Warm water rose up just above the top of my knees. I had hoped it would be deeper, that I might hide my shame. But there I was on full display. There was no other way. I was dirty and I needed to be clean. I could not avoid touching myself. There was no use in protesting. It was imperative that I pour the water over the fullness of breasts, working my hands over the soft flesh. I couldn’t leave an inch of skin untouched. Wet fingers brushed over my nipples and I gasped. Without thinking, a moan escaped my lips as I rubbed my fingers over them harder. In disbelief of what I was doing, the perversions I was partaking in, I pulled my hands away suddenly. But somehow, unlike any time before, lifting my fingers off my wanting body felt wrong.

‘I think those need some more attention.’ came Wex’s voice from behind. ‘I’m sure you’re feeling very dirty there.’

His tone was mischievous yet encouraging. There was a truth in his words. A voice in my head told me he was right. It begged me to tease my tender nipples, to let the pleasure grip my body. Though this time it was not some spectral voice. It was not even Wex I heard. It was I. Naia Vayne, “purest of the holy sisters”, begging to be touched. She wanted to know the forbidden pleasures of the flesh. And here she had a teacher.

Following Wex’s instruction, I rubbed my thumbs over my pink nipples and moaned. I could feel his eyes on my body.

‘Good girl.’ he said, his voice dripping with desire. ‘Show me.’

Breasts rising and falling, my breath became ragged, heart in my mouth. Drawing in a deep breath, I turned slowly, revealing myself to my instructor in the misty moonlit air. He smiled wide and cocked his head.

‘Mmm… Beautiful.’

Suddenly embarrassed by my nakedness, I covered my lower half.

‘No, don’t be ashamed. That is a thing of beauty…’ Wex said, rising to his feet.

He stepped forward, as far as the chain would let him, no more than a few feet away from me.

‘Show me.’ he demanded.

I complied. My hands parted to reveal my “shame”. That is what Martyr Superior had called it. I had heard some peasant girls whispering of their “cunny” or their “flower”. I liked the latter term, it made me feel less dirty for wanting to pet it at night. Its petals were silken and pink. Smooth like the rest of a valkyrie’s body—the Martyrs made us shave everything but our heads as an act of purification. But they only made my pretty little flower look more tempting. In that meadow under the moon, it looked plump, swollen, ready to be plucked. Such an innocent looking flower, I thought. My placating delicacy did little good—Wex had a different name for it.
‘What a pretty little cunt.’

It was as if the words shot from his mouth like lightning to strike me. Electricity shot through the engorged pink rosebud between my petals. Quick as that same lightning, I reached my fingers down to stroke it. So wet. My knees buckled at the touch and I moaned until the breath left my lungs. I was engrossed in the wet folds and the hard, responsive nub that crowned them.

‘I didn’t tell you to stop playing with your tits, girl.’ Wex said sternly. Nodding, I brought a hand up to my heaving breast and squeezed. As I rolled a stiffened nipple in my eager fingers, while two more circled my slick, delicate bud, I looked down and saw the warlock’s toga rising just below his waist. Something long and hard was poking at the fabric, yearning to be freed. To be let loose upon me. Wex took a step forward, the chain giving him some room to move. I was in a trance as I worked my sensitive body and stared at the beast beneath the violet robe. Biting my lip, I imagined it. The length. The girth. Once I had spied a forbidden book—I had seen a drawing of such an… appendage. It stirred something deep within me. But laying underneath that cloth was the real thing and I longed to know how deeply such a thing would stir me. Edging closer and closer, Wex was now mere inches from my face. The mythril rope was lengthening, responding to my will, unbeknownst to my conscious mind. God forgive me and my wicked body.

‘I think you need a hand.’ Wex grinned, leaning into my ear. His breath was intoxicating, sweet and smoky and hot upon my neck. Quivering, I faced him.

‘But…’ the warlock began, raising his bound hands. ‘I’ll have to use my tongue.’

My entire body went weak—I nearly fell back into the water as Wex leaned forward to plant a heavy kiss upon my lips. To feel another touch me so was a strange phenomenon. I felt unclean. As his tongue slid into my mouth, I instinctively lapped at it with mine. I moaned into him and he sucked my tongue in response. I found myself reaching for his toga. Pulling myself free of our embrace, I dropped below his eyeline. My fingers trailed the hem of the purple garment. I had dreamt of a moment such as this on dark, feverish nights. Such sinful dreams. As I began to lift the toga, it was as if my mind was not my own. But it was. Entirely. And that was even more frightening. I thought about what waited for me underneath his robes. I had dreamt about it much of late. I hungered for it. Hungered to worship him. Like I worshiped the faceless demons in my dreams… Demons… Dreams… Demons… GONG!—I heard the sacred bell of the Sanctum peal inside my head and suddenly, waking from my lusting trance, I pushed Wex de Karne away. He landed on the grass with a thud, cursing loudly out of pure shock.

‘No!’ I shouted. ‘You won’t tempt me, demon!’

Wex stood, his sunburst eyes burning with hatred in the dark.

‘Fucking zealots!’ he cursed.

Tears began to well in my eyes. Shame filled me to my core. I had shamed the Sanctum, I had shamed myself, I had shamed His Holiness himself. Dunking my head beneath the waters of the hot spring, I wanted it to wash away my sin. But I still felt unclean. I still felt ashamed. There was a part of me, the one that had given into temptation, which even felt ashamed of what I had done to Wex. Rising from the water, my blonde hair dripping, I felt like a fool—to pity such a heathen. I was a valkyrie of the Sanctum. I was a vessel for God. However, in that moment, a part of me—one larger than I dared to admit—wished to be the heathen’s vessel. Wished that he would take my body and use it as he saw fit.

“Show me” he had said. Looking at him, his perfect body rested against the tree, the words rang out in my mind. Show me, I thought. Oh how I wanted to be shown all the things that he had learned.

Show me.