by Kyrja
Drena closed her eyes, letting the man’s words flow over her, blocking them out of her mind, concentrating instead on her building orgasm, on the feel of his hands on her, on the touch of the hands of each of the men still surrounding her.
“Chared,” the priest said her brother’s name aloud and suddenly her world exploded in pain. He’d hit her! Well, slapped her, really, and it hadn’t honestly been all that hard; she’d been distracted was all. But now she’d been made painfully aware that their High Priest was right – something in the way her body responded to anger made the drug take a firmer hold on her, making her inner muscles scream in protest. If this was how all the other girls were treated when they arrived for their “deflowering” over the years, it was surprising to Drena that more of them didn’t run away, or at least warn their sisters and daughters what to expect. This was utter madness! To be so driven by drugs and her own body’s desires to want to beg for physical release was torture! For the first time, she actually felt contrite, and a bit sorry, for the years of teasing she’d visited upon Jonath, begging him for his body through word and very, very precise actions, and wondered how he could possibly have stood it. Wondered how he could have kept turning her down time after time. She wondered, even, how he was able to allow her to keep coming back time after time, when he knew exactly what she was going to do to him. She felt a flush of regret and embarrassment that she’d treated him so wantonly with little regard for his own feelings in the matter.
But, of course, the difference for her in this case, was that, if she hadn’t already given her heart and body to Jonath, if she hadn’t already made her unholy pact with Amphedia, there simply wouldn’t be any reason to resist what they were doing to her at all. In fact, she might have found it rather exciting and stimulating! She could very easily have simply relaxed, just as the voice seemed to be urging her to do, and allow these so-called Merlarns to worship her. And oh! How she wanted to! How her body was squirming and her back arching and her hips thrusting themselves into the rhythm of the priest’s fingers. Even the heat of her face where Chared had slapped her was a part of the overwhelming sensation. If not for the cursed wad of material stuffed into her mouth, Drena was sure she would have already given word to the consent her body had already so obviously decreed.
She felt Chared’s grip on her left arm shift and tensed for the slap she was sure was coming again, closing her eyes against the ensuing sting. Instead, she felt the body of the man who was holding her left leg splayed open for all the world to see every inch of her nakedness, shift. He used his foot to capture her hand as Chared let her arm fall, the smooth, wordless interaction between the two men a clear sign they’d done this very thing many times before. Drena watched as her brother stood up. What was he doing? He was taking off his hip wrap! No! It couldn’t be true! Surely even the evil Goddess of the Sea wouldn’t have her brother rape her! No! She could hear the warm, sensuous voice hissing along her spine, the breath of the unseen being who whispered so erotically hot in her ears, causing her to groan. Be the storm, S’ray. Ride the wave. Submit to your desire as you deserve. Be worshipped.
“Ah, S’ray,” the high priest smirked at her, his voice laced with wicked amusement. “Would it be such a terrible price to pay?” He chuckled then, pressing his fingers deeper into her, faster. “I assure you, Chared is quite masterful at carrying out his duties.”
Drena could feel her body responding to the man’s thrusting. She was already panting from his attentions, her breath coming in shallow gasps. How she wanted … wanted … needed to be released from this wretched torture. If given the choice, though, she wasn’t entirely certain she would be able to just walk away any more. Her body was on fire. She could feel the drugs hot in her veins, her slit was soaked, and her heart was beating faster and faster. By the gods! Couldn’t they just get it over with!
“Have no fear,” the high priest said, the chuckle still very much present in his voice. “Your brother far prefers my attentions to your own.” With that, he withdrew his hands from her body and turned to take Chared’s erect phallus into his own mouth. Drena lurched at the sudden absence of the man’s hands inside of her. No! Oh no! He couldn’t leave her like this! Have mercy! She knew her eyes were filled with the pleading for release her traitorous body was screaming for.
