Rites of Pleasure

There is a darkness that lives inside me. It calls, and I live to answer its call. I honor the darkness. I nurture it. I feed it with shadows and pleasures, offerings of delight. It is a divine darkness. It shimmers and twists this way and that, like black velvet. I lift my head when it calls to me. I lift my hands to the starlit sky to say:

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

-From the Leharian Book of Prayers

ONE: QUITE THE WELCOMING PARTY

Finley was primarily worried that the young women at this haughty masquerade party would look at him and somehow know he was a virgin. It wasn't that he was ashamed (he'd been working through his issues with a book called 'Self-Compassion for the Adventurer: Whether Or Not You've Slain A Dragon, You Can Slay Self-Doubt!') ... but the yoke of shame aside, he was incredibly ready to get laid.

He wasn't sure how he'd gotten an invitation to this fancy place. The invitation had been written in shimmering red ink on ominous black paper, which made it exceedingly difficult to read, and when he saw the address, he was shocked. That area, called 'Fair Lot Avenue,' of the ancient kingdom of Artilis, was famous for its excess and beauty, parlor parties, and costumes. Finley was just a humble farmer's son, barely past twenty-three, trying to make his way in the adventuring business. Nonetheless, the invite promised many a beautiful young maiden to entertain. So, Finley had donned his best-embroidered vest, splashed on some cologne, and made his way up to Fair Lot.

Once he'd arrived, he hadn't even noticed the distinctly odd look about the place. It wasn't entirely on the main stretch of shops and markets -- no, this was a few streets removed, and he'd had to jump over a few dirty puddles to find the front door. He'd done so with zest in his step, urged on by the promise of willing young ladies.

The building had once been a bustling hotel with plenty of happy patrons, but those days had passed. Dim candelabras, flickering with ominous flames and copious skeins of gauzy red fabric, tried to hide moth-eaten couches and corners of the room where someone had swept up all manners of filth and then given up. Any onlooker with half a brain cell would know something was amiss before they even stepped in the front door. Finley, promising himself that this would be the night, barely even grimaced when he caught the smell of citronella and something akin to the sickly sweet aroma of rotting flowers when he crossed the threshold. He wasn't here to judge the hosts; he reminded himself. He was here to find an enthusiastic young woman to fuck into next week.

"Welcome to the mansion," a stuffy butler with an owl mask said, taking Finley's coat. Finley thanked the man and then quickly draped his stripe of fabric across his face: a painstakingly detailed seagull's beak complete with a smattering of sequins. He knew that a seagull wasn't the most dignified animal, but his attempts at crafting a raven's mask were snuffed out when he discovered he was out of black paint.

As he tied it behind his head, he caught the eye of a woman who seemed to be watching him. She wore a glittering black fox mask flecked with silvery white stars that complimented her wild dark hair. But she slipped into the shadows as soon as he made eye contact.

"Feel free to mingle and enjoy the fare," said the stuffy butler.

"I didn't even know there was going to be food," said Finley, who had utterly lost his appetite as the smell of citronella and rotting flowers lingered.

"Oh... yes," the butler mused. "All manners of appetites will be sated this evening."

"Thank you," Finley managed, walking down the hall searching for the woman in the fox mask.

In the main dining room, the walls were covered in red symbols.

Finley was taken aback, but only for a moment. He commented to the gent on his left (in a feathery dog mask),

"These new interior decorators are getting quite imaginative, aren't they?" The man sniffed indignantly at Finley and then hurried away. "Was it something I said...?" Finley asked.

His eyes finally landed on the meal for the evening, and any remaining confidence that this would be a good night shriveled up. The chef had roasted a goose with generous heaps of stuffing and loads of crispy, buttery potatoes. Or at least, Finley assumed that's what the dish had once been. He clicked his tongue in disappointment as his stomach growled.

"As I'm sure you know," came a sultry voice behind him, "There are other appetites to be sated at a party like this."

Finley whirled around to see the woman in the black fox mask. She seemed to be smirking up at him through her mask, and Finley felt that she knew something he didn't. He couldn't imagine what it was, so he offered her his most winning smile. Before he could get a word out, she said,

"Would you care to accompany me to the reading room? I was the one that invited you."

Finley swallowed hard. He knew what this meant. All the creepy signs around the house had just been false, and he was 100% about to get to know her intimately.

