Goldenrod Sequel Ch. 02

I woke in the usual place at the appropriate time.

I swept the temple at nine o'clock in the morning. The wind had scattered leaves in the courtyard. They needed to be cleared before Miranda returned. Thinking of a movie I'd once watched, I wished I could have made the brooms work for me. I wasn't able to remember the title of the film, nor who I saw it with. Even my name was a mystery to me.

At ten I filled the basins with hot water for the women. They bathed. Walking naked, they took no notice of me. I felt there was something else I should remember; the effect they once would have had on me. Something made me think of my broom, and I went to the courtyard. It had already been swept. Eleven o'clock came. I prepared the meals.

From noon until two, some of the students were meditating. I washed the floors on the far side of the building. Priestesses came and went on business. Three o'clock came, and I did their laundry.

I remembered Miranda questioning me, when I arrived, conferring with some of the others in a study, and then dismissing me. In my quarters were a cot, a pot, and a candle with matches. There was hay scattered on the floor.

When the bell chimed five times, the ladies filed past me in procession to the assembly. After the meeting, they dispersed. I performed the duties. As I slept, I saw a door opening onto a garden party, and about that I told no one.

Shadows danced on a wall. They may have been leaves in the wind. Possibly someone was walking near me.

"Your mind is restored."

I was looking down at a broom I'd been using, wearing a heavy robe and sandals. The person who'd spoken was Miranda. The room was hers, I realized. I blinked suddenly.

"How long have I been here?"

"Why ask? You won't know in a few hours." I sulked, and she smiled. "Three months."

"Won't someone miss me?"

"You've insured they won't."

"I have?"

"You wrote them, and told them not to worry." I couldn't recollect it.

"What do you... What can I do for you?" She was leaning against a bureau with her arms crossed, in black dress shirt and pants. On her feet were wood/hemp flip-flops.

"Remove your garment."

We undressed together. I stood behind her as she waited for me to secure the horizontal strap of her harness, which bore a gray, five-inch rod. My eyes studied her expensive haircut while the buckle jingled. When it was tight, she faced me, and I took a dollop of clear gel from the bottle on her nightstand to lubricate her. She watched my hands. How much she resembled a young man, I thought, observing the symmetry of our profiles.

In a flood of returning emotions were memories of my time there: the pretense which had lured me into her trap, that I might do something to protect Sarah; my seduction by Miranda, how she pushed my face to her crotch; the moment of first penetration by her phallus, the acquisition of control over me it afforded; the times she'd used me for pleasure, my occupations on the grounds. When I had sated her again, my consciousness would be numbed, and all that knowledge would disappear.

She turned me by my arms to see my back, and stepped to it like a pinball player. The latex rocked between my cheeks. Her small breasts brushed my skin, and I shivered. Jumping as the tip found its target, I blocked its movement with my hands, but the whisper came, "Relax," and I grabbed the edge of the table in front of me, leaning forward slightly. My hips were grasped as the rod was coaxed in, producing a groan. Her lesser height demanded an upward trajectory, realized as slow, sensual grinds. Moments later her right hand grasped my shoulder, and I was bent double across the wooden surface before me. In a caress of my trunk, she brought her hand to my waist, and my torso lurched with patiently delivered jolts from her hungrily surging hips.

Preparing to use force, she reestablished her grip on my clavicle. Up, with her tongue behind her bottom teeth, mouth open; up, letting gravity slowly lower her after each thrust; up, head bowed; up, ass jiggling in the leather V atop her long thighs; up, sighing hard after every sting. Insisting without anger, exerting without intention; she seized my pelvis and repeatedly whipped her hips to me, her elbows flying back as I was drawn onto the tool. Of every three seconds, two she spent recovering and preparing, the third was spent invading. Her back stiffened to let her loom higher, causing the dick to run too deep, and I stood vertical, too. Adapting instantly, she transferred her grip to my throat; sucking greedily at my jawline, stabbing yet more sharply on third beats. I desperately petted her head with my left hand. Shock waves that were intensified by our new proximity cast the arm dangling helplessly. As I was overwhelmed my head rolled back to brush hers. Delirious, I cried out and tore at a strap to emasculate her. "Man up," she spat. A thin left arm crossed mine, and the insides of its outstretched fingers caught the front of my thigh, better allowing her to gauge her target. The rhythm persisted.

