The Choosing Ch. 02bydarcysweet©
I'd originally intended the story to be a stand alone, but on the urging of Gatorhermit and others I found more for the characters. This is a rough draft. I'm looking for opinions. It hasn't been beaten into submission by my Grammar Dominatrix Mistress Red Pen yet so please forgive my comma abuse. Please let me know what you think of where the story is going.
Alone. It had never bothered me before. My own company had been my comfort, the only constant in a life in which I had little control. Lonely, I'd never thought myself such. More solitary than lonely. But now, since Roth had left, I was lonely. Desperately lonely. The brief glimpse of belonging he'd shown me had so quickly decimated my solitary resolve.
I was lost with him gone; the thought seemed painfully wedged deep into my very soul. Like the talons of a vicious thorn it stabbed deeper with each breath. Outside the trees had just started to turn, showing the first subtle signs hearkening the start of an early autumn. From my high viewpoint I stared out the water stained window glass at one brown edged leaf, teetering on the edge of a fragile stem, willing it to fall to the ground.
So strange to feel such loss.
It pierced, the missing, hurting so much I was sure that it had physically manifested somehow. Scarred or marked me. I spread my fingers at the center of my chest and pressed into the center of the hurt. I had only known him twelve hours or so. How could it be that without him I was so lost?
After The Choosing he had taken me from the Great Hall up to my new lodgings. In his arms I lay as he swept me up spiral stone staircases, through heavy wooden doors his sure step echoing in the lamp lit corridors. He'd placed me on a bed.
Deep red velvet coverings beneath my naked skin, soft, but not as soft as his caress of his tongue as he lay sucking kisses down the length of my body. He'd fed me from his hand and I'd fed him, from the curve of my neck. At the memory my fingers flew to the slight mark that remained from his teeth. Five days ago now. Five days with not enough air, not enough warmth, not enough.... Him.
Loss, Echoing loss.
He'd left the morning after The Choosing. His last words to me, I will return. But when? Where had he gone? Why had he left me?
"Mistress Chosen, your bath is ready."
Looking away from the window I turned to see my maid Hatha at the doorway Her austere black uniform matched her countenance perfectly. She was as starched as the winged black cap that perched upon her head. I stood from the window seat and followed her into the bathing room that adjoined my suite. Inside the small marble lined chamber I lifted my arms and let her strip off my robe. The first time she had tried to undress me I had resisted. I was not used to the touch of others, especially for such intimate tasks. Ignoring my objections as if I had not uttered a word, she stripped me like a disobedient child. Since that moment I had acquiesced to her service of my body. It was easier than the humiliation of the futile struggle. Hatha's will was unyielding and irresistible, like a water shaping stone. Resistance was as futile as the shore line protesting the tide. In time, water and Hatha would always have their way.
I had come to learn that Chosen did not mean liberated. Selection did not entail me to any sort of free will. I was simply subject to a different set of rules under the watchful eye of Roth's servant Hatha rather than Bandar.
She guided me to the copper bathing tub. A week later I still sighed in pleasure at the sight of the steaming scented water. In the village a full immersion bath had been a weekly privilege. I was not yet used to the luxury of daily bathing.
She held my arm as I stepped into the tub. I no longer fought her for the wash rag; instead I submissively leant forward and waited for her touch. She cleaned my back first in gentle circles. Oddly it did not bother me to be touched so. Ordinarily I had flinched from such contact, now I arched into it as if asking for more. I sighed and sank back against the molded edge of the tub when Hatha had finished with my back, offering her easy access to my unwashed front. I wanted to again ask her where the Prince had gone but I knew she would not reply. Instead I tried another tactic, starting a conversation in the hope that the information I most craved might slip. "Tell me please Hatha, tell me of The Chosen."
She paused, her brow furrowing in concentration as if she weighed each word before speaking, "What do you already know of The Chosen?"
Yet again she answered my question with a question of her own. It was a particular skill of Hatha's that I found most frustrating.
"Different roles?" I asked, deliberately adding another question to the mix. I could have answered her, I knew The Chosen were the privileged servants of the Night Masters, the human arm imposing their will. I knew they had specific jobs, specialized tasks but I wanted to hear Hatha's explanation.
