Tally pulled back a few steps to look. “Indeed. Lovely,” she said.
“But…”
Kaelen seemed to read her mind. She lifted her hand, gently grazing her knuckles across the curve Maven’s right breast as she spoke. “It’s supposed to fit this way. It’s supposed to make you look like a sexual goddess—a woman worthy of Ares himself.”
Maven swallowed. “But Dane said I would be brought back to him. Did he mean in the great hall? Like this?”
As usual, Anya and Tally giggled at her innocence while Kaelen answered. “It is a sacred ritual—it must be done.” Then she smiled. “But in case you didn’t notice, those attending the feast wore no more clothing than this, so you’ll be in good company when you return.”
True enough, Maven thought. But she still couldn’t help feeling shy.
Kaelen and Tally wrapped the tiny excuse for a skirt around Maven’s hips, and again, Anya laced it tight at one side. The skirt barely covered any of her thigh and she wondered how she would walk without exposing her cunt. Lastly, the maids helped her step into the high boots. They rose past her knees, onto her thighs, and the raised heels made her a few inches taller, leaving her to feel as if she towered over the other girls.
Only once she was fully dressed did they lead her from the room and down the hall to stand before the most enormous viewing glass she’d ever seen, attached to the wall. She was at once thrilled and appalled by her appearance. She indeed looked like a woman, not a girl—and not just any woman, but a woman made for sex. If only her hair were not still bound. “What about my hair?” she asked, still looking at her veined reflection in the pieced-together artifacts. “When will it come down?”
Kaelen smiled. “You’re getting anxious,” she said. “That’s good. Dane will be pleased. As for your hair, removing your braid is part of the ceremony.”
“You shall look so pretty when your hair can fall around your shoulders,” Tally said.
“Dane will be unable to resist you,” added Anya.
Maven pulled in her breath at the thought and her chest heaved within its tight confines, swelling above the leather that barely concealed her. She still didn’t like Dane—didn’t like him in the slightest and thought he was an utter barbarian. And she remained upset about becoming his wife, his possession. But, Ares above, she could not deny that she longed for him to want her like this—her pussy hungered for his touch, and yes, even for his cock. Somehow that part of her felt…empty, needing to be filled, and she understood it was a desire for the various shafts she’d seen over the past week, and more specifically, for Dane’s.
She tried to banish her shyness as she was led by the three maids back to the great hall. The moment Anya and Tally opened the wide wooden doors, another path cleared, straight down the middle of the room. The feasting tables had been removed now—and at the opposite end of the hall stood two large pedestals, one facing her, upon it a throne-like chair upholstered in red silk.
Kaelen walked ahead of Maven, Anya and Tally still following behind. Maven felt every eye upon her as she made her way up the wide aisle, the heels of her boots clicking on the smooth stone floor.
At the end of the walkway, Kaelen mounted the steps to the stage-like area, so Maven followed, wondering if her pussy could be seen beneath the tiny leather skirt. It tingled madly.
Kaelen motioned for her to sit down in the red chair, so she did, turning to face the crowd. The main person she saw, however, was Dane. His own pedestal was much smaller than hers, a circular platform not far away. He sat in a similar chair, facing her, and she got the immediate impression it was the chair of a spectator, rather than a participator in whatever was about to happen. He was going to watch.
The maids had already disappeared into the crowd, but a moment later, Anya and Tally reappeared, carrying between them a small wooden table, upon it a Maran board, the tiles already carefully stacked in the pyramidal formation that began the game.
No one told her to commence playing, but every eye rested upon her, awaiting this important part of her wedding night, so she started removing the tiles, two by two, matching them with their mates.
Only—oh Ares—she could tell from the start that it would be a difficult game. Being on a stage in front of so many people made it hard to concentrate, and Dane’s presence only added to the distraction. Not only that, but the quantity of wine she’d consumed with dinner had her feeling off-balance. Quickly, she reached a point where the tiles became hard to match, and unlike her practice at home, she was having trouble trying to think ahead and puzzle it through.
