Part II: The Secret Shrine
Annie rapped at the wooden door rhythmically, giving the secret knock as the other three escapees waited nervously on the short stairway leading down to the cellar door. The door opened a fraction, revealing a segment of an old woman’s face in darkness. “Yes?” she asked mildly.
“Four lost souls, seeking the guiding Light,” Annie said carefully.
The old woman smiled in recognition. “Seek the Light within,” she said, and opened the door, taking Annie’s lantern as she did so. Lifting it high, she revealed a brick cellar with large casks lining the walls, a tap at the bottom of each. The old woman hung the lantern on a hook protruding from a ceiling beam, and waved the hesitant group inside.
The woman lead them over to one cask, seemingly identical to the rest, and bending down, turned the tap to the side as if it were a doorknob. Then with a tug and a little grunt of effort, she pulled open the whole front of the cask, which swung wide on hidden hinges like a great circular door.
The wooden tunnel of the empty cask gave onto an open portal, revealing another brick room, lit with a hundred or more candles. Annie had been here before, and led the way. Zelle kept a calm facade, but Hodges and Matilda gaped at the hidden chamber. As the group entered alongside the old woman, they saw that the walls were painted with colorful frescoes, depicting luminous angels and the horrible deaths of martyrs, all lit by flickering candlelight.
They now saw that the far end of the shrine was occupied. A tonsured priest was sitting in a carved chair, reading from a huge tome with gold leaf at the page edges. A group of five or six worshipers, in white hooded robes like the priest, sat arrayed around him on the floor.
“And Zephira said, ‘Lo, I hear a voice like the music of water,’ and her companions harkened, but they could not hear the voice…” the priest was reading solemnly. As the group of escaped slaves approached, he hesitated, and looked up from the ponderous volume. Silently he gestured to one of the worshipers, who rose. Then the priest continued. “The voice which spake to her and said, ‘Fear not, for you are blessed’…” he droned on.
The worshiper who had stood now threw back his hood and revealed that he was a young man, perhaps a year or two older than Annie, with boyish features beginning to take on the handsomeness of his manhood, straw-colored hair, and an easy smile. “Welcome sisters, brother,” he said with a nod. “Welcome back to freedom in the name of All-Merciful God. I am Brother Simon Tanner.”
“Annie Archer,” Annie said with a shy smile, and offered her hand. Brother Simon clasped it in both of his and gave a brief squeeze. She felt a rush of emotion, a mixture of relief and gratitude at being safe, together with a sudden infatuation and, yes, desire for this handsome young man.
She introduced the rest of the group; Zelle gave a little curtsey, Hodges an embarrassed bow, and matronly Mathilda swept Simon up into a big hug, leaving him laughing and blushing.
“You’re safe now. The Church of the Holy Light won’t allow you to be recaptured by your master,” Simon promised.
“Our master is dead,” Zelle said proudly, “but thank you.”
“Well…” Simon said, somewhat at a loss, “…let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.” He led the group to the back corner of the shrine, where a low door was set into the wall. Opening it with a creak, and taking a candle from the shrine, he showed the way into another brick chamber, this one filled with boxes and barrels of food and supplies, with a line of straw pallets against one wall. “Not the lap of luxury, I’ll admit, but it should serve for a few nights, until we can get you out of Jaron.”
“It’s perfect, Simon, thank you,” Annie said earnestly. She would have preferred to sleep on a stinking trash pile as a free woman, than spend another night in the luxuriant bed she had been forced to share with Fyrio as his slave.
Annie surprised herself by stepping up to Simon quickly and kissing him on the cheek. He blushed, smiled, and bid them all goodnight before hastily ducking through the door.
The four escapees found pallets and collapsed into them, exhausted, barely pausing to kick off shoes and loosen belts before falling into a deep sleep.
Annie dreamed that the escape had been a dream. In her sleeping mind she awoke still tied to the bed, with Fyrio’s heavy footfalls approaching up the stairs and the cool night air on her bare skin. He leaned over her, his alcoholic breath on her face, and pressed his cock to her exposed entrance. When he rammed it in she awoke with a start, forcing herself not to cry out. Looking around desperately, she remembered where she was. Zelle was lying next to her, angelic with sleep, and Annie curled up beside her, taking comfort from the younger girl’s soft breathing as she spooned her. She reminded herself that Fyrio was dead, but it seemed he would continue to force himself upon her in dreams for some time to come. Slowly she slipped back into sleep with the smell of Zelle’s blonde hair in her nose, and had no more dreams that night.
