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The first thing Ewias felt when he came to his senses was the burn of a tight rope binding his wrists behind his back and, more concerning, looping around to circle his neck. Only when both his tentative endeavors to contort himself free and his efforts of breaking the hemp were unsuccessful did he attempt to observe his surroundings. The room was poorly lit, with only a single ray of sunlight falling from a small opening high into the wall of coarse stones; the smell of mold was heavy in the air, the whole atmosphere feeling pregnant with humidity; not a single sound apart from the regular slow-dripping of water could be heard.
Then, he panicked.
He was very obviously in jail, yet he could not remember a single offense that would deserve such a fate. He did not even recall being thrown in a cell. How long had he been in there? Given the low luminosity and the reddish hue of the sky — what he could see of it, at least, when his unbound legs allowed him to jump high enough to get a glimpse through the basement window's iron bars — dawn could not have been broken for long. Or maybe it was dusk? He didn't know how the cell was oriented. He didn't even know which prison he was in! If he was still in his village, the masonry meant it must be the castle dungeons, though that did little to clarify his situation. Being held up with no recollections of the events preceding his incarceration and a gigantic headache usually meant a long night of drinking, but being sent to an actual gaol required something graver than being a rowdy drunk.
Before his mind could devise any explanation, however, someone opened the wooden door with a groan that betrayed both how massive it was and how little care had been put in its hinges. He blinked, trying to shoo these thoughts away; focusing on irrelevant details might be his usual stress reaction, but he had to focus.
“Hello?”
Nothing, not even the reverberation of cavernous rooms, answered his shaky words. He could peek at rows of lit torches in the hallway behind the door, but that did little to help him see in the cell's darkness. If anything, the contrast made it feel thicker somehow, hiding the silhouette of whoever had entered. The only thing Ewias could glimpse was a hood; the absence of any metallic clanking made him think the figure didn't wear any kind of armor but some kind of heavy frieze. This wasn't good news. Castle guards did not use frocks — he had managed to get himself involved in religious matters.
“Hey, Robes” he tried again, voice hoarse, “can I at least know why I'm here? I'm pretty sure that, uh, what happened at the Inn was—”
“Silence.”
He wasn't the type to obey mysterious strangers, but the voice's coldness stopped him in his tracks. It was a bit high-pitched, though not enough to make sense of whether the stranger was a man or a woman. That simple order had been flung with the kind of detachment that made it instantly clear that to them, Ewias was nothing more than a misbehaving animal. And that this misbehaviour would not be tolerated much longer.
“Follow me.”
Ewias wasn't in the mood to discover the physicality of threats hidden in that icy tone; he obeyed, following a few steps behind Robes. Not once did they turn around or look behind their back to check whether he was still trailing them. A small part of his brain, the one that used panic to consider every stupid triviality in detail, thought it made sense: he did not know where he was or how the place was laid out; escaping would just result in getting lost. Not to mention the fact he was still tied up. Most of his mind, nevertheless, was dreading the kind of person that would just do such a thing with cold confidence.
Thanks to the torches he had previously observed, both his captor and himself projected long, overlapping shadows on the uneven paving. Accompanied only by their footsteps' echoes, Ewias tried to make some sense of… of everything. Having some light did not help much; Robes' clothes were entirely unadorned, and he could confirm that he was between stone walls of poor craftsmanship — though it was getting better as they progressed through what appeared to be a significantly large complex. Nothing more.
He breathed deeply — albeit as silently as he could manage, fearing what Robes would do if he proved too bothersome — and collected his thoughts. He most definitely wasn't in his village any longer. Monks, or priests, or some kind of religious persons, had kidnapped him to their sanctuary. With no indication of how much time had passed, he could be anywhere in the world. Or, well, no; he had not heard any trace of an accent in Robes' few words, so he must still be not too far away. Now if only he could remember where there was a massive temple, and what kind of cult it belonged to… His village had an altar for Rhoione the Everflowing where each year they put offerings to guarantee a good harvest, and like everyone he kept a few statuettes of Ingwald and Leofwynn in his house to ward off the evil eye, but that was the extent of his religious knowledge. Oh, and of course the Lord's soldiers put banners for Wulfsin when they went to war, but that had not happened in quite a few years.
“Are you,” he hesitated after trawling through what memories he had of the stories peddlers told of the city when they came, “is, is this a Temple of Ceredig?”
Robes stopped as soon as the words were out of his mouth; he almost collided into their back. Unmoving as a statue, they spoke.