Even as a child, Drena had been raised to understand the physical differences between men and women were many and natural. When she’d felt the first stirrings of lust bloom in her own body, she’d often reached out to her friends for a personal exploration of what their bodies felt like and how hers responded to their touch. And as she’d grown older, she’d learned quite well how to satisfy both her own desires and those of her lovers. But she’d never seen one man make love to another. She could smell the heavy scent of their bodies, and of her own. Sex. Everything smelled of sex. Watching the high priest’s jaws move, his eyes closed as if in sincere benediction, or enjoyment, as Chared thrust his cock into his mouth was fascinating. She’d never witnessed a more exciting and erotic site in her life. It drove her completely over the edge of excitement. She felt her orgasm sweep through her, feeling the hands of the men surrounding her trace their fingers lightly over every part of her body, sustaining the powerful release as it burst forth from her loins, enveloping her entire body in a wave of pleasure she’d never felt before. She was aware of the fact the men had released their hold on her arms and legs, but she was beyond caring. Unable to move, unable to summon even the ability to do more than draw in one long, shuddering breath after another.
As she lay there, on the thin layer of blankets Jonath had spread hours and hours ago, Drena felt the hard stones of the floor beneath her. She could feel each crevice and crack along the length of her body. She felt heavy, sedated, sated. She felt her bottom lip begin to tremble and wondered if she would cry. The drugs the priests had given her had separated her from all but the very smallest measure of her feelings of shame, so she wondered if the effects extended to include control over her tears. There was no honor here, no glory and no love, so no reason to shed her body’s precious moisture.
It occurred to her that she had not yet been used for the purpose the priests intended, and now that they had let go of her, she should get up. She should jump up and run through the door and escape. There was no longer any reason not to. All she had to do was get up. She managed to open one eye, lifting her head enough to seek out the doorway, but the effort was simply, utterly, too much. She blew her breath out, huffing several times in an effort to get control of her mind and body, but found her body was just too heavy to move. She felt dizzy. She just wanted to go to sleep now. Couldn’t they just leave her alone? She looked again at the doorway, felt her eye lids blink heavily and felt a small wave of nausea burble its way to her throat, leaving a trail of acid in its wake. Standing there, in the doorway, just beyond her brother and his enthusiastic lover, was yet another man. This one was older than the high priest, but extremely confident in a way that surpassed even the high priest’s arrogance. This man had held power for a long, long time and lived by his own rules alone. Drena could feel it on him, and explained why the high priest hadn’t already raped her. This, then, was the one who had been chosen to actually impregnate her. Or, more likely, this was the man who had decided it would be his seed and his alone that would be used to create the supposed savior of their race.
Drena felt something cold wash through her as she met the man’s eyes, sweeping away every ounce of desire and lust she’d just felt surging through her, leaving her feeling as if she’d never – ever - felt the heat of passion in her loins. She felt suddenly naked and unworthy. Ashamed; as if what was being done here was entirely her fault. Where she’d felt disgust and loathing for the high priest the moment she’d laid eyes on him, she felt true fear in the depths of her bowels for this man. Never had she felt so small, insignificant and even weak as she did at this moment. She watched him as his eyes regarded hers, then swept past her face as if she held no interest whatsoever fo
r him. She was nothing to him. She was less than nothing to him. She felt unaccountably vulnerable and rejected.
“Is she ready?” The words were a mere formality. Everyone in the small room knew this man expected everything to be in complete accord with his desires to the smallest degree. To fail would be to invite disastrous results of a very personal nature. His were not the small, dark eyes of a filthy creature scuttling in the dark, whose purpose and motives were always suspect. Instead, this man’s were the strange blue so typical of the water folk, unlike the rich, vibrant brown hues of her own people. Nor was he tanned, anointed or particularly muscled. His body had aged with the slow progression of years – years spent inside of buildings and out of the reach of the harsh embrace of Sov – still it was easy to see the man had spent considerable attention to maintaining his appearance and strength. In an honest battle, Drena knew she would have given the man a reason or two to respect her training and skills. But here, drugged, bereaved and betrayed by even the goddess who’d so cunningly tricked her into consenting to the death of her treasured Jonath – she would give the man little more than reason for distain. She felt beaten before she’d even lifted a hand against him.
