Possessing Allura Page 16

  It was Allura who reacted first. ‘Saraveeta!’ she cried. ‘But how?’

  ‘The king long ago reversed your identities,’ the priestess began to explain, ‘upon your birth, Allura, just three months behind that of your dearest friend. Under pain of death he compelled Saraveeta’s family to accept his own daughter while he took you to be his.’

  ‘You are mad,’ Allura hissed. ‘My father would never do such a thing!’

  ‘The king was many things, but not mad. He followed the will of she who preceded me. The former priestess knew a usurper would come, one who would wed the royal heir and seek to claim the throne falsely for himself… and that man is him.’

  Now it was the baron being pointed out.

  ‘This is babble,’ he declared furiously. ‘This woman is the princess, and she is my wife.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ cried Allura as Montreico seized her arm.

  ‘The king knew there was only one way to save his daughter and to save the kingdom,’ the priestess continued calmly, as if nothing were occurring around her. ‘And that way was to raise his daughter in obscurity.’

  The bite of Montreico’s grip brought Allura’s thoughts into focus. This logic was exactly the sort her father – if he was still her father – would use. And wouldn’t this fit with what he had always told her about not loving anyone when a sovereign? But why then had he told her that she was part of him, and how could he have behaved as he did, showering love and affection on her all those years to the exclusion of his real progeny? One thing this did explain, though, was why Saraveeta always beat her in everything in their youth.

  ‘Lies!’ Montreico bellowed. ‘Lies! Lies!’

  ‘We shall enquire further,’ said the grand duke. ‘Bring both Allura and Saraveeta to a private chamber and we’ll examine them both.’

  Montreico bundled aside Allura and leapt for Saraveeta. ‘There will be no enquiries,’ he growled, seizing her from behind, holding his blade to the slave’s throat. ‘Henceforth you all take my orders.’

  ‘Baron, what brand of insanity is this?’ demanded Fortragian.

  ‘Call it an insurance policy. Rodolfo, fetch me the other slut as well.’

  Rodolfo, looking more than a little uncomfortable, but obeying nonetheless, snatched Allura’s wrist and manhandled her to the baron, where drawing his sword, Montreico pointed it at the blonde girl’s throat. ‘There, now I am covered both ways. Disobey me and I kill both.’

  ‘The gods curse you for this, Montreico!’ Fortragian barked.

  ‘Silence, old man,’ he snarled back. ‘Rodolfo, clap him in irons.’

  The grand duke’s guards gathered around him protectively, ready to lay down their lives.

  ‘Best have them drop their weapons,’ warned the baron. ‘They are outnumbered and you of all people should know I am not bluffing.’

  ‘Do it,’ ordered the grand duke to his men. ‘Lay down your weapons.’

  ‘Now take them all,’ commanded the baron, once the arms were discarded on the floor. ‘Put them in the dungeon, except for the old fool. He’ll stay and watch. And seal the hall; no one escapes. Secure the carriages and horses of all assembled.’

  The hall was quickly ringed with troops, and more were pouring in through the doors, and like a noose about their collective necks, swords and spears encircled the lords and ladies.

  ‘I shall have all weapons,’ he called out. ‘You are all my guests as before, only now you shall obey me as king. For that is what I am, as soon as this bitch of a priestess recants. Rodolfo, put these sluts upon the dais, tie them to the chairs, and give me archers. I want archers at every corner of this hall. Anyone who disrupts the proceedings here is to be eliminated at once.’

  ‘Montreico, you can’t do this,’ said Allura, the man’s chest against her back, but Saraveeta took her hand, clenching it tightly.

  ‘Let it be,’ she whispered. ‘All will be well.’

  Allura turned to her, the young woman so calm. Did she know she was the true princess? Could she have known all along, at least subconsciously?

  ‘Shut up both of you,’ Montreico growled. ‘Don’t give me an excuse to cut out both your tongues.’

  ‘You’re a dead man,’ Saraveeta vowed at Montreico, as Rodolfo led them to the chairs. ‘There will be no escape for you.’

