Talla's Fallen Temple Ch. 11

What could he do? Had it been his fault or hers? Maybe he was only deluding himself that she had moved. Perhaps it had been he? No. Couldn't have been. He was rock solid and perfectly aware of everything his body did. Seizing had done that much for him. Carrying magic from one place to another always did.

It had been her. But were the women who policed such things likely to believe that? Or would they prefer to believe that it had been he who had made the error?

Best to go on. Pretend it hadn't happened. The Sorceress seemed to want to do exactly that.

To anyone watching, a tiny hiccup might have been noted. No more than the little jolt that occurred when he had Seized.

But really, he'd just been Served -- sort of -- by a Sorceress. Maybe Served was the wrong word. That usually meant a mesh and an orgasm, didn't it? Maybe 'had sex with'? Fucked?

No point thinking about it.

He went on with the ritual, carefully reaming her opening without pushing inside.

"You're ready," she said.

The change in her tone was considerable. He might have expected ice, since things had gone wrong. Instead, she was out of breath, almost desperately warm. That was quite reassuring. She seemed content to ignore the fact that she'd enveloped him, however briefly.

Was it to much to hope that she hadn't noticed? It seemed ridiculous. Certainly that ring of muscle had to be at least as sensitive as the ridge that had passed through it.

Irrelevant.

Go on.

He straightened up, pulling away from the strange woman and turned toward the Virgin opposite, swinging his eyes and his manhood past the audience. They had told him to always do it that way, to face the open Chamber when he turned. It would be rude, they said, to turn his back to his superiors.

As he looked up, he saw the hundreds of women gathered there, stretching up into the darkness. They wore all manner of clothing, as if they were going out to Serve instead of spending the night inside the Temple.

His eyes strained to see farther up, where the darkness was even too much for him to make out the faces of the girls in white who were consigned to the rear most seats.

Past those girls, in some sort of viewing box, sat the strangest woman he'd ever seen. Zhair'lo's eye met the woman's eyes and she blinked, sending blue sparks off her eyelashes. The sparks twinkled down her face, the flesh of which reflected their light in a golden hue.

Talla's knowledge, embedded in his brain, was enough to identify the woman.

The Goddess.

Here, watching him, from a private box that -- in all likelihood -- allowed no one but he to see her.

This was more than he really wanted to deal with right now, so he scrubbed his brain and tried to ignore the whole thing, concentrating instead on the girl in front of him, the one who spread her legs as he approached.

He appreciated the kindness of the people of Sweetness then, as they had made the awkward 'walking with an erection' phase of the ritual shorter than any other Division. It was only a few short steps before he found himself leaning his thighs comfortably against the second marble altar.

The girl before him looked up and blinked at him, long eyelashes twinkling in the firelight.

"Hi," she whispered, her voice barely more than a gentle breeze through a field of wheat.

"Hi," he said. Putting as much reassurance as he could into his voice, he added, "It'll be alright."

Her lips squeezed shut for a moment as she looked around nervously. The firelight caught her eyes when she turned her gaze to the side. They were a very pale brown, gone nearly clear, the like of which he had never seen. Her skin, even in the weak torchlight, was the colour of a coffee that had been lightly touched with milk.

When she handed him the chalice, she pursed her lips in a way that accentuated her high cheekbones.

"Which one are you?" she whispered again in that faint voice.

"Zhair'lo," he said. "What's your name?"

"V'shika."

That was all that was said for a while, as the girl busied herself smothering her bare mound -- inside and out -- with Synergist. It was nothing compared to the overwhelming effect the Sorceress's ministrations had had on him. Zhair'lo found himself able to calmly examine the jittery girl in front of him, even as she penetrated herself very slowly with one of her fingers.

Something about the eyelashes.

And it clicked. He'd seen this before. In Endowment. It had been one of his first upgrades. Who had it been?

Nadine. There could be no doubt about it. He remembered upgrading Nadine and specifically noticing the power in her eyes; the length of her eyelashes. He distinctly recalled those eyes, the following night, when she had driven herself down on him, a reminder to keep his promise to free every single Sealed Virgin.

Those eyelashes did not belong on a Sealed Virgin, no more than Zoe's breasts had belonged on her Sealed body. This had to be important though he didn't know why.

"Okay," V'shika said, setting the chalice aside.

Her head was still tilted down, her lower lip still caught between her teeth, when she reached for him.

