The Order Ch. 01

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A man tries to survive in a world dominated by female power.
3.2k words
4.33
20.2k
23

Part 1 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 04/01/2018
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Author's note: This tale is told in a land of fantasy. However, sexual power dynamics, control, and non-consensual sex are the more important themes. That is why I have categorized this work as NonConsent. The sexual encounters in this world are high-stakes.

*****

The peddler clawed at the underbrush, heedless of the thorns. Though his already ragged tunic offered little protection he pressed forward, intent only on escaping his pursuer.

The girl followed almost lazily. By contrast her own garments were rich. A tight bodice of silk, and a loose skirt suitable for riding. One hand absently twirled strands of her auburn hair while the other she kept extended toward the wretch fleeing before her.

"My Princess," the man gasped over his shoulder. "I meant not to offend!" He spoke swiftly while still casting about for a path through the brush. If he could get out of sight he might escape with his dignity and his clothing as the only losses. Behind them on the road was his cart with his few wares, but he had little thought for it now.

"Do you hope to flatter me?" she said, a cruel smile on her lips. "I'm not yet a Princess of the Order. Not quite." She kept pace with him, her confident strut contrasting his frantic scramble for cover. "But I have plenty of power. Want to see?" With that, she performed a delicate, nearly imperceptible gesture with her extended hand. Starting from a bracelet tight on her wrist, trails of smoke the color of coral slipped over her hand and past her fingertips. They reached outward.

"No, please m'lady!" the man shrieked, and turned frantically away, scrambling for escape. The smoke found him first, slipped around his wiry frame and contracted. The peddler howled in pain and fell to his knees. Where the smoke touched his clothes they burned; where they found his skin it singed. He screamed anew and clutched at the tendrils but found no relief. His entire body was encased in pain.

Colm watched the scene intently from his hiding place. He watched as the girl had neared the peddler, watched as the man unwisely called out to her to inspect his wares, and watched as she took ready offense at his overtures. Now he watched while, just as suddenly, she lost interest and turned away. The smoke dissipated and the wretched peddler collapsed in a crumpled heap, breathing roughly and sobbing.

***

Flames from rows of braziers threw fleeting shadows across the vaulted ceiling. Amongst the massive pillars of the Hall of Fertility, the Adepts and Princesses swayed, adding their shapes to the shadows, alongside those of the altar, cages, and chains. A rhythmic chanting rose and fell, repetitive, powerful, and surging.

Through the haze of smoke, chanting, and heat, the Degraded was led. A man of average height, but thick build. A laborer, with muscles pronounced on his arms, chest, and legs. His organ, though by no means small, hung limply; he had little cause for arousal. Chained and hooded, he moved blindly, stumbling periodically to the enjoyment of the crowd. Many of these were first-time observers of the Ceremony. Tonight they would finally witness the triumph in person. The ascendency of woman over man made plain.

***

The girl, an Adept of the Order, retraced her steps to the cart and inspected it briefly, distaste evident. The magic the Order wielded held the nation together. The man had been a fool even to raise his eyes to the girl, much less address her directly. Still, Colm's gut twisted. His own father would be around the same age as the peddler were he still alive. To be so brutally treated at the hands of a petulant girl... Colm lowered his head and tried to clear his mind of the sight. He had more pressing matters. He had a message to deliver.

But what was the message? His Brothers had set him to the task, but given little explanation beyond 'Get to Verhone. Find the Lodge. Locate Fyne and tell him the Waning has begun.' The first three were easy enough. Verhone he knew of, though he'd never had cause to travel that far. The Lodge was easy enough; every town had one. And while he didn't know a Fyne, and had never heard his brothers mention such a man before, that one sounded straightforward enough.

It was the Waning that had given him the most trouble. Griff and Braer hadn't meant astronomy, and they'd refused to tell him more. "Fyne will know," they insisted, and would speak of it no further. Nor could he decline the assignment. Colm owed a debt to the Lodge in exchange for the benefits of Brotherhood and was sworn to carry out Lodge business.

