The Choosing

by Darcy Sweet

  It only stopped when he entered.

  Everything stopped. The brother and sister fell to their knees, dropping their heads low to the ground in abject subjugation. I stood. Afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Only when my lungs began to burn did I realize that I had not taken a breath since he entered the room.

  Dark Master Roth. Dark Prince of Pleasure.

  I knew who he was because I had seen his icon. It was brought out once a year. Other Master icons were displayed at every festival; some remained on constant display in the Night Temple. Not Roth. His image was deemed too strong, too intense to risk everyday exposure. His icon was reserved only for the Midwinter Solstice. It was a dark tapestry of precious stones, inlaid with rubies, onyx and platinum. The Chosen Temple Priest brought it forth to bestow virility on the men. While women were present at the unveiling they were strongly encouraged to avert their eyes. I never had. When told not to look I always did. Never overtly—I hid my curiosity behind my cool façade—but I always looked.

  Standing before me, he seemed somehow smaller than I had imagined. His clothes, while very fine, looked as if they had been borrowed. They hung off his frame. He was large, virile and strong looking but he gave the impression of somehow being less than he once was, as if he had lost much of his bulk.

  I did not realize how long I had been openly assessing him until I looked up and met his gaze. He seemed bemused at my appraisal. He did not smile but at the corner of his mouth there seemed to hide a hint of a smirk.

  “This one?” he asked and I gasped at the sound of his voice. It vibrated through me as if I were a string he had just plucked. The amusement was gone; as he looked me over I wondered if I had seen it at all. His black gaze burnt cold like the bite of a wicked winter wind. I was grateful for the chair that came between us. I leaned into it, gripping my flimsy shield.

  He asked again, louder this time, “This one?”

  The brother stood up, his erect cock bobbing out from the open placket of his breeches. He answered the Dark Prince but I did not hear what he said. I could not hear over the rush of blood in my head and the surge of adrenalin through my veins. I had to stop this. I had to stop this now.

  “I’m not,” I said quietly at first and then after I cleared my throat I said it again, this time louder, “I’m not.”

  “Not what?” the Dark Prince asked, taking a step towards me. “Not mine?”

  “No Sire,” I answered with my head reverently bowed, “I am most humbly yours Dark Prince, as is every subject of Vandarra, but…I do not think that I am what you seek.”

  “Really? And what do you know of what I seek?” The seductive menace of his tone struck me, hitting deep in my sex.

  “I know nothing Sire. Nothing. I am nothing special. Ask Sire. Please ask. Around Hawthorne Shire they will tell you I am not suited to the Dark Prince of Pleasure.”

  He did not look at me, instead turning to the brother. “Is what she speaks the truth? Is she nothing special?”

  “If I may Prince Roth?” The sister spoke, coming off her knees at the Dark Prince’s nod.

  “She hid well Sire. She is adept at hiding. She shields her true form, but when she is tested she reveals herself.”

  What do I reveal? What self is there hidden? I felt a surge of unaccustomed anger at her words.

  “Reveal her to me then,” the Dark Prince said and settled himself down on the other wooden chair to my left that butted up against the vast scarred table.

  The brother came forward, not the sister as I had expected. He stood before me his cock still jutting out of his open pants. He wrapped a hand around the shaft, and rubbed it low on my belly. I looked at the Dark Prince and bit back a moan. I knew he watched as the brother lowered a hand to splay his fingers around my thigh. Maybe I should have struggled, protested when he lifted my leg and placed my foot on the seat of the chair, but I couldn’t speak. I was too focused on the eyes that watched me and the hard shaft that thrust out from his open fly. He pushed my leg roughly open until I was splayed wide, my wet and swollen sex displayed for all the watching eyes.

  “Watch,” he said as he placed the heel of his hand on my mound and pulled up, revealing the wet pearl of my clitoris. I looked down, down to see what had him so focused. He’d come in closer, until the fat head of his penis was resting on my stomach. He pushed my leg back on the chair and bent his knees until the helmet of his engorged shaft was resting on my exposed clitoris.

