A Song for Hecate

Note: This story takes place on a planet where men do not have the same legal rights that women enjoy. All adult males are routinely referred to as "boys" as a sign of their inferior social status (much as women in the 1950s in the U.S. were often dismissively called "girls"). No sexual activity involving minors should be inferred. All of the characters in this story, male and female, are 18 years of age or older.

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Hundreds gathered at the grand pavilion: schoolgirls, priestesses and gentle ladies. Children were not permitted to attend the morning ceremonies. Neither, of course were males. Doubtless there were a few bold boys in the margins, disguised as females. Such wickedness would go unpunished so long as the boys were timid and discreet. Amidst such a formidable crowd and on the grounds of a mighty and unfamiliar palace I was briefly lost and nearly late, but at the last forgivable moment I found my post in the vestibule behind the main stage and there I met my nemesis.

She was short and petite. Her eyes were blue. Her face and hands- the only fraction of her skin that I had ever seen- were reddish brown. Her name was Idris.

We wore school uniforms: dark blue robes embroidered with bright arabesques. Our hair was entirely concealed beneath dark scarves. Because it was a high ceremony, we wore yellow sashes. Yellow was our school color. Eleven achievement badges were pinned to my sash. Idris had twelve badges because she had cheated me of the school prize for musical excellence.

I saluted her because she was a captain and I was her lieutenant. These were only academy ranks, of course, but Idris would insist on every formality and I did not doubt that she would welcome the opportunity put me on report. And yet I saluted her, because I knew that it was probably the last time I would ever have to acknowledge her superiority. We had been chosen for investiture. Soon we would be probationary priestesses, social equals.

Idris told me that she was glad that my petition had been accepted. She yammered on, failing as usual to notice that she was the only one who wanted to start a conversation.

"Congratulations! I knew you would make it. You're so damn smart. I never would have made it through composition and theory without your help. We should make a pact. Whichever one of us makes full priestess first becomes the other's patron. We can help each other up the greasy pole. We Yellow School girls have to stick together, right? Tit to Tomb, you and me against the order and every faction. Remember all the fun we used to have? The contraband. The discounts at Mei's."

"You mean those one hundred percent discounts? You didn't get caught. I did."

"You weren't caught."

"Yes I was. I almost got arrested."

"Mei couldn't prove anything. Ergo, you weren't caught."

"I almost got sent to the confessional."

"But you kept the faith. We stuck together. We looked out for each other. You know, when we were both tapped to make rank, you could have been captain. You could have had it. All you had to do was tell them what I kept in that bottom drawer."

I felt sick. For the first time I knew what I had long expected: she knew about the library basement. And what I had done there was far worse than our petty thefts, or the bawdy novels Idris kept in her bottom drawer. One word to the assessment panel, and I would never be a priestess.

"You're right," I said. "Tit to tomb. Yellow school girls for life."

A priestess struck the great bell above and drew from its ancient throat the call of ruin and brass. Idris led me to the chamber of brief confinement. Two penitents stood in separate cages. One was a boy. He was about my age, with black hair and a pleasant shape; not so muscular as the statue of Proud Labor, but fit and trim. I didn't know his name. Except for a lacy pink silk pouch or thong he was entirely naked. The bailiffs had removed all his body hair, apart from the inadequately covered black patch between his legs.

The second penitent was a woman, almost twice the boy's age. Her name was Ann. In Yellow School she had been my classical dance teacher. Classical dance costumes were exceedingly modest and I had never seen her bare limbs before. I had never even seen her uncovered hair. Now every part of her was exposed, save for a narrow strip between her legs. As a penitent, she had shaved her head, and her hair was just beginning to grow back in. She was slightly fat. I had never noticed that before. Her breasts were large, for a dancer's, and firm. Her areolas were wide and dish shaped.

Neither woman nor boy had been allowed to wash. Their odors were feral, frightening. They were nervous. So was I. I was not accustomed to such nudity. Ann's nakedness made me particularly uneasy. She had been an honored lady, my instructor, and I was ashamed to see her in this state. I realized then that the only reason the priestesses had chosen Idris and I for this assignment was because the presence of former students would enhance her humiliation.

Idris opened a cabinet and withdrew the ritual implements: her rod and scissors and my rings and golden chain. The bell sounded again, and above us, on the stage, a small orchestra began to play.

"Let's do it," Ann said. She seemed almost eager.

Because they served only a ceremonial function, there were no locks on the cages. Idris opened the doors. Up a narrow stair of tiled wood and through a black curtain we made our way to the stage. When I saw the audience in their hundreds I felt a twitch of fright, though my part in the ritual was an incidental one.

A small pool was set into the stage, beside an open shower.

Idris laid her rod of office gently across the boy's bare back and he stepped into the light. The audience whistled and cheered his body. He began to sing, accompanied by five ladies playing flutes, strings and a drum. They played well, and the boy had a pleasant voice. He sang praises to the goddess, and apologies. In his song, he avowed his honest desire for penance and begged to be stripped and driven naked through the street. His sex swelled and strained against the lace. At the appropriate moment, Idris grabbed the string and cut it free. The wreck of the thong fell across his feet and the crowd howled. It was the first time I had ever seen so many women in a rage of lust and I was terrified.

With the rod, Idris directed the boy to a low bench, a bench that seemed made for children, where he sat and nursed his shame. He tried to draw his knees to his chest, but Idris made him part his legs. He covered his cock with both hands.

Ann appeared and sang of her crimes: of how she had seduced the virgin boy, a boy who had been trained to serve only the goddess. Idris destroyed her last scrap of clothing, and made her sit red faced and naked, hip to hip beside the boy.

The quintet played on. Two priestesses stepped on stage. With shears and razors, creams and tweezers, they publicly removed the penitents' pubic hair. After the shaving and final depilation, a priestess pierced the woman's genitals, so that she could be fitted with the smaller of the two rings I carried. Ann winced, but she did not cry out. I was supposed to rest the smaller ring against the woman's clitoris and fit the larger one around the boy's penis, but I was far too nervous. Idris was visibly disappointed in me. She took the rings and did the deed with her own hands.

Without soap or sponges, the woman and her young lover showered together before the crowd. We gave them no towels; the summer sun would dry them soon enough.

By means of the rings and the golden chain, Idris tethered the penitents. I led them off the stage, down the wide center aisle, down the pavilion steps and onto the street. As the leader of the detail, Idris followed and menaced us all with the rod.

Between the grand pavilion and the seaport there ran a broad and tiled avenue or forum, rich in great fountains, small gardens and erotic statues of green brass. On either side little temples of stone, brick homes and shops stood open. Ladies and their docile husbands and servants crowded around the tables of the sidewalk cafes to watch me lead a wet woman and boy upon a golden chain.

In my fantasies, it was not Ann, but Idris I led with her disgraced man. I dreamed her naked and tethered by the cunny. I dreamed her bare legs and belly, red and brown and dark and in my dream she was entirely submissive to my will.