Finally it’s her time to serve The Eleven. Amissa enters the Temple and immediately her sexuality is needed to complete a ritual.
Years ago I watched as my friend marched up the steps and offered herself, body and soul, to the Eleven. I was jealous, standing with hands balled into fists and tears rolling down my cheeks. Hiding, just outside the throng of people there to watch the ceremony, I was alone and unseen. I would miss her. I was afraid I’d never see her again. More than that, though, I was jealous. I wanted to be where she was. I wanted to give myself to them, too. I probably wanted it more than she did.
Now it’s my turn.
My hair is braided from the top of my scalp down to my waist. Small flowers, white to match my dress, have been woven into a wreath for the top of my head. There it sits, balancing precariously as I do my best to walk with my back straight and chin lifted high. Last night I’d soaked in a pool of blood. This morning I’d bathed under a waterfall.
I still feel the blood on my skin. It’s soaked in, become a part of me. Warm and thickened, I would have thought I’d be sickened by the taste, smell, and feel of it but instead I’d been overcome by a sense of calm. A reassurance planted itself deep in the recesses of my heart. I’m not sure what that means. Not yet at least.
My feet are bare as I walk across the stones, the hem of my dress brushing against my ankles. I can feel the heat from the midday sun rising in waves off the path. The material my ceremonial garment is made of is the softest and thinnest I’ve ever seen. I can barely tell I’m wearing anything. The closer I get to the entrance, to the top of the steps, the hotter my brand grows, sending fire shooting up my spine from where it’s located at the small of back. I can hear it thrumming in my ears. It rarely speaks to me but the thrumming is a comfort, not something to fear. I know that full well. I’d been given it three years ago, the year they accepted me as a gift to the Eleven.
The only reason my entry had been delayed was because of my mother’s illness and my father’s decision to keep me home until she died. Every moment has been painful, every second away from my destiny a heartbreak. Today that is remedied. Today I go to my true home.
Once I’m at the top step everyone down below applauds. I can feel their faith, their trust, their belief, their love. I can feel all their emotions like fuel feeding an every growing hunger.
A man blocks my way. I tilt my head and look at him questioningly. This isn’t part of the ceremony. I’m supposed to walk on in unhindered, unchallenged.
“Come to me,” he says. His voice is deep and authoritative. Eyes, small and dark, look me up and down like a vulture eying his next meal.
I feel a stirring deep down in my core. I like the way he is looking at me. My feet move and soon I’m before him. He reaches out and tugs down the left side of my dress far enough to expose the large mound of flesh but not far enough to reveal its nipple. From a pocket in his robe he pulls out a small knife.
“You must be marked to enter, young woman,” he tells me.
From behind me I hear murmurs. This is new. No one else has ever had to do this before. I know I’ve never seen it happen and I’ve attended every event since I can remember. Even when I couldn’t walk my mother took me. It was from her I was taught belief. I give her the credit, my thanks, for my calling. I think it was her faith and her rituals that endeared me to The Eleven.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him.
“It is not for you to question or to understand, only to do as you’re told,” he says.
I take a deep breath and nod. He’s right. The act of obedience is mine to offer. It is the essence of who I am. It is the essence of what we are as those who worship, serve, and honor The Eleven.
Raising his knife he presses it into the skin above my heart. I glance down at the dribbling blood staining my white dress. Gritting my teeth I refuse to cry out, absorbing the pain rather than dwelling on it. When he’s done there is so much blood I can’t tell what he’s carved into me. He readjusts my dress and steps aside, motioning for me to enter. I think the blade he cut me with was coated in something because the pain has already faded. All I feel is warmth.
I walk towards the door and it opens inward for me. The crowd cheers and I can hear flowers hitting the ground as they toss them towards the temple and towards me, their gift. My entire body buzzes, like I’ve got bees beneath my skin. I can’t see much, the brightness from the open door messing with my vision until they’ve shut the world out and my eyes have a chance to adjust to the lamplight and skylights.
“Come with me,” someone beside me says. I feel their hand take mine and it’s warm. I want to kiss it, to feel it touch my face. All my senses are on fire. The brand in the middle of my lower back flares, causing me to stumble. The person’s grip tightens in what I assume is an attempt to steady me. It works. I trust in it and the rest of the way comes with no surprises from my body or anything else.
As we walk I take in my surroundings. Down one hall I see men and women chained to the walls. Many have scars, and some suffer from obvious wounds. None are trying to escape. All sit as if they’re waiting. I can feel the internal need radiating from them. Breasts are heaving, cocks are stiff and pointing. They’re aching for sexual release.
I want to give it to them. I want to ride that one, to taste another. I want to slide my fingers into her pussy, to hear her scream for mercy. I want to make them do as I tell them to do. I want to feel him thrust himself into the hole of my ass, threatening to split me with his girth. I smell my arousal before we’re clear of the hallway. As they turn towards me I know that they, too, can smell it.
Once we’ve entered the room beyond my desire begins to wane but only a little.
“Bring her,” a man says. He’s dressed in a robe and standing near an open doorway.
“Here she is,” says the young man who’s led me here. I’m only now taking a look at him. He’s completely naked and aroused.
“Thank you. You may go,” the man in front of me says. I watch as he goes back the way we came, disappearing around the corner.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” says the man in front of me.
“Waiting for me?” I ask.
