There is a grand and bountiful empire. This empire owes its rolling lands and happy people not to its military or king, but to its god. For in the capital, there is a temple where a bountiful God of harvest, mirth, and fertility resides. You are a novice of that god; you dread the day you become a priestess.

Any city dweller or foreign traveller who might visit the palatial temple for a blessing would be agog at the beauty of the priestesses there. Dazzling women, young and old, more than a few bearing children at any given time. The holy women of this place do not take a vow of chastity, only devotion. Only a far-off traveller would balk at the idea of nuns bearing children, but it only makes sense given their god's domain. One can only imagine the foreigner's shock when they learn that not only is this harvest God the father of all of these avowed women, but He is also the father of their children. The pedantic are quick to note that, that not only makes this God a holy father, but also a grandfather and great-grandfather etc. Legends say that He has been seeding His own daughters for 1000 generations, but they have been saying that for a while, so God only knows how far back the practice really goes. One would think that might make the children malformed or identical, not so. As the peoples of this empire (and thusly the flock of the god) grow in diversity, so too do His children. But such pedantry is irrelevant to you now; that dreaded day has come.

It had only been a few months since your first menstruation, far earlier than your mother's confirmation. Far earlier than most of the priestesses you knew. But there on your pillow, just two nights previous, a small bundle of golden wheat shining in the moonlight. This gift is usually met with elation, but you felt only fear. You looked from the wheat to your bunkmates. You roomed with 15 or so of your sisters, all of similar age to you. You all knew the mechanics of pregnancy and childbirth. You could see in their faces, "How on earth is she going to bear a child? Is she even done growing yet?"

When you told your mother, she was over the moon. She had not been especially favoured by your shared father. You were her only child, conceived the night of her confirmation. For her child to have been chosen so early must mean that she did something right. In bearing you, raising you, to make you ready for him. You timidly voiced your concern to her, "I don't think my womb is fully developed. How can I bear a child?"

"No one knows you better than your father. He has chosen you because it is the right time, sweetheart." She is not usually so affectionate. Feeling her doting, primping, and preening you, makes your stomach turn. It is a nameless feeling you have known for as long as you can recall.

When you were 5 and you were told of your role in this world, you were excited. You were special after all, the child of a god! You looked forward to how you would grow, how you could bear another life within you. When you were 7, you accompanied your grandmother and aunt to the birth of some lesser noble house. It was an easy birth. They knew it would be, better to have your first midwifing experience be easy, but there wasn't much for you to help out with. Being a spare tool, curiosity grabbed you, and you slipped away. Wandering the grand house, you saw a man, the father of the child being born in the other room. He was comforting a toddler. Hearing the cries of labour must have upset them. You understood, intellectually, that mortal fathers do not bed their children. You understood that it was frowned upon to even have the urge or thought cross their minds. But this was the first time you truly understood what that meant. How He looked at His son, was nothing like how your mother looked at you. It was not that she, herself, looked upon you with lust. But she didn't see you as anything more than a vestal. A womb. A broodmare. Something that would make her father happy. You asked your grandmother if you could accompany your cousin in kitchen work from now on. You could not bear to see that kind of love again. When you turned 10 and the first pubic hairs started growing, your nipples became puffy, your hips widened - that was the icy shock of reality. Your fate was not some far-off fantasy; this was going to happen. Your body had betrayed you. You knew you were not just a womb, but your body had other ideas. You felt grotesque.

Your mother is leading you up the stairs, and you did not sleep last night. After she was finished washing and combing your hair, she left you to rest. You were allowed to sleep in a room by yourself for the first time in your life. You had looked in the mirror. You hated what you saw. A collage of a girl. Your face, some other girl’s chest, another's legs, another's hair flowing down to your waist. You couldn't do anything about the legs or chest, so you cut off your hair. Your head was all you, now. When your mother came in the morning, she didn't say anything, but she did start crying almost immediately. You had thought she might question you, had someone else done this? A jealous bunkmate? Maybe you could say some interloper had molested you in the night and now you were unfit to bear your father's seed. But no. She knew you did this. She knew you better than you thought. She didn't know the why you did this, but you didn't either. She asked no questions and made the best of a bad situation; two things she has been doing her entire life. She borrowed scissors and cleaned up your haphazard slashing. You used the razor that your mother had wielded to shave your nethers and armpits. The confirmation ritual requires a "virginal body" apparently that means shaving. In any case, that made your hair jagged and extremely uneven. If your mother wanted to make you presentable, she would have to cut it shorter, and so she did. Even though she was crying and clearly not enjoying this experience, as she cut the hair on the nape of your neck mere millimetres short, you had never felt closer to your mother. Finally, she was not moulding you into the perfect princess, womb, doll; she was discovering you. She was not pushing you into some malformed shape but unearthing you, brushing away muck and dirt to discover what you truly were underneath. This feeling did not last. You were told to undress and don the floor length veil; the same one she wore some 14 years ago.