Each contortion of her muscles matched a drop in my strength. She kept the fingers of her right hand stiff over my collarbone, thumb on my neck, leaving space in her palm for my reactions to her onslaught. Listening to her high grunts, I knew the terrible power of a boy's lustful focus. Her hot mouth was brought intimately to me on each wave generated by the strikes from below, but she stayed grounded enough to restore my posture with her guiding hand in the moments after impacts. Eventually I collapsed on the desk. Realizing I was exhausted, she exhaled sharply through her nose and pulled my wrist until I dropped to her feet.

Climax came when I sat on her dick, with her laying on the rug. Her hands crept behind my shoulders from below, and once they were clamped she pulled me down, down, down, in time with launches by her crunching abdomen of the missile into me, until I was stunned to helplessness from within. She laughed, and when it was obvious I would come, her stare burned into my eyes.

"Release the fertilizing essence," she ordered. I wailed and decorated her midsection, my cock slapping the mess until she stopped manipulating me. She brought her fingertips to my knees, and scooped them up. I fell back between her legs, which she instantly withdrew so she could stand.

"You know only your duties," she said absently, and strode out of the room in nothing but her spartan footwear, at which point I resumed the role of court jester.

I woke up the next day in the usual place at the appropriate time. I had dreamed about the door that led to freedom, but it was still a secret. I swept the temple, filled the baths, and washed the floors. Sunlight played with clouds on the wall.

"Your mind is restored."

My head rose as though I had heard someone speak, but no one was there. It was in the courtyard.

"I am here. Look to see me." I twisted to find the source of the voice, and frowned at what I saw. In the space occupied by a statue long removed, legs dangling from a recess in the wall, sat someone in a black tennis outfit- polo shirt, short skirt, tights and sneakers- that resembled a sort of tunic worn in the medieval period. Her short hair was hazel, the outlines of her eyes were extremely dark, and the irises of them flat pink. The canine teeth in her half-grin were tiny fangs.

"Who are you?" She slid to a standing pose beside me, more languidly than was possible.

"My given name no longer applies. I am what is known as a revenant." After quickly checking that the sun was out, I turned back to her. "No image nor shadow do I cast. In life I practiced magical arts. To dwell amidst the carnal lights of imagination eternally is prescribed for me."

"What do you want?" Smiling was her first response.

"To free you from this temple, to help you fulfill your destiny, and to destroy this Order."

"Oh. That's it?"

"I was once a servant of their Goddess, and her consort. The teachings of this place originate thousands of years ago, in Phoenicia, at the beginning of a previous cycle." I shook my head.

"I don't believe in gods and goddesses, or magic, or you."

"You have been subject to their power for some time, now," she said, casting her eyes momentarily at the inner archway, "and you are speaking with me. If you prefer, conceive it as the incursion to your reality by an extra-dimensional entity." Her vocabulary drew a grin from me.

"The energy comes from an alien?"

"Essentially, but a symbiotic one aligned so flawlessly with humanity that the difference between them is negligible. For centuries alchemists have described this state of being with the symbol of a rebis. It was the Golden Lotus they envisioned."

"She's a flower, too?" Now, I was chuckling. The visitor lowered her head and began to amble around me.

"Even deities are bound to time, in a respect. The metaphor of a blossom is apt. For millennia she has budded, and only recently bloomed. That occurred when her human lover, a former... acquaintance of mine, unwittingly performed a series of ritual keys. Following their resultant mating, he ascended to a level of existence at which mental and physical things are equally real. It is only through his aura that you can perceive me, and I could free you from slavery."