Concentrate, she commanded herself.
Aha! She plucked off two of the “birdfeet”, as she liked to think of that specific geometric design, and beneath one of them found a match for another tile awaiting a mate—the pair picturing what she’d silently named the “interlocking waves.”
Suddenly, the game was going better—her concentration was returning, her confidence at the Maran tiles as well. She was removing tiles at a quick pace now and would soon be down to the last few.
Except—just then, she realized she could see no more matches.
Look again.
But no matter how she searched the board, no more matching pairs could be found. And she’d left…oh no, an astounding amount! An embarrassing number. She didn’t think she’d played so poorly since her earliest practice sessions a year or more in the past. “For Ares’ sake,” she bit out in frustration beneath her breath.
She continued studying the board, hoping against hope to find another move or two, but they simply weren’t there. On this, the night of her sacred game, she’d played badly.
Biting her lip, she looked up, toward Dane, then toward her three maids, who’d taken a spot just beneath her pedestal. She wasn’t sure what to do or what would happen now.
“Is the game complete?” Dane asked loudly enough that his voice echoed through the chamber.
She was suddenly so nervous she feared she couldn’t answer. She merely nodded instead.
“Kaelen,” he said, “take a count.”
Kaelen scurried up the pedestal’s stairs, her breasts bouncing lightly as she ascended. Unstacking what remained of the pyramid of tiles, she arranged them on the board according to symbol.
She announced to Dane and the crowd, “Two pairs of breast tiles, one pair of cunt tiles, and three pairs of cock tiles.”
The crowd let out a collective sound of awe as it struck Maven for the first and only time—the symbols on the tiles represented body parts and…perhaps actions? Even now she had no idea what some of them might mean, but she could suddenly see that the long cylinders on the tiles represented a cock, that the diamond-like shape with rounded edges indicated a pussy. Maybe this explained why she sometimes felt aroused after practicing at the Maran board.
But all of that mattered little now. All she could do was wonder what it meant, and what would transpire based on the outcome of the game.
Dane’s chuckle drowned out the crowd’s fascination as she met his amused gaze. “So you are unskilled with the Maran tiles, my little bride. I’d not anticipated that, or my plans over the last two days might not have materialized.”
She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, but remained too uneasy to ask.
“All things considered, however,” he went on, “I couldn’t be more pleased at your lack of expertise. And I trust that before it’s over, you will be pleased by it as well.”
At this, a few snickers and some light laughter rose from the crowd, and finally she found her voice. “What happens now?”
“You shall see,” he said, and then he began to look out over the crowd and, to her surprise, call out men’s names. Each of the men he addressed eased their way from the crowd to line up before her pedestal and she found herself once again curious if her pussy could be seen from their vantage point.
When all the men had assembled, the last one being the now-familiar Kells—Dane’s best friend—her husband addressed
each of them.
“Havlin and Galt, you shall take the breasts. Van, Skylar, Melton, the cocks. And Kells, the pussy is all yours, my friend.”
Then he turned his attention back on Maven, who had begun to shiver with the oddest mix of fear and anticipation she’d ever experienced. “Maven, my bride, we are about to commence with the Rituals of Passion. These rituals, determined by the Maran tiles, are designed to ready you for the marriage bed and the loss of your virginity. The tiles you leave on the board are believed to be predestined, to give you exactly what you need.”
“What I…need?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from quivering.
Dane smiled. “Yes, bride, what you need. What you need to be ready for me when we adjourn to the bedchamber this evening. My hand-selected men will provide you the stimulations set forth by the remaining tiles in order to excite you, to prepare you for fucking. Your job, bride, is merely to relax and enjoy, to let my men complete their tasks, to let the fate of the Maran tiles play out. Would you like another glass of wine before the rituals begin?”
“Yes,” she murmured, totally stunned. Not that she needed to be any more intoxicated than she already was, but anything to stall the unbelievable proceedings another few moments.
