The Paladin's Choice

They must have drugged her, because the next thing she knew, she was waking up in a strange bed. For the first time in over two weeks she was within sight of a window, and the daylight hurt her eyes despite it being sunset.

She was wearing a thin white tunic that left little to the imagination and made her move instinctively to try and cover herself. Nearby, and seemingly uninterested in what the scantily-clad paladin had to offer, a man in a long black robe was lighting the candles. Or rather, the candles were lighting themselves while he muttered under his breath. The paladin drew back.

"Witchcraft," she murmured sleepily. The mage looked round. He was blonde, but in a muted, tanned way that made him seem more dark than fair to look at, with high cheekbones and piercing brown eyes.

Strangely, he reminded her of the vision she'd had the night before. Or had it been longer ago than that? She felt as if she had been asleep a week.

"Having second thoughts about turning?" he said. His voice was smooth and calm. She didn't answer, still too groggy for coherent sentences. He sat down on the side of the bed.

"It's not too late for the barracks," he continued. "I'm sure your fellow paladin would appreciate the break."

She cleared her throat, unsure of her own voice. "Is she still... tied up there?"

"Oh yes." The black-robed mage didn't appear to derive any pleasure from this; he stated it as calmly as any fact. "Don't worry. She's enjoying herself. I've made sure of that."

The paladin paused to consider the implications of this. She was undeniably afraid—in many ways, the option he offered would have been easier. But she had a job to do.

"I'll stay here, thanks," she said finally.

"That's wonderful news," replied the mage, deadpan. "Well, you'll need a new name, if you're going to renounce your old life. We all take one. Best to get it out of the way quickly."

"What's yours?"

The mage blinked. "It's Tayr now," he said finally. "Look, it doesn't matter what you call yourself, just as long as it's different from what you had before." At the paladin's silence, he shook his head.

"Anything," he prompted. "Alright—Fifteen."

"What?"

"The number of days it took for us to turn you. Fifteen."

The paladin narrowed her eyes at him.

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears." said Tayr, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Fifteen, it's almost dark, so we shouldn't waste any time. Let's find you some food, and get you ready to meet the Beast."

"The beast," repeated Fifteen slowly.

"Remember when you made your vows as a paladin?" Tayr was unhooking a long black robe from behind the door. "You had to pledge yourself to the Light in order to use His power. Well, this is the same thing. At midnight you're going to pledge yourself to the Beast."

Fifteen kept her expression purposefully blank.

"Alright," she said. "What does that entail, exactly?"

-----

Fifteen was used to being unclothed around other women—even in sacred orders there were communal barracks. However, being scrubbed down and anointed by slave-girls in a luxurious bathhouse was an entirely new experience for her.

Tayr had insisted on staying to watch, and Fifteen suspected it was more out of sadistic amusement at her discomfort than any kind of desire to see her naked and covered in oil.

To her further frustration, nobody seemed in any hurry to explain things to her.

"It's better you go in with an open mind," Tayr had told her as the girls were stripping off her skimpy white tunic.

For women who looked no older than about nineteen, they were startlingly efficient. Despite Fifteen's extensive military training, they somehow managed to unload her into the pool and start work on her body without even giving the former paladin a chance to protest. One pretty dark-skinned girl began immediately to rinse her hair while two others who could have been twins began soaping her firm, round breasts. Someone else was spreading salve on her wrists and ankles where the chains had left purple-edged bruises.

Admittedly, it was a relief to feel clean after so long, but when a slim, soft hand stole between her legs to wash her there, Fifteen could not help flailing in shock, splashing everyone involved.

Tayr had laughed, but when they led her out of the pool to spread perfume oil over her body, he only seemed bored. 'Well, after two weeks of starvation and imprisonment, I'm probably not much to look at,' she thought, but an accidental glance at the mirror surprised her. A good wash had brought the golden sheen back to her hair, and for a moment she had thought those long legs and pert, flawless rear belonged to someone else.

Immediately she chastised herself for her vanity. For an initiated paladin to dwell on the pleasures of flesh was a sin against the purity of the Light. Then again, given the nature of the visitation she had received, Fifteen was no longer certain how much that particular edict applied to her.

Assuming she hadn't been hallucinating it all.

Pushing the thought out of her mind, the paladin allowed herself to be dressed, only noticing after a few moments that the clothes she had been given were even less substantial than the tunic she had started out with this evening.

At least the tunic had covered more than an inch or two of her thighs. And hadn't been so tight as to show the outline of her nipples. Fifteen crossed her arms instinctively over them.

Suspicions were starting to form about the nature of tonight's ritual.

Tayr pushed a silver goblet into her hands, interrupting her thoughts.

"The acolytes will be here in a minute. You might want to drink this," he said. At the woman's suspicious look, he added; "Trust me."

Well, it wasn't like she had much left to lose. As Fifteen raised the cup to her lips, she noticed some odd scratches—or maybe just polishing marks—on the inside that glimmered in a certain way as the goblet moved. For a moment a word gleamed bright in her vision and then disappeared again.

