CHAPTER 3: Heartbeat
-SEVERUS' POV -
Where before the atmosphere was that of a family celebration, now is everything but. There is a large throne-like white chair in the far right corner of the large space that seemed to be the size of the entire main building. Next to it is a very cluttered long table. Unlit candles, statues, food, drinks, candy, beads, string ribbons. Several chairs and couches litter the room. Isaiah sits by a couch closest to the throne and pulls me down beside him. The rest of the space was empty.
As soon as we sit, a tall adonis walks into the room. He's in his forties, greying temples. Tall, muscular. He's wearing white linen pants and an unbuttoned dark blue cotton collared shirt. He takes long, strong, strides and soon reaches the throne. I look away from the man towards Isaiah. He closes the gap between us and whispers in my ear. "Watch him," and he kisses just under my ear. I control the shiver cascading over my skin. I turn back towards the throne.
A middle aged man, average height, slightly heavy set, bearded, dressed in all white linen as well, steps forward with a pile of fabrics in his arms. This man proceeds to redress what I have decided is the Priest. Removing his top, removing his socks and shoes leaving him barefoot. Someone else steps up, a young woman in her twenties, very pretty, in a white linen dress. She has a bowl of fragrant water. I can smell camphor and roses. The Priest mumbles something under his breath then dips his hands into the water. He washes his face and hands. A third person, also a young woman wearing a white linen dress, offers him a white cotton cloth. He dries his hands and face with it. The first man drapes a white robe over his shoulders. He sits on the throne. The robe is ornamental as it does not cover his hard chest and stomach. The three helpers kneel before him. Together they wash his feet and dry them.
The Priest thanks them in a deep, seductive voice and they return happy smiles. Their eyes quickly look away, like he is too much to look at, a blinding sun. He leans back into his seat, eyes closed. The attendants retreat. A minute passes. Drums start to play. I look around startled. While I had been enthralled by the anointing ritual, a group of musicians had set up drums in another corner of the room. Four tall, also very fit men. All shirtless. White linen pants. The Priest's voice carries across the room, I turn my attention back to him. He sounds like he's chanting, but there are no words.
There are sounds. Shouts of joy. Wordless music. People pour into the room. It gets warm, almost too hot very quickly. I feel Isaiah pressed against me, his warm sweet breath caressing my cheeks. The mass starts to chant as well. The same verse over and over for several minutes. 'Yenkere'. It might be a real word, I'm not sure. I try to remember to ask Isaiah later. Then a wave of energy ripples through the crowd. The drums stop. The Priest rises from his chair and flings his arms open, fists closed, head tilted back, face towards the ceiling. As soon as his eyes and hands open, all the candles in the room flicker on. The drums resume. The gathered mass dance. I turn to look at Isaiah. "What is this?" I ask bewildered. He kisses me on the cheek and turns my head. He's telling me to watch. So I do.
People stop by our little corner since that is where the Priest is. Some touch his robes, some his feet. All bring gifts for the altar. Money, bottles of alcohol, cigars, sugary confections. The drums have calmed down a bit and someone is singing in a language I cannot recognize. There are tables of food and drinks that I see get refilled by the two female dressers. The middle-aged man has been gone for a long time. When he does turn up again he kneels to the right of the Priest, feet tucked under his thighs, back straight, hand clasped in front. He looks like he's going to pray. The Priest strokes his hair a few times, tilts his head up toward him and kisses him. It's animalistic, too much mouth, teeth, biting, sucking. It goes on for ages. He's marking him. He pulls back and the kneeling man makes a whimpering noise. We're sitting so close I can hear it all very clearly.
The Priest whispers something to him so low that I miss it. The man nods, never raising his eyes, and removes his white linen shirt and pants. Underneath he is wearing women's underwear. A white lace thong that has a visible stain in the front where his erect cock has been pressing against. He looks ridiculous. Perhaps that's the point. Humiliation. Is this the sacrifice tonight?
The Priest pulls the man down to sit on his lap. He kisses his neck, rubs his chest and thighs, all while talking to him. All while looking at me. No, not at me. I turn a bit. He's looking at Isaiah. I tense. Isaiah rubs my back and kisses my cheek. "Don't worry," he says, "keep watching." I turn back. The naked man is moaning and panting. The Priest nudges him and he gets back on his knees. With slow deliberate care, he takes out the Priest's cock. It's huge. I gulp. Isaiah is now rubbing my thigh. The kneeling man sucks it desperately. I'm impressed that he can get it all down his throat without gagging. I feel myself stir.
The Priest finally stops looking our way. He looks down at the man, mouth stuffed with his hard throbbing cock and smiles at him. Suddenly my view is obscured. It's one of the attendant's with a tray of drinks. I decline and so does Isaiah. She moves on. I see that the other female attendant is holding up an empty tray. The Priest has a tumbler in his hand. Dark brown liquid, two ice cubes. The scent of rum flutters our way. He savors the sip and places it on the waiting tray. I look at the woman playing waiter, she's stoic, not caring that within reach of her, a man is getting his throat fucked. I look around. No one else seems to care either. What is this?
At some point I do accept a drink which turns to several. We dance. We kiss. Isaiah drags me to the back garden where we proceed to snog like teenagers. The cool night air is a welcome reprieve from the heat of the amassed naked bodies. I am grateful for the patio furniture as I was not stable on my feet. My inebriated mind flashing images of the men and women pleasuring each other and themselves mixed in with the feeling of Isaiah's lips against mine.
Kissing, biting, tongue trailing down my neck. His hands caress my chests, my back, whatever he can reach. He climbs on top of me, fingers tangling my hair. We rub against each other, grunting, moaning. It's too much. Curses announce our staggered release. Our skin damp with sweat and semen.
The orgasm reinvigorates me. We make plans to meet the next day. He kisses me hungrily one last time. I find the energy to get home in one piece and thank the heavens that it's still October break and I don't have to do the walk of shame towards a castle full of gossiping portraits and ghosts.