Amissa is deemed Goddess touched. The records are consulted and a ritual performed that has her coming away stronger and more powerful.
I stand in the center of the room, naked, my carvings and brand visible to the men and women whose seats encircle me. My head is held high as they discuss among themselves. They are talking about me. I’m not like anything they’ve encountered before. I’m the first of my kind. I don’t know if that lends any credence to my mother’s claims that I’m the result of a union between her and one of The Eleven or not but it does mean something.
I finger the pendant hanging around my neck. It reflects what is carved over my heart: three circles, one inside another. The only difference between the two is the small x carved into my flesh to the upper right. This pendant was a gift, something left behind when an Angel I was having sex with vanished and became invisible power that was then absorbed into me. It was a very intense sexual experience. I smile, thinking back on it.
“Can I take a closer look?” Asks one of the women. She’s older, more mature, yet still beautiful. She’s got a tattoo below her left eye and I can feel the power oozing off of her. We haven’t met yet.
I nod and she crosses the distance between us. Her movements aren’t hesitant. She’s not scared of me, not cowed by whatever power I might have. I’m not sure if I like that or not. A part of me would like her to be frightened, for all of them to be frightened. This isn’t ambition I feel. This is something new. I wonder if it will consume me and eventually become a part of who I am that I don’t like.
Once she’s in front of me she takes my hands in hers, holding them gently. As I watch her she closes her eyes. We all wait in silence until she opens her eyes again. Smiling she lets go of one of my hands, turns the other palm up, and uses her nail to slice open my flesh. I barely flinch. It doesn’t hurt. I’ve felt worse. In fact, it feels good. I feel my heart flutter at the sight of the pooling blood. She lifts my hand and puts my palm to her lips. This temple is fueled by blood. We drink it, bathe in it, use it in rituals. Blood is the essence of life and a part of our worship. I watch her suckle from my palm, feeling my pussy quiver in response.
When she pulls away she stumbles back. For a moment her eyes glow, in inner light bringing them to vibrant life, then it fades.
Turning sharply she speaks to the others. “She’s Goddess touched,” she tells them.
“What?” Says a man behind me. “That hasn’t happened for a thousand years. I’ve heard the tales but surely it can’t be.”
“Don’t doubt me. I know what I say is true. I can taste it in her. She’s been touched.” She turns back to me and offers a slight bow of the head. “Thank you, Amissa, for allowing me to touch you.”
I blink at her words then watch as she retakes her seat.
“What are we to do with her?” Asks someone else to my right. I look his way. He eyes me up and down. I know what he’d like to do with me. I’d like to let him. I’d like to let them all take turns. It would be pleasure, pure pleasure. My nipples harden as I picture what could be. As I dwell in my own fantasies they continue to discuss the matter of me and my place here. I’ve never heard of being goddess touched. I don’t know what it means. My mother must not have known or I’m certain she would have told me. I pull myself from images of being taken and taking in return when I hear the sound of my name repeated more than once.
“Amissa. Are you listening?”
I nod. I am now, I think, but don’t share that information with them.
“There is a ritual we would like to do. We think it’ll reveal to us your place. Ivy knows where in the archives to find it. Would you be willing to go through it?”
I nod. I’m just as anxious as they are to discover the truth, though having seen the visions I have I already know more than they do. I am not going to tell them about what I saw. At least not yet.
“Then give us a few hours to ready things and we’ll fetch you to the ritual chamber.”
I nod again and walk out, leaving them to talk more freely about their fears, worries, and even their hopes. I know I must unnerve some of them. They could feel threatened by my budding power, by the differences between them and I. Feeling free and with a bounce in my step I walk down the various corridors heading to my room. Purposely I enter the Hallway of Offerings. I asked about it yesterday morning. This is where some of the gifts who hold no other magical or useful ability are put. In a constant state of sexual arousal they live to serve the sexual needs of the other temple residents. Violence isn’t unheard of. Aberrations, either. Fetishes.
Today is the first time I witness the use of an offering. Entering the hallway I see a man standing before one of the women. His robe is pulled open and I stand there, riveted, as her mouth moves up and down over his cock. She’s making slurping noises, saliva running down her chin. Her ankle is chained to the wall but her hands are not. Kneeling, she has her arms wrapped around his legs. I’m still naked. Nudity has become my default wardrobe.
Heat spreads through my body as I watch and soon I’m walking over to them. I reach down and entwine my fingers into her hair. She pauses, tilting her head to look up at me. The man, his dark hair in a ponytail, turns to look at me as well. His eyes narrow. I meet his gaze, my fingers tugging the woman forward, encouraging her to continue what she is doing. My other hand reaches up and tugs on that ponytail, tilting his head back. I hold him like that, keeping my grip firm and him precariously close to falling backwards, until he’s filling her mouth with come. I watch as she swallows every drop then I let go and continue on my way.
I’m uncertain why I joined in their intimacy. I can’t explain it. It just felt as if I had to be a part of it, that it was necessary.
It’s hours before they call me to the ritual chamber. It’s not the same room where I had sex with a horned demon surrounded by fire. No, this one is in a different area altogether.
