The Order Ch. 02

Author's note: Chapter one wasn't quite as well received as my other stories, but I already had this chapter well under way so I decided to finish it. I hadn't realized how short the first chapter was; this one is certainly longer with more story and more action. I hope you enjoy it. Like chapter one, it features themes of non-consensual sex. All characters are over age 18.

*****

Grip spotted it first. "Verhone, look. We can reach the gate before nightfall." The men halted, and Colm gratefully lowered the cart. His chest heaved with exertion. The road had climbed a ridge before dropping down toward the town, and from here the men had a decent vantage.

Despite its status as a provincial capital, Verhone struck Colm as a rather grimy spot. The town's imposing main gate remained in decent condition. The towers flanking either side still supported a functional barbican. The square just beyond also appeared in good condition, dominated by the Temple of the Order, and flanked by a few prosperous shops. But the town beyond seemed to lack life. The streets leading away from the square led down into an increasingly dim and squalid series of alleys. A haze of woodsmoke held close, especially in the lowest quarters near the dilapidated docks.

"I meant to ask you earlier," Colm started. "Back when I found you there, I thought you would curse me for not trying to help." Grip met his eyes, curious. "But you didn't. You stopped for some reason."

"Oh," Grip said simply, and for a moment Colm thought that was all the response he would get. "I was going to curse you. Curse at you, rather. Then I saw those." The older man's eyes strayed to Colm's neck. There, only partially hidden by several days' growth of beard were a series of scars, parallel, like claw marks. They reached from Colm's ear downward toward his chest. Grip couldn't see how far the scars went. "I'm not the only one who's run afoul of those witches."

Colm winced, and glanced about nervously. The term was forbidden. "Most think they're claw marks," Colm said. "Ask if I tussled with a bear."

"Bear'd a left you deader than the witches," the peddler snorted. "Listen Brother, I thank you for getting me here, but I think it's best we make our own way through the gate. The Temple of the Order is right there. That cunt isn't likely to spot me, but if she does and sees you helping me..."

Whether they would in fact reach Verhone had been unclear. Some of Grip's burns showed signs of healing, but the worst among them split and festered. He was moving ever more slowly. The man needed a healer.

"We'll head down together, but split before the gate."

Grip began to object but the younger man cut him short. "Please. On my own, and with no obvious business I would have been questioned. We'll split before the gate, no sooner."

The matter settled, they resumed their trek. As the road turned downward, Colm did his best to steady the cart pushing against him. "What will you do in Verhone," he asked?

"Sell this lot of junk if I can." He scanned the cart. "The books will sell, and some of the jewelry. But not all." The peddler stopped and held up a ring.

"I've... never seen one like that," Colm offered. It was the most polite thing he could think of to say. The ring appeared to be made up of some sort of metal, but it had no shine. Rather it looked to be the color of mud. One side was wider than the other, and it seemed to lay limp in Grip's hand as if it had grown tired of being a ring and wanted only to return to the earth. It was perhaps the ugliest piece of jewelry he had ever seen.

"Because it's junk. It doesn't seem to fit anyone either. Try." Grip dropped the ring into Colm's hand.

Obligingly, Colm slid the ring on. It was just too large for his ring finger, and just as soft as it looked. When pressed, it would flatten somewhat. Colm tried it on his index finger.

"It's too big for me."

"Not just you. Anyone. I met a fellow thick as an ox, fingers like sausages. Ring slid right off him. Can't tell if it's meant for a giant, or just poorly made."

Colm extended his hand to return the ring. "Keep it," Grip insisted. "You can't say I gave you nothing for your help. Perhaps it will bring you luck, like it did me," he said with a wry grimace.

***

The Ceremony over, the members of the Order spilled out into the gardens behind the Hall of Fertility. Many had already paired off and made their way toward the sleeping quarters. Others, less patient, found secluded corners of the gardens and started to make out. All were energized and aroused by the spectacle they had just witnessed.

A cluster gathered near a fountain in the center of the gardens. Here, a few younger Adepts for whom the Ceremony had been a first spoke in hushed tones. "... the size, I didn't expect...", "How did she manage?" and "... hurt her, but then..." One, an excitable, petite blonde which the other Adepts had nicknamed Feather said "You all saw it, right? The light went out of her eyes. I thought she had died!"

