by S. J. Lewis
She heard Omazan come up behind her, then felt him wrapping a leather thong around her wrist. She closed her eyes and waited. He was an old man, and his fingers did not seem any steadier than hers had been. Slowly and carefully, he tied her wrists to the iron rings, pulling the bindings tight so that she had to stand on her toes to relieve the strain on her shoulders. She could hear his breathing become labored as he neared completion of this first part of the ritual. He rested for a moment before beginning the next part.
She spread her legs at the old priest’s command. He bound each of her ankles in turn to the lower set of rings, once more pulling the bindings tight so that she could barely support her weight on her toes now. Her position was painful, but worse was to come. She gnawed at her lower lip. Omazan had explained the rite to her very thoroughly, pausing after each part to give her the opportunity to change her mind. She heard him intoning a prayer behind her, his voice too low for her to make out the words. The prayer ended, and she felt him fumbling with her hair, loosening it so that it cascaded in a pale golden cloud to her bare shoulders. Then she felt him pulling at the waist of her gown and the cold touch of the ceremonial bronze knife as he slid it between her flesh and the material of her gown. The material parted easily under the blade and Omazan sliced carefully all the way down to the hem. Ampanae shivered as the ruined garment slid from her body to the cold stone floor. Now she was utterly naked, and the air in the chamber chilled her as it had not done before, leaching the warmth from her body. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the growing strain on her arms and legs.
Now Omazan must inspect her, to be sure that she was unblemished. She endured that inspection, even as the old priest endured it himself. She thought that he got no pleasure from his task, and was grateful that only he was in the chamber with her. She had sometimes studied her naked body in a mirror and knew that, slender as she was, it could still move a man to lust. Now she was offering it as a gift and a sacrifice. She shivered as Omazan completed his inspection and began chanting the next prayer. She had the feeling that the presence she had sensed earlier had come closer, drawn to her nakedness, and was inspecting her just as Omazan had. She opened her eyes, dreading what she might see, but there was nothing there, only the lights and shadows flickering across the wall.
Omazan finished chanting the prayer. Ampanae shrieked as she felt the lash strike her across her buttocks. That much she was allowed, which was good, for the lash stung like fire. A second time the lash fell, across the backs of her thighs, and a second time she shrieked. She gritted her teeth for the third blow, which came across her shoulders. She jerked and grunted painfully, but did not scream, keeping her eyes shut. The fourth blow was across her small, round breasts. Though Omazan did not strike with as much force as he could have, she shrieked at the pain. When the fifth blow struck her belly, all she could do was groan.
The sixth blow was across her thighs. Her whole body ached now, but she yelped weakly at the fresh pain. She steeled herself for the last blow, her jaws clenched lest she bite her tongue. When it came, up between her parted legs, it was so far beyond any pain she had felt so far that at first all she was aware of was a white-hot flash behind her eyes. She did not truly feel the pain until that flash had faded away. Now she sagged in her bonds, whimpering piteously. Now she understood why she had been made to fast for a full day before coming to this place, for she had no control over her abused body. And yet there was still more to come: Omazan must mark her, permanently and irrevocably, but he could give her one small mercy before he did that. She felt him holding up a waterskin to her lips.
“Drink,” he ordered her. She fastened her lips on the spout and Omazan tilted it up for her. The fluid she gulped so eagerly at first tasted sweet, like cheap wine, but there was another heavier, muskier taste to it that she could not identify. She felt it go straight to her belly and then straight to her head, blurring her vision and dulling her pain so that her body was simply one dull but endurable ache. A tingling spread out to her arms and her legs. Omazan took the waterskin away, and a little while later she heard him chanting another prayer. It would all be over soon…and then she must hope and pray. Her head lolled forward. It felt too heavy for her neck.