"Uh. Yeah. Sure," Finley said. The woman gripped his hand and led him away from the dining room with the bones of the goose on display, through the hallway with the peeling wallpaper, past a room where mysterious creaking was heard, all the way to the back of the house where a small library packed with ancient books awaited them.

Finally free of the smell of citronella and rotting flowers, this room smelled of dust and books, which was much more comforting. Finley nervously walked about the room as the woman checked the doors to make sure they had some privacy. Then she threw off her mask and declared,

"It is I, Priestess of the Order of Lehara, summoner of the wraith goddess! It is I, the dread witch Mor, and I have come to conquer you."

TWO: THE MASK COMES OFF

Finley had heard of the Order of Lehara. They were mainly considered nutty but harmless because they only had to offer a sacrifice to Lehara, the wraith goddess, every year.

As the witch Mor glared at him with an inhuman hunger, Finley suddenly wished he'd paid closer attention to his history teachers in school. He was sure they'd have explained this particular Order in detail and when the yearly expiration date would be due.

"Um. Congratulations," Finley managed as he backed up towards the door. "Good luck with your search. Wow, that sounds... yeah, that sounds tricky! I hope you find what you're looking for, ha, ha! Human sacrifice sounds like a tough business...."

He jiggled the doorknob and found it was locked.

Blast.

"We don't sacrifice humans," Mor scoffed at Finley, "Not all rites are paid in blood. Some are paid in... other currencies."

"Yeah, like I said, that -- whew, that sounds like a hard task for you to deal with," he said, trying the door again.

"Some rites are paid in... pleasure," Mor said.

Finley paused and looked back over at Mor. The room was dark, but he could see the outline of her buxom shape in the full moonlight. The glow spilled in through the windows and illuminated her from behind, causing the tiny gems in her hair to sparkle.

He could see the silhouette of her jaw and nose -- a young, pretty, heart-shaped face -- and he could also see that the jaw was determined.

"What do you mean?" he asked, telling himself he wasn't considering it.

"Lehara demands a virgin every year," Mor said, choosing her words carefully and slowly, "Because she wants to experience the pleasures of the flesh with someone new. She wants to learn and to teach, to feel and to be felt. It is not a soul or a blood rite that she demands. It is an experience. Someone young and inexperienced, someone eager and thrilled, someone enthusiastic and virile."

"Uh," Finley managed. "But she's still a demon, though, so...."

"Lehara is not a demon. She is a wraith," Mor said disdainfully, "And as such, her power does not necessitate that we make this sacrifice. Demons make deals, but wraiths are much more lenient. We can still channel her and her strength without ever going to the temple. It is just that... well... some of us would like to experience her as much as she would like to experience us."

"...what are you suggesting?" Finley asked, his eyes darting up and down Mor's body.

As if his body knew he was in no immediate danger, he could feel relief and a newfound lust co-mingling in his blood.

"Oh, you are quite dense. I invited you here. The meeting is our monthly celebration, but I was the one who put the net out for you to swim into! I am suggesting that you take the trip with me to the Temple of Shia'sa, and that we summon Lehara."

"Summon Lehara," Finley echoed, "So I can give her my virginity...?"

"Yes. I'd give her my virginity, but that ship set sail long ago."

"Ah. I see," Finley said, suddenly feeling faint. "And all of this... the party, the literal writing on the wall... that was all to lure me in? To make me feel welcome so I would hear your offer out?"

"Yes. We all were assigned to find virgins that might be interested in the Rite, but only a few of us succeeded in finding them... even fewer found virgins that were interested... and when they heard the consequence of such a Rite was, they all dropped out. All but you, which is why -- "

"What's that?"

"Hmm?" Mor played dumb.

"The last part. What's the consequence of performing this Rite of Pleasure?"

"You will be marked," Mor said simply. "Everyone that sees you will know that you did it."

"...marked?"

"Yes. It's like a tattoo. It will spread across your collarbones and down your chest. It's different every year -- consider it a limited edition design, but it's not for everyone. It also would give you an extremely long life. She wants to be sure you're taken care of."

"Does it... hurt to be marked like that?"

"Hm. We Leharians find some things painful that others consider pleasurable, and some things pleasurable that others consider painful... but she would only mark you after she gets what she wants."

"And what does she want?"

"As I said, it's about the experience. She wants to experience sensual pleasure with you, with someone who has never had it that way before."

