Sea God of the Sands: Book One of the Firebird’s Daughter Series (Firebird's Daughter 1)

by Kyrja

  And then the priest dipped his fingers into the bowl again, and she knew a moment of pure panic. If the sauce, or potion, or whatever the concoction he was using was so hot in her mouth, she was about to become horribly uncomfortable. She could feel her eyes widening in alarm and squirmed against the hands holding her. Then she felt the man’s hands on her lower lips, spreading them apart, and swallowed the scream she felt building inside her chest. He wouldn’t stop no matter what she did; she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of smirking at her. She held still and closed her eyes as she felt two fingers of his right hand open her lips, and then two fingers of his left hand pushing inside of her. The only other time a man had touched her like the priest was doing was just a short time ago, when Jonath had made love to her. There had been others before him, but they had been nothing more than adolescent explorations with other girls her own age. If she hadn’t been a Diviner, she would have enjoyed the attentions of an older man in her Campania, like all the other girls had. But a proper deflowering was one of the many things about normal life she’d been denied simply because she’d been born with the ability to find water beneath the sands.

  Drena was surprised at how much thicker the priest’s fingers were than Jonath’s, and at how cool the potion he was using felt against her skin. Then he was stroking her, as if her groin was some kind of pet, just lightly caressing her lips and vulva. It seemed more like something he was doing in order to calm her, than a motion designed to invoke arousal.

  “Ssshhh, S’ray, soon you will carry the seed of the savior within you. This will help,” he was saying. Drena wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact the man was trying to be soothing. She would have thought he would have just yanked her legs apart and thrust himself inside of her, heedless of her own physical discomfort, let alone her desire. Still, he was a vile man. He was going to rape her, pure and simple. Being nice about it wouldn’t erase the fact he was taking her against her will. And what had he put inside of her? Another anointing oil of some kind? Was there actually some ritual he was following? Could there possibly be a ritual for rape? Or was he just re-enacting the usual method the Merlarns employed when they fucked a Tuq’deb? For all she knew, he was ritualistically cleansing her because he thought her body unclean. Most of these weak, water-fat Puj’hom looked at her people as though they were filthy and beneath them. Maybe this was their way of making sure they didn’t catch some disease or something. She hoped he’d been disgusted when he’d thrust his fingers inside of her at the feel of Jonath’s seed still warm and slick against his skin.

  Then she felt it. A small tingling deep inside of her. An involuntary moan left her lips, even though the ball of material the priest had shoved in her mouth. It was a warmth that was spreading out from the center of her body. From the depths of her womb. Like a wave of liquid fire. It raced from the center of her being, from the very core of her sex, outward in a wildfire out of control. Desire! Full and total desire. She’d been drugged – again – to feel aroused. She could feel the desire to have sex – to fuck – as an immediate, primal need. Jonath! Help me!

  Drena could feel the effects of the drug as if the gel-like substance had actual, physical fingers. The taste in her mouth grew sweet as it penetrated into her blood stream. She felt herself sucking on the wad of cloth in her mouth, her jaw muscles and tongue working together to wring each drop of the substance out of the wet cloth. She wanted to feel Jonath inside of her again. Now! She’d taken his phallus into her mouth and felt his entire body stiffen as shivers of delight rippled through him and had felt delightfully wicked with the knowledge she held the power to cause him such pleasure. She could feel his fingers in her hair now, gripping her skull, digging his fingers deeper as she drew him deeper and deeper inside of her mouth. Not content with simply allowing him to slide his cock back and forth, thrusting himself deeper, she’d purposefully sucked his shaft, milking it with the muscles of her throat and mouth, causing him to groan.

  It had taken her years to finally have him inside of her, to feel every rigid surface of his body as it moved against her own. Years when she’d had to seek pleasure elsewhere in order to satisfy the urgent needs of her budding libido. She’d always known she would never take another man until after she’d lain with Jonath, nor would she have been able to find a willing lover at any rate. Diviners were forbidden to have intercourse with members of the opposite sex until after they’d been properly dedicated to Amphedia. Men could spend their seed inside other men and women could satisfy their own urgent needs with other women, but any chance of pregnancy was strictly forbidden; the penalty more severe for this one transgression than any other. Immediate death was the only solution to the possibility of a pregnancy wrought by or of a Diviner unsanctioned by the edicts of Giya’s covenant.