The next morning she awoke, somewhat stiff from the meager pallet but happy, and ate a breakfast of oatmeal with honey in another brick room set with long tables, and washed in yet another room where a fresh spring gushed from one wall and into a basin. The hidden church was larger than she had realized. Time was impossible to tell underground without a pocket watch, but around midday there was a worship service, and worshipers from the city came in to pray in secret, knowing their forbidden religion was a heinous crime to the authorities of Zathon, rejoicing in their clandestine fellowship. Annie prayed with them, and for the first time in years felt as if her prayers were being heard. But the rest of the escapees stayed away, fearful of strangers, and even Annie was glad for the hood which hid her slave mark from the congregation.
After another meal, this time of bread and cheese and stew, Annie explored the warren of secret chambers beneath the brewery, and found Simon alone in what seemed to be a small private chamber, bent over a map spread across an unfinished pine table.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said softly, and he looked up with a smile.
“Not at all. Just planning our escape,” he replied, gesturing to the map. It was, Annie saw, a map of the province and several neighboring ones, all making up only a small corner of the expansive Empire of Zathon. It was marked with many symbols and notations in red ink. “From Jathon into the countryside in the east,” Simon said, tracing the route with his finger, “to Yarik, south to Limnis, then take the river to the fishing villages of the Telexine Coast. A ship will be waiting, to take you to Alephia.”
Annie’s face lit up to hear the name of her home Kingdom. Only once she touched its blessed soil again would she be truly free. There slavery was forbidden, and the Church thrived, and people were free and happy, and treated each other with kindness, for the most part. Her head began to fill with happy memories of home. “To take us to Alephia… but what about you?” she asked suddenly. “Aren’t you coming?”
Simon shook his head sadly. “I have to stay in Zathon,” he said. “I’m needed here. To help more people escape slavery, and to spread the Light, and to fight against the Empire. I’m not only a Brother of the Church… I’m an agent of the King.” And fishing in his pocket, he produced a signet ring bearing the royal eagle, along with the watchful eye of the secret service.
Annie was suitably awed. A secret agent of the King… it was the kind of man her brothers had played at being as children, the kind of man some of the more romantic and flighty girls had talked airily of marrying. She had always scoffed at them for that, imagining for herself someone more realistic, an industrious but handsome tradesman of some kind perhaps. But now with this young and dashing agent of her own native Kingdom in front of her, and a new life of freedom ahead of her, Annie’s head began to swim with all sorts of outlandish romantic possibilities which she would have laughed at in more sober times of her past.
And yet she would be leaving in a matter of days, and he would be staying behind. The sad truth of it opened before her like a pit. She had to do something quickly, to make him fall in love, or at least (she thought guiltily) get him into bed with her.
“An agent of the King…” she mused. “How old are you?” she asked as if idly curious.
“Nineteen,” he replied, trying not to sound boastful.
“You must be awfully brave, to have earned such a position, at only nineteen…” she said softly, fixing him with her most soulful and seductive bedroom eyes. She had not had much practice at this, however, for it was not often that Fyrio wanted to see such looks, or even her face. Fyrio had preferred other assets, and she realized Simon might as well. Gallant though he was, and very different from Fyrio in many ways, still he was male, and nineteen.
Boldly she sauntered over and sank down onto his lap, her rounded ass still clad in the tight leather pants she had taken. He shifted awkwardly beneath her and she took to opportunity to shift as well, rubbing and pressing against him. Then she leaned back, relaxing with her back against his chest and her red hair close to his face. “Show me again on the map… how we’ll escape…” she said lazily, and he leaned forward to point again, hesitantly describing the route.
“I’m glad I have such a brave man to protect me,” she whispered into his ear, draping one arm across his broad shoulders. “You won’t let any harm come to me?” she asked softly.
“No, never,” he swore breathily.
“You’ll stay by my side always?” she whispered.
“As long as I can,” he replied.
“Don’t make me sleep alone again tonight,” she pleaded with more fear than she felt in her voice. “Please, I have such nightmares… my master comes to me… oh, when will his cruelty end?” she cried dramatically. “Please… I know if I have a strong man next to me, I can sleep soundly.”
“Annie…” Simon said in a breathy whisper. “I wish we could, but… this is a church, a holy place. Even the implication of sin… the priest wouldn’t approve,” he finished sheepishly. “Unless you were my wife,” he added almost as an afterthought.