Her interest fading, the Adept turned from the cart and called for her mare. Mounting it with an athletic leap, she settled herself, took up the reins, and cantered past Colm's well-camouflaged hiding spot. Her face was flush with youth, pronounced cheekbones, proud eyes, full lips, and a straight nose, the picture of privileged beauty. The Order, especially in its younger ranks, was characterized by women of arrogant demeanor and looks. The Adept, probably from a mother already of the Order, had been certain from childhood of her destiny. That women should own and rule men would be second nature to her. The life of the peddler and indeed any man was hardly worth a thought.

***

Four First Princesses of the Order led the Degraded to the altar, a coal-black slab of solid rock which dominated the center of the chamber. They pushed him onto his back, naked against the stone. While two of the women chanted spells to keep the man submissive, the other two chained his ankles and wrists to the corners, exchanging nervous glances and double checking the strength of the bonds.

The observers pressed forward. Several reached out to explore his taut flesh, ridged with muscle and scarred from a life of hard labor so unlike their pampered and soft bodies. As the spells calming him wore off, he began to struggle, muscles straining as he tested his bonds. A few of the Adepts pulled back. Even those who had seen multiple Ceremonies were reminded of the strength that men are born into. Strength to possess and control any woman were it not for the magic of the Order.

***

Once the dust aroused by the Adept's passing had settled, Colm dragged himself up with a soft groan. Taller than most men, he was poorly suited to cramming himself under rotting branches and leaves. He stretched, brushing debris from his modest huntsman's attire, and picked at more than a few sticks tangled in his dark, unruly hair. There hadn't been a chance to bathe since leaving Methle and that didn't seem likely to change today.

"Aaaaannnnngh." The peddler was stirring, and had rocked up into a seated position. His simple tunic and trousers were shredded from his flight into the brush, and his skin marked with angry stripes where the Adept's smoke had burned him. Colm approached.

"I'm sorry brother. Saw what happened but couldn't help."

The peddler groaned again and looked up with something less than appreciation. "You can take your apology and..." but something about Colm seemed to make him stop. He dropped his head again. "Cunt." he muttered. "Right cunt."

"You need treatment for those wounds," Colm offered.

"Not likely a healer will happen along. Help me up." Then, "I'm Grip".

Colm offered a hand and pulled the other man to his feet. "Colm. Why 'Grip'?"

He grinned. "When I was a babe they said I never wanted to let go of my cock. Still true today, only the pleasure's gone out of that, too." He started to laugh, which turned into a coughing fit. "Fucking cunt. I can barely breathe."

"What were you thinking?" Colm asked. "Talking to her?"

Colm offered his arm and they walked back to the cart, most of its contents now scattered in the road. "I'm old enough to remember when it was okay to be a man. When you could travel on your own. See to your own affairs." Grip took small, pained steps. "Sometimes I forget. That lass, she couldn't have been more than twenty."

The two men picked up around the cart. Grip had an inventory of books, housewares, cloth, inexpensive jewelry, and trinkets. "That 'lass' could easily have killed you had she not been so readily bored."

"I know. But she looked so sweet. I thought..." he trailed off. "Fuck it."

All of the goods were back in the cart. "You can't pull this thing to Verhone in your condition. Let me help you."

Grip looked up sharply. "What's in it for you," he asked?

"You remind me of my father."

"Your father also sell shit out of a cart? What's in it for you?"

Colm struggled to find a version of the truth he'd be comfortable sharing with this unlikely companion. "I need to get to Verhone, but I don't have any papers. I don't even have a cart full of shit to sell."

Grip snorted. "Well, I don't have any papers from the Order, but I'll give you a half interest in my cart. Now pull!"

***

Clothed only in a silk cape and her bracelet of woven silver, Cairin strode into the chamber proudly. The chanting died away and the room turned into a near hush as all turned toward her. Though inwardly fearful of what was to come, outwardly she shone with all that is foremost in the Order: strength, youth, and beauty.

Her entrance procession took her past the waiting Adepts, each reaching for a fleeting touch or clutching greedily at her. The first few tore the flimsy cape from her shoulders. The next reached out to stroke her slender arms, high, firm breasts, or tight belly. As she passed, fingers traced across her nipples, neck, and mouth. Moving ever slower to savor each touch, she reached the Princesses of the Order. Here, experienced lips reached her shoulder, wrists, and ears. The boldest yet plied her nipples with kisses, sucking gently before releasing her. Others kissed her full on the mouth while their fingers explored her damp slit. By the time she reached the Degraded she was already flushed, ready, and wet.