"Get as close as you can," she said. "The magic gets weaker the longer it's out of your body."

Zhair'lo, veteran of these rituals, already knew that. He also knew this warning was more about her comfort than a chance for him to show off his knowledge. There was no need to say anything. Besides, he instinctively avoided letting anyone find out the breadth of his wisdom when it came to Temple lore.

"It'll be okay," Zhair'lo promised.

V'shika nodded, but also winced as if she didn't quite believe him.

"You ready?" he asked, somewhat concerned.

"One more try," she said, looking down below even the level of his erection. "Last time."

That sounded downright ominous. Zhair'lo hadn't ever heard that there was a limit to the number of attempts a Virgin got at breaking her seal.

"It'll work," he told her firmly. "Go with it."

Her eyes, pale though they were, rose to meet his. For a breathless moment, they stared at each other. This was a girl who knew a kind of misery Zhair'lo didn't recognize. Deep inside those eyes was a longing he'd never known and couldn't quantify. He'd seen hunger and anger; he'd seen pity and grit. But he'd never seen a soul so starved of hope as this one.

He narrowed his eyes, radiating all of the confidence he could, imagining himself as a roaring bonfire of absolute certainty come to warm the coldest of travellers on the darkest of nights.

V'shika staggered a moment under that gaze. He watched her inhale. Her chest, bound by the tiniest bit of white rectangular cloth, expanded with a new found determination.

One last time, then.

She took hold of him with sudden vigour, her narrow face now contorted with a strange mix of rage and resignation that -- regardless of the contradiction -- left her beautiful to look upon. There was no patience in her grip or in her strokes. That she'd been here many times before was abundantly clear from her skill.

Parting her bare lips with her left hand, she leaned further back on her altar and directed his erection to point directly into her vagina. The distance was minimal. In fact, she pulled him so close he repeatedly bumped against her entrance with each stroke. She would take no chances.

To accentuate her desperation, she spread her legs further, making sure that her lips would be pulled out of the way. The left hand, then, was free to form a cup underneath her genitals. Nothing would be wasted.

"Ready?" he asked again, feeling himself swell.

"Yes," she hissed, biting the side of her lip again. "Go."

He went.

Her vagina wasn't open particularly wide, but his first volley was right on target, wetly soaking her little hole. Her left hand, its finger sealed tightly against the lower edge of her vagina, caught that which didn't go in. V'shika made to push the semen into herself, but was delayed by the immediate arrival of second volley, which splashed over her lips and tiny clitoris.

While the second load dripped down, she had time to quickly push the overflow from the first inside herself. It was done rather savagely, with more fingers than she was probably accustomed to accommodating, but she was afraid of the dwindling power of the magic his juices were carrying.

She'd smartened up, though. He noted that she was now intentionally letting his ejaculate hit her genitals above her vagina and letting her spare hand do all the work of getting it inside

It occurred to Zhair'lo that it would be a lot easier if they could just have sex. Why that was forbidden, he didn't know, but doing it this way seemed to lead to a lot of complication and entirely unnecessary mess.

He was relieved, nevertheless, when his erection was spent. V'shika continued milking out the last drops from his flagging member, wiping them off on clean spots on her thighs and then using her fingers to insert it into her vagina.

From her reclined position, she looked up into his eyes and he watched a change come over her. There was a brightness suddenly, as if something inside her had cracked open.

"It worked!" she called out in joy a thing like sunshine came from her eyes.

She leapt up to a seated position and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head against his neck. Zhair'lo, unsure of what to do, gently returned her embrace. What else could he do? Offend her by pushing her away? That seemed horribly rude.

There was a bit of laughter from the audience and a few surprised gasps.

Behind V'shika, however, the butt of a spear cracked against the cold marble floor; a rebuke against this violation of Protocol.

V'shika pulled away from him and a fierce look overtook her features. If he had brought warmth to a cold traveller, here was that same traveller now set on fire. Her eyes burned with anger as she twisted around to glare at the source of that warning.

Zhair'lo was just happy that look wasn't intended for him. He'd only caught the barest fringe of it as she turned away. The joy in her face was only denied to him for a heartbeat. Her gaze came quickly back to meet his and the last traces of anger faded as quickly as it had arrived.

When she spoke again, it was in a whisper, but one wholly different from before.

"I'll come to you soon," she promised.

He could only nod, thinking, 'Nine gods ... can you and I be friends?'