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“Hey,” I said. “Hey.” I walked over to him and grabbed his face with both of my hands, forcing him to look me in the eye. “I need you, okay? I’m gonna need you to get me through this. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” he said right away. “Always.” He reached out in return to hold my upper arms. “I’ve got you. I won’t let them hurt you.”
I nodded and breathed out. And then I quickly got undressed and allowed him to clink the heavy shackles shut on my wrists, behind my back.
And then we walked down the hallway and down the stairs.
I had no idea what to expect and even the short journey there, my feet on the cool wood of the hallway and down the stairs, was far too long for my imagination to run wild.
Hearing the music as we got to the stairs didn’t help either. It must have been playing through the sound system: chant-singing in Latin or some other old language, like monks for some ancient ritual.
I started to tremble, and Walker’s hand on my arm squeezed. “I got you.”
I nodded the smallest bit and swallowed hard.
And then we walked into the white ballroom. Men in their ominous silver robes stood all around. And in the center of the room, there was a huge wooden X erected, as big as a person. Shackles hung from each of the corners.
It was clear where I was meant to be placed. What would happen to me after I was shackled in place? My trembling increased to all-out shaking. I looked to Walker, less sure now than I was upstairs. Now I needed him to be the strong one.
His eyes didn’t meet mine, they were busy looking around at all the men in silver robes who were each moving amongst themselves, lighting candles they were holding—one flame lighting another to another to another until everyone’s candle in the whole room was lit. Then the light from the gas chandelier above went dim, so that there was only the light from the men’s candles, and the chanting monks echoing off the walls.
“Chain the sacrifice to the cross,” said a voice from the darkness.
Oh. Great. I was tonight’s sacrifice. Awesome. But they couldn’t really mean to kill me twice. Could they?
Could they?
Oh shit, my breathing started to get short.
And then a man took my arm and led me forwards.
It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine, I chanted over and over in my head. But after the man used an ancient looking key to unshackle one heavy cuff at my wrists only so he could lift my arms above my head and reattach the cuff to an ancient looking ring on the wooden cross, I was feeling less sure.
Especially after three other men joined him, taking each of my other limbs and attaching heavy shackles and chains to them as well, spreading my legs uncomfortably wide so that I was attached to the cross like—
Well, like a maiden sacrifice.
Then those damnable canes began to bang away. “The belle is laid out before us, a sacrifice.”
Jesus, did they have to keep using that word?
“Now her flesh will be covered in the liquid heat from our fire, as each of us marks her with the ownership of the Order. She will be purified by our coverings and only then shall her trespasses be forgiven.”
As I watched, while holding their candles aloft with one hand, several in the silver robes reached down and exposed themselves, hands on hard shafts as they looked at me shackled to the X with lust in their eyes.
Others who didn’t have their cocks out yet banged the canes, and then they came towards me.
Desperately I sought out Walker’s face amid the crowd and he stepped forwards protectively.
But the first man, when he reached me, didn’t come between my legs. No, he stepped behind me, releasing his cock only long enough to lift the candle high and turn it sideways. Which released a long stream of hot wax on my shoulder. I screeched a little in surprise but really it didn’t hurt too badly.
After the man had emptied his wax on me, he moved behind me and I could hear a crank turning. It must have been old, because it was loud. As it turned, the cross I was standing against began to lean backwards, tipping me off my feet as it slowly became a table.
Then men came from all sides. Sometimes one at a time, often two at once, depositing their hot burning wax onto my skin. One man—Mr. Martins, the father of a friend I’d played volleyball with in high school—was apparently feeling creative because he dripped the wax slowly, drop by drop, in an intricate pattern all over my breast. Really focusing on my nipple.
The hot wax almost immediately hardened the moment it touched my skin. Mr. Martins was the first one who, hand on his cock, apparently decided the decoration with wax wasn’t nearly enough. Because he grabbed his medium-sized cock and really began jerking himself, eyes locked on my pert breasts.
