The Choosing

I was afraid, so afraid that it was lust.

The woman at his feet spread her legs wide, splaying her knees and pushing up her buttocks. I could see between her legs. I could see the open pink wetness of her sex. As I watched I had forgotten the Chosen woman. I had forgotten that she was watching me. I remembered as she pushed into my back, her breasts flattening against me and her hips jutting into my buttocks.

"Watch," she whispered in my ear with her painfully seductive voice.

The woman on her knees rocked back, the rounded white curve of her bottom hypnotizing. I could not look away. Right in front of me, right before my eyes she unlaced the Chosen male's fly and released his erect shaft.

I was no virgin. I had carefully chosen lovers from the meager offerings of the Village. Those I could control, men who would not want more from me than I would give. I did not seek them for my own pleasure—fortunate because I had found none. I did it more to spite my Uncle and cousin than to slake my own desire. I had seen an erect penis—several in fact—but I had never seen the likes of which now jutted high and erect from the Chosen male's lap. Proud and plum tipped it was more than two hand span, I knew this because the kneeling woman had both her hands around the shaft. I realized I was open mouthed when I heard him chuckle. He pushed the kneeling woman's head aside and with the hand not gripped in her hair gestured to his cock.

I quickly closed my mouth and shook my head. He laughed again.

Sliding further down the chair he spread his legs wider. With a rough tug on the kneeling woman's hair he brought her so that she straddled his right calf. She was up on her haunches with her knees splayed wide. He pulled back her long bangs, as if to give me a better view of her mouth descending on his cock. He was seated a good twenty feet away, but it felt as though he were only inches away as I watched her take him in her lips. She moaned, groaned as if it were her greatest pleasure to suck his shaft deep into her throat. As she sucked she arched into his leg, grinding her naked sex upon his shin. He closed his eyes a moment and let his head fall back until it rested against the high wooden back of the chair.

"Yes. Yes," he murmured in a deep seductive tone. The bronze strands of the window coverings seemed to resonate with his murmurings. They sang in a deep vibrating hum that rolled across my body. The sound tightened my nipples and wet my sex. It took all my will not to cry out at the feeling that pulsed between my legs.

I watched and just as I became comfortable with the lewd sight before me it changed. As if he knew that I was no longer shocked. As if he understood that this were not enough to rock me, he suddenly changed it all.

He kicked forth his leg, ungracefully dismounting the sucking woman. She fell back onto her bottom and looked up at him in delirious expectation. Her lips were wet and swollen. He raised his hand to her and she came forth on all fours between his legs with her bottom facing him. She looked up, her eyes pointing right at me.

I was watching her face when the first slap hit. While others may have heard the sharp noise, or seen his hand hit the rounded flesh of her buttocks, I saw it in the rapturous expression of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, her teeth sank into her lip, her cheeks flushed and she moaned. Moaned at the feeling of his hand hitting her.

I had seen many a raised hand in my life. In anger, in frustration, even in boredom, but I had never seen it in lust. I had never known that it could be this way. My hips rocked of their own accord—in time with his slapping hand—as if my body had somehow disconnected from my mind. I was now wet down to my thighs, the thin fabric of my drawers stuck to my skin.

The woman on all fours rocked to meet his slapping palm. She threw her head back and gasped with each contact. His cock bobbed with each hit, sometimes bumping the rosy slapped skin of her bottom. I was suddenly overcome by an urge to see him erupt on that spanked pink curve. To watch his seed spurt.

As if he knew. As if he could see into my very soul he ceased his slapping looked up at me and smiled. Then his hand wrapped around his shaft, his thumb slipping across the plump wet head. He stroked down slowly his eyes on me. He nodded once again I didn't know why until I felt the Chosen woman's hand come around my body and slip down my bodice. Cool air hit my bared breasts and I realized that she had somehow cut open my gown. I was standing half naked with my drawers—sheer with wetness—stuck to the lips of my sex.

My breasts hung heavy, my nipples pearled tight, throbbing with the need to be touched. The hand that had sliced open my bodice came up to cup my breast. She squeezed hard, rougher than anyone had ever touched me before. Her fingers dug into the soft flesh, her finger tips finding my nipple, squeezing in time with his stroking hand.