Hatha's hands moved to my chest, soapy fingers first holding the weight of my breasts and then moving to my puckered nipples. My mind fogged as pleasure seeped warm and intoxicating through my body. "The Chosen are all special, but in different ways. They all serve a different purpose. Each belongs to a different class."
I heard her words but it seemed as if they came through the filter of water. Waves of need rolled over me as her fingers continued to tease the hardened tips of my nipples.
"Each Chosen has a different role. You had Chosen in your village did you not?"
Her hands stilled on my breasts for a moment allowing me the thought to answer, "Yes, she was Nastacia Chosen. An advisor to my Uncle the mayor."
"She would be of the Political Class. They are selected for their skills in negotiation and legislation."
"What other classes of Chosen are there?"
Again the hands started to move. This time from the swell of my breasts down my stomach. It was hard to think while nimble fingers danced across slippery skin. I should have asked her to stop, but for some reason the very thought of losing her touch seemed painful.
"There are Selectors, Performers, Warriors, Artists, Teachers..."
I interrupted Hatha to whisper, "And Pleasure."
"Yes and Pleasure." A rare smile crossed her Hatha's face. Her square jawed look softening slightly. "That's what you are my sweet girl. You are of the Pleasure Class."
"I don't think I am."
I still questioned that I had been Chosen. Each day I waited for the announcement that they had made a mistake. I wondered if that was why he had left, if perhaps he had found me lacking.
Hatha paused her delicious stroking and said, "Do you not remember what happened in the in the Great Hall when you questioned your status?"
I nodded, burning with shame to remember the feeling of the brother's hard cock spanking my sex.
"Perhaps you need further convincing," Hatha said plunging her hand deep in the water to cup the aching mound between my legs. She squeezed hard, her fingers slipping inside the sweet entrance while the heel of her hand pushed down on the pubic bone.
She began to circle her hand, just like she had while soaping my back but this time pressing down upon the need that centered between my wet thighs. Soapy fingers lathered my sex. "Look at you arch into my hand. Your body knows. Knows what is has been created to do. You have been Chosen because it is your destiny. You will serve freely, give Pleasure gladly because without it you are nothing."
I wanted to protest, I'm not nothing. I wanted to ask more questions, why do I feel this way? To know more. But the insistent circling pressure of her hand drove those thoughts from my mind.
All I thought. All I wanted...was more.
I arched up out of the water, bowing my back and pushing my sex into her hand.
"The Masters who selected you know. They see all, they see down into your soul. You are made for Pleasure. You are desire. You are wanting. You are coming. Coming now." And as if I were but a mere puppet on Hatha's strings I came into her hand, my sex contracting and spurting out my wanton juices. She raised her palm slick with my release and brought it to her mouth. Closing her eyes she licked the palm as if it were ambrosia.
All thoughts all questions cleared from my mind. All I felt. All I thought was of the ache that centered between my thighs and spread in burning need across my skin. Once was not enough. I splayed my knees, pushing up my bottom into the hand that had stilled between my legs.
"Wanton," she murmured with an enigmatic smile.
I hated her even as my body pleaded for her touch. I hated the need I so desperately craved and the control that had been taken from me.
I did not beg, but I cried—whimpered like an animal in pain as I offered her my swollen sex to use. Abuse. I turned my head away so I could not see her knowing gaze as she brought her hand down to slap at my wet mound. Water sprayed up as her palm met my sex with sharp painful satisfying hits.
My thighs trembled with the effort of arching up to meet her hand. I pushed up on my feet, the edge of the tub digging into my straining neck as I levered my body out of the water. Closer to the slapping hand.
The slaps rained down, hard, hurting, fulfilling the need the gentle stroking hand had started. My thighs seized as the orgasm hit. My body jerked rigid as the waves of painful pleasure consumed me, until I was nothing but the pulse of cum that jetted from my sex.
Spent and ashamed I sank into the water letting my head fall back into the cooling liquid. I heard Hatha speaking but I did not raise my head, staying under the water until finally the burn of my lungs made me rise. As my eyes broke the surface I saw her. She stood before me, offering me a towel. I had once thought myself the master of calm façade, but I had met my match in Hatha. She showed nothing of we had just done. Of what she had just done to me. The only evidence lay in her slightly damp bodice. She stood like a submissive servant despite the way she just mastered me with her hand.