“Remove that,” he said, nodding brusquely at Jonath’s body, “and turn her over. Goddess alone knows why she chose such an ugly woman to be the vessel for her heir.” All at once, Drena felt her heart beat faster at the man’s words, her eyebrows raising with indignation. Ugly? She felt hands reaching for her, hastening to obey the man’s directives. She felt her anger spike, felt it grow quickly into outrage. She realized she was beginning to think clearly for the first time since Chared had held her against his chest and wondered if the drugs were starting to lose their potency. She dearly hoped so, because she was going to give the idiot standing in the doorway a lesson in manners. The first thing she was going to do was in direct violation of every edict she’d ever been taught. Never – not ever – unless her life was in true peril, was she to direct her aim to a man’s groin. Today, though, for the first time since Khadras had taught her the move, she was going to purposefully attempt to unman someone. Drena shrugged off the memory of having attempted to kick Chared in the balls earlier as irrelevant since she would never be sure if she had actually done the deed or not. As she felt her anger spike, she suddenly felt the drugs re-assert themselves, the fire in her veins flaring to life from the ashes of disgust she’d felt as soon as the man had walked into the room. She closed her eyes against the wave of desire she felt wash over her, realizing the man wasn’t quite the ill-mannered, disdainful idiot for which she had mistaken him. He had purposefully provoked her ire in order to ensure she was a ready, if completely unwilling, vessel for his seed. He knew exactly what he was doing in ordering Jonath’s body removed and having her rolled on to her face, as if she was disgusting and irrelevant. Nor, did it seem, was there much she would be able to do about it, other than to control her anger. She heard one of the men moving Jonath’s body, envisioning the filthy Merlarn dragging his beautiful body away by the heels, and closed her eyes against the hatred she felt rising up in her. She inhaled through her nose, carefully exhaling through her mouth, willing herself away from the emotions threatening to engulf her. She purposefully willed her consciousness away from the stone and sea and the men who had their hands on her. She refused to feel the feet two of the men put on her shoulder blades, anchoring her to the floor by holding her arms outstretched behind her. She refused to feel the flesh of the knees into which her face was shoved, the anointing oil strong in her nose. Paying close attention to the moisture-laden air – thick, still, with the scent of the vile havah weed – as she inhaled through her nose and then out again through her mouth, seeking to feel nothing but her breath, to know nothing but her breath, to be nothing but her breath as it came in through her nose and left her body through her mouth, one long breath at a time, she almost didn’t feel when the man kicked her legs apart. One breath. One breath. In, Drena told herself, inhaling deeply, knowing she couldn’t avoid the effects of the drugs and havah weed, but determined to do nothing more than breathe. She would live to see another day. She would live to breathe another breath. The rest of it was unimportant. Out, she repeated, exhaling purposefully, ignoring the feel of the man’s hands under her hips, lifting them so her ass was elevated. Nor did she fight against his signal that she remain with her buttocks raised. In, she told herself. Breathe life in.
She felt herself slipping away from the reality of the little stone room and let it go. She saw Jonath’s face in front of her, felt his arms embracing her. She felt the warmth of his tears on her lips as she kissed him and knew she must be dreaming. Breathe out, she reminded herself, let go of the pain. She’d never seen Jonath cry before. He was more beautiful than ever, his eyes were shining with great joy. She could feel the happiness rolling off of him as if it was a physical thing, and knew herself content. It didn’t matter if she was dreaming or drugged, as long as she had Jonath in her arms once more. She felt him embracing her. His arms, his lips, his breath. Then he drew her away from his body and she felt herself fight against his departure. As she gripped his arms tighter, she suddenly felt herself assaulted. She felt the man slam his cock into her, his hands gripping her shoulders hard, his nails biting into her flesh. Her body screamed against the intrusion.