Up and down he pulled on his shaft. It seemed bigger, longer, harder than before and then suddenly it erupted, pouring out jets of milky white cum across the pink curve of the kneeling woman's arse.

The fingers on my nipples squeezed tight, past the point of pain into an indescribable pleasure--a piercing feeling of need that shot through my body and exploded between my legs. Clenching, gushing wet surges of pleasure gripped my sex. I bucked, held up only by the Chosen woman who hooked her hands beneath my arms. When the spasms finally ceased I looked down to see what had happened. My drawers were completely wet, stuck to my body from knee to thigh as if I had wet myself.

Shame coursed through my body and chuckles filled the room in stereo. From behind and in front the deep humming laughter came.

I looked down, afraid to meet the eyes of the Candidates around me who had witnessed my shame.

"Look up," the Chosen woman commanded and despite my will not to I followed her order. She waved her hand at the other Candidates and barked out an order. "Bow down. All will kneel."

She stripped the torn gown off my shoulders and then as she had before she somehow sliced through the seams of my drawers. They peeled away, falling slowly from my damp skin to the floor. I was naked other than my knee stockings and boots which the Chosen woman ordered the nearest Candidate to remove. It was the blond girl, the one in shimmering silver who had danced. She knelt at my feet and I briefly met her eyes. Her cheeks stained red with embarrassment and she looked away. She uncurled my stockings from my legs and removed my boots without looking at me again.

"Come to me." He curled his fingers, beckoning me forward.

I didn't want to go. I didn't want to walk naked in front of all the other Candidates. I wanted to crawl up in a ball, cover myself and hide.

Despite my internal protest my body moved forward. My limbs slow and heavy as if moving through a snow drift. The ribbon bound woman had moved back between his legs, curling up like a favored pet.

Exposed, I stood before him, one step away. Naked in front of strangers, my mind rebelled but my body did nothing. I should have quaked with fear. I should have trembled before those who controlled my destiny, but I didn't. Instead I throbbed. My hips rocking forward of their own accord, my sex wet once more.

A hand came to rest on my lower back. The Chosen woman had her hand right on the curve where my back met my bottom. The same fingers that had been so brutal on my nipple moved in slow soft circles caressing me gently. The hand slipped down over the curve, her fingers searching between. In the crease of my arse they pushed, spreading and probing, brushing over the pucker of my asshole before plunging into the wet heat of my sex. I cried out, part in pleasure and part in shock.

"Finally," she whispered, her sweet breath warming the shell of my ear, "I've been waiting to hear your cries."

"Me too sister," the Chosen man said from his seat and I wondered how he could have heard her soft whisper.

I felt the vibration of the Chosen woman's chuckle as her fingers slipped in the sticky residue of my shameful sex. I bit the inside of my mouth and even more wetness dripped as her fingers played between my swollen lips. She plucked at my center, fingering my clitoris. It built so quickly, the vibrating need that had overcome me before.

No.

I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

I had too.

I tensed, rocking my wet sex into her hand, accepting the inevitable, giving over to the feeling when she stopped. I felt both relief and frustration as she removed her hand from between my legs. Those feelings quickly turned to shame as she brought the dripping hand up and presented it to her brother.

"Look at this," she said as she turned her fingers back and forth, showing the dripping residue of my shame.

The man stepped up from his chair and came forward, his erect penis bobbing with each step. The ribbon bound woman followed on her knees as if connected by an unseen chain. She curled again at his feet and mine.

"Do it," he said and then to my surprise he pushed away the ribbon bound woman and crouched at my feet, his face level with my naked sex.

Do what?

Before I could ask out loud the Chosen woman brought her hand back between my legs. This time she did not just plunge them into my vagina, this time she brought her other hand around my waist and started to rub at my mound. She circled her fingers around at first creating a sweet building ache that had me pushing back on the fingers resting deep inside my sex.

And then....Then...

Then when I thought I understood, when she thought I knew the plan. It changed. The soft circling caress became slaps. Tapping, stinging beats against my mound and the resting fingers became pistons, pushing, thrusting deep inside me.

"Yes. Yes." I heard the Chosen man at my feet say. I looked down, down at the hand that slapped my mound and at the face of the Chosen man who peered intently at my dripping sex.