Arathea.

'What does that mean?' she thought, but even the smell of the drink was making her sleepy by now. Fifteen knew what it was. She drank it all.

-----

She awoke to the flicker of candles and the sound of chanted invocations. A red glow suffused the darkness above her. The air smelt of incense smoke and, very faintly, blood.

The floor was rough and cold against her back. Some exploratory shifting told Fifteen she was probably lying on stone. She was not entirely surprised to find that her arms and legs had been chained again. Her heart rate rose; she swallowed fear.

As her surroundings came into focus, she noticed hooded figures moving at the edge of her vision. About five metres in front of her was a statue of what looked like a demon. It was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, with large curved horns. Perhaps most disturbing of all was its large, realistic-looking penis, jutting swollen and erect from between its muscular thighs.

Fifteen would not have expected to feel aroused in such a situation, but as she stared at the demonic statue's erect member, a sudden warmth crept up between her legs, spread its tingling tendrils over her stomach. She was no stranger to arousal after last night, but that had been almost spiritual in its intensity. This was different; a wanton hunger that seemed to emanate from deep within her, stiffening her nipples, shortening her breaths.

A drum-beat sounded, then another. The former paladin felt her heartbeat quicken. A hooded figure knelt before her and carefully began to lift up the front of her skirt. She caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

"Tayr?" she whispered. The mage looked up. 'You were supposed to be asleep,' his eyes said. He took an unsteady breath and looked down again, drawing a small clay pot from in amongst the folds of his robe. As the drums sounded on, she felt something slick and warm touch her sex and gasped, realising belatedly that it must have been his hand. Whatever he was using on her, it made the fire in her blood burn ever fiercer, and she moaned despite herself, praying that he would give her some release. But Tayr only pulled away after a few moments, and faded back into the dark.

Frustrated, Fifteen focused her attention back to the statue's erection, and could not help but wonder how it might feel slipping inside her. She was surprised at how quickly her arousal seemed to have overridden years of celibacy and training, but then she remembered the mage's cryptic promise.

'Don't worry. She's enjoying herself. I've made sure of that.'

So this was magic. Perhaps she should be thankful.

The drumming sped up; the chanting altered in tone. Fifteen noticed a bright sheen on the statue's penis she was certain had not been there before; noticed too that its long, jutting fangs had taken on the look of bone where before they had only been marble. Its eyes, she realised, were alive—and burning with lust.

This was no statue, not any longer. The demon took a step toward her, then another, and Fifteen suddenly realised how exposed she was. There was nothing between her pussy and that monstrous erection but a thin layer of silk and about three metres in distance. The thought should have terrified her, but instead it made her shiver with anticipation. She wanted that thing to fuck her. She needed it.

The Beast advanced on her, its gaze raking over her body with a fearsome desire. Suddenly, it crashed to its knees, and grabbed the chains binding Fifteen's legs, yanking her toward itself before ripping off her filmy skirt and flinging it away. Its hands were round her ankles now, her sex burning with anticipation. 'Fuck me,' she thought, and with one hard thrust, it rammed itself into her. She felt its erection filling her completely, huge and hot and satisfying and hard.

It did not stop to let her enjoy the sensation; instead, it began to thrust in and out of her furiously, with ragged, bestial breaths that would have disgusted Fifteen had she not been so desperately aroused. She tugged at the chains, desperate to massage her own shivering breasts, to touch herself, anything to release the pressure that was slowly building up inside her, a growing warmth that seemed to radiate outward from deep within her groin. The beast was grunting now, a harsh and animalistic sound that seemed only to enhance her desire; she groaned and writhed as it thrust its hips, pushing her own against its groin to try and drive it deeper.

Suddenly, the warmth in her sex exploded outward and she cried out, arching her back as the dizzying pleasure overcame her in waves. She felt the walls of her pussy contract; felt the hard, thrusting member of the beast slam with doubled ferocity and stop suddenly; felt a fluid warmth burst within her which made Fifteen's body tingle with renewed pleasure. From the tenor of its grunts and the slowing of its thrusts, she realised that the beast had come, and felt her own desire wane with its orgasm, a vague disgust threatening to take its place.

The Beast withdrew and rose. It did not look at her. "The servant is accepted," it announced, in a guttural and rumbling growl. "The name shall be purged."

"You honour us," came a woman's voice that Fifteen did not recognise. "Tayr, anoint her."

She could only lay there, exhausted, as the hooded mage approached her again. He dropped to his knees before her, as the Beast had, and gently painted something cold but soothing onto her naked breast. It was some sort of pattern, but Fifteen could not make out what it was supposed to be. She tried to catch Tayr's eye, but he was determinedly avoiding her. The former paladin felt suddenly ashamed, and very alone.

What if she had just made an irreversible mistake? And that thing—it had spilt its seed inside her—would she have its child?

Fear gripped her from inside, but Fifteen steeled herself. No. She had to trust she was doing the right thing.

It was the only hope she had left.