Chapter 1
Paladin Timon looked up at the decaying walled keep. Little more than a tower with a stout curtain wall in disrepair. Vine covered, stones lying tumbled where mortar had failed. Young and strong, he topped 6' with ease, his body conditioned to the limits. He sighed, he had dreamed of touring the world with the armies of his King and Temple. Of slaying hordes of evil doers and peace breakers. Now instead on his first real assignment he was assigned the life time task of guarding and trying to destroy one of the great ancient evils.
The Temple forces had taken over the task more than three centuries ago from the last of a group of Monk Mages that had tricked and imprisoned her what they said was a millennium earlier.
As he rode up, there was a stack of crates and sacks just outside the decaying wooden gates that partially filled the entrance. One gate hung on a broken hinge and left the gates ajar, one gate only half closed.
He climbed down, his proud warhorse looking naked without barding, he in only the light armor that was casual uniform for his order. He pulled the fully laden saddle bags off the horse and turning he saw a figure in tunic, pants and leather boots, only the badge of the order stitched on his chest showed the ancient withered figure as another Paladin.
"Well boy? You going to stand there gawking, or help carry in this month's rations?" Pointing to a wheelbarrow possibly even more ancient than the master here, the figure moved out and through the gate. Grabbing the barrow handles, he hurried after out after the paladin.
"Good boy. I am Sebastien of the Order of Atlan. Rank matters little out here, there is no one to lord it over anyways. You look almost too young to be graduated from training. I am sorry they pulled you here, they usually assign this post to those at the end of their careers, not those just starting. I have to apologize, my health is failing faster than expected and the replacement they expected would have arrive too late. Maybe if he arrives before I pass, they will relieve you and he will rule here."
"I assure you I am fully qualified to this post, top of my class in Ritual and Magical studies, fifth in Weapon Combat, third in Tactics and Strategy. I can handle anything here!"
"Calm, calm... Sorry, just a snide old man not used to having people around. Okay, to your lessons. Supplies are dropped here outside the gate on the first of each month. That box nailed on the wall there is where any letters or supply requests are to be left. We are not supposed to be tainted by dealings with mere uncleansed mortals, or some foolishness like that, so never let them see you, never seek to see them."
At one time the tower had been home to many people it seemed, now the upper levels were closed off. Most of the rooms on the main level empty, others used as storage for bolts of cloth and bundles of arrows aged with dry rot. The servant's kitchen and larder were in use. Two small chambers held beds, one obviously in use. A large common room with fireplace and three great shuttered windows, a small bookcase held four tomes and a single padded chair near the fire. Opposite was a small round table and two low benches. Bare and stark, the drafty room felt cold even in this, the start of summer.
He was shown a door, tight fitting, with two locks. Covered in prayers and invocations to the Three, symbols calling on the light and seeking to drive away the dark. Each incised mark filled with Divine silver.
"I have to do todays ritual yet. You go and get settled in, it won't be long."
The wind seemed to pick up as a distant voice rose in ritual cadence. He could feel magic growing thick in the air. Before with a shout the magic faded and quiet returned.
Staggering out Sebastien settled in the chair by the fire and was soon asleep. As dark arrived Timon picked up the frail older man and carried him to his bed where he lay undisturbed by his portage.
Timon awoke before the dawn as he had almost every day of his life. Rising he fetched water and a pail of coal and started the stove. Then stepping out he visited the small coop and returning with four eggs soon had breakfast ready as the ancient knight stepped out of his room already dressed as he was yesterday.
"Oatmeal and Eggs with Cornbread? I haven't eaten so well in ages! Ah, I miss the finer things..." stuffing a spoonful in his mouth. He spoke again, "Now tell me what has been happening in the world these last six years. Tell me everything."
As late afternoon approached they broke off the gossip session as Sebastien looked at the sun. "Join me now in an hour of prayer and meditation, purify your soul and call upon the armor of your faith for the trial ahead."
Then they started chanting the Nine Tenants and Three Decrees, then passing into silence as each retreated into the oh so personal true meaning of faith.
Until with a sigh, Sebastien broke the meditations, "Come now, it is time."
Heading to the sealed door, Sebastien pulled a key on a lanyard from around his neck and unlocked the first lock, then pressing his fingers carefully on difficult to reach patches on a carved floral pattern he turned the bolt on the second, puzzle lock. "Just remember, the three flowers of the Gods with your middle fingers in order of their primacy. Then your little finger to the Moon as least, and last the thumb to the Sun as greatest. Then turn the bolt counter sunward."