  Always, had Jonath turned her away, no matter the tricks she’d played, the cruel words she’d thrown at him, or the pleading she’d done. A truer disciple Amphedia had never known, much to Drena’s disgust and sorrow. And now he was dead. Dead, damn him, and she was on fire! She needed to feel him inside of her again. Oh Goddess! The arousal was overwhelming. The fingers of pleasure spread from her mouth to her brain, then slid down her spine as if attached to a living being. She could feel the separate fingers sliding along her skin, making her back arch in invitation. The muscles of her buttocks lifted as she thrust her hips upward.

  She felt the response from the men holding her, shifting their weight to accommodate her demonstration of lust. Lust! Ha! She was filled with the need to be wanton! To shove her sex in the face of every man there. To beg, no – demand! – they satisfy her. She felt their hands on her skin. The two who were holding her legs had placed her so her knees were thrust upwards, each of them holding her legs stable and open, with one hand on her shin and the other on each of her thighs. She could feel the warmth of their human contact. She could feel the heat of their hands where they each touched her. Where they each held her immobile. She writhed, feeling the men sway with her, allowing her legs to shift back and forth. And oh, she could feel the nakedness of their skin as they moved. She ached to feel the touch of their hands moving towards her sex. She envisioned the rigid phalluses she knew were hidden under each of their hip wraps and longed to feel the length of each of them inside of her. She thrust her pelvis upward, seeking satisfaction.

  The feel of the restraining hands on her arms only fueled her desire. She longed to be taken, to be violated, to watch as one mounted her, while the others held her. To be held captive, against her will. To feel the pounding pressure of a rigid cock against the walls of her sex. How she had begged Jonath to take her. To make love to her, to make her his own in body, as well as in spirit. Yet he had forbidden her his body. None of these men here would deny her. None! She needed to feel the hardness of the length of one of them inside of her. Now! Any of them! All of them! It didn’t matter. She could feel her nipples as they hardened in response to the needs of her body and thought she might scream if she didn’t soon feel someone – anyone – inside of her.

  No! Oh no! She struggled against the drug, a remote corner of her mind wondering if this was what all female Undia felt when they underwent their initiations. Was this how it was always done? And what of the men? What happened to them when they undertook their vows? The thought of the men nearly undid her, as she imagined each of them lined up naked, priestesses at their feet, taking the length of each of them into their mouths. She could almost hear the sounds of the grunts and groans as each of the young men thrust their cocks into the waiting mouths of the women on their knees.

  No! This is all wrong! She had already completed her vows. She was already dedicated to the cruel Amphedia. She’d already laid with Jonath. He was dead. Dead!

  Yes, a small voice whispered in her ear, the feel of the buzzing sensation of the voice a warm stir against the tiny, unseen hairs of her ear, making her body shiver with desire. It felt as though someone was truly kneeling beside her, the moisture of their breath wet
against her skin.

  He’s already dead and cannot see what you are doing. He will not witness what you do with your body. Why not enjoy the pleasure? The child is already made. None of these here can undo what the Goddess has already blessed. Why not enjoy yourself? Relax, the voice hissed deliciously in her ear. Struggle if you must, the voice chuckled. If that’s what delights you. Or relax and enjoy the blessing of Amphedia as you were meant to be pleasured. You are the chosen vessel of her heir. Relax … the voice, the warm, sensuous voice invited her, hissing along the nakedness of her flesh as if it was a living thing. Feel the heat. Feel the passion. Allow these priests to worship you as you were meant to be worshipped. You are safe and protected. Embrace the passion of the storm as only you are meant to. Is this not a gift from the Goddess? Relax. Can you not feel the wave of desire building? Ride it S’ray. Ride the wave to its peak. Let it break upon these mortals as you desire. You are more than they will ever be. Ride the storm. Let it sweep you away. Be the storm!

