July Patron Story Poll #7: How Does Maloth Handle the Priestess? (Patreon)

Hello Darlings, 

I know it was delayed (had some flooding in the new house from Tropical Storm Fuck-Off), but I've got the first segment of the story set up for you all. Here is how it will work, I'll post the story on the poll here, and I'll attach this segment as a PDF if you prefer to read it that way. Please forgive any typos or grammatical errors. In order to get this to you faster, I've had to skip the editing phase. At the end of the story, you'll see the question for today's poll, and then below that you'll see your choices. I'll leave this open until Monday morning, when it will need to close so I can get started on the next section. From then on, I'll just be posting segments of the story and polls. Hope you enjoy, 

Kisses, 

Trixie

July 2021 Patron Maloth Story

By Trixie Adara

Maloth

“Please, I’ve got to do my chores,” said a voice from around the hill. It was soft and sweet and shy. Maloth smiled imagining the taste of it.

“I know I’m intruding on your time,” said another voice. “But surely you have time for your immortal soul.”

“I’ve got barely enough time for my chores,” said the first voice. “I can worry about my soul when the chickens are fed and I’ve gathered the eggs.”

“Kali,” shouted another voice, this one angry and deep. Maloth grabbed the hilt of her sword as she rounded the hillside, expecting a fight. She was in the form of her host — Orilana — so anyone that saw her would see a Dark Elf paladin. She wore her long black hair down in waves, letting it brush over her supple plate armor. With her gentle makeup and shiny hair, Orilana looked more like a temple whore than a paladin — in fact, she now was more of a temple whore than a guard — but the slim frame and corded muscles meant she could hold her own if things turned to blows. Her shield was slung over back, and her sword was at her side, though she wouldn’t need it in a fight. In a former life, Orilana was the captain of the guard at an Abbey dedicated to Azora — Maloth’s twin sister and goddess. Azora was the goddess of love and light, but only a few months ago, Maloth had the pleasure of devouring her sister bit by bit. Now the greater sister — the goddess of darkness and lust — was slowly removing all traces of Azora from reality while corrupting and perverting everything her sister stood for. After millennia of captivity, Maloth had a lot of work to do.

“One second, Harj,” shouted back the first voice — Kali. “I’m sorry, but my husband is waiting for me and I —”

“Oh, I didn’t know the head of the house was here,” said the second woman. “I’d love to talk to your husband.”

“I don’t have a second!” Harj shouted.

“I don’t think he wants to talk about religion,” Kali said. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

Maloth saw two women standing in front of a ramshackle farmhouse. One woman was in the white, gold, and crimson robes of the Church of Azora. Maloth smiled sweetly. Ever since her ascension, she had spent time conquering cities and corrupting royalty. She had whores and demons in palaces across the world, dedicated to debauchery. But from time to time, she liked to roam the country in disguise, looking for the sweet hunt. There was nothing as delightful as the slow corruption. In her truer form, people would give into their lusts like animals in heat just from her presence. But as Orilana, she could be slow and deliberate. She could take her time and enjoy it too.

The priestess of Azora was a tall Elvish woman with pale skin and bright blonde hair. She might hail from the arctic or be one of those snobbish High Elves, but either way she was all white and willow. If she had curves, she did nothing to accentuate the little she had. Her white robe was emblazoned with the symbol of Azora — the rising sun of dawn — and the gold and crimson spread over the robe and tinged the edges. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, and she stood stiff and formal while proselytizing this poor farmer’s wife. Even her face was severe and pointed, all thin and sharp features. She looked more like a sharp shard of ice than anything Maloth’s sister represented.

The farmer’s wife, on the other hand, was a delightfully different story. She was all curves and accidental sensuality. She had straight red hair that she kept in a messy bun with little bits fraying and undone in a way that Maloth found hard to resist. There was an innocence to the woman, as though she didn’t know she had some of the most impressive breasts in the world — and Maloth would know. More than huge tits spilling out of ill-fitting clothes — though clothes too small on a woman too curvy was exactly the way Maloth preferred her thicker pets — the woman’s profound hips strained against the simple skirt she wore. The woman was resigned to cheap linens and boring browns, leaving her bright blue eyes as the only dash of color on her.

But it was her shyness more than the accidental sensuality that drove Maloth wild. This woman was clearly flustered as the priestess wouldn’t leave and Harj — Maloth assumed it was Kali’s husband — was getting upset inside the house. The poor woman wanted to make everyone happy and just couldn’t say ‘no.’

These little submissive sluts-to-be were almost the most delicious snacks.

“Please,” Kali said. She stepped inside her house and started to close the door. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

The priestess stepped forward and put her hand on the door, stopping Kali from closing it. “Do you not know the dark times we live in?”

“Kali!” roared Harj.

“Tirinial has fallen,” the priestess said. “People have started to openly worship the dark goddess. The Queen of Ashara has abandoned her husband for his sister. People say they … they … they copulate for the entertainment of their people. The Grand Coliseum has turned into a brothel’s den where each person of Jyn Por is both prostitute and customer. No one has heard from the Abbey of Azora in months.”

Maloth smiled as the priestess bragged of all her conquests. She had been busy. And she loved that description of the Grand Coliseum at Jyn Por. She would have to go back there soon.

But for now, she had to save a farmer’s wife.

“The Abbey stands strong,” Maloth said in Orilana’s firm and commanding voice. She let herself past the shabby wooden fence that surrounded Kali’s property. “No need to worry about that, sister.”

The priestess turned and saw Orilana. At first, her lips were pursed with annoyance — and Maloth was surprised to see that the woman’s face could get any tighter — but shock and recognition parted her lips and lifted her brows when she noticed the armor and insignia of Orilana.

“Captain Orilana,” Orilana said while extending a hand. “Captain of the guard, protector of the High Priestess Iriel.” The priestess didn’t accept the handshake.

“Oh, boy,” Kali whispered from behind her door. The priestess’s hand was still forcing it open.

“Captain —” But the priestess stopped when Orilana stepped past her and gently grabbed her hand, taking it off Kali’s door.

“Let’s let her get to her chores,” Orilana said. “Azora delights in our work.”

“But she …” The priestess was still in an annoying state of wordless shock. “They are heathens. Atheists.” Her brow furrowed in suspicion. “Have you heard about Tiriniel?”

“Of course,” Orilana said. “But this woman’s faith will not change the tide of heathenism spreading across the land. Please.” Orilana gripped the woman’s shoulder. The priestess gasped in pain. “Let her attend to her husband.”

“Um, can I —” Kali looked at Orilana. “May I go?”

Poll Question: How does Maloth deal with the pesky priestess?