Closing and locking the door behind them, Timon entered the passage to the chamber following closely behind Sebastien.
"Normally, as I said before I think, only those at the very end of our service are bound here. Serve a few years and pass the binding to the next as we die and return to the Gods in glory. I am failing far too fast. They normally chose only those of us beyond passion and adventure, those that just wish to settle and rest."
Pausing to catch his breath, Sebastien's heart pounding. He turned to the door at the end of the passage. This door was covered in barely remembered sigils and glyphs calling forth protections in the names of deities unknown to modern tongues.
"Never bring anything in with you beyond your vestments, never take anything out. Do not dally inside, remaining in the demon's presence for longer than absolutely needed can be bad."
Unlocking this last door with just the key, Sebastien started pushing it open. After the dark of the passage, lit only by a candle Sebastien left on the floor, the glow from within was blinding. Drawing Timon's eyes, he saw set in alcoves glowing statues of each of the Three. Each glowing brightly in the colors matching their Divine aura. Atlan, Lord of Justice and Righteous Battle in his brilliant white. Fela, Lady of Love and Healing, in the sheen of her gleaming silver. Sola, of Prosperous Labor and Wisdom in her golden brilliance. Rainbow shadows filled the room.
A Lectern stood before the Three, a book opened on it, above the book a chalice and unsheathed dagger. Central in the room was a brazier of source-less flames. There opposite the lectern stood the object of the room and the entire keep. Quickly disguising his interest, he watched closely as Sebastien went about the ritual.
"Each day we fill the chalice with its blood to drain its magic in hopes one day it will dissipate."
'IT' was gorgeous. Hair of a purest midnight, hung passed her shoulders. Voluptuous barely described her, breasts with barely a sag that would overflow two hands. Childbearing hips spread wide under a gentle but severe curve. Pure milk skin crowned by thick nipples of a deep red. Lips above and below a dark pink under a tiny triangle of that midnight hair. Her eyes and ears locked away behind a mask that both blinded and deafened her, while a gag filled her mouth. Arms stretched far above in chains of incorruptible platinum, ankles held wide in similar chains.
Reading from the book Sebastian intoned the words that grew to fill the room. Invocations of warding and protection that echoed long after his lips stilled. Picking up the dagger and chalice from the lectern Sebastien approached her and slashed a V into her flesh and still chanting held the chalice at the point, collecting the flowing blood. Timon stared amazed at the process, like a perverse sugarman gathering sap from a forest maple.
Once the chalice was filled Sebastien's chant rose to a new peak and the brazier's flames flared as he dumped the collected blood into them. A veritable tornado of the flames scorched the ceiling, as Sebastien replaced the dagger and chalice and backed from the room, closing and relocking the door.
Suddenly sagging, only Timon's quick grab kept him standing.
"That takes more out of me every day." Gasping he led the way to the sitting room. "Here, is the entire ritual transcribed. Memorize it." He gestured to a few sheets of aged vellum.
A week later he was packing the dirt down on Sebastien's grave. Sebastien had failed to rise that morning, and Timon found his body cool in its sheets. Leaving a note announcing the passing in the message box he assumed the duties without hope of reprieve now. Dreading every second of his first ritual on his own to come.
As he started, he summoned his mana and focused it into the chant he could feel it struggling to push back an aura he couldn't see, but that he now felt pushing at him like he was standing in a rushing river.
Stepping up he cut the V and could smell the blood as a floral scent reaching deep inside him. Then as the flames flared the aura retreated, leaving him as drained as she seemed to be.
Almost three weeks the rituals went uninterrupted.
She came to him in the deepest night. Pulling down his blanket and caressing his chest. Fingers curled in the sparse hair there as she toyed with his defined muscles. Lips and tongue at his neck. Her hands pulled down his smallclothes and reached...
He sat bolt upright. Heart pounding. Lips chanting out prayers to drive away the night terrors. But the images never fully went away.
That day as the dagger had slashed and the chalice filled drop by carmine drop, his offhand had reached out and mimicked her curves, still inches away, in a caress from breast to thigh. Chanting all the while he nearly missed the chalice overflowing. Dumping the contents on the fire he fled to prayers and meditations.
She came to him in the deepest night. Pulling down his blanket and caressing his chest. Fingers curled in the hair there as she toyed with his defined muscles. Lips and teeth at his neck. Tongue teasing his nipples and then navel. Her hands pulled down his smallclothes and reaching pulled him erect. Her lips closed on him...