Brigit, the Queen of the Order met her at the foot of the altar. "My sister, are you ready for the union?"

Cairin's gaze flitted briefly to the chained brute, then back to Brigit. "Yes, my Queen."

"The Lady give you strength then," the Queen replied. She turned toward the Degraded and from a vial allowed a single drop of a silvery potion to drip to his organ. The man jerked at the unexpected sensation, then let out a moan. As the nearest Adepts watched in a mix of curiosity and horror his member started to respond. What had been shrunken and shy began to swell. Some of the girls stepped back almost involuntarily as they watched his organ thicken and stiffen, reaching its full heft. The man was, quite against his will, achingly hard and ready. From inside his hood he groaned in protest but could not escape the chains holding him tightly to the altar.

Cairin looked in disbelief at the sight before her, any resolve quickly melting. 'That can't possibly fit inside me,' she thought. She began to cast about with her eyes, looking for any chance to avoid her fate. Perhaps another night...

"Be strong, girl," the Queen hissed in a voice low enough that no one else could hear. Then, with a harsh grip she pulled the reluctant Adept to the table and practically forced her to straddle the Degraded.

The man's cock pressed against her slit. Cairin tried to twist free, but ended up pressed down more firmly, with his shaft sliding even closer to her wet tunnel. Some of the potion's essence reached her, heightening her arousal. With a few soft words, the Queen calmed the girl, and with an expert hand guided her hips forward while tugging the man's cock upward. The Degraded resisted, bucking his hips as best he could, trying in vain to dislodge his rider.

Coaxing reluctant partners to breed had become the Queen's specialty. The Degraded frequently resisted, and it wasn't uncommon for the Adepts to have a last-minute change of heart. But there are tricks. Responding to a nod from the Queen, a Princess stepped up and helped guide the girl. Together, they held her in place and waited for the moment.

"No, please," Cairin pleaded, but as the Degraded thrust upward in an attempt to dislodge the Adept, they drove her hips down and back, impaling her virgin flesh.

"Nnnnnnnnnahhhh," Cairin screamed, tossing her head back, eyes open and wild. Arms pushing against the the brute's chest, she arched away, lean body stretched to the limit. Her breasts quivered. She held pose for a moment as the rest of the assembled drank in the sight. Drops of perspiration dripped off of her nipples, fine hairs caught the flickering light. Time seemed not to pass. Finally with a ragged gasp she collapsed forward onto the man beneath her.

"Good," the Queen whispered. "That was the worst. Now, ride the bastard! Take his seed."

Cairin pushed herself up slowly and looked about, pained and bewildered. The crowd pressed forward again, and the chant resumed, softly. Hands caressed her, while guiding her back onto his cock. She complied. Though her slit ached, she pushed slowly back until he was piercing her fully. He was like steel, mercilessly stretching her flesh. Tears came to her unbidden. Eyes closed, she drew away until the swollen head of his cock almost popped free, then slid back down the shaft again, feeling every bulging vein. The chanting grew a little stronger now and she repeated the motion, trying matching its rhythm. Impalement and release. Again, then again more confidently as the silver potion worked its magic. Her once reluctant slit now dripped with desire. Each thrust hurt less than the one before.

As she slowly picked up speed, the other Adepts closed in. Fingers brushed her slightly parted lips and she turned to see a girl smiling sweetly. She was younger than Cairin, fresh faced with gentle eyes and soft lips. They kissed, and the girl's tongue eagerly explored Cairin's mouth. Trying to keep the rhythm, Cairin continued to ride the Degraded's cock while sliding her tongue against that of her new friend.

Other mouths found her. As she gyrated to the cadence of the chanting, lips kissed and sucked on her breasts, some fleetingly and some insistently. A woman tugged a breast hard, near to the point of pain, while her tongue teased Cairin's nipple. Her body shuddered with pleasure. A Princess pulled aside Cairin's hair and darted her tongue into her ear. She gasped involuntarily, as the novel sensation sent an electric tingle throughout her body. The first girl, seeing how Cairin liked it, mimicked the Princess. Soon, tongues and lips probed and kissed both of her ears. All the while, as the chant slowly gained speed Cairin matched the pace, grinding faster and faster.