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not here, not here in front of him.

  He did. He gripped his cock at the root of the shaft and began to slap the heavy swollen head down on my sex. At the same time his hand pulled up hard on my mound.

  Slap. Pull. Slap. Pull. Slap. Pull.

  Over and over he continued, growing rougher with each cycle. I could not help but let my head fall back as he slapped and pulled. Relentlessly beating down on my sex. The fat wet head of his cock slapped my exposed clitoris and fell lower into the wet trough of my sex. The shame. The edge of pain. The knowledge that I was watched. Watched by him. All these threads wove together into a vicious orgasm. My muscles contracted and with each spasm I spurted out juice that coated his cock and abdomen.

  “Bring her to me,” Roth said.

  I was dragged by them both, bleary eyed and loose limbed to stand before him. One on each side, they held my arms in a fashion similar to how I had been brought here today by my Uncle and Bandar.

  I shook them off. Not wanting to be held by them. Instead choosing to stand before him of my own accord.

  “What do you know of the Dark Masters?”

  “Dark Masters are immortal. They rule Vandarra in their infinite wisdom. They take the blood of the few and in return offer protection to the many. Those Chosen are most honored. Blood Service a privilege.” I spoke the words I knew by rote.

  “Yes we need blood, but some of us require more.”

  “You need more Sire?” I wondered if that was the reason why he seemed lacking. Why his clothes were loose.

  “I am the Dark Prince of Pleasure. I can survive on blood alone, but to thrive I also need pleasure.”

  “There are many who would be most honored to pleasure you my Prince.”

  “Yes, I can take from many, but I have long sought one.”

  “One,” I echoed.

  “Yes. One,” he murmured and brought forth his hand. Touching me for the first time. My back bowed. My skin singed at the fleeting touch. I wailed out in pleasure such that I had never known.

  “One Chosen for me. You, Talia of Shire Hawthorne. You.”

  His mouth opened wide, his lips pulled back and fangs descended. I felt not fear but a wonderful anticipation. I knew somehow what he wanted. What he needed. I brought my leg up and rested my foot on his thigh, leaning in to present my wet sex to his mouth. His teeth came down, piercing the skin with a brutal bite. Blood flowed hot and wet between my legs, his tongue came out long and rough to lap it from my sex. At the first taste he groaned and the floor beneath me began to shake. He ceased lapping and began to suck hard. I pushed harder against him, trying to stuff my whole sex in his mouth. The burning ache of his sucking mouth shot through me, it shattered my resolve, it broke through my shields until I was stripped raw before him.

  I was his. I was Chosen.

  And with that thought I came, adding my juice to the blood he sucked. He yelled, pulled off my sex and threw back his head. His mouth came back down on me, sucking hard as his breeches split at his crotch, revealing his erect cock. It pulsed before me. Without thought I pushed him back, his fangs released from my sex with a spray of blood. I had to taste him. I fell to my knees before him and took his shaft in my mouth just as it spurt out streams of white cum. I sucked it down as if I needed it more than air. I only released him when he pulled me away. If he had not I doubted I would have let him from my mouth.

  “Talia,” he said and just the sound of my name from his mouth was enough. I began to shudder, to come once more. He dragged me to
my feet, pressing my convulsing sex to his mouth in time capture the juice that spurted forth. He groaned out his own pleasure as he nestled his mouth against my sex, licking me clean of my juices and blood.

  When he finished he rested his head against my belly. I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling an overwhelming need to comfort him.

  “My Chosen,” he murmured against the sweat damp swell of my belly.

  I was free. I felt strong and ready. I was not foolish. I was not hidden.

  I was Chosen.

  Through me swirled all the feelings I had long since denied. Anger. Hate. Love. Passion. Desire. Need. Want. I let them all come. I let them all release.

  He groaned against me and cried out as if he too could feel the swirl of emotion.