As Samhain approached, gusts and breezes played in the drafty rooms and halls. The locked outer door shuddering and shivering as the winds howled. Strange, the curtains over the windows and entry door hung still and didn't seem to react to the howling screams of the wind that filled the night.
Each day his phantom caress had grown just a little bolder. Today he had touched her, touched an ancient demon, once called a god of the hidden wilds. The smooth touch of that warm skin echoed in the fingers of his left hand. He had touched her, that was the most forbidden of touches. DAMN IT! What was she doing to him?
He spent that entire night in prayer and contemplation.
Slashing deeper and deeper each day as his anger and frustration grew, still she was fully healed each day. If the cuts didn't bother her, maybe something else would.
He cut another strip from his now shredded cloak. The leather woven and twisted into a two-foot-long quirt, the end another foot and a half of knotted leather cords from the heavier leather of his riding gear. See how she liked that!
No dagger this day, he held the crude cat-o-nine and almost tentatively struck at her. Barely a flinch, but no blood either. Striking harder and harder, at last two fields of what looked like a hundred welts in a parody V, dripped blood into the finally filled chalice. Only as he dumped it into the flames did he notice he had stopped chanting to pant out his exhaustion.
She came to him in the deepest night. Pulling down his blanket and caressing his chest. Fingers curled in the thick hair there as she toyed with his defined muscles. Lips and teeth at his neck. Tongue teasing his nipples and then navel. Her hands pulled down his smallclothes and reaching pulled him erect. Her lips closed on a cock grown hard, a minute's play left him soaked and wanting. When she positioned herself over him, his cock locked in her entrance, she plunged down on him...
Today his fingers had reached out into the lash marks and pushing the trickles of blood to gather more quickly. He lifted the red soaked hand and inhaled of the floral scent, his fingers brushing his lips where an eager tongue feasted briefly.
On this the darkest day of the year, the rest of the world was celebrating Midwinter by extinguishing every flame, and rekindling them anew. Here at an out of the way tower, every window blazed in furious glory. An unshaven Paladin rocked back and forth mumbling jumbled prayers, as winds howled indoors again and tried to extinguish every light.
He entered the chamber and gazed on her unmarked perfection. Not touching the dagger or chalice, not speaking the chants, he was lost in her beauty. Reaching out he teased each ruby nipple into incredible hardness. Tasting of them he felt them twitch as his teeth closed on them, then stepping back, panting.
"Damn you Temptress! Damn your breasts! Damn your hips. Damn that perfect cunt..." Each curse accompanied by strokes of the whip, covering her front, he did what he had never done before and stepped behind her, and saw where her wings had been cut off, meshes of divine silver preventing regrowth. He covered every inch in carmine droplets. He left, the still dripping whip in his hands. Lost in dreams and fantasies he failed to notice as the winds caught each drip and carried them away.
In his anger he also failed to notice that each of the statues of the Three now had tears below their eyes.
She slammed down unto his hugely swollen cock as it spurted into her for the uncountable time that night. Locking her legs around his hips, and leaning forward she smiled like a thousand suns dawning and pressed her cum spattered breasts to him. Unfolding the rainbow wings of a dragonfly she wrapped him tight in her arms, and lifted them into the night sky as she started thrusting back at him again...
This time the dream woke him to a sorry sadness, his loins soiled and sticky. He lay there unmoving until dawn's light crept around the ill-fitting shutters.
Raging before her he covered her front in lashes and soon her entire body was covered in a sheen of blood. Bending in with his tongue he cleaned first her right breast and then her left. Locking his lips, he nursed blood from her still bleeding nipples. Dropping his still soiled smallclothes that were all he wore, he thrust up inside her as his teeth sought purchase on the side of her neck. She responded, thrusting back at him. The perfect globes of her ass in his hands as he took her without art, without form and style. Cumming into her he sagged back and staggered from the chamber sobbing. Her lips turned up in a smile.
The statues now had their heads averted as even more tears streamed from their eyes.
He passed out naked on his bed covered in blood and fluids every night now. Waking hours later to a clean body, no sign of blood or sperm remained. The winds now seemed a bit like voices heard distantly. Even in the bitter winter cold, the winds that filled the tower seemed somehow warm and welcoming.
After two weeks as he nursed at her massive breasts, they started leaking a thick sweet milk he couldn't get enough of as he viciously sawed into her.
Continued in Chapter 2
Mother in Chains - Chapter 1
Next Story:Mother in Chains - Chapter 2
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