The shame. The burning shame of them looking at my wicked sex. Of the plunging fingers and the slapping hand. I could take no more.

No more.

And it happened. I clenched. Arched my hips and exploded, spurting clear hot liquid shame across the Chosen man's face. I cried, as I never had, not for my Father not for my Uncle and not for Bandar. I cried racking sobs of humiliation as I continued to spurt out my orgasm.

Wrong. So wrong. How could it feel this good? How could shame and pleasure be so intertwined?

I slumped against the Chosen woman. Resigned, I let my weight fall back on her as I recovered. The room was silent other than the broken pant of my breath. My heart pounded, my limbs were heavy as if sliding in quicksand.

One word broke me from my fugue. Spoken by the Chosen man, still at my feet. He said, "Again."

I didn't quite understand until the fingers started up again, thrusting and slapping. This time he stood, moving in close until his hardness was pressed up against my belly and the hand that was between my thighs. He took the nipple of my left breast between his fingers and pinched. Hard.

"Do it. Do it again," he commanded and on the strength of his voice and the feeling of his pinching fingers I again spurted out my orgasm. This time across the thighs of his black pants.

They both stepped back from me at the same time. As if it was a dance. As if it was rehearsed. I had trouble standing, my legs shaking in the aftermath. I wrapped my arms around my waist and gripped tight.

The air from the hall blew cool on my wet thighs. I didn't dare look around, not wanting to see the other Candidate's response to my repeated disgraceful act. I looked down at the ground, there was a wet spot at my feet. Further evidence of my shame. Of my breaking.

The warmth of the Chosen woman returned at my back and I turned my head, looking over my shoulder to see what she was doing. She stroked her fingers across my shoulder and then gripped my chin, forcing my head back to look at her brother. When she had me positioned where she wanted, her hand moved down to stroke the side of my breast.

She spoke, not to me but to him, "After all this time. Could it be, brother? Should we summon him?"

"Not yet. Not without tasting."

I couldn't follow their words. I didn't understand what they were saying. Call who? Not a Master. Please not a Night Master.

The hand that had been stroking my breast came up to my neck. It was then that I realized how she had removed my clothes. Her thumbnail was long and razor sharp. She pushed it against my pulse until I felt the skin break with a pop. I felt shock more than pain as a trickle of warm blood trailed down my neck. She moved around in front of me, she opened her mouth, her lips pulling back. Her canine teeth extended, not into the fang-like extensions I had seen in the painted icons of the Night Masters but still long enough for me to know that she was not human.

Not human. Not Chosen.

With fangs she had to be a Master of some kind.

I shook. Uncontrollably, my body finally overtaken by fear. A thin stream of blood ran from the cut she had made. It came down my neck and ran down the curve of my breast until it dripped from my nipple.

"Gorgeous," the woman I had thought to be Chosen said. I did not know what to call her now. I had no words. She brought a finger forward and swiped it across my bloody nipple until it was coated in my blood. She sucked it into her mouth and moaned. At the noise the room seemed to vibrate. The fine bronze metal that covered the windows thrummed. Singing in a low-pitched chant.

From all around me I heard the gasps and sighs of the other Candidates. Curious, I looked back to see them still kneeling, some with their backs obviously bowed in pleasure. When I looked back the brother had come to stand before me. I didn't even hear him move, his speed, his stealth, it was clearly inhuman.

"Clear the hall," he said to his sister. She clapped her hands and I heard shuffling behind me as the Candidates rose up from their knees. I did not look back as they left. I kept my eyes on him, like prey watching the predator.

His lips pulled back as he gazed at the blood dripping from my nipple. His jaw jutted forward, the muscles of his neck bulged and his canines descended into long sharp points. Longer than his sister.

"Show off," his sister said leaning into him and stroking a fingertip across one pointed canine. "He's older," she said, answering my obvious confusion, "I'm too young to bite, that's why I have this." She waved the sharpened thumbnail in my stricken vision but I did not look. I kept my eyes fixed on his teeth.

I braced for his bite—my body tensing in fear—but instead came his tongue. It lapped warm and rough across my nipple and through the fear again came the rush of desire. He moaned, rich and deep. It too made the hanging metal sing. He sucked and licked until his head was forcibly pulled back by his sister.