  “Mine,” he looked up at me with shining black eyes.

  “Yes,” I answered him with a truth that sang from my very being.

  The hall began to grow dark and I wondered how long we had been standing there, clutching each other. In the half light of evening I pondered that my day had both begun and ended with a realization of irony. The end irony being the most poignant—being forced to the Choosing had actually set me free. I laughed at the thought, and of how furious Bandar and my Uncle would be to know of the role they unwittingly played in my release.

  From beneath me, still nuzzling my belly and sex, I heard the Dark Prince say, “You will explain to me later my Chosen what is so amusing.”

  I looked down at his swollen blood smeared lips and felt a surge of love. Of peace and equality. I was fearless. I was free. I laughed at the feeling and said, “Yes my Prince I will….if I should so choose.”

  He laughed too. And I let myself like the sound.

  Chapter 2

  Alone. It had never bothered me before. My own company had been my comfort, the only constant in a life in which I had little control. Lonely, I’d never thought myself such. More solitary than lonely. But now, since Roth had left, I was lonely. Desperately lonely. The brief glimpse of belonging he’d shown me had so quickly decimated my solitary resolve.

  I was lost with him gone; the thought seemed painfully wedged deep into my very soul. Like the talons of a vicious thorn it stabbed deeper with each breath. Outside the trees had just started to turn, showing the first subtle signs hearkening the start of an early autumn. From my high viewpoint I stared out the water stained window glass at one brown edged leaf, teetering on the edge of a fragile stem, willing it to fall to the ground.

  Fall.

  So strange to feel such loss.

  This aching.

  It pierced, the missing, hurting so much I was sure that it had physically manifested somehow. Scarred or marked me. I spread my fingers at the center of my chest and pressed into the center of the hurt. I had only known him twelve hours or so. How could it be that without him I was so lost?

  After The Choosing he had taken me from the Great Hall up to my new lodgings. In his arms I lay as he swept me up spiral stone staircases, through heavy wooden doors, his sure step echoing in the lamp lit corridors. He’d placed me on a bed.

  Gentle.

  Deep red velvet coverings beneath my naked skin, soft, but not as soft as his the caress of his tongue as he lay sucking kisses down the length of my body. He’d fed me from his hand and I’d fed him, from the curve of my neck. At the memory my fingers flew to the slight mark that remained from his teeth. Five days ago now. Five days with not enough air, not enough warmth, not enough…. Him.

  Loss, Echoing loss.

  He’d left the morning after The Choosing. His last words to me, I will return. But when? Where had he gone? Why had he left me?

  “Mistress Chosen, your bath is ready.”

  Looking away from the window I turned to see my maid Hatha at the doorway Her austere black uniform matched her countenance perfectly. She was as starched as the winged black cap that perched upon her head. I stood from the window seat and followed her into the bathing room that adjoined my suite. Inside the small marble lined chamber I lifted my arms and let her strip off my robe. The first time she had tried to undress me I had resisted. I was not used to the touch of others, especially for such intimate tasks. Ignoring my objections as if I had not uttered a word, she stripped me like a disobedient child. Since that moment I had acquiesced to her service of my body. It was easier than the humiliation of the futile struggle. Hatha’s will was unyielding and irresistible, like a water shaping stone. Resistance was as futile as the shore line protesting the tide. In time, water and Hatha would always have their way.

  I had come to learn that Chosen did not mean liberated. Selection did not entail me to any sort of free will. I was simply subject to a different set of rules under the watchful eye of Roth’s servant Hatha rather than Bandar.

  She guided me to the copper bathing tub. A week later I still sighed in pleasure at the sight of the steaming scented water. In the village a full immersion bath had been a weekly privilege. I was not yet used to the luxury of daily bathing.