“Be careful of what you say.” There was contempt dripping from these words, yet they still did turn to look towards Ewias. “You have received the immense honour and privilege of being invited inside the humble abode of He of Many Souls, Master of Masters, His Grandeur, Ever-existing Lord of All That Was, Is, and Will Be, may his presence enlighten us.” They had declaimed each title with rising fervor, ice being replaced with devotion. “We obey as he bids.”
“We obey as he bids,” repeated Ewias. He had never even heard of this guy with lots of monikers and no proper name, but he knew enough not to contradict fanatics. Especially when said fanatics had him in ropes. ‘Invited’, ha! That seemed to satisfy his escort, and they began to walk again.
The masonry looked better and better with each step; the rough stonework had been replaced with perfectly smooth walls and elaborate bas-reliefs, the simple torches with suspended oil lamps. They must be getting closer to… whatever it was they were going to. Somewhere important, judging from the constantly increasing number of sculptures. Ewias narrowly avoided tripping on his own feet as he gawked at one of them, depicting a larger-than-life man. Entirely naked. With full details. What kind of sect had he found himself involved with, really?
After some time, how much he couldn't say, they arrived in front of a properly gigantic set of doors, reinforced with iron bars of a very deep black. Between them the wood was intricately carved; to Ewias' untrained eye, the main subject was the same as the naked statue from before — with lavish clothes, this time. He still had no clue what this could mean.
“You will enter when commanded,” said Robes.
Before Ewias could answer, they had disappeared. Through a hidden passage, maybe? He didn't have time to ponder the question: the doors opened, apparently of their own accord, without any of the groaning or creaking that his cells' had. They came to a rest with a thumping so dull and deep he could feel it in his bones.
“COME FORTH”
He did. Without a second thought, without even the briefest of hesitations, he did.
There was a flight of stairs, neither short nor long — or maybe both. Steps, for some unfathomable reason, were hard to count; they eventually led to a vast, round chamber, and despite the command Ewias simply had to take pause. Words lacked. He had never seen a room of such extravagant height. A series of tall columns encircled it, but where there should have been a ceiling he could only see a vague, otherworldly glow; yet for all of its magnitude, it lacked the cold draft of stone structures. He was well and truly lost, then, for he did not think he had ever heard of that kind of structure anywhere in the world.
He finally lowered his eyes, still awestruck. On each side of the stair's exit stood a bunch of Robe's… friends. Identical figures with identical clothes, hands raised in what could only be prayer yet unmoving and silent. And in the center…
The handsome man, the one the carvings depicted. There must have been some trick of the light, or maybe of perspective, because he appeared to be the same size as those larger-than-life sculptures, even sitting on something that looked very much like a glittering throne.
“Oh, our Lord,” said one of the acolytes in a voice that resembled Robes', “our search has been fruitful. We bring you Your Untainted Vessel, whom we trust will fulfill all your needs and desires.”
“We will be the judge of that,” answered the man, though his tone lacked the grand importance of his previous commands. “Leave us..”
They did. Once again it went so fast that to Ewias' eyes they just disappeared; of them only remained a faint ringing sound that he could have sworn was chanting.
“Now, let Us see what We have been given…”
The implicit order was hard to miss, but Ewias found it hard to obey. It was too much. Everything was too much. He had panicked when he awoke — but by now panic had been transcended into… he didn't know. He felt too confused to truly be afraid; none of what was happening made any sense, and only the air's astonishingly pleasant warmness on his skin reminded him it was all real. A flash of anger distorted the man's face.
“APPROACH.”
He did. Dragging his feet in an undignified way that, thanks to his bounds, had more in common with a waddling, but as if pressed forwards by an invisible hand, he did. Each step he took towards the throne reignited his fears: there was no trickery of the light nor of the perspective. The man was that tall. His stomach twisted itself into knots as its brain commenced to consider the possibility that the cultists weren't exaggerating, and that he was in front of a… no, it couldn't be. There must have been some explanation.
The same unseen force that had pushed him forwards forced him on his knees when he at last reached the bottom of the throne. The floor there was colder, as if it was made of metal. His captor said nothing for what felt like an eternity. Ewias was starting to get seriously uncomfortable: his knees were hurting and having to keep his back extremely straight thanks to the binding made the position untenable. Even moving his head around was difficult, forcing him to stare straight at the man's crotch. Who, thankfully, had clothes; though some part of Ewias did wonder whether that section, too, was as… significant as it had been depicted on the statues.
“Rise.”
Even standing up, Ewias had to strain himself looking up to meet the man's eyes. They were an unnaturally deep red.
“Ah, excellent,” he hummed.
He took Ewias' chin in a hand; he should have been scared, yet he could only think about how warm the contact was. Warmer than any man had any right to be. He was examined like a prized horse, which only added to his confusion. What was to be expected of him?