He hissed at his sister, turning back with fangs extended and his eyes filled black like polished onyx. I stepped back as he fought her hold on his head trying to get to me.

"Calm brother. Think!" She tugged hard on his shoulder length black hair. The pain must have helped clear his desire because his eyes went from shining black to a cloudy dark grey and then finally to a clear blue grey. "This is not ours. She does not belong to us. You know that! What would he do if you took first bite of his Chosen?"

He brought his hand up and gently stroked his fingers across his sister's fist which gripped his hair. "You're right sister dear. I momentarily lost my mind." She released his hair and he stood tall beside her draping an arm across her shoulders.

Chosen? Me? And who did they speak of? Who did I belong to?

Before I could ask the gong sounded, shattering my thoughts. The noise filled the Great Hall, bouncing off the walls and singing through the bronze window coverings. I stepped forward until I came up against the wooden chair. I gripped the high back, my knuckles whitening as the sound grew louder and louder. I knew it could not protect me but I wanted something solid in my hand. Something that was real.

The sound surged loud and strong; so real, so intense I could almost see it as it left the room through the wide open doors. The noise rolled in a continuous loop, never-ending, never losing intensity. I looked over to the gong to see who was hitting it over and over. There was no one.

It only stopped when he entered.

Everything stopped. The brother and sister fell to their knees, dropping their heads low to the ground in abject subjugation. I stood. Afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Only when my lungs began to burn did I realize that I had not taken a breath since he entered the room.

Night Master Roth. The Dark Prince of Pleasure.

I knew who he was because I had seen his icon. It was brought out once a year. Other Master icons were displayed at every festival; some remained on constant display in the Night Temple. Not Roth. His image was deemed too strong, too intense to risk

everyday exposure. His icon was reserved only for the Midwinter Solstice. It was a dark tapestry of precious stones, inlaid with rubies, onyx and platinum. The Chosen Temple Priest brought it forth to bestow virility on the men. While women were present at the unveiling they were strongly encouraged to avert their eyes. I never had. When told not to look I always did. Never overtly—I hid my curiosity behind my cool façade—but I always looked.

Standing before me, he seemed somehow smaller than I had imagined. His clothes, while very fine, looked as if they had been borrowed. They hung off his frame. He was large, virile and strong looking but he gave the impression of somehow being less than he once was, as if he had lost much of his bulk.

I did not realize how long I had been openly assessing him until I looked up and met his gaze. He seemed bemused at my appraisal. He did not smile but at the corner of his mouth there seemed to hide a hint of a smirk.

"This one?" he asked and I gasped at the sound of his voice. It vibrated through me as if I were a string he had just plucked. The amusement was gone; as he looked me over I wondered if I had seen it at all. His black gaze burnt cold like the bite of a wicked winter wind. I was grateful for the chair that came between us. I leaned into it, gripping my flimsy shield.

He asked again louder this time, "This one?"

The brother stood up, his erect cock bobbing out from the open placket of his breeches. He answered the Dark Prince but I did not hear what he said. I could not hear over the rush of blood in my head and the surge of adrenalin through my veins. I had to stop this. I had to stop this now.

"I'm not," I said quietly at first and then after I cleared my throat I said it again, this time louder, "I'm not."

"Not what?" the Dark Prince asked taking a step towards me. "Not mine?"

"No Sire," I answered with my head reverently bowed, "I am most humbly yours Dark Prince, as is every subject of Vandarra, but...I do not think that I am what you seek."

"Really? And what do you know of what I seek?" The seductive menace of his tone struck me, hitting deep in my sex.

"I know nothing Sire. Nothing. I am nothing special. Ask Sire. Please ask. Around Hawthorne Shire they will tell you I am not suited to the Dark Prince of Pleasure."

He did not look at me, instead turning to the brother. "Is what she speaks the truth? Is she nothing special?"

"If I may Prince Roth?" The sister spoke, coming off her knees at the Dark Prince's nod.

"She hid well Sire. She is adept at hiding. She shields her true form, but when she is tested she reveals herself."

What do I reveal? What self is there hidden? I felt a surge of unaccustomed anger at her words.