As I enter everyone stands. There are sculpted stones for them to sit on, set up in a crescent around the back edge of the room. In the center a small altar faces a long flat table. It’s stained red from all the blood spilled over the centuries. I go and stand beside it, facing them. Ivy, a tall, thin beautiful woman with long legs and two missing fingers, steps up to me.
“It’s time for the preparation. Are you ready?” She asks.
I nod and smile. “Yes,” I tell her.
She tugs my hand and moves me into a clear and open space, allowing the others to surround me. A few of them address my hair. They tie it up, braids and knots set in a particular design. I can see them checking the books to make sure they’re doing everything right. Some rituals are complex, complicated in a way that doesn’t allow for mistakes. A life can be lost if something goes wrong. One of The Eleven could be angered or insulted. Punishment is not unheard of for negligent disobedience. That’s why the Temple keeps records. Even my mother had her own book, one filled with spells, rituals, and rites. It is mine now. I keep it beside my bed during the day and under my pillow at night.
A thin rope is tied around each wrist and then woven up my arms to my shoulders. From there they are tied to another rope that is around my neck. It’s tight enough for me to know it’s there but not tight enough to choke me. Another rope is looped between my legs, around my waist, and then up to encircle each breast. That rope is also connected to the one around my throat. My pussy grows wet, slicking the rope that’s rubbing against my folds. I want to moan but I hold it in, biting my lip.
When they finish tying me up they call forth a temple servant. He kneels before me and I watch as they cut a slice in his lower arm from his elbow to his wrist. It’s not too deep but the blood comes out fresh and fast. A few droplets hit the floor before they put a bucket underneath to collect his offering. He smiles at me, happy to be a part of the ritual. Eventually he passes out and is carted away, leaving a trail of dripping blood in his wake. They use the offered blood as paint, their fingers drawing symbols on various parts of my body. They avoid the carvings and my brand.
The more they do to me, the greater the pull I feel to the world outside of our own.
“Lie down on the table,” Ivy finally tells me.
I turn, feeling my bindings bite and pinch. The rope between my legs causes friction with each step, small flames igniting my desire. I have no doubt that is intentional. One of the others helps me climb up and lie down. I can feel the ropes underneath my back. It’s quite uncomfortable but there’s no time to think on that because the moment I’m lying down I feel my brand quicken, sending shocks throughout my body.
Crying out I writhe on the table, my head rocking left and right as my body jerks and twitches. I feel like I’m being eaten alive from the inside.
Everyone else gathers around the table. I can barely see them but I know they are there. The go on with the ritual, taking hands and beginning to chant. They’ve disrobed, all of them naked. I can feel their desire filling the room, a mist of lust and power. My legs spread and I buck as I lift my hips over and over, using the rope as a sex toy. My mouth opens and now I’m the one chanting. I don’t know where the words are coming from but they fly out. A prayer, a plea, words of promise and faith spill forth from my claimed soul.
My eyes are open and when my head stops moving I see above me another misty form, just like the visitors I’ve seen in my room. This time, though, there is only one of them. I hear the other members of the temple gasp. Their faith comes with a tinge of fear. I can taste it. It makes me smile. I lick my lips and reach up for the woman.
She morphs. Now male. Now female. Now both at the same time. It never becomes truly solid as it lowers itself down on top of me. Its face hovers over mine. I meet its gaze and in that glimpse something passes between us. Understanding, maybe? Then it continues down, slipping inside of me. Its misty form is absorbed by my own. It’s my turn to gasp.
A fire, fueled internally, sweeps over my skin. An orgasm overtakes me and I climax, my juices rushing out. There is enough that it slowly fills the indent in the altar before spilling over the sides. The others are standing in my come, in my feminine nectar. As it touches their bare feet they, too, are overcome. Soon they are pairing up, coupling. The sounds of sex, moaning and groaning, echo around the room. My heart races as I climax again and again. I’m not being touched by human hands. I’m not touching myself. No, there is something otherworldly within me and it’s taken over.
My eyes close and when my body is spent I lie there, listening. I can pick out the individual voices. I can see what they’re doing without using my eyes. I can feel it within my soul.
There is power residing in me and I know nothing will ever be the same.
I am special.
By the time the sounds quiet down they are all sleeping, overcome by their expenditures. They’ve fueled me without knowing it.
Blood. Sex. Faith.
Sitting up, legs dangling over the sides of the altar, I look at them all. So innocent. So small.
Servants. Just like the man whose blood is painted on my skin, they serve something greater.
They serve me.
I inhale sharply as a quick searing pain strikes my right forearm. Glancing over I see that the image I saw in my vision has come true. There is a new carving on my body, one not placed by human hands. I smile, running my fingers over it. It tingles, vibrating under my touch.
I glance toward it and watch as one of the men, his cock hard and already beading with eagerness, stumbles towards me. He doesn’t look awake but instead guided by something else. A need. A drive. Somehow controlled.
I smile and spread my legs. He’s sexy. Young. Muscular. I haven’t spoken to him yet, having never had the chance.
His eyes are glazed over but he smiles back. I take his face in my hands and plant a kiss on his lips. It’s a soft kiss. I hear him groan and feel him reach down between my legs, tugging the rope aside. He shoves his cock into me and starts to thrust.
The Eleven are kind.