The journey up the stairs was long, but not long enough. You were here, in the entry room before the main chamber. It was happening. Even if your vision wasn't obscured, you could not admire the finery of the gilded doors that stand before you. How the summer sun shines through all the windowless arches. All you notice is how the breeze buffets your veil and carries the voiceless murmur of the city below. All you can think is, "Are they going to hear me?" You could have sworn you heard screaming coming from your father's high chamber, once or twice. You feel your mother's hands on your shoulders, too warm. You hear her breath in as if to say something. She pauses. "Be good" is all she can muster.

The doors open. Now, so high above the city, you smell dirt. Fresh and fertile. Your mother guides your hand, and you step forth. You are surprised to find grass beneath your feet. You hear a whisper some ways in front of you, which is quickly shushed. Only 20 strides before your mother stops. Her silhouette bows. The smell of earth and plants has given way to some animal musk. Your mother squeezes your hand and then leaves. You can hear your heart beating. You think you may vomit. The great shadow that looms before you moves. You see two fingers, each maybe the width of your forearm, peek under the hem of your veil and lift it up. Momentarily blinded by the midday sun, and suddenly aware of how naked you are, you instinctively reach to cover yourself. You hear giggling, that sharply stops.

As your eyes adjust, you see Him. Your father. Your God. He sits on a throne of that same golden wheat, as naked as you are. He is broad-chested, fully bellied, and maybe 3 metres tall. Upon His wide shoulders sits a bull's head. Golden eyes watch you keenly. He hands the veil to a pregnant woman beside him, one of your sisters, though you have never met her. She is one of His favourites, so her absence from usual temple activities is not unusual; she must be busy. She and several other women, all of whom are clothed, gracefully leave the room. One of them has two young girls in tow, who wear novice's robes. Twins perhaps? You wonder what it must be like, being raised by Him. Knowing what He will one day do to you. As you watch them leave, you take in the grand chamber. There is no ceiling, and the soil reaches all walls of the octagonal room. The windowless archways are present here too, without the veil, you see delicate drapery dancing in the wind. Wild counterparts of many staple crops grow around you. You hear the grand doors close.

Your sisters have left; it's just you and him.

You stare at the ground in front of you. You cannot look Him in the eye. One of His gargantuan hands reaches out and caresses your scalp. You were right, He could wrap His hand around your head, much like you could an apple. You had forgotten what you did to your hair. Panic grips you. Your mind had walled the inevitability of your father away. You had not even considered how He might react. Had your mother cried because she knew what He would do to you? Your panic is not eased when He leans forward and smells you, then lets out a deep laugh. Then, far quicker than His languid movements so far, He licks you, tracing a line from your right breast to your temple. This, too, does nothing to quell your fear, but it does break your frozen trance. You lean back and let out a small squeak, which elicits another laugh from your father. Now that you are looking Him in the face, you can see that when He laughs, He does not open His mouth. The sound seems to come directly from His chest. His mouth remains closed when He rumbles,

"You have started already. Good."

He shifts off His throne and plants one knee on the ground in front of you. It is only now that you realise, with stark animal terror, that your father is fully erect. You had been trying very hard not to look at His penis. It reached His mid-thigh, which meant it could fill you from vulva to diaphragm, and was thick enough that your small hands could not encircle it. As blind animal instinct takes over, you are occupied by only one thought: "There's no way that can fit."

You clumsily leap back. As you turn to run, your father grabs you by the waist with one hand, lifts you up, and turns you back to Him. He is fully kneeling now, and He presses you into His body. He shushes you, as one might a startled horse. A great hand plants itself on the top of your head, and you are moved inevitably downwards. Your father lets out a satisfied groan as He presses your face against the base of His cock. As you adjust your legs so that you kneel as well, you again try to push away, but He is far too strong. He holds your head in place like you are nothing. His other massive hand reaches down to caress your ass, His index finger ghosting your bald vulva. You yelp and struggle away from His hand. You hear another not-so-soothing shush as that hand crashes down against your backside. Stinging pain and a strange electricity shoot through you,

"Be not afraid, child. You were made for this."