“Yes, I think you will do nicely.” He removed his hand. To his own surprise, Ewias keenly felt the comparative coldness. “Do you know why they have brought you to Us?”
“I… No. Sir,” he added after a brief hesitation. It was still unclear whom he was dealing with, but given his current predicament it couldn't hurt to be deferential.
“Sir?” The man had an amused laugh, the kind usually reserved to particularly smart dogs doing tricks. “I see this time they gave Us someone not entirely devoid of brains. We must correct you, however.” He put a finger on Ewias' forehead. It, too, was warm; hot, even. “You will refer to Us as ‘Your Grandeur’ and only when asked.”
The man, this… lord, paused and stared straight into Ewias' eyes with an expectant look. Did that count as being asked? “Understood, Your Grandeur.”
“Excellent.” He rose from his throne. Ewias wasn't a small man by any means, but he was dwarfed by his abductor, who towered above him as he started to walk in slow, deliberate circles around him.
“Did you know that a man's soul is kept in his seed?”
Taken aback by the non-sequitur, Ewias did not answer. It was something that was said, sometimes, the stuff of folktales and dubious healing practices; he had never believed in it himself, nor had any other man he knew. It simply couldn't be true; otherwise masturbation would be akin to killing yourself.
“Oh, do not worry,” came the voice right next to his ear, whispering the answer as if his thoughts were an open book, “it takes more than simple self-pleasure.”
Every hair on Ewias' body stood straight, a general goosebump caused by his every sense reacting in alarm. There was a promise in that sultry tone; one that he did not like whatsoever. He closed his eyes.
“As a matter of fact, it requires rare and specialized expertise.” Incomprehensibly, despite feeling the presence and the warmth of its contact on his left, the voice now came from the other side of him. “But you are in luck, my pretty Vessel, for I am in possession of such knowledge.”
Ewias had imagined a lot of possibilities during the walk with Robes; in those agonizingly slow, uncertain minutes, and as the cult-like nature of these people was made clearer and clearer, some form of ritual sacrifice had lodged a prominent place in his thoughts.
He was thus utterly not ready for what he saw when he dared to open his eyes again: his captor, naked, with an indecipherable expression on his face. Ewias could not find a place for his gaze to settle until he glanced downward. The statues were, in fact, life-sized in that area too. His eyes darted upwards, meeting a smile of sort, some sort of dangerous cross between a condescending smirk and predatory grin.
A sudden feeling of coldness. Ewias looked at himself in alarm, as far as his restraints allowed him; he, too, was naked. His clothes had inexplicably disappeared.
“I… what…? Your Grandeur,” he quickly appended when he saw the flash of anger in front of him.
“Do not worry; it is simple enough.”
He extended a hand, brushing against Ewias' torso. The contact was warmer than it had any right to be; he closed his eyes. It was clear what kind of sacrifice was expected of him, and he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that at least, he would be surviving it. It did not make the touch disappear, of course, but it helped. Made it feel more manageable, somehow, even as a second hand joined the first in its exploration, caressing the entirety of his newly naked body with a tenderness he had not expected and did not know what to think of.
Everything broke when a third hand grabbed his cock.
He struggled against the urge to open his eyes again. The heat of this gentle pressure was exactly similar to the other hands on his skin; he was in no hurry to discover whether some twin of this Man had joined them, or whether His Grandeur actually had some claim to his many titles.
“Do not struggle,” came the whisper in both his ears at the same time. The honeyed voice — or was it voices? — made him shiver. “While there is value in bravery, now is not the time for it. Do you not want to feel good?”
And, oh, how Ewias hated his body for finding that offer tempting. He did not want to feel good. Now that he knew what he would have to go through, he wanted to confront that struggle standing straight, stoically, his eyes maybe closed but his dignity still intact. His lower impulses had decided otherwise.
The caresses had melted into each other, a permanent contact engulfing his entire body in a sensation, something he could not put words onto. It was warm, yes, and soft, and pliant in a strange way. Maybe the hands had multiplied enough that they were capable of touching him everywhere all at once; maybe there just was one single gigantic one. All he knew was that, in spite of himself, he was getting harder.
“Stop fighting.” This time, the voice came from behind him. Or maybe in front of him. It was hard to say; everything feeling as close and as far as everything else at the same time. “Stop thinking about it.”
He tried not to. Tried to focus his thoughts on the geometry of everything, on how what was happening could even be possible. In vain. Part of it was that it did not make any sense in the first place unless something supernatural really was going on; part of it, most of it really, was that Ewias was finding it supremely challenging to concentrate when his dick was being taken care of in that way. The strokes were slow and deliberate, ethereal fingers taking great care in pressing just enough each time they passed over his crown, his own precum helping matters.