In! she yelled at herself, focusing on taking one long, steady breath. The feel of the man inside of her faded, the rocking of her body as he thrust himself in and out of her wet, wet slit no more real than the childhood stories her mother once told her. As she exhaled, she forced her eyes and forehead to relax, forced her jaw muscles to slacken, accepting that her body must yield so she would live another day. She only vaguely felt the hard pinch the man delivered to her nipple, willing herself to bring Jonath’s face back into focus. What she saw, instead, was the hard lines of her brother’s face. The man standing in front of her wasn’t the older brother of her childhood years, nor the teenager of her memories when he’d left for his own Puj’hom ritual. Still, she recognized him, despite not having set eyes on him for six long years.
The skin around his eyes was creased, his eyes staring at her with great focus, as if he was squinting into the sun. He was grimacing and Drena could feel some kind of tension in him. She waited for him to speak; she could see he was trying to tell her something, but his focus was on her eyes. He was straining mightily against some unseen force, his lips curling and pressing together. She could feel his breath on her face, so close did he seem. He was breathing heavily, panting now. And yet, he still did not speak. She could see the urgency in his eyes. If there was some way he could speak to her, Drena knew Chared would do it. Suddenly he thrust his hand out to her, and in it was the knife the High Priest had made vanish from her grasp when she’d run at him, intent on his death. She felt a surge of excitement as she took the blade from Chared’s hand. Now she had a weapon to use against her assailants!
“No!” Chared yelled at her, his eyes wide. Whatever battled he was fighting to be with her in this vision was a terrible one. She could see him beginning to fade, his image giving ground to whatever forces were at play keeping him away from her. He didn’t want her to use the knife to kill the men who were with her body; that much she understood. Then what did he want her to do with it?
Chared closed his eyes momentarily, as if in silent gratitude to the gods for having answered his prayers, then swung himself away from her, revealing the body of Jonath laying still on the floor. Drena didn’t wait for Chared to point; she ran to her lover, feeling the stones scrape her knees as she dropped to the floor beside him. She felt a moment of panic when she felt her emotions welling up in her. She wanted to wail and cry and sing to the gods, asking them to take this good man into their keeping. But as she felt the tears sting behind her eyes, she felt the length of the man who was using her body thrust against her, causing her image to fall against Jonath’s body. She recoiled in horror at how cold he was already. If she didn’t hurry, she woul
d never be able to claim his water. Fighting the urge to give into the anger and outrage – and sorrow – she felt roiling inside her, she paused. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax. In, she commanded herself. She felt her physical body take the breath with her, felt the man’s hand wrapped in her hair, pulling her head back, felt the muscles of her neck stretching, felt the walls of her sex tighten around the shaft he was thrusting inside of her. Resisting the urge to open her eyes to see with her own eyes what was happening to her, Drena exhaled. Once more she inhaled, focusing her attention on the feel of Jonath’s flesh beneath her hands.
Exhaling, she opened her eyes and looked at the face of the man she had loved; would love until her dying breath. She leaned over and kissed his lips. “I will always be yours and yours alone, my love,” she whispered. Taking the knife into her left hand, she placed her right hand over his eyes, spoke the words of reclamation given to her people centuries before, and plunged the blade into his heart. Leaving the knife standing it the flesh of her lover, Drena quickly placed her mouth over Jonath’s, feeling his body spasm, then jerk. Suddenly she felt the gush of water she’d known to expect rising up from his body into her open mouth. It was warmer than she’d thought it would be, and tasted foul – almost as bad as the smell of urine from some beast or livestock, but one she couldn’t readily identify. Cupping her hands around his mouth, she let the life water of Jonath’s body flow into hers, not fighting the surge as it rushed into her. She wasn’t actually drinking it, she knew; there was some kind of magic involved. Still, she had to fight the urge not to gag.
That’s when she felt the hands of the man fucking her suddenly grab her hips and shove himself against her buttocks violently. Instead of the expected moan though, Drena heard him scream. The sound seemed to come from a long distance away, and yet it seemed to be close to her ear at the same time. She closed her eyes, feeling herself waver. She felt torn apart. She knew she was returning to her body and couldn’t help herself remain with Jonath as long as she couldn’t take another breath. If she pulled her mouth away from Jonath, the remaining water wouldn’t be reclaimed.