As you breathe in your father's musk, and He fondles your ass both His words and your mother's sink in. "Be good.", "You were made for this". You need to behave, do what you are meant to do, and then you can leave. Your mother had said your conception was short, only an hour or two, and then she was done; she was a priestess and had a child. You could do that. Just a few painful hours and nine terrible months, and then you were done, you never had to go through any of that again. You could do this; you just had to be good.

Taking deep and shaky breaths to calm your nerves, you open your mouth and begin clumsily kissing the base of your father's cock. You also realise, belatedly, that you are crying. You have no idea when you started, and you think it unlikely that you will stop anytime soon, so you choose to ignore it. Above you, your father sighs contentedly. He guides your mouth, a bit more gently than before, to the head of His cock. Precum has already started leaking from the tip; you do not want to taste it, but you do all the same. You open your mouth and begin sucking, your movements are awkward and amateurish, and you can barely fit His head within your mouth. Your father moans and runs His nails along your scalp, searching for hair to pull on but coming up short. With shaking hands, you grasp either side of His penis and begin jerking Him off. Again, the movements are awkward, but He seems to appreciate your effort as He rumbles a world-shattering phrase.

"Good boy."

You freeze and look up at him. Those terrible eyes look down, and He smiles. He does not have cows' teeth. He has the teeth of a predator. The hand on your head adjusts, and you are pushed forward. you plant your hands on His thighs when the tip of His penis meets the back of your throat. More to indicate to Him that you cannot fit any more of Him in your mouth, than to actually try to overpower him. He ignores you and pushes further. You swear you feel the muscles of your throat relax involuntarily as His cock pushes further in. Your jaw strains. You feel your throat bulging out. You feel the pulse of your own jugular veins as they are pressed against your skin from the inside out. He adjusts His angle, pointing His cock downward in a laughable effort to make this process smoother. You feel your lungs compress as He moves down your oesophagus within your ribcage. Finally, your nose is buried in His pubic hair again. You are gagging violently, but nothing can escape. The moan He lets out sounds more like a growl as he grinds into you.

"Look at me."

You obey, though you cannot see much through your tears. His cow head is huffing, but it does not interrupt His rumbling voice.

"I feared you would not be ready, but I could not wait for you to ripen any longer. I see that I need not have worried."

Your father pulls your head back, and you struggle to catch your breath between heaves. With one hand, He presses you back into the soil. That hand fondles your chest for a moment before sliding lower, over your stomach, and up your thighs, which are firmly squeezed together. As He prises apart your legs, His mouth descends on your chest. Sucking and nipping your skin with those too sharp teeth. He focuses on one nipple, biting it with growing force until you cry out with pain, or in fear that He will bite it off. That same electricity runs through you. He lets go of the bud and it begins to bleed. He watches the blood run with hungry eyes for a moment before wrapping His cow lips around it again and sucking. When your nipple is released, the wound is healed. He nips a trail down your naval to your virgin pussy, and breaths it in. As you are startled by the cold air, you realize that you are wet; your body is betraying you. His great tongue parts your lips and quickly finds your clitoris. His firm grip on your thighs stops you from reflexively closing your legs. Your father’s tongue laps slowly up and down as you squirm, trying to ignore how good it feels. The tip of His tongue finds your entrance and begins sliding inside. You have never even slid a finger in there, you are a holy child of the great bull, that honour is reserved for your father. He does not give you time to realise what is happening as He slides the rest of His tongue inside you. Your hymen stretches uncomfortably, and you feel Him tracing around your cervix. He pulls back slightly and thrusts back in again and again. His soft upper lip and nose rub against your clitoris. You hold your arms to your chest, hugging yourself for comfort. That electricity is impossible to ignore, now. Shooting through you with every thrust. Your body is betraying you. You shake and convulse but not with fear. One of your hands reaches to cover your mouth and stifle whatever might come out, but lightning fast, your father grabs that arm, pinning both to your chest. You cannot contain it; you squeal and moan and make a hundred other filthy noises. Your father’s voice rings out in the chamber, clear as ever.

“Good boy.”

You don’t know why he’s calling you that again, you don’t know why you like it so much. You feel something building inside your abdomen, like any moment with any thrust you could snap. Just before you fall off the precipice, He pulls away. Before your mind comes back to you, He licks another trail up your body to your temple. Hot wet pants blow in your short hair. You both stay the for a moment, before He kisses you on the forehead and you feel something bump against your entrance. It is your father’s penis. Animal instinct kicks in once more as you try to worm away. A strangled “No!” leaves your lips. This is the first thing you have done that seems to make Him angry.