"So, let me get this straight," Finley said, putting his hands on his hips. "You want me to drop everything and head to Shia'Sa temple to offer my virginity up to a wraith goddess I've never heard of before so that she can come down from the clouds... or up from the ashes, or whatever... and fuck me. Then, afterward, while we're supposed to be cuddling, she will tattoo me on the neck so that everyone who sees me knows she got to me first. She sounds like a crazy, kinky dominatrix with a thing for younger guys."

"Well... I mean... yes," Mor said. Then she sighed. "Alright. I'll return to the dining room and tell them you declined the offer. I understand, of course. We wouldn't want you to -- "

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa," Finley said, positing himself between Mor and the closed door. "You've got me all wrong, Mor." Her name rolled off his tongue like a purr as he smirked at her. "This sounds like a real adventure, the kind I've been looking for. There's no way I'd pass up an offer this sweet. Where do I sign?"

"Really? You'll do it?" Mor asked, her eyes glittering darkly in the moonlight. She gripped his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Everything will be taken care of on the way there. It's a three-day journey, and we'll be staying in the finest hotels... eating at the finest restaurants... since I'm the one who chose you and got you to come along, I'll be the one by your side throughout the trip. You won't have to worry. I'll make sure your every need is attended to. Well." she glanced down briefly, "Not every need. Not until we get there. But after that, I swear to you, Finley, you'll have it made. Oh, I could just kiss you! I think I will!"

She placed a quick, gentle kiss on his lips and then pulled away. Dazed, he looked down at her with a hunger he hadn't known he had. She was giggling excitedly and rubbing his shoulders, unaware of the effect she'd had on him. Then she looked up at him and saw the wolfish look in his eyes.

"Um. Yes. So. We should probably get back to the party," she muttered, brushing past him and opening the door. It had been unlocked the whole time... it was a push, not a pull... Finley cursed at himself.

THREE: ON THE ROAD

Mor and Finley were assigned to a carriage together. The party had been shabby and downright creepy, but the accommodations for travel were entirely different. The carriages were old and creaky, but they were clean. Finley noted with some relief that they smelled of lemon and pine instead of the rotten flowers he'd associated with the old hotel.

In the light of day on their first leg of travel, Finley finally got a good look at Mor. She was, in short, all boisterous curves and curls: her body seemed to vibrate and bounce with excitement and joy at every word that she spoke. She was naturally theatrical, and her enormously curly hair also bounced and fluttered about whenever she raised her voice to exclaim at something they passed -- "Look, a lake!" "Look, a cow!" "Look, a tree!" -- which was often.

Finley could easily see how Mor had amassed many lovers in her years. She masked any insecurity with a theatrical bravado that bordered on melodrama. It was delightful.

She wore all black, like the rest of the Leharians, and the Gothic jewelry that he'd come to associate with priestesses or sorceresses. Still, her personality was different than that of the others. The others seemed to believe the depressing words they recited over every meal. Mor viewed it all as a performance and a joyously macabre one at that. The head Leharian blessed their carriages in the morning, and Mor had shouted,

"Hear, hear!" before climbing aboard.

As the carriage clattered along, Finley was lost in thoughts of desire. He imagined Mor's other lovers ravishing her -- perhaps on a Leharian altar, or in a cemetery, or some different Gothic setting. He found himself gripped with a fit of strange jealousy, even though they'd only just met.

"Do I have something on my face?" Mor asked.

"No, why?" Finley said.

"You're staring at me," Mor laughed.

"Oh. Sorry. Just -- "

"You don't have to apologize," Mor said with an easy shrug. "I know I gave you a lot to think about. You probably have a lot of questions for me, right?"

"How old are you?" Finley blurted out.

"I am 26," Mor said primly. "And I meant, you probably have many questions for me about the Rite. But sure, you can ask me whatever you want."

"How long have you been a Leharian?" he asked.

"Just a few years," she said. "I have never been to the Rite before, but I've been to Shia'Sa in the off-season. It's lovely; you'll like it a lot."

"Hm." Finley wasn't sure that Mor's idea of 'lovely' would coincide with his, but he'd come this far and wasn't going to back out now. "So," he said, the gears in his head clicking in thought, "I am the first virgin you've offered to Lehara?"

