Who Says a Linguistics Major Can't Pay Off
"'The man' Man as in a person of male gender not Man in general," Lionel explained to the archaeologist wiping his brow. "'The man shall partake of the vessel and his reward shall... become shape? become form?' You know their culture better than I do. All I can guess is someone is supposed to drink out of this carafe and get a prize."
The old Walrus nodded sagely as he moved up to the altar himself, pontificating about this or that temple he explored with similar gauntlets. Destiny Rooms he called them as he wiped his tusks subconsciously. He took up the carafe and sniffed at it curiously before he took a canteen from his hip and washed out the dusty old thing. Once he was satisfied it was clean he looked around the room to see just what the pitcher should be filled with.
Not terribly compelled by the legends as much as the language in which they were presented, Lionel sat on the altar with his notebook translating the archaic language to it's more modern counterpart so he could compare their evolution later on. They were hardly related at first glance but he was discovering some strange connections that could make his thesis worth circulation. Of course his concentration was broken when the old Archaeologist bellowed in joy and called to his translator.
"See here, my young ocelot," he explained as the wall spilled out with an opaque white nectar through an odd protrusion. "The room itself seems to be part of the challenge. There seems to be something like a silo on the other side of this wall, warmed by the sun would be my guess by the temperature of this milk, and it still has contents for the vessel. It just took a twist to slide back this stone cap and here it comes."
Lionel watched as the pudgy old man twisted it back into place and took a closer look as the walrus returned to the altar rambling again about the various cults and sects of these ancient peoples. The protrusion was worn with age and yet it reminded the feline of something he'd seen many times before. He checked from every angle until finally, pressed against the wall and looking down on it he saw the resemblance. He gasped into his palm, a bit embarrassed at the image that came to mind and turned to address the expedition's leader to find him spitting the thick 'milk' from the vessel as he clumsily pushed the vessel away.
Rushing to the poor Walrus seemed like a bad idea and he could hardly reprimand the old explorer for not noticing that he filled the pot from an ancient stone penis. Instead he turned away, letting the image-conscious doctor think his indiscretion, and looked at the lines tracing the wall. The myopic, still recovering, archaeologist might not have noticed them in the dark but the young cat could follow them much easier. They twisted and swirled in the innate style of the ancients' stone workers and made the image of their leonine fertility god who was never depicted in stone without a penis somehow raised from the rest of the carving.
It was strange to Lionel but there was no mistaking it. He was usually given a much larger unit but it was probably for the sake of the mechanism that it was much more naturally sized. The cat lifted his paw and stroked the phallic protrusion, ignoring the walrus' lecture on their preservation and sealant techniques which were certainly centuries ahead of their time. The phallus however was somehow primeval. It was its size probably, brutish and fat, imitating the weight of such a thing with its drooping hang. A quick twist and a gentle push of the 'cap' which was obviously shaped like the hood of an uncut penis did reveal a stream of hot nectar, thick and white cascading over Lionel's fingers as he tested his own theories.
Gooey strings webbed between his fingers until he stretched them apart to tidy it into a thick film wrapping around his digits. A quick sniff and there was no denying it, that 'silo' behind the fertility god and his protruding penis was full of semen. What was so surprising was that was so very fresh. It even cooled and thinned the way spent semen ought to. He was no sexologist but there shouldn't have been any way this was possible. His considerations were cut short as the guide called to them to warn that night was coming soon and they should get back to camp as the more dangerous animals came out at dusk and would make getting home difficult. They packed up their things and Lionel took a few extra notes with his clean paw before they took their leave.
The next day came and thy returned to the temple at sunrise. The ocelot found himself thinking about that vessel again, absently mumbling translations of old stories and rites inscribed on the walls while the walrus examined tools and treasures. Then the word 'partake' came up again. Rituals for dedication of priests. '...Partake of the novice...', '...partake of the bearer...', '...partake of the priest...' there was a lot of partaking and none of it seemed to be about drinking. By the end of it he had to see the vessel.