“Yes,” says another person from behind me. I turn sharply to see a woman coming our way. She’s clothed in material I can see through. Somehow it makes her more enticing than if she were without clothes at all. Her nipples are hard, poking against her dress.
“Your mother gifted you as a child, raised you in our ways, and we’ve been waiting a long time for you to come to us,” she explains.
“Remove your dress,” demands the man. I do as I’m told, slipping the sleeves from my shoulders and letting it fall to my feet.
I feel a hand on my brand, the shock of it dropping me to my knees. I stay there, gasping, as my body spasms.
“What you feel is raw power, Amissa,” she tells me. “It will continue to overwhelm you. Always.”
I nod, closing my eyes against the lightning infecting my vision. Fingertips to my chin can’t even get me to open them.
“You serve The Eleven, do you not?”
“I do,” I say, my voice shaking.
“Then stand. Stand and enter the next room. We have need of you to complete a ritual.”
It takes all my strength to stand, strength that isn’t coming from me but from an internal source that seems to be powered by a connection between the brand on my back & the symbol over my heart. I glance down at it, still unable to tell what it is.
Without warning the woman in front of me bends down and licks the drying blood away. It’s a sensual act, my hand lifting to entwine in her hair. She moans as she cleans me off and when she pulls away, my hand dropping, I see the area around her lips and chin are a light red. She licks her lips, looking at me. “You bathed in the sacrificial blood. I can taste it in you.”
I have the urge to lick it from her face, to taste it, too.
I nod. “My mother left instructions before she died.”
“I have no doubt. She was our most dutiful servant.”
I take the opportunity to look down. Three circles, shrinking in size, one inside another and a small x off to the right, my left, of it. I’m not sure what it means.
“Now go,” she says. “We must begin.”
Naked, juices beginning to drip out of my sex, I walk past her and through the doorway. On the other side is a room, a very dark room. Once I enter I hear a door shut behind me with a thud followed by chanting. There are no windows. There is no light. I move forward till I can’t anymore, having crossed the width of the room and come up against the wall.
The chanting grows louder and a new thrumming in my head seems to match it. There’s a tingling in my body, as if I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Suddenly fire rises from the edge of the room and I quickly move to the center. It follows the rim of the circular room, no doubt fed by magic. Soon the room begins to shake and I’m thrown off balance, falling to the floor. I sit there, watching, as the fire engulfs an entire wall. I continue to watch as someone, or some thing, walks through it and joins me in the room. Its shape and size is highlighted by the flickering flames.
It’s a man but more. There are horns coming out of the side of his head. Large, shiny, dark ones that curve backwards. When he turns I can see the silhouette of them. There is no hair that I can see anywhere on his body, not from where I am. Huge muscles stand out on his arms and legs. Hands, twice the size of mine but with with long, thin fingers and feet with only three toes complete his look. Like me he wears no clothes.
I’m drawn to him. The throbbing of my brand coincides with the pulsing of my sexual parts. His head lifts and he sniffs the air. There seems to be enough oxygen despite the fire. My belief it is magical is only strengthened. His head tilts and after a second or two he’s staring at me. I can see his eyes sparkling in the fire light.
He lets out a beastly sound and runs towards me.
I don’t try to get away.
He pulls up short of trampling me and once he’s standing over me, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing, I know what I’m to do. Leaning back onto my elbows I spread my legs, offering myself to him. Sexuality is a major part of our worship. It’s nothing new to me. This creature, this man beast, is stirring something in my soul. I want him to have me.
I hear him growl and see him bend down. His eyes are very human. So is his mouth, though his teeth are larger and come to a point. His chest is smooth and rippled. I’m attracted to this man. I want him to use me, to take me. Right now.
I reach up for him but instead of taking me in his arms he steps back. I’m confused until he grabs my ankles and pulls me toward him. I lie there, looking up at him, and he smiles. It’s a surprisingly human smile for a demon. I prepare myself for whatever might happen. My juices are flowing, my body shaking.
To serve The Eleven by offering my body to one of their servants, to one of their beast men, demon creatures, is a blessing I hadn’t thought I’d receive so soon.
Lowering himself down he thrusts his cock into me. I cry out. It’s large, larger than anything I’ve ever had inside me before. My brand feels as if it’s on fire, as if it’s ignited my entire lower half. He’s moving in and out of me, letting out his own growls and cries as he does so. The world falls away, my body becoming a vessel, a receptacle for what he’s about to give me.
When I come I’m clawing at the floor with my nails, deep enough I’m leaving marks behind. The fire around the edge of the room doesn’t falter. In fact, when I climax it bursts forth and up, filling the room with nearly blinding light. I push back against him and soon it’s his turn. Holding me down he shoots me full of his come, of his seed. My body takes it in, holding it and refusing to lose a drop. A sound escapes from him unlike anything I’ve ever heard. I look up at him but he seems to be focused on only his actions. He pulls out of me. His cock is slick and still hard. I see how thick it is and gasp.
That was inside me?
I shiver with pleasure.
I can feel the symbol over my chest beginning to bleed again. The warmth slides down my skin and drips to the floor. I hear him sniff again.
His hands grab my ankles and flip me over. I’m on all fours when he drops to kneel behind me. In a rush he moves forward, impaling me again.
I shall have no problem serving The Eleven.
Who would ever complain about this, about what is being done to me?
As we continue our give and take I lose all sense of time and place. I feel only heat and strength, need and desire.
I was born for this.
I am home.