CHAPTER 152: TEMPLE OF PURITY

The jungle path wound like a serpent, thick with heat and the scent of sweat, sex, and something divine. Allen walked at the front of his congregation—his cult of bred priestesses, cum-drunk guards, and glowing scholars humming with sexual power.

They moved like a slow wave of desire, flesh brushing against flesh, thighs slick and sticky, breasts bare beneath torn robes, tongues flicking across lips as they whispered praise to the Cock-God of Corruption.

At the head, Allen’s cock jutted proudly from his ceremonial slit—no longer just a dick. It was a scepter, veiny and radiant, dripping with thick, milky pre like it was leaking divine nectar.

The jungle parted.

And before them stood the Temple of Purity.

White stone towers. Silver-banded spires. Incense floated on the air—not the scent of sweat and cunt, but clean, bitter herbs. Acolytes in unblemished white robes stood in rows along the steps, hands folded in prayer, eyes narrowed in disapproval.

At the top stood the High Virgin Matron.

Her hair was platinum, bound in a coiled braid that shimmered with sanctified beads. Her gown was long, untouched, spotless. Her breasts—barely contained. Her thighs—tight, trembling.

She lifted a staff shaped like a silver cross.

"You are not welcome here," she called down, voice cutting and proud. "We know what you did to the Temple of Fertility. Your filth will not infect our sanctum."

Allen just chuckled.

"Then I guess you’ve never been fucked properly."

A ripple of gasps ran through the acolytes. One dropped her prayer beads. Another clenched her thighs—just slightly.

The Virgin Matron’s eyes burned. "This is a place of chastity. Of order. You will go no further."

Allen took one step forward.

And unleashed the aura.

A pulse. A wave. A shock of heat.

The jungle shivered. Trees bent. Birds scattered.

The Virgin Matron’s eyes widened as Allen’s divine lust rolled over the steps—a psychic flood of need. Her knees buckled slightly. A wet squelch followed as something trickled down the inside of her thigh.

"N-No...!" she gasped, gripping her staff tighter.

But it was already too late.

The first row of acolytes dropped to their knees. One began panting, eyes wide with terror and desire. Another reached beneath her robes without realizing it. A third simply moaned.

Allen spread his arms.

"Your purity is a lie. Your holes ache for truth."

The cult surged.

Dozens of dripping, radiant lizardfolk ascended the steps, not with weapons, but with open arms—and open legs. Priestesses tackled the resisting virgins, grinding against them, kissing their mouths, whispering praise of Allen’s cock between each slick thrust.

One scholar pulled an acolyte close and smeared cum across her cheek like a blessing. "He will free you. Let it in. Let him in."

The air filled with wet sounds.

SSHHLP—SLCH—MMNGHH—!!

Purity cracked.

Chastity screamed.

Allen walked up the steps slowly as two guards double-teamed a trembling nun beside him—one in her ass, the other in her throat. He passed a former virgin as she was fucked sideways across the railing, her once-white robe now stained with sperm and drool.

The Matron was shaking.

She tried to raise her staff again—but Allen appeared before her.

His cock, radiant and veiny, pulsed before her face like a sun of sin.

Her lips parted.

"F-Fuck you..." she whispered.

Allen grabbed her braid and yanked her forward.

"No," he growled, pressing his cockhead to her mouth. "Fuck purity."

She resisted.

For three seconds.

Then—SLUUURP—!!

She swallowed him halfway down in a single, choked gasp.

"NNNGHH—!!"

Allen threw his head back as her lips trembled around his shaft, her holy necklace bouncing against his abs. Her eyes crossed. She gagged, but didn’t stop.

He thrust.

GLCKK—GLK—GLURRRK—!!

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she throat-fucked herself on him, drool and pre leaking from the corners of her mouth like she was being filled from both ends. Her staff clattered to the floor.

Allen pulled out suddenly.

And shoved her backward onto the altar.

It cracked.

He ripped her robe open with one motion. Her soaked cunt glistened like a divine betrayal.

"You ever even touched yourself?"

She shook her head, cheeks burning, breath hitching.

"Good," Allen said.

THWACK—THRRUMP—SLORP!!

She screamed the moment he entered her—a shriek of purity broken. Her nails scraped across the altar as her tight, untouched hole was stretched around godcock. She thrashed. Moaned. Came almost instantly.

Her whole body shook.

But Allen didn’t stop. He pounded her like he was exorcising the lie she’d lived her entire life.

SPLAP—SPLAP—SPLAP—!!

"Oh gods—!! UNNNHH—!! I—can’t—handle—!"

He leaned down, whispering against her ear.

"There are no gods now. Just me."

She climaxed again.

And again.

And again.

By sunset, the Temple of Purity had fallen.