The others scoffed, but none could refute her. When Cairin had climaxed, all had seen her go limp. Even her bracelet, which had been practically burning with a warm glow, had gone dark. "Did that happen last time?"

"It happens every time."

Cairin herself had slipped up to the girls, unnoticed. Her hair was in wild disarray, and her eyes still bright with excitement. She wasn't particularly tall, but with her lean body and proud bearing she seemed to dominate the circle of girls. They pressed around her.

"Our Queen taught me all before the Ceremony. When a woman is joined with the Degraded, both are filled with great pleasure." Cairin closed her eyes, smiling at the memory. A small shudder ran through her.

"And pleasure is power," Feather added. She gazed toward Cairin with something near worship in her cornflower blue eyes.

"Yes, Feather." Cairin pulled her close. "But the Lady tests us. She gives our power to the Degraded. It is difficult to describe," she said, grasping for the right words. "It was as if all of me flowed down into him until I was empty. The brute got not only my strength, but also my will."

"But now..." Feather said. She seemed particularly affected by the retelling.

Cairin stroked Feather's hair comfortingly. "The Lady tests not only us. The Degraded held all of my power, but was not worthy. When the Lady returned it to me, she granted me the man's strength as well. It was like... burning on the inside. Burning but not burnt. Look." Her bracelet was alight with fire.

***

Only the chained man detracted from the festive atmosphere in the square. As twilight turned to night, merchants had lit torches to continue selling their wares. A troupe of musicians played whatever the crowd gathered around demanded, and passed a hat. Someone was roasting a pig.

Colm walked into the scene eyes cast down, hoping not to attract notice. The main square was a place for members of the Order, wealthy matriarchs and their servants, and vendors of finery. Any man not lugging parcels for his mistress or playing the pipes didn't belong. He pushed forward, still hopeful that he could reach the Lodge of the Brotherhood before curfew.

The sight at the center of the square stopped Colm in his tracks. A man sat slumped forward on the dirt of the square, naked. He had a squat build, thick with muscle and traced with more than a few scars. Chains ran from his wrists to a stake driven into the packed earth. The bonds seemed unnecessary to Colm. The man looked dazed and weak.

"E's from the Temple." This from a bearer who appeared at Colm's side. The man lowered his burden of wine crates with a relieved groan. "Dragged 'im out here maybe half hour ago. Do it every time they have one of their ceremonies," he added.

"Why chain him? Doesn't look likely to flee."

"Eh? Oh, just makin' a point I guess. He'll eventually recover his strength. Not his wits, mind you." The man didn't seem particularly troubled by the scene. "By tomorrow the poor sot will be another of the Broken."

The Broken were essentially slaves to the Order, their wits dulled by various degrees. They cleaned and maintained the temple grounds, hauled goods, tended beasts, guarded stores, and in a few cases performed domestic duties. Some seemed utterly witless, others merely dim.

The chained man seemed to have just enough strength to raise his head. He looked vacantly around the square, baffled by the bustling scene. None paid him any heed.

The bearer, having caught his own breath, picked his crates up and with a nod to Colm set off. He had an oak leaf stitched on his tunic. Such a sigil identified the house he served, and would grant him limited freedom to move about the town. Colm had no such liberty. He needed to find the Lodge.

***

Arm in arm, Cairin led Feather off toward the sleeping quarters as the other girls looked on in envy. One girl, a redhead a touch taller than the rest seemed particularly incensed. "I put my tongue right in her mouth during the ceremony," she muttered. "Would have put it elsewhere, too."

"Erynn, you know she liked Feather," offered another girl. Mora was curvier than most of the other adepts. Tonight, as was often the case, several of the buttons on her bodice had popped open exposing deep cleavage. "Anyway, let them go. We can have our own fun with this."

The two others leaned in to see what Mora had in her hand - a bottle of silvery potion. "I nicked it after the ceremony."

"Oh Mora", Erynn gasped. "You're not to have that. Only the Queen and the First Princesses are allowed!"

Mora rolled her eyes. "Do you see them? They're already off in their private quarters sipping wine. We have all night."

"And we don't need wine". The third girl pulled aside her cape to reveal a flask at her hip. Not wine, but a much more potent spirit. Phaedra was the slightest of the three with a willowy figure, small breasts, and delicate limbs.

"I had no idea you two were so naughty," Erynn said, but her disapproval was quickly fading. "I want a taste."