He strained himself to bring his hands forwards in some reflex; he made a sound of surprise when his binding reminded itself to him with a sharp pain. A faint, amused chuckle echoed all around him, distracting him just enough to be startled anew when his ass cheeks were spread open.
The reality of the sacrifice should have hit him like a sack of bricks, an abrupt realization of what was expected of him. It should have.
Instead and to his shame — or, at least, to the shame of a portion of him, one that was getting smaller and smaller with each stroke — he moaned as he felt what probably was a finger prod his hole. It might have been a small one, closer to a mewling exhalation, but it was one nonetheless.
“That is better…”
A hand, a pressure in his back, forcing him forwards against what felt like one of the throne's armrests. He's still forcing his eyes closed, though he wasn't sure whether it was in fear of actually seeing the source of this enveloping touch or because it was easier to lose himself in pleasure that way.
The finger made itself more insistent. Ewias has never done these things, but he's neither stupid nor innocent. He knew what was coming, easing the shock of the insertion — the tiniest bit. It was not painful, per se, just… weird. Unusual. A very faint burn from the stretch of it, but he could not honestly say that having this presence inside him was unpleasant, especially not with his dick still being the object of such thoughtful ministrations.
He yelped when a second finger joined the first; it was uncomfortable. His body, though, rapidly got used to it and to his own amazement Ewias began to… enjoy it? He did not not enjoy the slow movements in his ass, the way his hole tried to clench around this foreign intrusion.
“Does it not feel good, Vessel?” purred the very air around him. “Does it not feel good,” it repeated, harsher, with a brusque and almost painful shift of the fingers when Ewias did not immediately answer.
“Y-yes, it does. Your, your Grandeur.”
“Good Vessel,” came the answer with what felt like the touch of lips against his.
Ewias did not respond anything but a vague, throaty sound, for the fingers inside him had found something. He did not know enough about anatomy to have a precise idea of what that was, and he did not care. The feeling was inexpressible, nigh unbearable. And left him wanting more, more of this strange pressure that made him shiver. His hips started to swing instinctively, to the point it wasn't clear whether the fingers were fucking him or if he was fucking himself with them.
They disappeared. He felt empty, disappointingly so. Minutes before, he had no idea that such a sensation was even possible.
Before he could complain, he felt something against his ass, again. Something new. Something that did not feel like fingers whatsoever, though his foggy brain could not find what it was at that moment.
He realized it was a dick, the sizable one he had seen first on the statues and then on the man, on His Grandeur himself, precisely as it breached his entrance in a one powerful thrust.
Ewias could not help but scream. It was large, bigger than even the multiple fingers that had stretched him before, filling him up so much he thought he would explode. His asshole was burning, desperately trying to close against this aggression; his insides were being molded by it.
And yet, and yet! There was no denying what was bubbling up beneath that pain. As the rhythmic thrusts hit that sensible spot inside him, as his dick was the focus of the most delightful of attentions, as the all-encompassing presence caressed every inch of his skin, Ewias began to feel a comfortable tension building up, intensified by a similar one coming from deep inside. There was something peculiar in it, in the way its familiarity felt odd when it didn't radiate from his cock.
The massive member accelerated its pace; Ewias, even through his own painful pleasure, could comprehend what it meant. His… captor? lover? was getting close. He himself was not far either. He would have liked to stroke himself, to make sure he finished while he was still full — and what a thought this was, for someone who hadn't known this type of contentment was possible for all of not even an hour — but was blocked, once again, by his restraints. He groaned in frustration, pitifully moving his hips in an attempt to find some friction. The hand-shapes on his cock, understanding what he sought, worked with renewed vigor.
A throbbing inside him, followed by a new type of fullness. A roar shaking the very room around him. A feeling of being filled with hot liquid, hotter than cum had any right to be. And yet, delightful. There was a small, almost insignificant part of Ewias' mind being revulsed by his enjoyment of someone — something ? — coming inside him; he was far too lost in his own pleasure not to ignore it. Before he could recognize all the tell-tale signs of his oncoming climax, he came, spilling his seed all over the throne. It was different from the orgasms he had experienced in his life before, stronger, more intense, resonating in all his body and making his skin tingle in an experience unlike any other.
When he finally opened his eyes, both of them were clothed again, the man sitting on his throne. If not for the suspicious stains on the armrest and his ass feeling sore, he could have thought nothing had happened. Their discussion came back to the front of Ewias' thoughts, and he breathed in relief. He didn't know what that talk of souls and vessels was, but he still felt like himself.
“Oh, no, my dear Vessel,” said the man with an amused tone, once again as if he was able to peer inside Ewias' brain, “this is only the beginning.”