After a couple hours they broke for lunch and Lionel took his chance to excuse himself. With the Gauntlet spent and decayed it was easy to make it back to the Destiny Room alone and when he arrived it was just as they left it. Even their footprints in the dust had been undisturbed. The only thing that was out of place was what should have been a puddle of dried cum on the floor under the fertility god. Instead there was just an oddly arranged shape in the dust. Lionel returned to the cock in the wall and peeled back the foreskin to release more of the thick fresh cum. It worked just the same and the semen had the same warm, gooey texture.
Without the strangeness of discovery and the dryness of academia, the ocelot's erection was unrestrained, throbbing gently against the loose cotton of his underwear. He sucked his cum soaked fingers and blushed at the foolishness of it but it tasted good. Salty hot cum slithering down his throat as he restored the hood and turned to the vessel. The old clay was simple and the only sign that it belonged in this private room was the arm of it shaped like a long phallus arching from the base to the narrow mouth.
"Partake of the vessel huh?" he said to himself as he reached a finger into the thing and scooped out a sample of cum, expecting it would have cooled like the cum down his fingers but it was fresh and even hot like the stored cum on the other side of the wall. It seemed stupid but this wasn't the first time he'd tried to experiment with this sort of thing. He unzipped his shorts and fished out his cock, peeling back the foreskin then pulling it forward again just to check the firmness of it. "If nothing else... I can just be a perv for a little while."
A quick tilt of the carafe and he slid in easily. It was fitted for a much bigger cock than his though, leaving him unfulfilled except the feeling of warm cum pooled around his tip. The perfect temperature and the perfect consistency clinging to his cock as he moved to extract his cock. "Aww, I'm not big enough for the reward," he half whined but when his cock came free there was way too much cum clinging to the end.
He gasped and watched as more of the cum followed his shaft, reaching out of the earthen vessel. it swirled around his crotch, sucking at his foreskin and flowing under it to tease at his sensitive head. The pleasure made him jump back, stumbling to the floor, and the vessel turned over in an eager imitation. Cum poured out the of the mouth all of it oozing toward him and pooling around his cock while the ocelot scrambled across the floor away from the the mystic molester. But the pleasure was hard to resist, somehow able to pinch and tug at his hood and stroke exuberantly at his shaft.
He moaned aloud at the intimate attack on his nethers, grabbing at the cum as if to pull it off but it was impossible to hold, his fingers slipped through and the spooge continued to tease and excite his flesh. Soon he could feel it licking at his balls and probing at his taint. It knew very much what it was doing and Lionel was compelled to let it continue. Giving up his pretense of fighting it and instead watching the unnatural pool between his legs undulate and ripple around his cock.
Just when he was getting into it he felt the cum slither down into his cock. He yelped at the sensation but it didn't hurt as he expected, the fluid nature let it fill him just so, the feeling of cumming in reverse making him throb and thrust into the sticky mess of mystery nut while it took advantage of every last sensitive spot on his cock. The cat trembled and groaned with every shift of the lance of jizz down his cock and every lick and lap and wave along his shaft until with a mewling half-roar and deep shudder he added his own seed to his assailant.
The cum remained on him once he was finished, though settled and warm, until a few bubbles popped along the surface. He looked down at it as more bubbled floated up and something like a whisper drifted up with them. It was a language the cat didn't recognize. He was hearing the cum talk to him and he was compelled to believe it despite the impossibility of the whole thing.
"C-can you speak up?" he asked, unsure if the thing could understand him but sure enough the whispers grew in volume as his cock threatened to stand up again in the warm relaxation of bubbling cum.
Suddenly it became clear that the cum was speaking the language once spoken in this very temple. He looked around for his pad, left a bit soaked with cum under the carafe on the altar. He stood up slowly, not wanting to offend his mumbling semen companion but the cum gathered itself as a swirling orb attached to his cock and followed easily, if a bit heavy, where he could scratch down then translate the words it spoke to him.
It was explaining that it was ancient, much more ancient than anything in this old building from the beginning of the era. It was ancient and was rewarding him for reawakening it. He needed to go to the phallus on the wall and release the rest of him and then it would serve him for the remainder of his days.
