“And what luscious fruits!” another swoons, cupping my left breast, rubbing my nipple with her thumb. I hiss, feeling hot tears burning my throat from the invasion that is even worse in some ways than Alden. “Lovely fruit for our Prophet.”
“These petals…”
I buck at the fingers sweeping along my labia, sinking into the heated wetness. Another peels back my outer lips to expose my clit.
“A pretty, plump pearl,” she gushes, bringing two wet fingers down to rub it.
“Oh, god!” A sob breaks from my throat.
Two women descend on each side of me, closing their lips around my nipples, sucking strong and flicking the stiff peaks.
I’m too distracted by them, I don’t see Hulda until her mouth is on mine, kissing me hard, forcing my lips open. She grips my cheeks, fingers burrowing to prevent me from biting.
And then…a hot tongue starts stroking my pussy. I startle, moaning into Hulda’s mouth. One part pleasure. One part agony. All parts shame. And mortification.
Long hair falls upon my chest.
The more I writhe, the more they squeal.
It’s too much. The feeling of all my smoldering heat as another wife laps at my entrance, dragging the flat of her tongue along my entrance. Hot fingers fill me, and I feel my juices trickling out against my will. The one at my clit flicks the nub, working it back and forth until the arousal surges through me in a powerful wave.
I go over the edge, the orgasm soaking me with liquid heat, my center pulsing around the woman’s three fingers. Humiliation floods my face with a red, hot blush.
The pleasure is nothing but hollow.
I sob into Hulda’s mouth as the delicate violation continues, each of the women taking turns. My breasts throb from the constant attention. They never tire. They never stop. A fever erupts through me, my vision dazed at the never-ending pleasure they force on me.
And I know why.
Breaking me down, love bombing me, building me up. Most of all, they’re wearing me out, so I can’t struggle or fight back when my ‘trial by fire’ comes. I also can’t fight back when they bring me to the large hot tub in the nearby bathroom where they wash me, bathing me in perfumes and oils.
They don’t stop tormenting me.
After I’m bathed, they bring me back to the bed with towels below me. More tears stream down my cheeks as they massage oil into every part of my skin like they’re anointing me. I gasp in pain when they slip oil into my inflamed pussy and my anus, stimulating the tender ring. All the mouths, the tongues, the hands…they seem to fuse into a great, feminine beast, determined to make me a part of them.
After more orgasms, they finally clothe me in a white transparent dress. Phoebe does my hair as she promised. I can barely stand, so they lift me. But as they begin to carry mepast the bed, I notice my leggings peeking out. I remember the arrowhead. With all the strength I can gather, I struggle and thrash, rejoicing when they lose their hold. I brace myself for the fall. Not wasting any time, I pretend to crawl under the bed for escape. Instead, I grab the arrowhead pin, grateful for the intricate braids where I manage to stash it right before they drag me out.
Now, I don’t struggle.
Whatever Alden does to me in this trial by fire—the electric shock, the brand, the blood—none of it matters. I have my weapon. And when he least expects it, I will plunge the arrowhead like a harpoon right into his neck.
I’ll soak in his blood.
And dance on his corpse.
I’m carriedinto the Circle.
I haven’t been here in years, but not much has changed. It’s still a stone amphitheater, filled to the brim with spectators. Most are male. The cross Alden referenced stands behind the altar for the maximum display.
I swallow hard, clinging to the cold kiss of the arrowhead in my hair. My last tether to my kings, my damned gods and monsters. I don’t lose hope. Even if it’s in vain, I can’t lose hope that I will see them again.
If they are truly dead…I have nothing to live for.
No, even if they’re gone, they would want me to get out and keep living. Except, I wouldn’t live. Not really. I wasn’t living before. I was just surviving. I didn’t truly live until I met them. Ididn’t go through that depth of pain and suffering—the Kinship bond—without it undoing and redoing me. I’ll never experience the gravity of worship they gave me. The healing through all the trauma.
It was raw. Real. Alive.
I was alive.
