paper although none of this was new. But it told those in the room that their new acolyte was becoming attuned to the planet.

	Grigori listened for a while. Natasha was showing great promise as she was speaking of things that took some others longer to see. To her, the time might have seemed mere minutes but this was now the third day of her oracle service. She was not aware of the constant stream of men as they took their turns between her open legs.

	The preteen's body was subjected to the constant copulation of the priests who kept her arousal high with frequent peaks of ecstasy. This was how she was able to commune with the creation called Wendria and would do so throughout her time as the current oracle.

	Grigori left the room and made his way to the vast chamber of pillows and silk where the past oracles resided with every need attended. A sixteen year-old who had been where Natasha now was a scant five years ago greeted him. Her naked body was now blooming as the girls her age on Wendria did. Her small new breasts were ripe and firm, barely quivering from the action below. In her hand, she clutched a section of aravine root and was plunging the knobby-surfaced thing in and out of her gaping cunny which now showed the soft fuzz of early puberty.

	She did see him but her eyes were unfocused as she babbled a string of nonsense words. They were reflections of what she had experienced in her mind during her time as the oracle but they no longer carried any coherence. With every girl who was chosen, the results were always the same. After a year of constant arousal and achingly extended climaxes, the oracles' service ended in soft yet utter madness.

	Many other former oracles were interlocked with the aravine roots connecting their needful, dripping quims as the females hunched against each other. Nearby, Grigori saw little Anya, the most recent oracle before Natasha. The twelve year-old's slim body was heaving as she was positioned on her hands and knees and her honey-colored hair swayed.

	Behind her, an old crone who had been the oracle before Grigori was born humped her immature mate with a lust that knew no boundaries of age. As the rutting continued, the abbot could hear the child's hairless pussy, grossly spread by the root the old woman was using, responding wetly to the pounding. The silk below Anya's crotch darkened as her juices flowed down her thighs.

	Beneath his robe, Grigori hardened. He was not ashamed of his arousal nor did he need to feel penitent. It was good to be in a ready state as his next turn with Natasha would be coming soon.

	Such was the price for knowledge.


Copyright (c) 2018 madvlad

madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm
























This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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