The altars were slick with juices and smeared cum. The once-pristine white robes hung like used tissues, stuck to walls and banisters. Virgins crawled across the floor in dazed bliss, pussies dripping, wombs stuffed. Guards had converted, now kneeling at Allen’s feet, begging to worship his cock just once.

And in the center of the defiled holy ground, Allen sat back on the altar throne—legs spread, cock still pulsing, face calm as a storm.

The Virgin Matron curled at his feet, cum dripping from her pussy and mouth, now tattooed across her belly with a glowing rune:

FUCKED BY GOD.

The moon hung heavy above the desecrated Temple of Purity, casting pale light over broken pillars, crumbled icons, and flesh.

Bodies sprawled across the courtyard like offerings—writhing, twitching, moaning. Once-chaste priestesses now used each other with tongues and fingers, cocks and toys forged from broken silver rods. The air was soaked with the scent of heat—cunt, sweat, and glory. Every breath tasted like the aftermath of blasphemy.

At the center, Allen lounged on the altar throne.

Naked. Glowing. Still hard.

His cock lay heavy against his thigh, twitching occasionally, smeared with streaks of fresh cum, lipstick, and divine fluid. His hand casually stroked through a girl’s hair as she knelt beside him, dazed and smiling, leaking from every hole. She didn’t even speak anymore. She just worshipped.

He stared up at the moon.

"It’s time," he whispered.

Far beneath the earth, back inside the womb-chamber of the ruined fertility temple, the idol stirred.

Her pregnant belly throbbed with power—its surface glowing, twitching, and rippling like something beneath the skin was moving.

A low groan echoed through the cavern, wet and ancient. Runes flared to life in a spiral across her womb, and one by one, the sealed veins around her opened like flower petals dripping nectar.

Then—

SPLRRRK—RRRRRMMMMPHHHH—!!!

Her cunt dilated.

She wasn’t just a statue now. She was alive.

And she was giving birth.

Back in the courtyard, Allen suddenly jerked forward, eyes going gold.

The Virgin Matron—still kneeling between his legs, cum pouring from her puffy, wrecked pussy—looked up in alarm.

"What...? What is it?"

Allen didn’t answer.

He stood.

The earth trembled beneath his feet.

And then...

The sky tore.

A beam of radiant fleshlight tore through the heavens above the altar, bathing Allen in heat and lust and raw, primal energy. The moans of the idol echoed through the cosmos. Every womb in the vicinity contracted.

And then—

A crack appeared in the altar behind Allen.

The stone split, pushed apart by something wet and alive.

Out from the glowing fault emerged a shape—slippery, pulsing, breathing.

A figure.

Naked. Feminine. Divine.

She slid from the crevice like she was born from the very earth—her body soaked in amniotic lust, her hips wide, her lips plump, her eyes glowing with the same gold heat as Allen’s.

"F-Fuck..." gasped one of the former virgins. "She’s... she’s..."

"The firstborn," Allen whispered.

She was his. A divine daughter of corruption and cum. Her breasts bounced with every step, her skin glistening with a sheen of fluid, and from between her legs dripped the same radiant seed that had filled the idol.

She approached Allen.

Dropped to her knees.

And licked his cock.

SLRRRRRK—SLLLUPPP—MMMFFFHH—!!

The temple gasped. Cum-wrecked lizardgirls screamed in orgasm just from watching. Even the guards dropped to their knees, shaking from the sheer power of it.

Allen didn’t stop her.

She was made for this.

Born to worship him.

He grabbed her by the hair, guiding her down his shaft, and whispered to the entire temple:

"She’s the first... but not the last."

The orgy began again.

This time, not out of desire—but out of purpose.

Every woman present—priestess, scholar, guard, even the converted Virgin Matron—felt it in their wombs. A call. A need. Allen’s seed had become something more. It didn’t just corrupt anymore.

It created.

One Hour Later

The altar was drenched again.

Allen fucked the Matron sideways, her swollen pussy dripping every time he pulled out. Her belly had already rounded—fast. Too fast. Her womb rippled beneath the skin as his divine cum worked its magic.

Nearby, three priestesses lay side by side, legs spread, bellies twitching.

The firstborn—Allen’s radiant daughter—walked among them like a midwife of sin. She pressed her glowing fingers to their bellies, whispered ancient moans into their ears, and smiled as their holes clenched in unison.

Another priestess screamed in orgasm—and gave birth.

Not to a child. Not to a monster.

But to another daughter of Allen.

And she was already on her knees.

Allen had become more than legend.

He was the source now.

A walking womb-inverter. A breeder-god. His daughters spread his gospel not with scrolls or steel, but with pussy and moans and glowing tongues.

By the next morning, the Temple of Purity had been renamed:

The Cradle of Cum.

And etched above the altar throne, in glowing wet scripture:

ALL SHALL BE BRED.