  The baron nearly ran her through there and then, but held himself back, and raising his sword instead he addressed the assembly. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are truly fortunate tonight, for not only will you witness a coronation, you will also behold an augury taken under torture in order that we might expose the lies of this so-called priestess.’

  ‘This is blasphemy!’ cried Fortragian. ‘No man may harm the high priestess! You will lay a curse of blackness a thousand years deep on this land.’

  ‘If I torture a priestess, yes,’ agreed the madly grinning, wild-eyed baron, ‘but not if I torture a slave. Slave testimony, including auguries, must be taken under torture. This is holy law, is it not?’

  ‘It is, but the holy priestess is not, and cannot ever be made a slave. The very idea is blasphemy.’

  All eyes watched and followed as Montreico, sword and dagger still in hand, walked deliberately towards the white-robed woman, who in all the fracas had not moved an inch. Nor did she flinch as the baron ran the side of his glinting blade lightly down her robed arm. ‘Right again, duke, but there is nothing that says a priestess cannot ask to be a slave. What do you think, great lady, could a female as high as you be induced to want to change her station so drastically? I know the legends, that your kind are the most beautiful of women and that you hide a passion deeper than any underground river of fire.’

  The priestess said nothing.

  ‘Montreico, you must stop,’ Fortragian appealed, his voice cracking.

  ‘Gag him,’ ordered the baron. ‘And put him in a chair next to the sluts. I want him to have a good view of the festivities.’

  The grand duke looked more distressed than Allura had ever seen him, and she feared he would have a seizure. How cruel was the baron, insane with power and utterly without regard for human life? And it seemed he held all the cards, too, the high priestess, the duke, and the true princess – whichever of them that might be – all in his clutches.

  ‘I’ll protect you,’ whispered Rodolfo as he tied the old man next to her.

  ‘You’ve done a great job so far,’ Allura could not help but observe.

  ‘Priestess,’ Montreico declared for the benefit of all, ‘before we begin I give you this opportunity to spare yourself. Declare yourself my slave now, openly, and I promise you will not face the tortures I have planned.’ The baron was met with stubborn silence. ‘Again,’ he said, ‘I ask you to capitulate. Priestess though you may be, you are a woman and your body will betray you. You bring this upon yourself,’ he warned, but the priestess remained as she was. ‘Very well, this is on your head.’

  Dropping his weapons to the floor he seized the hood of her robe, and tugging it down he tore at her clothes, the assault combining with a crack of lightning that filled the hall. Allura could feel the tearing inside her, and then there was an ominous, deafening rumble of thunder, the very hall seeming to shake with its ferocity. Allura clutched the arms of the chair for fear of being shaken from it, staring at the light pouring from within the shredded robe of the priestess, as if the baron had torn open a sack of iridescent grain, or unleashed a whelming flood of moon water. People were screaming, falling to the floor. She turned her head from the overabundance of the terrible light and it was then she saw Saraveeta gazing at it, with that combination of infinite fascination and holy knowing belonging to a small child.

  Who was Saraveeta, or what was she? Even a princess, if that’s what she was, ought to be shocked by what was happening.

  ‘By the arms of Zuranos,’ shouted a man, beholding the glaring light, ‘
it’s an apparition!’

  ‘The angel of death!’ cried a woman.

  ‘We’re doomed,’ moaned another, as Allura looked back to the priestess. The robe was liquid on the floor and something stood there – something shimmering. She thought she saw a snake and then a terrible black skeleton covered in dust. She felt the ash of it on her tongue; it was so real. But then in the blink of an eye it all changed again.

  ‘There, you see!’ called the baron in triumph, his underlying fear more than a little evident. ‘This is what she is underneath. All else you saw was sorcerer’s tricks. This is real.’

  Before them stood a young woman with luxuriant red hair and the body of a goddess. She was splendidly naked, a jewel in her belly button. Her skin was creamy white and smooth, and begged to be touched.

  ‘A naked female, nothing more,’ said the baron. ‘And we know what to do with one of them, don’t we boys?’

  The guards remained motionless and silent. There was not one in the chamber who did not rest uneasy with what Montreico was doing.