Anya climbed the stairs bearing a fresh goblet of wine.
“You must drink fast, Maven,” Dane said, a hint of teasing enjoyment in his voice, “for I’ve waited long enough to watch this sacred event and am ready to witness your pleasure.”
Chapter Ten
At Dane’s prodding, Maven nervously gulped the wine, nearly draining the goblet in one long drink. She finished the last of it, aware that everyone was waiting on her, her anxiety increasing with each passing second.
As soon as she finished, Anya returned to take the goblet from her, and Kaelen ascended the platform as well. She stopped directly before Maven and peered down into her eyes. “Are you ready?”
No. Ares above, how could anyone be ready for what she’d just been told was about to happen? “Yes,” she said anyway, the taste of the wine still lingering on her tongue.
At that, Kaelen turned to the right and nodded her head toward someone Maven couldn’t see, and a slow drumbeat began to echo through the hall. Kaelen moved with the rhythm, walking around behind Maven’s chair to begin undoing the braid in her hair—the braid that signified her innocence…no longer, she supposed.
Swaying to the steady pulse of the drum, Kaelen unwound her hair—Maven felt it growing looser and looser against her head, and Kaelen worked quicker as the drumbeat began to speed up, until finally her locks fell free. The drumbeat was racing now, pounding out a savage, wild rhythm that Maven felt both in her heart and her cunt as Kaelen took great care spreading her long hair around her shoulders.
“Let the rites begin!” Dane shouted, his voice filling the large room.
The two men he’d called Havlin and Galt began to approach the stairs. Maven’s stomach contracted with horror, even though she could not deny that both were attractive and the idea of them touching her was not wholly unappealing. Havlin was a man of dark hair and olive skin—his brown eyes, when they met hers, delivered a hint of fire. Galt was slightly older, pale but handsome, with long blond hair pulled back in a low tail. Both men were garbed in leather pants and stood bare-chested but for the leather bands that crossed their muscled torsos.
Maven felt helpless, like prey, as the two men converged on either side of her chair. She bit her lip—nervous, excited—then watched as Havlin reached up, letting the back of his hand skim lightly over the high ridge of one breast. A blaze of lust arced through her, coming to rest in her pussy.
Galt leaned in next, slow and reverent, grazing the tips of his fingers across the pale flesh of her other breast. Again, a sharp pang of pleasure spread through her at the touch and her cunt surged with moisture beneath the short leather skirt.
At that point, Havlin returned, leaning in to rain soft kisses across her upper breast, each of them like a shockingly enjoyable little bee sting that left her sighing with heat. When Havlin backed away this time, she looked up at Galt in anticipation. Suddenly this was not so terrible, but more like a journey—a very good, hot journey—to womanhood.
Galt’s kisses to her ever-so-responsive skin delivered the same delights—even more when his hand came up underneath, cupping the lower half of her breast through the leather. She watched him kiss her, lightly kneading her sensitive flesh.
When Havlin returned, however, Galt didn’t back away. Both men’s eyes were shaded now, looking entranced with the rituals they’d been chosen to perform. More, she thought. I want more. Because it felt deliciously lovely. And because her husband wished it, demanded it. Because he took pleasure in her pleasure. Even through her hate for him, she yearned to excite the big brute. Her cunt hummed.
Havlin, too, began to caress her breast through the leather, and then, as if by plan, each man deftly drew down the stiff black leather that hid her nipples, folding it neatly in on itself so that the undersides of her breasts were still supported, but her nipples were bared.
Maven was only vaguely aware of the crowd’s reaction—a few heavy sighs, a masculine moan—as the men began to tenderly caress her breasts, kneading, gently twirling or tweaking her beaded nipples. Each touch seemed to connect straight to her pussy and she wondered how her poor cunt would stand this joyous torment and all that was to come. She heard her own breath—heavy, labored. She felt her breasts heave slightly in their capable hands. But mostly, she felt Dane’s eyes upon her, dark and piercing.