When Omazan applied the brand to her back, near the base of her spine, she shrieked again in spite of the welcome numbing effects of the drink, jerking wildly at her bonds, her toes scrabbling for purchase on the flagstones. She could smell her own seared flesh, and she knew that she had been marked. Shock took her then, and once more she sagged limply in her bonds, no longer a priestess but only a naked sacrifice. She was only dimly aware of Omazan bustling about behind her, packing up those things he would take with him. She heard one of the doors open, and then heard it shut. There was the sound of the key turning in the lock, and then silence, except for the sound of her ragged breathing. Neither Omazan nor the warrior-priests would tarry down here. They dared not. They would hasten back to the surface, and not return for at least one full day. She did not think she could last that long, but she would try.
Time passed. Ampanae spent most of it in a fitful doze that was bearable only because she was still numbed. But the effects of the potion were fading, and her pain was returning, sharper than before. Her skin stung where she had been whipped, and the brand on her back throbbed, a dull red ember that was growing larger and brighter. She could do nothing about any of it, not trussed up as she was. Her arms and legs still felt numb, but small cramps were making themselves felt in her shoulders and hips. She raised her head with an effort. She had listened to Omazan’s lecture on the ritual to be followed, and had thought she could endure the whipping and the branding. Only now did she realize that she had not considered the waiting. Even if she did not go mad from pain long before anyone came back for her, she was not sure that she could live long enough for them to find anything but her corpse. Already it was getting difficult to breathe.
The rite had not been performed for generations. The last virgin priestess who submitted to it had never been seen or heard of again. It had been rumored afterwards that she had not been as untouched as she had claimed. Ampanae wondered if she would share the same fate.
The light of the lamps began to flicker and dim. Shadows began to waver across the chamber, growing larger as the light waned. Ampanae felt the first real feeling of fear, deep in her belly. The sensation she had had earlier of something hovering nearby but unseen returned. It was stronger now. She could almost feel strange eyes crawling across her abused and naked body, lingering on her breasts, her hips, the soft, white skin of her inner thighs…she shuddered violently, and one of the lamps went out. The shadows crept closer, reaching for her with phantasmal fingers, almost touching her.
A second lamp went out, and the shadows crept closer still. Now she thought she could hear whispering, above her, behind her, next to her ear. She felt panic rising in her, and she fought it back. She was of royal blood, and a priestess. She had come here freely, and in full knowledge of her peril. She would not scream. She would not struggle uselessly.
The last two lamps went out, and she was entombed in utter darkness. Now there was no movement to trick her eyes, no whispering sounds tickling her ears. For one very brief moment she almost felt relief. And then she heard a scraping sound, so faint that at first she thought she had imagined it. But when she heard it again there was no doubt that it had not been a trick of her mind. Panic began to claim her as she thought of rats. She imagined them swarming over her, feasting on her helpless flesh. Shuddering, she banished the fevered images from her mind with a great effort. Her breathing was ragged and shallow now, and she struggled to control it. Then something lightly touched the heel of her foot and she could not help crying out in surprise and sudden dread. Her heart pounded. She could not keep control of herself any longer. She screamed, and struggled with the leather thongs that bound her so cruelly.
The touch crept slowly up her leg. Ampanae threw back her head and screamed loud enough for
someone above ground to hear her. She screamed her lungs empty. She had just inhaled and was about to scream again when something wrapped itself around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air and her voice. She could neither inhale nor exhale. Startled beyond fear, she froze. It squeezed more tightly, and she gaped like a landed fish, struggling to breathe. She was about to faint when the constriction around her neck eased just enough for her to glean air in tiny sips. She concentrated on doing so. There was a smell in the air now that reminded her of serpents.
“Who are you?” The voice echoed in her mind. The thing around her neck loosened just a little bit more.
“I…” Ampanae coughed and gasped. “I am Ampanae, the high priestess.” She would have said more, but suddenly her breath was limited again to desperate, tiny sips. The touch on her leg grew more substantial and moved upwards, along her inner thigh and then between her legs. It probed between her nether lips, slowly forcing its way up and into her. Once more close to fainting, she could only grunt weakly at this intimate violation. Her hips twitched from side to side as if to shake the invader out. She no longer worried about rats.
