Mine to command. Your place to serve.
The hands beneath her departed and cold, unyielding stone met her back. There were faces all around, strange yet familiar.
Seton was near and one of the women was moving before him, passing a blade high across his chest. A dark trickle ran down.
Blood?
Her own beat fast in her veins.
The woman pressed her lips there, licking, leaving a smear of red across her mouth. She drew her finger through the crimson, then marked a shape upon Seton’s forehead.
The scarab again!
Once more, the woman ran her finger where she’d made her cut, then turned towards Onora.
It was none other than Madame Auvray wielding the dagger. Onora tried to scream, to move her limbs, to lash out; neither her body nor voice responded.
Give yourself to me, without question.
Bracing herself for the sting of the blade, Onora squeezed shut her eyes, but there was no slicing pain; only the warmth of the woman’s body above hers, and the press of a finger to her brow.
Onora’s pulse pounded, even as she felt Madame Auvray withdraw. As the chanting grew louder and the beat of the drum faster, she made herself look. Over and again, the Frenchwoman repeated the ritual, smearing Seton’s blood upon each person’s forehead, forming the shape of the scarab.
All at once, with a great flourish, Seton turned towards the terrible looming statue, and raised his arms. His shout rang out. “DivineQadesh, hear me! True embodiment of the ecstatic and enraged, you summoned us. We are your acolytes, your willing servants. Accept the offering of our bodies and fill us with the force of your sacred ecstasy.”
To Onora’s disbelief, Seton threw off the wrap about his waist. He stood utterly naked, his phallus jutting.
This can’t be happening. It can’t!
Onora blinked, trying to compel herself awake.
The women clustered around, pressing their lips to his skin, kissing him in every intimate place, moving their hands across his body. It was both repugnant and fascinating. Two of the women were behind and, she would swear, were intruding between his buttocks.
It was impossible to reconcile what she was seeing with what she knew. One of the women took Seton fully into her mouth, while he placed a hand upon her head, encouraging with a guttural groan.
See what can be yours! The flesh is transient, but ecstasy is divine!
I don’t want this!
Onora’s protest rung loudly in her head, but she knew it was hopeless.
The men stood aside, continuing the beat of the drum, and their endless chanting, hailing the goddess.
“I am ready!” Seton’s shout rang out. “Ready to honor the goddess!” He raised up the women. “Handmaidens, you have the honor of anointing our high priestess. Prepare her for initiation!”
Onora fought again to move, terrified of what was in store for her. Her limbs were heavy, though she was coming back to herself, little by little, her fingers and toes starting to respond.
Seton stood by her feet, while Madame Auvray and Maria placed themselves either side of her head.
To her mortification, the women slipped the gown from her shoulders, baring her to the waist. They passed a pot between them filled with some sweet-smelling oil, and then their hands were uponher—caressing with the slippery substance, kneading the soft flesh of her breasts.
Onora looked pleadingly at Seton, but he did nothing to intervene. Rather, his face was filled with lust. Every eye was upon her, watching her humiliation. Worst of all, as the women drew scissored fingers back and forth across her nipples, the peaks engorged, making it plain for all to see that her body was responding.
Seton raised the hem of her gown, his hands gathering the flimsy fabric as he exposed her calves.
No! I can’t bear it!
Onora squirmed, resisting, but as he reached her inner thigh, she was overtaken by a rush of desire. Whatever drug he’d forced upon her, it was surely altering her mind, making her yearn to submit.