"Get it then," Phaedra dared, taking a sip from the flask but holding the liquid in her mouth. Erynn hesitated.

"I'll taste you." Mora leaned in to offer Phaedra an open mouth. Their lips met eagerly, but while the two shared the liquor a trickle escaped down Mora's chin. This time, Erynn didn't miss her chance. She darted in and licked the stingingly powerful spirit from Mora's neck. Their eyes met with a mischievous wink before all three burst into giggles.

"All we need now," said Erynn "is a toy."

***

If the ring had ever held the power to bring luck, it must long since have faded.

Colm successfully avoided notice as he slunk from the square down a lane next to the Temple of the Order. If he could make it a few blocks off of the square he could safely ask after the Lodge. But, as he neared the end of the lane he found his path blocked.

Three Adepts of the Order burst from a gate. They were giggling and loud from drink, dressed in ceremonial robes, but with buttons open to show smooth, youthful skin. One, a slender girl with green eyes spotted Colm and tugged on her Sister's robe. All three stumbled to a halt, staring in near-disbelief. Someone dropped a flask.

"Well, that was easy," said the tallest one flatly. "It's almost like the Lady..."

"Toy!" shrieked another, a curvy lass who looked from under a mane of black curls.

"Toy," agreed the first girl, looking Colm up and down with a twist of a smile.

Colm cursed inwardly. Any of the three could bind him, torture him, or worse. He'd have to talk his way free.

"I meant not to bother ye," he said, lowering his eyes. He bowed clumsily and took a step back. "The Lady guide you..."

"The Lady guided you to us." the tall one cut him off sharply. "And you'll not speak of her!" Of the three she seemed to have the most authority, the haughtiest bearing.

"I beg your forgiveness." Colm tried an even deeper bow and took another step backward.

"Oh, stay a minute", said the slender one sweetly. She had retrieved the flask and now took a long taste. "Ooooh", she shuddered. "I'm Phaedra, but you can call me... Phaedra," she said, bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Whose service are you in?" While Phaedra had taken his attention the curvy one circled him. Her hands boldly explored his body, reaching from his back, forward and across his lean abdomen then down, brushing his organ through his trousers.

"He's in our service, Mora," said the tall one. "Bring him." And with that she spun and strode back through the gate to the Temple grounds.

Panic welled up in Colm. Men used for sport by the Order didn't return, or came back as one of the Broken, spiritless and empty. He couldn't let himself be taken.

Quickly as he could, Colm twisted past Mora and plunged back up the alley. He partly stumbled, but recovered his balance and accelerated. Ahead was the square he had just left, still thronged with late night revelers and merchants. If he could reach it...

Something grabbed Colm by his left shoulder, pulling at him. He struggled to escape the spell, leaning forward and bending at the knees as if pulling a wagon. For a moment he made progress, and might have escaped but for another invisible hand that grabbed him around his arms and chest. Colm resisted desperately for a moment before collapsing to his knees, winded and panting.

"You've made me get dust on my cloak," said Phaedra. Both she and Mora had caught up with him. "The Lady doesn't like that." Her left hand she held steady, maintaining the binding spell which gripped Colm. With her right she slapped him. "Up!" she demanded.

Colm barely felt the slap, coming as it did from a girl of such slight build. But as Phaedra stepped back the binding spell began to tighten and burn. He stood, hoping to forestall any further torment. The binding spell locked his arms in place, but he could walk. He tensed himself for a lunge. If he could knock Phaedra down he would interrupt the spell.

But why? Colm tried to remember why he wanted to harm Phaedra. She was his friend. She was smiling at him now, and winking at his other friend, Mora. Both of the girls were so nice, although he couldn't remember exactly why he thought that. Hadn't Phaedra just slapped him? Perhaps he had fallen asleep and she needed to take him up. He did feel a bit sleepy.

"Come along boy," Mora said as she sauntered off toward the gate. Colm flickered between feelings of a powerful kinship with Mora, and growing appreciation for her charms. The girl was gifted not only with full breasts, but also a heart-shaped behind, emphasized by the tight skirt she wore. Colm followed eagerly, transfixed.

The trio passed through the same gate that the Adepts has emerged from just a few minutes before. The Temple grounds were verdant and welcoming, lighted by oil lamps. Unlike the dusty alley, the paths here were smooth with flagstones and crushed gravel. The sounds of a fountain reached them.