  She held my arm as I stepped into the tub. I no longer fought her for the wash rag; instead I submissively leant forward and waited for her touch. She cleaned my back first in gentle circles. Oddly it did not bother me to be touched so. Ordinarily I had flinched from such contact, now I arched into it as if asking for more. I sighed and sank back against the molded edge of the tub when Hatha had finished with my back, offering her easy access to my unwashed front. I wanted to again ask her where the Prince had gone but I knew she would not reply. Instead I tried another tactic, starting a conversation in the hope that the information I most craved might slip. “Tell me please Hatha, tell me of The Chosen.”

  She paused, her brow furrowing in concentration as if she weighed each word before speaking, “What do you already know of The Chosen?”

  Yet again she answered my question with a question of her own. It was a particular skill of Hatha’s that I found most frustrating.

  “Different roles?” I asked, deliberately adding another question to the mix. I could have answered her, I knew The Chosen were the privileged servants of the Dark Masters, the human arm imposing their will. I knew they had specific jobs, specialized tasks, but I wanted to hear Hatha’s explanation.

  Hatha’s hands moved to my chest, soapy fingers first holding the weight of my breasts and then moving to my puckered nipples. My mind fogged as pleasure seeped warm and intoxicating through my body. “The Chosen are all special, but in different ways. They all serve a different purpose. Each belongs to a different class.”

  I heard her words but it seemed as if they came through the filter of water. Waves of need rolled over me as her fingers continued to tease the hardened tips of my nipples.

  “Each Chosen has a different role. You had Chosen in your village did you not?”

  Her hands stilled on my breasts for a moment and without her teasing touch I was able to answer, “Yes, she was Nastacia Chosen. An advisor to my Uncle the mayor.”

  “She would be of the Political Class. They are selected for their skills in negotiation and legislation.”

  “What other classes of Chosen are there?”

  Again the hands started to move. This time from the swell of my breasts down my stomach. It was hard to think while nimble fingers danced across slippery skin. I should have asked her to stop, but for some reason the very thought of losing her touch seemed painful.

  “There are Selectors, Performers, Warriors, Artists, Teachers…”

  I interrupted Hatha to whisper, “And Pleasure.”

  “Yes and Pleasure.” A rare smile crossed her Hatha’s face. Her square jawed look softening slightly. “That’s what you are my sweet girl. You are of the Pleasure Class.”

  “I don’t think I am.”

  I still questioned that I had been Chosen. Each day I waited for the announcement that they had made a mistake. I wondered if that was why he had left, if perhaps he had found me lacking.

  Hatha paused her delicious stroking and said, “Do you
not remember what happened in the Great Hall when you questioned your status?”

  I nodded, burning with shame to remember the feeling of the brother’s hard cock spanking my sex.

  “Perhaps you need further convincing,” Hatha said, plunging her hand deep in the water to cup the aching mound between my legs. She squeezed hard, her fingers slipping inside the sweet entrance while the heel of her hand pushed down on the pubic bone.

  She began to circle her hand, just like she had while soaping my back, but this time pressing down upon the need that centered between my wet thighs. Soapy fingers lathered my sex. “Look at you arch into my hand. Your body knows. Knows what is has been created to do. You have been Chosen because it is your destiny. You will serve freely, give Pleasure gladly because without it you are nothing.”

  I wanted to protest, I’m not nothing. I wanted to ask more questions. Why do I feel this way? To know more. But the insistent circling pressure of her hand drove those thoughts from my mind.

  All I thought. All I wanted…was more.

  I arched up out of the water, bowing my back and pushing my sex into her hand.

  “The Masters who selected you know. They see all. They see down into your soul. You are made for Pleasure. You are desire. You are wanting. You are coming. Coming now.” And as if I were but a mere puppet on Hatha’s strings I came into her hand, my sex contracting and spurting out my wanton juices. She raised her palm slick with my release and brought it to her mouth. Closing her eyes she licked the palm as if it were ambrosia.

  All thoughts, all questions cleared from my mind. All I felt. All I thought was of the ache that centered between my thighs and spread in burning need across my skin. Once was not enough. I splayed my knees, pushing up my bottom into the hand that had stilled between my legs.