Beneath her, forgotten except for the pleasure that Cairin was taking from his cock, the Degraded remained pinned and helpless. His bonds had been fastened brutally tight by the experienced hands of the Princesses. Worse, the potion made him shamefully hard. The girl rode him easily, for a time laying forward and grinding her clit against the base of his cock, then sitting more upright to press him against her insides. She took pleasure from him at will now, riding him like an animal, ever faster as the chanting goaded her on.

Panting with effort, Cairin neared orgasm. Any reluctance or revulsion of the Degraded was swept away in the waves of pleasure that surged through her. She pumped the man's cock eagerly now, seeking the perfect motion to send her over the edge. Her bracelet glowed with energy, hot on her wrist. "Oh, Lady," she moaned. "Oh, Lady!"

The Queen chased the other girls away. By now many had paired off anyway, watching the Ceremony while slipping fingers into a lover's slit or kissing hotly and slowly. Brigit knelt by Cairin and stroked her hair. "Not yet, Sister," she said gently. "Not quite yet. Do not forget you need his seed. Squeeze him. Like a fruit, squeeze him to get his juice." Near delirious with lust, Cairin nonetheless remembered her training. Tightening her grip on his shaft she rode him as fast as she could manage, slapping her thighs against his hips. She was near the end of her strength.

The Degraded could resist no more. With a shudder his entire body stiffened. "Unhhhnnnoooooo..." he cried out. He came in a massive shudder, thrusting into her. A wave of unstoppable pleasure swept through him and at its pinnacle he shot his seed. One blast, then another, and a third. He filled her tight chasm to its depths.

Cairin moaned in triumph. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck," she gasped. "Awwwwww, fuuuuuuuuuck." She writhed in ecstasy. The orgasm seemed to start at her fingertips. Her toes. It rushed inward to her straining slit where she erupted at last into the most powerful spasm she had ever felt. Quivering, she arched her back, parted her lips, closed her eyes, and cried out. Her awareness shrank to nothing more than the ecstasy that tore through her. Through her and into the man beneath.

All of her physical strength spent, Cairin's sexual power rushed inward. Her bracelet went dark, and with a cry, she collapsed, her body limp. In contrast, the Degraded surged with life. His body grew suddenly rigid. Veins stood out in high relief, pulsing. Starting from his groin, his skin changed color from the ashen shade it had been, to flushed, to nearly glowing. He writhed with new strength and let out a yell sharper and more powerful than any the assembled had witnessed. "Unchain me, bitches! I'll destroy you all, I swear!"

Several of the Adepts stumbled back, confused and frightened. A fearful chatter arose, but Brigit put a quick stop to it. "Hush Sisters, and watch," the Queen commanded. "Behold the Lady's will."

The man held the power for several more moments, thrashing and cursing under his hood. But soon, the effect faded. The color drained from his skin, his taut frame grew slack, and he fell limp.

Cairin's bracelet started to glow. Her skin began to regain its color as energy surged from the Degraded's loins back into her body. She stirred and rose, her body quivering with pleasure as the last of the man's strength fled into her. With a steadying hand from the Queen, she pulled herself off of the man. His cock slid from her insides back to his belly with a heavy slap.

Renewed and alive, Cairin stood proudly before her sisters. Her bracelet shone with fire and her eyes sparkled with joy. A trickle of the man's copious seed dripped down her thigh. The chanting crested, honoring her strength and sacrifice. She had never felt so complete.

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AllenWoodyAllenWoodyover 3 years agoAuthor
To Anonymous, r.e. pregnancies.

Thank you for reading my story. I decided not to address this in the story, but I did give some thought to what becomes of pregnancies in this world.

The purpose of their ceremonies is not to conceive, but to take power. Children, if any are conceived, are given to the matriarchs. Female children might eventually find their way back to the Order. Male children would become the second-rate citizens they are in the world.

AnonymousAnonymousover 3 years ago
' Take his seed ' :

And if the resulting child is a baby boy ....?

J_Reader_ComicsJ_Reader_Comicsalmost 6 years ago
A Start?

Well, I guess it is a start. I give it three stars. The writing was good, the idea as well. However, was too short in what is going on to give it more. I look forward to future chapters though.

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