Colm, still enveloped in a sense of warmth and belonging allowed himself to be led toward the back of the gardens and into a building with a familiar, earthy smell. The stables were sprawling and open, with more than a few empty stalls. A few of the Temple mounts looked up briefly before losing interest.

Erryn waited for them by a thick oak pole near the almost cathedral-like center of the stables. She held a long, folded strip of leather in one hand, restlessly slapping it against the palm of her other hand. She had removed her ceremonial garb in favor of a riding skirt and bodice. She had rolled up the hem of the skirt above her knees.

"Trousers off," she said.

Colm complied happily, unfastening the string which passed for a belt and letting his trousers fall to the ground. His organ seemed to share his relaxed mood, lying softly but somewhat engorged against his thigh. Erryn kept a neutral expression but Mora whistled.

"Get him over here," Erryn said, and the two of them steered him to stand with his back to the smooth pole. Behind them, Phaedra had picked up Colm's trousers and began to inspect the meager contents of his pockets.

Erryn and Mora expertly bound their victim. Wrists first, with his hands behind the pole, then a tight strap around his waist. Finally, straps pulling his ankles to either side, keeping his legs slightly spread. Once they checked their work, Mora stopped the spell that pacified the wretch.

"What in the name of the Lady is this?" Phaedra had found Colm's ring and was holding it in her palm. Erryn and Mora stepped forward to inspect it.

Colm's head began to clear. As it did, his sense of kinship and belonging with the Adepts melted away. In its place grew the sickening realization that he had been led here to be tormented and possibly killed. He tested his bonds, but the tough leather straps were drawn tight.

Phaedra still held the ring. "Is this yours? It's really, really... ugly," she finished, giggling at her own joke.

Mora snorted. "He should wear it," she suggested. "Allow me."

More plucked the ring from Phaedra's palm, circled behind Colm, and slid it on his finger. As before, the limp mesh of the thing refused to hold, and he felt the ring slip off.

Phaedra giggled again. "Oh, it's too big for the little guy," she snickered. "Put it on his cock."

Erryn, seemingly bored, moved to interject. But, before she could stop the other girls' game Mora slid the ring past the head of Colm's limp organ and up to the base of his shaft. As before, the metal weave was plenty wide to fit over his flesh. She gave his cock a playful squeeze and let go.

Colm expected the ring to slip loose but to his surprise it stayed in place. The metal, whatever it was, felt unnaturally cold. And was it his imagination or had the color began to lighten a bit?

"Take that silly thing off," Erryn said, her frustration growing.

Mora pouted but tugged on the ring, then again a bit harder. "It's stuck," she said.

"Lady's mercy," Erryn groaned. The Adept grasped the ring herself and gave a merciless yank. Colm's torso jerked forward as much as the leather binding would allow, but the ring stayed in place. It was as if it was connected not to Colm's organ, but to a much deeper place. It didn't even hurt. Erryn cursed again.

"Leave it," Phaedra urged. "Let's do him now!"

"Okay," agreed Erryn. "But, we're going to need that potion." Once the pacification spell had subsided Colm's organ had retreated, as small as when he bathed in a cold stream.

Mora knelt before him, tossing the unruly curls over her shoulder. Looking up at him with her large brown eyes she unbuttoned her bodice slowly. Her heavy breasts fell into view, and with a mischievous smile she squeezed them together before letting them drop again. Still maintaining eye contact, she licked her lips.

Few women had ever given Colm more than a passing glance. Certainly none so beautiful had ever stared at him as lustfully as Mora did now. But Colm felt nothing but fear, and his organ showed no response.

Mora shrugged. "Shame," she said. "Thought maybe you were a real man. No matter, I'll still get what I want." And with this she produced a potion bottle filled with a silvery liquid. She removed the cork, and while cupping Colm's shy organ in one hand poured one drop of potion onto the shaft.

Colm jerked involuntarily as the potion made contact. His skin seemed to soak up the potion instantly and a tingling sensation shot through his shaft to his balls. Almost immediately his organ began to thicken. As it swelled and lengthened, it twisted to one side to lay against his thigh. The veins became more prominent and the head swelled. Finally, as it became stiffer the shaft popped up until it pointed like an angry spear at Mora.

"Fuck," said Mora. "Fuck".

Phaedra had stopped giggling.