Coming quietly behind me she lay the soft towel across my shoulders and then placed her hands under my arms. She lifted me with ease. I could have struggled in protest, I wanted to, but my body was too spent to cooperate with my protesting pride. I came to my feet and allowed her to dress me. Bowing my head I offered her my arms like a compliant infant which she easily threaded into the sleeves of the light blue gown. Over the gown she strapped me into yet another tight corset. This one a dark blue. It pushed my breasts up until they plumped obscenely over the top. I did not protest as she pushed and pulled to create maximum cleavage, even though the sight of the heaving flesh filled me with disgust.
She sat me down with a push to my shoulder. She brushed my hair pulling it into a tight band and then weaving it into a long plait that she curled and pinned on my head.
I did nothing. Said nothing. Hating myself the whole time.
As soon as she left I released my hair, ripping it free of the tight band. Pins sprayed hitting the floor in a shower of sound. I paced. Striding back and forth until I felt I might explode. My chest fired with unspent fury.
I had to do something.
I opened the door to see the same two guards that had shadowed me since Roth's departure. I glared, they bowed and refused to meet my eyes.
"Stay where you are," I ordered replicating the memory of my cousin Bandar's snapping commands.
I strode off down the corridor. Their footfalls sounding heavily behind me. I picked up the pace, glancing over my shoulder to see them do the same. I ran. My light clothes and slender form escaped them with surprising ease. Weighed down by their heavy armor and weaponry they struggled to keep up with me. I darted through the corridors. Not sure where I was going. Anywhere. Just away. Away from them. From Hatha.
The Palace was a labyrinth of corridors and with no purpose I just took the first I saw. Up stairs. Down stairs. Left then right, then left again I ran until my lungs burned with the effort. It felt good to hurt with something other than the constant missing of him.
I rested against a wall, panting with my cheek pressed to the cool stone. Voices came from behind, they didn't sound like the guard but still I did not want to be caught by anyone. I went from door to door testing each handle until I found one unlocked. I fell inside the door closing it fast and resting my forehead against the wood. I turned fell back and deliberately let my head hit the wood with a thunk.
As I closed my eyes and pondered the thought I heard soft laughter. I jerked upright and opened my eyes.
At the window seat was a man. Long blonde hair moved in the breeze of the open window. My hair was blonde, but nowhere near the shade of this stunning man. He stood and my mouth fell open. Framed by the soft light of the window he seemed almost ethereal. A vision. He was tall, broad shouldered, lean rather than big and oh so beautiful. As he stepped closer I realized he was silver haired rather than blonde.
Transfixed by the hair my hand moved without conscious thought. Just before I touched him I realized what I was doing and withdrew it with a jerk.
"You can touch me," he murmured. A voice like Roth's, dark and sweet like rich bitter chocolate. His big hand encircled my wrist drawing my hand back up to his hair.
"Please," he said and removed his hand as if to give me the choice. That and his gentle plea made my decision. I splayed my fingers and drew them through the soft strands. Silken silver draped over my forearm as I brushed my hand through his long hair. I shivered in delight at the feeling.
He sighed, a slight sound of pure pleasure than made me look from his beautiful hair to his face. His eyes were closed, his lashes lay deep silver on his face. I wanted to touch them too. I released his hair and stroked my fingers across his cheek. He did not move, allowing me free access to his face with a trust that was intoxicating. I ran a thumb across the sharp edge of the cheek bone before bringing it up to smooth down his closed eye and across the silken lashes.
He sighed again. The sound shot through me in a flash of heat.
"You smell just as I knew you would. Incredible." He breathed in deep and leaned in closer.
"You know who I am?" I asked, surprised.
His eyes flashed open. Smoky blue irises circled in silver. "Of course. Roth's Chosen, Roth's prisoner."
Anger coursed quick and violent through me that he would dare criticize my Dark Prince. "Prisoner? I am here! Am I not?"