“You are virgin,” the bodiless voice observed. Something else touched the fresh brand on her back. She jerked and whimpered as it traced out the circle that enclosed the ancient symbol within. “And you are marked as mine.” Now Ampanae felt things encircle her thighs more tightly than her neck was. Some great bulk pressed up against her back. It did not feel like human flesh. It was much warmer, almost hot to the touch, and it felt much rougher. She felt other things caressing her body, here and there. They did not quite feel like fingers as they moved across her belly and explored her breasts. She was close to fainting again when the constriction around her neck loosened and she could gasp in full breaths. Then it tightened again, just enough so that she could breathe with some small difficulty. Only then did she fully realize what the phantom voice had said: ‘And you are marked as mine.’ Her heart leaped: Was this the Dark Oracle? She prayed that it was. If it was not…she shuddered at the thought. Whether it was the oracle or not, she was completely at its mercy.
“Are you here by your own will?” The voice echoed inside her head.
“Yes,” Ampanae gasped.
“You seek my aid.”
“Yes.” Another gasp.
“Will you pay the price?”
“Yes! Willingly!” It was more a sob than a gasp now. The effects of the drink that the old priest had given her were all but gone, and Ampanae’s body was now racked with pain.
“So be it. I will take what has been offered.”
The thing between her legs seemed to thicken and swell, even as the things around her thighs tightened. Ampanae felt a sudden fresh pain as the Oracle took her maidenhead. It was a very small pain, compared to all the others she was suffering, but she cried out nonetheless. And then another cry, louder, as it began to use her body as a man would. She arched her back, panting and gasping as she felt the Oracle thrusting deeper and harder. While her pains never truly left her, they gradually faded into the background as she was overcome by completely new and utterly unfamiliar sensations. The pressure around her neck eased so she could breathe more freely, and she was dimly aware of something sliding under her feet, giving her support and taking some of the strain off of her arms and legs. Her bindings were still as tight as they had ever been, but as a warm glow began to build deep in her belly they slowly ceased to trouble her. Soon all that mattered were the strange, inhuman grips that held her body in place and the invading member that slid in and out of her, causing waves of pleasure. Ampanae finally released all control and let those waves flow through her. The Oracle gripped her more securely and quickened its movements. She shuddered and wailed and prayed that this would go on and on. Soon she was begging for that audibly. And very soon after that, the waves of pleasure turned into an earthquake that shook her violently again and again until she had neither the strength nor the breath to do anything but whimper as the last tiny tremors gradually faded away and died. Boneless, weak, she let her bonds and her lover hold her up. She let her head droop.
Something probed at her mouth. Then it pushed between her lips and into her mouth. It was warm, and round, and tasted strangely. She did not fight it or try to pull her head away, even as it raised her head until it was tilted backwards.
She heard the strange voice tell her to drink. A moment later, something warm gushed into her mouth. It tasted much like the draught Omazan had given her, but with a heavier aftertaste and a hint of salt. She swallowed, and another spurt of liquid filled her mouth. She swallowed that one as well, suddenly desperately thirsty, and there was yet another spurt. Her tongue tingled, as did her throat. Whatever the drink was, it was more intoxicating than the finest wine she had ever tasted. Finally there was no more left to drink, but the thing stayed in her mouth. It hampered her breath, but not by much. The Oracle let her rest for a moment. Small things that felt both like and unlike fingers caressed her body everywhere. Ampanae moaned around the thing in her mouth. The Oracle was still deep inside of her elsewhere, and it felt good to her. But when she felt another thing probing at her rear she had a sudden moment of panic, fearful that what would follow would hurt. She shivered and squealed as she felt herself being penetrated, violated, stretched wider. Then it too turned into a sort of pleasure. Ampanae whimpered abjectly as she felt it slowly and powerfully thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. If she had been able to speak, she would have begged for it to continue. Since she could not speak, she did what she could. She might have been a virgin when she had first come down here, but she was not ignorant. She began to suck at the thing in her mouth. She thought she heard the strange voice laugh once. She continued sucking as abjectly as any slave trying to please her master.