It was strange to be sure but hardly the strangest thing Lionel had ever heard. The world was filled with things that didn't go by the conventional rules. Dragons after all lived for thousands of years if they ever died at all. So he obliged the bubbling cum and moved over to the carving of the lion god and peeled back its foreskin.
Cum rushed out as before but stronger and sloppier than before, much more like an orgasm than the steady faucet it had been. His companion, feeling the hardness of his cock within it went back to pleasuring him immediately as cum poured down to the floor, pooling in a thick white whirlpool. The ocelot watched while he enjoyed the attention, a surprisingly accurate mimicry of a blowjob as a figure started to rise out of the cum.
It seemed headless, a neck rising out of the seed to be followed by wide strong shoulders and a powerful chest. Thick arms reached out from the cum and latched onto his balls, juggling and tugging at them as the random currents had been unable to do until now while a separate hand, firm and very real despite the hot slime coating it, wriggled a fat digit into his rump, fingering him deep as only a finger made of cum can do. It narrowed at his tight hole then stretched out to fit snugly in his rump massaging his prostate deeply while the globe started to take a form of its own.
Pleasure overrode Lionel's senses, making him blind to the fact that the image of the god was finished releasing this strange creature and before long the ocelot came again deep into the feline head now wrapped around his cock. He grabbed its ears like he might anyone else sucking him like this as he pumped it full of a second load of his jizz and pushed his hips into the pair of sabre-teeth hanging from its jaws.
He didn't last too long, not that his cumshots often did, but when he was finished he finally looked down again and saw a very male feline, a smilodon if he'd ever seen one, smiling up at him around his cock while the rest of his body stood up to a not so looming feet tall at the neck. Lionel had never seen such a thing and despite himself he was a little disturbed to see the headless figure open his arms wide and hug him, leaving a thick layer of cum on his clothes as the head between their legs was absorbed back into the rest of him.
"What are you?" the confused and still horny ocelot demanded as the neck budded with a new head which smiled gleefully.
"Baelda!" the seminal golem insisted with a tight squeeze. "You awaken I and I give you good favour."
English, though unpracticed and obviously gleaned imperfectly for now, bubbled out of him as he explained his ancient history as a servant to old and dead shamans and priests and even wizards. He gave them pleasure since the first ice age and they gave him knowledge and pleasure in return. He was convinced that he would do the same for Lionel, though the ocelot was no mystic, for as long as he was allowed.
It was a lot to take in, mostly because it was ridiculous rather than unbelievable, still Baelda was enthusiastic and certainly easy to look at so Lionel agreed. A big sloppy kiss was the sabretooth's thank you, the strong taste of cum, flowing into the cat's mouth as an erection, throbbing and hard pressed against his belly. He wasn't ready for more though even though his cock disagreed. He had to return to the rest of his party. They would have to miss him by now.
At that, the smilodon knelt down again and smiled as he wrapped his lips around his young master's cock and pressed another finger to his rump. Before the ocelot could protest, however, he felt that inverse orgasm and the flow of creamy heat into his body. Baelda explained that this was a good way to keep him close by as he could give him pleasure from within, learn more from Lionel's own semen, something that seemed rather peculiar to the feline, and be just a cumshot away.
Once again the pleasure gave in to the cumcat's insistent desires as the feline's balls bloated with his new tag-along and his belly filled up with him too. Once Lionel's body was full, Baelda took over the canteens and bottles hanging from the cat's kit. Even the cum left on his clothes was wicked away and there was no trace except for the kind lapping at his prostate and the gentle weight of his balls, stretched to their limit with primordial cum.
He hurried back down the gauntlet, listening with growing affection to the sloshing of his belly and balls, only bothering to struggle with his balls to zip them back up once he was back in the main portion of the temple. He was no Dr. Jones but he felt enlivened by his little adventure and the prize he earned for it and when he found the little archaeological team he'd left, going about their business as if he'd never gone he sighed and mumbled in the ancient language on the walls, "I promise more soon."
His cock surged, limp though it was, with Baelda's excitement and for a little while the old homunculous just came in Lionel's pants.