  She felt the fingers of the drug the priest had placed inside of her mouth meeting with those he’d ignited when he’d thrust his fingers inside of her, feeling the explosion of desire stronger than she’d ever known before. Nothing in all the years she’d hounded and pleaded with Jonath for his body had prepared her for the utterly overwhelming need to have her body used. She could find no argument against the urgings of the sinuous voice racing through the very blood in her veins. If she was drowning in the hated sea, she could not have ever desired breath any more than she needed to have a thick, hard cock inside of her at this very moment. Somewhere inside of her she knew it was wrong – knew she was violating some moral code that was of vital importance to her, but she could not simply will the need to subside.

  Drena knew, in that moment, that this was exactly the reason why no woman ever spoke of their experiences while they’d been interred in the Temple. They’d all been through exactly what she was experiencing now, and were far too ashamed to whisper, even in the darkness of the night, to the closest friend of their heart, that they’d begged to be raped. She could feel her muscles pulsating with the violent desire the drugs induced. She’d already been wet from the love she’d made with Jonath, but now she could feel the moisture her body had so traitorously produced as it flowed from her nether lips, a warm trail snaking its way ever downward, coating her thighs and buttocks with its musky scent. She thought she would soon go mad if the priests didn’t hurry up.

  She longed to scream, to feel a sense of release as the words of consent were torn from her throat. She thrust her legs apart violently, surprising even the priests who held her. She said the words over and over in her mind, “Take me!” “Take me!” “Please!” She even screamed the words against the gag stuffed in her mouth, grateful she couldn’t actually, physically say the words, but aching to give voice to them. Her body, she knew, was no longer her own. The sea serpent Amphedia had made absolutely certain she would be in exactly this position. Drena prayed that of all the gods who had ever loved her would take vengeance on the snake for what she was doing - even as she arched her back, raising her buttocks higher into the air, her body pleading for release.

  The whole time her body had been writhing with contortions, with vivid thoughts of lewd acts sauntering through her mind, the high priest had been chanting some religious-sounding nonsense while he’d been on his knees between her legs. He’d taken all of his clothes off, neatly folding the silver and blue robe into a neat rectangle he put under his knees. But now he was quiet and was looking directly into her eyes. A predator’s gleam lit up his small, small eyes and a smirk of profound confidence curled one corner of his lips into a mask of malice. It occurred to Drena he’d done this many times before and knew exactly what to expect. It was obvious he relished the position of power his insanity afforded him. Undoubtedly, he loved shoving his cock inside of all the Tuq’deb virgins his sanctimonious goddess paraded through his temple. Drena would have loved to have been able to slice off his cock and shove it up his ass in irreverent gratitude for all he’d done here today, but at the moment, it appeared he would be shoving it inside of her instead.

  With one hand holding his erect phallus, gently gliding back and forth over the length of it, the high priest suddenly lurched forward, allowing most of his weight to lay across her body. She grunted with the impact of the unexpected burden, feeling the warmth of his skin where it pressed against her body, then bit her lips together to keep from yelling in startlement when he slapped her across the face, leaving a hot spot of anger in its wake. She felt her eyes sting with hot tears as she glared at him, refusing to allow him to intimidate her.

  “Ah S’ray,” the priest chuckled, “do you not know your anger only fuels the drug? You are absolutely helpless. Nothing can help you. Nothing at all,” he gloated, the lines of the hated smirk permanently etched into the man’s face making his flat little eyes more squinted as his cheek rose to complete his leer.

  “None of your training,” he said, lifting two fingers of his left hand to his mouth to lick. She watched in fascination as he ran his tongue over them several times, slathering his saliva along their lengths.

  “None of your plans,” he taunted her, shoving his tongue in the “V” between two of his fingers. Despite her utter loathing of the man, watching him lick his own fingers while he looked at her, his lewd intent naked on the rat-like features of his face, she felt the muscles of her sex tightening in anticipation of what she knew must come next.