  ‘What, are you still afraid?’ he scoffed. ‘Cowards. Behold how a real man deals with such a situation.’ Retrieving his sword he passed it below her ear, lifting her lustrous red hair. ‘You and I are going to be well acquainted, priestess.’

  The woman looked in his eyes, the pale blue of her own reflecting the darkness of his.

  ‘Remove your sandals,’ commanded the baron, and with great poise she obeyed. ‘Now you are barefoot before me,’ he observed, ‘and naked. My power over you is absolute.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ said the woman, her voice soft and seductive, and Allura felt a stirring in her tummy; the woman oozed sex and the thought of this evil man dominating her was driving her wild.

  ‘Behold,’ the baron pointed out, ‘she has obeyed me; she has not disputed my power.’

  ‘But you are armed,’ the priestess observed. ‘Do you need a sword to dominate me?’

  ‘Only this one,’ he leered, crudely clutching his crotch.

  ‘Am I to be fucked, then?’ she asked, such a blunt word clashing with her demure beauty, and then she inclined her head elegantly to lick the flat of his sword, melting him with a smoldering stare as she caressed the blade with her tongue. For a woman utterly distant a moment before she had become surprisingly passionate, and the baron seemed uneasy by her brazenness.

  ‘Enough of that,’ he snapped. ‘You will kneel before me, you treacherous bitch.’

  The priestess lowered herself with flawless grace, and unbidden her face lowered to the baron’s boots, where she bestowed kisses to the leather footwear.

  ‘You were not ordered to do that,’ said he peevishly.

  ‘Force of habit,’ she said, looking up, her sultry expression enough to stiffen the cock of any man. ‘This is how I serve my lord.’

  ‘What lord?’ he snapped. ‘You said you’re a virgin.’

  ‘Not a human lord, but my divine lord, Zuranos.’

  ‘What are you talking about, woman?’

  ‘The Heavenly Father Zuranos possesses me. I am consecrated to him. He owns me and takes from me all forms of service.’

  ‘But the gods have no bodies.’

  ‘They can take form. Avatars, Zuranos’ favorite, is that of the man-bull. In this guise I serve him often.’

  The baron was frowning. ‘The gods are legends,’ he said. ‘They are ideas, stories.’ Clearly the man was banking on the idea, given his current acts of blasphemy.

  ‘Not to his slave girls, at least; for us he is very real.’

  ‘Stop that. I gave no such instructions.’

  The priestess was kneeling, opening his breeches. ‘You were correct,’ she said, ignoring his objections. ‘I do respond to mastery. To Zuranos I am a mere pet. I whimper at his feet and beg his favor. When he attaches his leash to my throat I am often so overcome I must seek his immediate permission so as to release the pent-up orgasm. But now I am to be yours, for you are king and more wise than any – mortal or immortal.’

  Sweat was collecting on the baron’s forehead, and for the first time he seemed to be realizing the trouble he had let himself in for. ‘You’re lying,’ he snapped. ‘No god has ever laid a hand on you because they don’t exist. Only humans, and they are deceitful and amorous enough to fill all the storybooks and journals of the world.’

  ‘Zuranos likes to whip my breasts with his tongue,’ she presented her porcelain-white orbs, capped with cherry nipples. ‘Would you like to try? His is three feet long and burns like sulfur – when he comes to me as a snake, that is. As a bull-man it takes three of my acolytes to lick his balls, and the other priestesses serve him, but I alone bear his wrath. When he appears to us, wounded in pride or smarting from some battle with his siblings, it is I who must crawl to him, naked on my belly. He will whip me to within an inch of my life and then restore me so he can begin all over.’

  ‘Fortragian,’ the baron wheeled on him, ‘do you hear these words? Now who is blaspheming? This bitch speaks of abominations between her and the father of heaven.’

  ‘It is no abomination to serve the gods; their pleasure is supreme, that of Zuranos above all others,’ she declared.

  ‘But what of Hechira, Mother of the Gods?’ Asked Saraveeta, on her feet, her face lit as if she already knew the answer.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the priestess nodded approvingly as she opened the baron’s breeches and took out his stiff cock, ‘good question. The wife of Zuranos, whose jealousies for her wayward husband fuel the fires of the sun itself – yes, she comes to us as well. She rips the clothes from my body as this one did and she sniffs me over. Her nostrils smell through the repairs he does upon me. Hechira knows his odor, the scent of leather and of torture.