All at once Annie was reminded of how things were in Alephia, the hesitancy between boys and girls, the demands of modesty, the lectures from her mother on the importance of her “honor”, meaning virginity. She had almost forgotten it during her time in sinful Zathon. It was tiresome, although she still preferred it infinitely to the debauchery and mindless hedonism of the Empire. Fleetingly she wished for the best of both worlds, where sex was based on a pure love, given freely.
Perhaps she could create such a world here, for one night at least. In any case she was so overwhelmed with feeling (love? infatuation?) for Simon that she felt ready to say anything to have him. This would probably be her only chance. So she looked into his blue eyes and answered earnestly. “Alright,” she said. “Make me your wife.”
Simon blinked at her, stunned. “I… I mean, I’m flattered and… you’re very beautiful, but…”
Annie stopped his mouth with a kiss, turning on his lap to face and straddle him. She opened her lips but did not use her tongue, careful not to push this older but naïve Alephian boy too quickly. “I love you,” she said seriously. “God has brought us together for a purpose. I was meant to be your wife,” she said, then added in a low conspiratorial tone, “… and have your children.” To her satisfaction, Annie felt Simon stiffen through his pants, and pressed into him more tightly. “Marry me,” she insisted in a whisper.
“We… we’d need the priest…” Simon said in a nervous whisper.
“No we don’t,” Annie insisted. “It’s none of that bald old bachelor’s business. That’s just ceremony. The Book says that all believers are priests, and that anyone can solemnize a marriage. Just say the vows with me… and I’m yours,” she promised, then kissed and sucked gently at his ear and neck with her full lips, as Simon flushed red. He swallowed, but seemed unable to speak.
“What’s the matter?” Annie asked softly. “Is it because I’m not a virgin?”
“No, it’s… no, I just…” Simon stammered.
“It’s true that I was a bed slave… and that my master took me in every filthy way imaginable,” she moaned, pressing against his bulge once more. “But that doesn’t really count. He forced me to do those things. None of it was given willingly. I still have yet to give myself willingly to a man. But I want to give myself to you,” she insisted. “I love you… I want to be your wife…” she whispered again, then pulled him into a longer and deeper kiss, flirting at his tongue with hers. “I want your babies,” she pleaded in his ear, and this time it was Simon who grabbed her and kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She melted into him, letting him kiss and suck at her tongue and lips for a long moment.
“I don’t care that you aren’t chaste,” Simon said firmly, still blushing red but no longer stammering. His bulge was harder than ever as Annie ground against him. “I too feel that God has brought us together,” he said, not entirely convincingly, but with an attempted conviction which Annie appreciated. She could sense what was coming. “I love you. So… in the Light of God I, Simon Tanner, take you Annie Archer to wife, to love and cherish, as long as we both shall live,” he said in one breath.
“And I, Annabelle Archer, do take you Simon Tanner to be my husband, to love and cherish, as long as we both shall live,” she replied, and breathed out a sigh. They came together in another tongue entwining kiss.
Technically, they were now married. The full impact of the fact could not settle on her, because her whole mind was consumed with desire for Simon. She knew, however, that words said could be unsaid, and that God would forgive her for making a solemn oath so lightly. Her reasons were good, she was sure He would see. In the far back of her mind was the worry that Simon had taken the vows more seriously, but in the moment she hardly cared. She ran her hands through his blonde hair and over his broad shoulders as they kissed.
“Do you have the oil?” she asked after a long moment. He shook his head.
“We’ll have to take some from the shrine,” he said sheepishly. “Leave it to the spy.” And then, fumbling with his pants to hide his erection, he slipped out the door.
Annie meanwhile slipped off her black tunic, pulled off her boots and slid off her leather pants, lying down on the straw-stuffed mattress naked and with her heart thumping, to await the holy oil with which Alephian couples anointed each other on their wedding nights. She lay on her side with her round ass presented to the door, for a better effect.
Simon slipped back into the room with a glass bottle of amber oil, and stood dumbfounded in front of the door for a long moment, entranced by Annie’s supple flesh. “Come, husband,” she said softly. “Anoint your wife with the holy oil. Make me yours.”
Author's Note: Part II was unfortunately too long to post as a text post. See the comments for a link to the full piece. I just created this blog to post erotic writing and I probably won't post anything there that I don't post at least part of here.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/3yydst/slave_to_a_sinful_empire_part_ii_fantasy