  “None of your prayers,” he crooned, chuckling as he reached for and found the pearl of her desire, rubbing his warm, slick fingers expertly over the throbbing flesh. “Nothing can help you at all,” he said, his breath a husky whisper as he lowered his face to her aching groin, blowing warmth on skin already achingly hot, even as he parted the folds of the flesh to expose her pearl.

  Drena had long ago discovered how, during moments of particular stress, her mind noticed tiny, inconsequential things, her focus fastening on to them as if somehow just by giving her attention to the object, it became important. In her first encounter with the Yahlah of her childhood, she distinctly remembered he had a strange crack in one of his toenails. Even in the dark, she could see it as he’d squatted there in the sand beside her. From that day forward, Drena rarely ever looked at the man without thinking of his cracked toenail and wondering if it ever healed. The imagine of the Yahlah’s feet had become a permanent recollection, and one which was a small part of the whole of her perceptions of her ability to call water. When she thought about it at all, it seemed apropos; the Yahlah’s feet stank and so, too, did her ability to call water from beneath the sands.

  In less time than it took to blink, Drena recalled her former Yahlah, his cracked toenail, and the foul stench she always associated with being made to demonstrate her gift. She wondered now, if her mind and body hadn’t been forced to relax because of the drugs, if she would even have noticed the strange blue spot on the top of the High Priest’s head. She probably would have been too busy trying to bash his skull in with some kind of weapon, she knew. If not for the drugs, she certainly couldn’t imagine any other scenario where the man would have his head between her thighs. Like the cracked toenail of the Yahlah, she knew this recollection would remain permanently embedded in her memories. She could feel the importance of this moment locking into her future and sighed, wishing she would bring nothing of this encounter with her at all. The blue smudge was only partially visible through the priest’s thinning hair, but it seemed to be a faded tattoo. Nothing elaborate or artistic; just a few simple lines, marking the outline of what Drena recognized to be a dolphin. The image seemed to be faded, so it was probably quite old.

  Then she thought no more of the tattoo, her former Yahlah, or what memories she might take with her; she gasped with the pleasure of the priest’s expert manipulations. Drena felt her eyes roll into the back of her head as the warmth of the man’s breath against her sensitive, throbbing flesh brought her firmly and co
mpletely into the very immediate present. Her body had completely betrayed her, she knew, and she found she had little inclination to deny herself the release she so cravenly desired. She felt the blood pounding in her veins; hot, as if the very liquid rushing through her body was truly on fire. She felt the flow of it pulsating in her sex, taking on a life of its own. She wanted desperately to deny the desire racing through her, urging her to willingly submit to the ministrations of the loathsome man touching her where only Jonath belonged.

  “Beg me, S’ray,” the priest said, as he drew his mouth away from her body, leaving an unbearable tingling in his wake. “Submit to Amphidea’s will,” he hissed, suddenly plunging two fingers inside of her. And oh … the priest was good, Drena would give him that. She moaned around the fabric stuffed into her mouth, biting and chewing; even trying to suck it further into her throat. It was a primal need that drove her. Even if she knew, intellectually, the material in her mouth wasn’t made of flesh and blood, and was truly not a part of anything that belonged to the man she’d loved, still, it was impossible to stop herself from expressing her out-of-control lust by sucking on the fabric even as she had Jonath.

  And now the priest was blowing his warm breath on the slick surface of her pearl, even as he thrust his fingers in and out, skillfully rubbing the top of the tunnel of her womb. She was exploding with pleasure, alive with desire. Drena knew that if one of the other priests had thrust their cock inside of her mouth while their high priest rubbed and probed her as he was doing now, she would willingly swallow their shaft whole. She knew it was wrong. She knew she was drugged. But she felt absolutely helpless to stop herself from needing to be fucked.

  “Let yourself be worshipped, S’ray,” the high priest told her, the fingers of one hand still thrusting, while he rubbed the tender, swollen flesh of her pearl with the thumb of the other hand.