***
Omazan entered the chamber alone. His escorts remained outside, so that they would not see the priestess naked…if she was still there. Privately, the old priest feared what he would find.
The first thing he saw were the leather thongs dangling from their rings. They looked as if they had been cut through, and at first his heart sank. Then, by the wavering lamplight, he saw Ampanae lying atop her ruined gown on the far side of the chamber, thongs still tied around her wrists and ankles. She looked unearthly pale. He hurried over to her, fearing that he would find her a corpse, but he saw that she still breathed. Kneeling beside her, he gently raised her head and held a bottle of water to her mouth. Water splashed across her lips and splashed onto her naked body before she stirred and opened her mouth to drink. She drained the bottle greedily, taking the last drops before she opened her eyes. Omazan recoiled. Instead of the clear sky-blue he remembered, the priestess’ eyes were now grey, like a fog on the sea. She looked up at him, unseeing, for a long moment. Then she blinked, and her eyes were blue again, and she knew him.
“Omazan!” she cried out. She raised herself, putting her arms around his neck and pressing her face to his chest. She wept, sobbing.
“Is all well, Omazan?” one of his escorts called out.
“Stay out!” the old priest ordered. “The priestess is here, and she lives! I will call you when I need you and not before.” He looked down at Ampanae and then immediately looked away as she clung to him and cried. She was a most beautiful young woman. It was not right for him to stare at her nakedness.
“It worked!” she gasped. “Oh, Omazan, it worked! We will have what we need!”
“At what price, priestess?” he asked quietly.
“It is a price that I would gladly pay again,” Ampanae answered. “And I will have to pay it again, and again. I can no longer serve as a priestess, for I am the slave and the voice of the Dark Oracle now. Oh, Omazan, we did it!”
Other Books by S J Lewis
Marie’s Descent
Marie and Cheryl are two attractive young single women interested in hot guys and fun sex. But when Cheryl starts talking about kinky sexual escapades with rich men in a secret basement Marie’s alarmed. S
neaking into the underground lair one night, she watches from a hidden closet as Cheryl is bound and forced to service three men who think nothing of smacking her ass in the process. When the scene is over, the shocked Marie is suddenly pulled from hiding. Though given a chance to leave, Marie is pressured into staying and agrees to a sexual scene of her own. She’s soon brought to a powerful orgasm, then gives a blowjob to the head man—whose charm and good looks have a overwhelming effect on her. Just days after her remarkable night, Marie receives a package from the head man; inside she finds a cell phone and bondage toys. Her life quickly shifts in extraordinary new ways as her mysterious lover takes charge of her life and Marie can't help but submit.
Hunting Party
Stan, Jack and Mike set off for a week of hunting in the wilderness, but it's not just guns and backpacks that they bring along. As they’ve done in the past, they hire a sexy young coed to provide the nighttime entertainment. This year’s girl, Susan, has been warned to expect some pretty kinky sex, but the game gets started all too fast for the wary newbie. When the company makes camp for the night, she’s ordered to strip and give all three men a first taste of her voluptuous body. The next morning, she's shocked to find herself hiking to the hunting lodge on the end of a leash...naked, collared, cuffed and barefoot. Joining her is another hired female, Toy and two more burly hunters. The pair will soon learn that their week in the woods will include slave training in addition to all the straight and oral sex the men demand.
Plus these titles…
Vacation
Female Prey
The Elusive Prey
Urban Prey
Claudia’s Surrender: The Case of the Reluctant Submissive