He did not laugh but amusement shone in his eyes. "Ahh, but to get here you escaped your guard. Did you not?"
I did not answer him instead asking curtly, "Who are you?"
He stepped back and swept into an elegant bow. "I am your friend Mistress Talia."
"My friends have names," I said, still angry at him for calling me Roth's prisoner.
"Do you wish to know my name Mistress Talia? If you demand it, know that it comes at great cost."
"The wrath of the Dark Prince."
"Roth does not want me to know you?" My tone softened as curiosity overcame anger.
He stepped forward again, sandwiching me to the door without contact. The heat of his body seemed to pulse over my skin leaving me yearning for his touch. "Do you think perhaps Mistress Talia that your Roth does not wish you to know not just me but anyone?"
I opened my mouth to protest but no words came.
"He keeps you locked in the tower does he not?"
"He is my Master," I whispered.
"I doubt you have any Master."
He brought his head down; his silken hair fell over my exposed cleavage. His mouth came close to the curve of my neck, at my pulse, but did not touch. I bowed my back, offering him my neck as I had Roth. I wanted him to bite me, pierce my skin, let my blood flow hot.
He did nothing other than breathe on my skin. The bite I craved did not come. I looked up at him and saw eyes shining black.
He was a Night Master.
His teeth had extended. He was old enough to bite, but not as old as Roth. I shivered, goose pimples shot across my skin. He raised a hand to run a tip across the sensitive bumps.
From behind the door came rough shouts and loud footsteps.
"They search for you now Mistress Talia. You should go." He pressed into my hand folded foolscap. I looked down.
"Read it later," he said as he stepped back.
I pressed the folded paper between my skin and the tight corset. He watched the movement with hungry eyes.
"Go," he said, his voice rough and low.
I brought my hand to the handle of the door started to turn it and paused. I looked over my shoulder. He'd gone back to sit at the window. "Will I see you again?" I called softly.
He smiled, "I hope so Mistress."
I opened the door and almost fell straight into the arms of my angry guard. I did not flinch from the guardsman's fury instead with haughty intent I commanded him to return me to my suite. As I followed the guard through winding corridors back to my chambers I realized I still did not know the Silver Master's name.
I waited for some time before I fished the paper from my corset. I did not know if they would take it from me but I felt that my guard and Hatha should not know what had happened.
The foolscap was half covered in a long line of ink drawings. Symbols. Some seemed to be flowers or vines, others like an ancient language.
Looping writing ran along the line of ink figures. It said, "Paint this on your left forearm. Copy the symbols exactly. Practice before marking your skin. They must match. You will be able to freely move about the Palace with this marking. Find the library, seek the key. You will find your answers."
Answers. Yes, I wanted answers.
* * * *
It was two days before I tried the symbols. Two more days before I had perfected them enough to attempt them on my skin. Hatha had given me the ink and paper without complaint or questions. I had feared asking. I told her that I wanted to write to my sister. At her easy answer I wondered if my fear came not of any truth but only because of the honeyed words of the Silver Master. Fear of his agenda made me uncertain of trying the symbols. In the end curiosity and boredom won over fear. I needed to do something other than wait for Roth. The more I waited the more I yearned. Hatha's daily bathing torture was wearing on my very soul. I both craved and feared her hand upon my sex. The orgasms that came with her vicious slaps were mere shadows of my time with Roth. I needed more. With each passing hour in the tower away from my Master I felt more prisoner than Chosen.
I painted the symbols down my forearm after Hatha had finished my morning bath and departed. I knew I would not see her again until the afternoon. If I was going to explore the time had to be now.
At the first symbol my skin began to tingle. By the time I had finished my sex was wet and my nipples had beaded into tight aching points. I did not question the power of what I had written on my arm, I felt it throb through my body, but I did wonder how it was to allow me to leave the room.
I opened the door to see my guard snap to attention. I stepped out into the corridor to hear their steady footfalls follow. So much for allowing me to leave, I thought with a sorrowful sigh. I turned back to the guards, "Please," I said, "Return to your posts and leave me be."
To my surprise they did. They turned on their heels and marched back into place at my door. I stood open mouthed. Were they under my command? Under the command of the symbols?