“Quiet!”

He booms, pressing down on the hand that pins your arms to your chest, pushing the air out of your lungs.

“Do not deny me, I am your Father, your God, I made you for this.”

He bears His fanged teeth and, painfully, pushes inside you. Just like with your throat, the muscles of your cunt relax to accommodate him, just like with your throat, this does not stop the pain. You feel your skin stretch beyond capacity. You feel a joint in your lower back pop. You feel a cramping pain in your bowels as He reaches your cervix, but He keeps going. You feel the walls of your pussy start to impossibly stretch to accommodate His length. The gut pain grows worse. As He bottoms out, He pushes the air out of your lungs once more. You were right, He must be pressing your womb into your diaphragm. His massive hand leaves your chest, and places both hands on either thigh. He lets out a satisfied sigh as you twitch and squirm around him.

“You are mine”

Your father glowers down at you. He pulls back and thrusts back in far too quickly,

“My child, my disciple, my perfect whore,”

He braces one hand next to your head, fucking you with a steady pace.

“My son.”

He grinds deep inside you and reaching His other hand to cradle your face. He licks away a steady stream of tears. You whisper with shallow breaths, “I’m not a boy.” As you say it, you realise it’s a lie. He pauses completely, and for a single terrible moment you think you have angered Him again. But He simply shushes you, beginning to grind, before gently biting your neck. Despite the gentleness, His teeth hurt, reluctantly you have to admit to yourself, it feels good too. He wraps both hands around your thighs once more, but this time He pushes them back. He folds you in half as your knees bracket your head. The added pressure to your abdomen makes your stomach hurt even more. Your father moans, your pussy squeezed even tighter for him. He pushes you knees into the soil and leans over you, beginning to fuck you again. Your squeals and cries ring out in the chamber matched only by your father’s moans. Despite the pain, with each thrust your pussy still gushes for him. Despite the pain, it starts to feel good. All the spark and electricity of His tongue but now that feeling radiates through your whole abdomen. Betrayed by your body once more your start moaning with him. Once you feel that pleasure coil building inside of your again, He slows down. He does not stop completely, just enough to keep you from the edge.

“You are a rare delight; it has been more than a century since I last impregnated a son.”

He thrusts more quickly, though does not pull out nearly as much with each thrust. Keeping himself deep inside as He fucks you. Your father looks down at you,

“I will cherish you and give you many children.”

Even as your body rejoices your mind recoils. This was meant to be one night, one child, you cannot bear staying up here, being His breeding slut for the rest of your life! But your thoughts become harder to think. He thrusts into you more forcefully and He pushes you closer to that precipice once more. You feel Him twitching inside of you. His pace becomes more irregular. You hit your head back into the dirt as you cry out, breath stolen with each thrust. Your father’s nails dig into your skin, and He lets out a moan that shakes the trees. He fills your insides with His divine seed. It should hurt, the pressure building even more. You feel His cum leaking then gushing into your womb. But it does not hurt. You are coated in ecstasy. You forget where you are, who you are, that you are a person at all. Every molecule in your body feels it, rapturous bliss. For a moment, or maybe a thousand years you finally understand. The worship your mother gave. The way she talked about that night. Her devotion to your shared father. Your God. You have been praying for your entire life but for the first time your truly worship.

As you come back to yourself, you still feel Him twitching inside you. It takes a moment to remember where you are, who you are, the fear you were feeling just a moment ago. He lets go of His vice grip on your legs. Your knees naturally rise up and out from that unnatural position. Your thighs rest either side of His torso, feet touching the ground. He looks down at you, huffing. It seems He lost himself for a moment there as well. Your God leans down embracing you. You feel the warmth and comfort of His chest. He bends His back so His snout can reach the top of your head, and breaths you in. Your father begins licking your hair, it feels slightly unpleasant, but you foggily remember cows grooming their loved ones like this. In a bizarre way you are reminded of that noble man comforting His toddler, and for a moment you let yourself feel your father’s love.

That is until He starts thrusting again. Despite cumming, He remains hard. You mother only mentioned Him cumming once inside her before going soft. But you also, with horror, remember some novices spending days in the holy chamber before returning a priestess. How long would He spend deflowering a new favourite? Your father whispers above you,