"Thank you." She stopped to face me.

"You're welcome. The moment has come for this group's run to seed. You may be instrumental in that course, if you wish."

"I want to find my friend. These women want to destroy her."

"Sarah, of whom you speak, is renegade. Heretics such as she were once my sworn enemy as an officer of this sect. In her death spasms, the current incarnation of this Goddess has put them to rout. Where once were wisdom and love, an Inquisition has grown up around the shift of power." She looked at the stones beneath us. "It is a tragedy."

"What can I do?" Her dead eyes were raised to mine.

"As I indicated, the Flower is hermaphroditic. Being a deity, she is composed on Earth of her believers. With the advantage of my unique perspective I have discovered her members here bear stamens, whereas the outcasts carry pistils. Though each side desires supremacy, neither can exist without the other. You have already been pollinated, so to speak; rather prodigiously, as luck would have it; by Miranda."

"Wait, are you saying she shot some spores into me, while she was fucking me up the ass?"

"The reagent is memetic, like the trials that were completed by the Goddess' partner. Typically, the opposing forces in this conflict guard their spoils very jealously, but being her chosen one, he was able to touch both of her natures. By joining with Sarah, you may now accomplish a similar feat."

"So, I'm a favorite of some divine being..." The laughter which met my musing was less than cordial.

"Ah, sorry. No," she said, and composed herself. "I confess, it was I who inspired Celeste to draw you into our Mysteries. Consciously, she believed she was leaving a distraction in her wake to confuse her pursuers. Knowing Miranda wouldn't be able to refuse a chance to conquer some of the enemy's territory, I saw you as the perfect pawn. Please don't be upset." In truth I'd been put to harder use recently, and couldn't be sore about it.

"Well, if they're on different teams and they've both fucked me, shouldn't the seed be fertilized?"

"No, the ordeals must be undertaken in order. Remember, sequence is a factor. Celeste could not be quickened by you, because you carried no gamete. Miranda merely deposited some, which you may transport. Now, you must bring it to the waiting recipient."

"Sarah." She nodded. "What happens?"

"The pistils are many, but also one. If any is energized, all will be, and the balance of this battle will shift, again. It is necessary for both the Flower, and the safety of your world, that this be done."

"And us?"

"You will be transformed, as my friend was. Sarah, and those like her, will become something more." She gave me some time to digest this.

"Alright. I'll do it." She smiled.

"Good. I warn you, there is danger. Once your absence is discovered, you will be hunted, and I shouldn't have to tell you the adversary is formidable."

"I don't care." The specter nodded.

"Your courage will be enough. Go, with my blessing."

"Come with me." She stopped walking back to the wall, to look over her shoulder.

"My days on this plane are finished. Unite the warring. Set right the world."

She moved toward the brick barrier as if falling in slow motion, and vanished.

I will, I vowed silently.

I retrieved my clothes from the closet in my cell, and put them on. As usual no one paid any heed as I moved through the hallways. The gate breached, and having no idea which way to go next, I hoped for murmurs from the dead to guide me.

****

"Mistress?" The maid brandished his discarded robe and sandals.

Miranda turned to her from between two brazen pots burning with logs, the sole light in the crypt. She wore only a tight pair of black jeans. After seeing the evidence, the woman walked to the end of the long chamber, with her servant following.

"There is more afoot here than I first suspected," she said, thin legs folding and unfolding beneath the straight spine as she climbed a stone staircase. "Our enemies are cunning." From a phylactery of horn, the priestess drew an idol. "I will not underestimate them again." The serving girl knelt beside her and joined the bands on the crusader's clothed hips, which held the artifact in place. When she saw it the girl raised her hands to her face, and fell backward on the floor, weeping profusely.

The eyes of the vengeful witch burned no less intensely than the inferno reflected about her by the golden relic. "Mark my words, the final conflict will be mine."

TO BE CONCLUDED...