Havlin bent to rake a slow lick around her nipple and, oh Ares, if she wasn’t wet before, she certainly was now! Her heated sigh echoed upward and she felt lost to the sensations as she watched the dark-complexioned man drag his wet tongue in a circle around her breast’s hard peak. “Mmm,” she purred in response, her cunt swelling.
Galt, too, leaned in, but rather than lick her, he instead locked his mouth around her nipple and pulled. “Oh!” she said, soaking the chair beneath her. She watched him work, watched him tugging, and felt the marvelous sensation all through her.
She bit her lip and instinctually raised her hands to run them through the men’s hair and also to hold them in place—she didn’t want them to ever stop laving her breasts.
It was then that her gaze flitted upward and locked with Dane’s. His lids lowered, leaving his blue eyes to burn on her like mere slits of fire. He looked pleased—and heated. If anyone had told her yesterday she’d find herself in such a position, she’d have sworn she would dart her gaze away from his, sworn she would be horrified to have strange men’s hands and mouths on her, let alone to have it happen in public. But nothing was as she might have predicted—it seemed with Dane, the abnormal turned normal, the impossible turned natural and easy, good.
His eyes on hers added to the slow burn in her cunt. Suddenly, her pleasure seemed as if it was his pleasure as well. And the hands and mouths that caressed her so surely—they were not Dane’s hands or Dane’s mouth, yet it almost felt as if they were. He’d chosen these men for her, after all. He’d wanted to see it happen, wanted to watch them pleasure her.
She bit her lip and stared deeper into his eyes as the men at her breasts became more ravenous. Both of them suckled her now, leaving her helpless but to sigh and moan at the sensations.
“Van,” he said without ever taking his eyes off her. “Bring the first cock.”
She should have been frightened anew at this command, but she wasn’t. Her pleasure was too profound—and her new husband intended for her to have more of it.
The young man with tawny hair that fell in waves around his face reminded her slightly of Donnell. As he approached her, she waited with some anticipation for him to reveal his cock, but to her surprise, he instead held in his hand a cylindrical object—clearly some sort of smooth, glazed clay representation of a man’s shaft. Although it was considerably smaller than the ones she’d seen so far, both in width and length.
Ares, even ten minutes ago, the idea of that would have been an abomination, but now Maven simply did as she was told, spreading her legs in the wide chair, watching as the action pushed her miniscule skirt to her hips, revealing her smooth cunt, open and pink, for all to see.
Again, the crowd in the hall responded—gasps, sensuous sighs—but Maven was too lost to the rituals to care. Havlin and Galt still licked and suckled her breasts as Van knelt between her thighs.
She waited as he dipped the clay shaft into a small bowl of something wet, gooey. Then he poised the dripping rod at her pussy.
“Wider,” Dane said and she knew he meant to spread her legs even farther apart. She obeyed, keenly aware of the knob pushing against her cunt. “Now,” Dane told Van and the young man began to make small, tender jabs at the part of her which she knew should open to it. One part of her couldn’t fathom wanting such an object inside her, but her more sensual side yearned for the slick rod’s entry—anything to ease her ache.
As the other two men continued to delight her sensitive breasts, Maven bit her lip and found herself voluntarily pushing against the small rod aimed at her opening. When brief flashes of sanity hit, she couldn’t believe this was her, the brave, strong Maven who swore to never want Dane the Dreadful…but she did. Oh, she did, and her every sensation and movement now seemed unbreakably linked to him.
She pulled in her breath as the thin rod slowly entered her pussy. What a strange sensation, to be entered, yet almost as quickly as it happened, she longed for something more there.
“Oh!” she cried on a breath of delight when Van began to move the small shaft in and out of her. “Oh Ares!” she sobbed, understanding that this was being fucked—that Dane’s chosen young man was fucking her with the clay cock, simulating the real event.
Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One) Page 11