"Yes!" Mor squealed in excitement. "Our order will be so thrilled to have you. As I said, we've booked only the finest hotels and restaurants... it will be lovely. Well." she sobered as if trying to tamp down her excitement again like the others in the Order, "Sorry. It won't be lovely. It will fit for our mission."

"You don't have to be sorry. You're allowed to say it will be lovely," Finley said with a shrug. "So... why did you join the Order?"

"I was betrothed," Mor said, "And he was awful. He was about a hundred years older than me, mean as a scorpion, and he loved to yell. But in my village, he was respected. So I knew I'd need a good reason if I turned down his offer. I couldn't very well become a nun. I'm too horny for that. So the alternative that made sense was to become a Leharian."

"Oh... I'm sorry," Finley said, searching for the right words.

"You don't have to be sorry. You're allowed to say, 'he sounds like a prick,'" Mor said with a laugh.

"Well then, he sounds like a prick," Finley laughed.

The carriage hit a sudden bump, and Mor was thrust forward, practically into Finley's lap. She grabbed him to steady herself, and for a moment, he could feel every curve of her body pressed against his. He inhaled sharply, but that only made it worse -- she smelled of sweet vanilla and buttercream, and the combination made him dizzy with desire. She looked up at him, her mouth in a pout.

"Um," she managed. "Sorry. I'll let go now."

She didn't move, her body pressed against his. He felt a familiar rush as she finally readjusted, her heavy skirts warm against his legs. Her fingertips brushed against his sleeves. He felt a delicious warmth pool in his belly, but he only had a moment to linger. She sat back, blushing furiously, her eyes glittering darkly. He wondered if she felt the same heady desire for him that he felt for her.

But of course not, he told himself. He wasn't on this mission for some petty priestess -- he was on this mission for Lehara, wraith goddess, who would no doubt serve his every desire. He only hoped he could please her.

When they arrived at the hotel, it was every bit the foreboding masterpiece that Finley had anticipated, with dark turrets included. He was torn when he found out that he and Mor would be sharing a room and even more torn when he discovered their room only had one bed. Mor tried to assure him that this was the honeymoon suite for a bargain price, that Leharians were not used to such extravagance, and that it would not bother her to sleep on the floor.

"Don't be ridiculous," Finley said, "Of course, we will sleep in the bed together. I'm not going to try anything, and I know you will not try anything because we both need my virginity intact."

Mor shrugged and rushed to dinner, trying to hide the pink blush creeping up her neck. Luckily, the hotel supplied the food, and it was hot and savory: Finley's memory of the half-eaten goose was almost gone.

Almost.

As he and Mor prepared for bed, Mor hummed a low ditty to herself before she slipped out of the bathroom and peered down at Finley. She was entirely naked, and Finley's mouth dropped open.

"You're... you're not wearing any clothes," he said dumbly.

"This is how I sleep," she said with an easy shrug.

"And is this how you would sleep if you slept on the floor?!" Finley asked indignantly.

"This is how I sleep," she repeated, cocking her head.

He gazed at her, unable to look away. The sight of her was magnificent in the candlelight: every curve was soft and feminine, every curl of her glorious mane of hair twisted and bounced as she sauntered towards him. Her breasts swayed as she bent to blow out the candle. It struck Finley that this was a performance as much as anything else she did. Still, she seemed to be an expert at every little movement; her eyes flicked up to him at the last second as her lips puckered around the breath it would take to extinguish the candlelight.

"Wait," he said, unable to stop himself.

"Yes, Finley?" she breathed.

"Slowly," he said.

She grinned lasciviously as she slowly cupped the flame and sensuously blew it out, leaving them both in cool, blue darkness. She slipped beneath the covers and drifted her fingertips over his shoulder before murmuring,

"Goodnight." Within a few minutes, her breathing evened out, and she fell asleep.

Finley couldn't even doze.

FOUR: ON THE ROAD, AGAIN

The next day passed much the same. Finley was frustrated to the point of near bursting when evening came, and Mor insisted that this large king-sized bed would be suited to both of them.

"You were such a good boy last night!" she cooed, "I slept like an angel."

"That makes one of us," Finley muttered.

"What?"

"...What?"

By the third day of travel, Finley was so incredibly horny that he had become irritable and desperate. He felt that Shia'Sa could not come quickly enough. He was also beginning to think Mor was warming him up for Lehara, like some sort of steak that needed to be tenderized before it was browned in butter.