  ‘Whenever she catches me out as her husband’s victim I am attacked all over by her. She would tear me limb from limb and has done so already more than once. I’d have stayed that way if not for Zuranos’ healing interventions. Fortunately he will not let me die, not until my replacement is chosen. Till then I remain his sex toy, ever at the ready to submit.’

  Saraveeta was panting. ‘Can’t you feel it? Can’t you taste it in the air? It’s like breathing pure sex!’

  Allura could feel very little, but when Saraveeta pulled her to her feet and gave her a deep kiss she began to understand a little. For whatever reason this high priestess was tapping into the libido of the females in the room. Combining them, making of them an offering to the great stone idol of the temple, the erect penis of Zuranos.

  Allura moaned and pushed hard against her lover. All around the hall women attacked their male escorts or any others they could find.

  ‘Enough!’ shouted the baron. ‘I will tolerate no more. Rodolfo, bring those two princess whores,’ he pointed at Allura and Saraveeta, ‘and follow me to the dungeon. It’s time we taught this little priestess here a real lesson.’

  ‘Should we not leave them to the dungeon keeper?’ asked Rodolfo, with some trepidation.

  ‘No, you sniveling worm, we’ll handle these bitches ourselves, the old-fashioned way. That is unless you’re too frightened of their female witchcraft?’

  ‘No sir,’ said he, ‘I have no fear.’

  The baron grabbed the red locks of the priestess and hauled her to her feet. ‘We shall see, Rodolfo, all too soon, who is a true man and who is not.’

  Allura’s sense of foreboding was acute, the threat of the dungeon filling her with dread.

  The three females were roughly manhandled below and taken directly to the dungeon keeper’s macabre cell, where he kept his favorite implements. The old man was absent for the moment, so the baron ordered the priestess hung immediately from the shackles in the center of the gloomy room.

  A few minutes later the dungeon keeper arrived and more torches were lit. He made a thorough examination of his new resident, saying not a word to Montr
eico until he was done. ‘Well you’ve let me in for it this time, haven’t you?’ he grumbled.

  ‘Relax, you’ve nothing to fear,’ Montreico drawled. ‘This is just another little bitch for us to beat into submission.’

  ‘Ever seen the likes of this before?’ the wizened man croaked hoarsely, and the baron approached the body of the hanging female; that splendid pale creature with flaming red hair, a priestess who until yesterday had never been outside the temple in her entire life, but the fact that she was now suspended on tiptoes, wrists in shackles in the dungeon of a baron, seemed to mark little distress in her countenance.

  Holding the torch close to her bottom, the baron examined the tiny mark between the cleft of her cheeks. Allura, who knelt nearby in the filthy straw along with Saraveeta, had a perfectly clear view. It was a circle, with three wings projecting from the center – the mark of the sky god, the father of the heavens. ‘It’s a tattoo, so what?’ he challenged.

  ‘No tattoo artist I know can do this.’ The keeper smacked her buttocks, instantly turning the skin red, then the mark turned a bright gold, reflecting as though the woman had some light inside her shining through.

  ‘Don’t bother me with trifles,’ the baron said impatiently. ‘Just give me the whip.’

  ‘Baron, you are about to whip the property of a god,’ the keeper warned, but the baron snatched the long whip that Allura knew so well from the man’s clawed fingers. ‘She is in my dungeon, which makes her my property. And you two,’ he pointed to Allura and Saraveeta, ‘you are next, so take heed.’

  The baron moved behind the priestess and unfurled the threatening whip. He seemed as skilled with it as the dungeon keeper, if not more so, and leaning his body into the swing the first slash landed cleanly, the flawless flesh of the priestess bruising and reddening at once, like an angry claw had torn down her back.

  ‘Now you will tell the truth,’ declared Montreico as he lashed her over and over, her ass and back and thighs. ‘You are nothing, do you hear me? A whipped slave is all you are, so confess it!’