The Sacrifice: Chapter 5

I check my messages while sitting in my car. I received the text three hours ago while lying in bed. Now I’m back at the Cathedral. I was just here a week ago getting my brand, and it still hurts like a bitch.

Getting out, I walk up the stairs and push the two heavy doors open. Two Lords stand inside the dimly lit entrance. Both have their black cloaks on with white masks. I’m not supposed to know who they are. There are thousands of Lords all over the world, but you aren’t given a list of who everyone is. Especially the founders. They’re kept a secret.

The one on the left pushes open the next set of doors and pauses for me to enter. I step in and come to a stop. My eyes scan the large, open space. I’ve never been here when it wasn’t full of Lords. Usually, they fill the pews, but right now it’s empty. It has a haunting feel to it. Cold and lifeless. It’s not a place where you hang out. It’s for business. They perform all their rituals and confessionals here.

Each Lord behind me grabs an arm and they escort me down the aisle to the front of the room where the altar and the Lords’ table sit. A staircase on either side leads to the second-story loft that overlooks the congregation below, where I was just days ago.

They take me over to the right set of stairs and dig their fingers into my upper arms, pushing me to the top. Then they shove me forward.

I catch my feet before I trip and look at the Lord who’s dressed the exact same. I feel his gaze on me, as hot as the branding iron they used to bind me to them.

“Tyson Riley Crawford.” He states my name, stepping forward.

“Yes, sir.” I do the same.

He nods his head, the mask—white with black lines through it, making it appear cracked—moving up and down slowly, and then I’m grabbed from behind. One of the guys that brought me up the stairs kicks the back of my legs, knocking me to my knees. Then I’m shoved down face-first to the cold floor. My arms are brought behind my back, and I hear the cuffs before I feel them wrap around my wrists. Tightened to the point that I grind my teeth at the pinch of my skin.

My shirt is grabbed, and I’m dragged over to where the baptism pool is that faces the congregation down below. It’s where they perform their vow ceremonies for their chosens.

I’m brought to a stop with my head hanging off the edge. The water is filled to the brim. My heavy breathing making it splash up on my face. The smell of chlorine fills my nose.

Someone sits on my back, straddling my cuffed wrists, and my teeth clench.

“You do what they say,” my father told me. “You were born to serve. No matter what they ask of you, you do it.”

“You’ve got promise, Son,” he goes on, now standing behind me.

My heart races while looking over the pool. Three stairs are on either side for entrance and exit. I look down at the glass front that shows the congregation down below what’s in the water. It’s so they can see their fellow Lords get pussy. So they can see us being rewarded for our devotion.

“Then why do I feel like you called me here to kill me?” I grind out, struggling, but the guy on top of me has me pinned down into the uncomfortable floor, making it hard to breathe with his heavy weight. The fresh brand on my chest burns from the pull of my skin and the pressure.

“Only those who disobey their oath are terminated. Do you intend on doing that?”

“Not today,” I joke.

The silence that follows proves they don’t find it funny.

“Tell me, Son, have you picked your chosen?”

Why the fuck would that matter? A chosen is a daughter of a Lord. It doesn’t matter if you’re female or male because we’re all born to serve. But a chosen has to be gifted to a Lord. The Lords believe we should be rewarded our senior year at Barrington University for our devotion and hard work, so we are given a list of women. We are to choose which one we want. A Lord can take on as many as he desires and can share her with whoever he wants, but she is devoted to her Lord and cannot step outside of who he shares her with. “No.”

“That’s good to hear.”

I let out a sigh, watching the water ripple from my breath. If I stick my tongue out, I could drink it as if I’m a cat and the pool is my water bowl.

“We have a chosen for you.”

“So you’re going to tell me who I can fuck?” I snort, the water splashing my face some more. Why not? They dictate every other aspect of our lives.

“Well…” He pauses. “She has a sister. You can have them both if you like?”

Isn’t that kind of them. When I realize he won’t offer up any additional information, I ask, “Who is it?”

“Whitney…” Another pause. “Whitney Minson.”

Fuck! My teeth grind. “Her father will never allow it.”

“If she chooses you as her Lord, then his opinion will not matter.”

“And Whitney? How the fuck am I supposed to make that happen?” I know her. She goes to Barrington. Am I close with her? No. Not to mention her father hates my guts.

“Tell her she’s pretty. Tell her you love her.” They all laugh at that. “If that doesn’t convince her, then force her.”

“You can’t force a chosen,” I snap, fighting the guy who is sitting on my back. “That’s why it’s called a chosen. She chooses her Lord.”

He drops to the floor next to me, gripping the back of my neck, his lips by my ear. “Drug her, rip her fucking clothes off and take her. Do whatever you have to do to make her your bitch. Do you understand me?”

“Why her?” I demand through gritted teeth.

“The question is, can you do it? Yes or no?”

“I—”

He shoves my head down into the water, and I fight, screaming into it, sucking some up through my nose, making it burn. Gripping my hair, he yanks my head up, and I gasp through a cough.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” I grind out. “I can do it.”

“That’s a good Lord.” He taps the side of my wet face and I pull away the best I can.

I’m yanked to a sitting position, and I take in a deep breath now that the weight is finally off my back. Water drips from my head and hair onto my clothes, and I look up at the man dressed in his cloak and mask. No founders ever reveal themselves. Their lives would be in danger.

“You will be protected,” he assures me.

Why the fuck would I need protection to fuck a chosen? “And the girl?”

“What about her?” he asks.

“Will she be protected?” I demand, getting my breathing under control.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“How useful she is.”

I hang my head, my wrists pulling on the cuffs. I’ll make sure of it.

He drops a folder in front of me and it slaps on the floor, echoing through the high ceilings and framed arches. “Do your homework, Tyson. You’ve got three weeks before you’re back in this very spot getting wet.”

I got Whitney Minson.

It wasn’t all that hard, really. I watched her, followed her. Made her see me. Want me. Crave me. I made sure to put myself in every aspect of her life for the past three weeks.

For three years, I’ve had to get myself off. Now she’ll be the one doing it. This very reason is why they make us abstain from sex until our senior year. They want to reward you for your loyalty. What’s more rewarding than saying here, take this girl and fucking use her however you want?

Three weeks ago, I was up here on the second floor of the Cathedral with my hands cuffed and head shoved into the water. But this time, I’m standing in it. It comes up to her chest and I watch her nipples harden behind her white dress. I push her hair back, my fingers lingering a little longer than I should, just taking in the way her breathing picks up. I love the smell of fear.

“I vow.” Her voice trembles as much as her body does against mine.

Her arms are tied behind her back with a zip tie so she can’t fight me when I push her under the water. “You vow,” I announce.

“We vow,” we both say at the same time.

I grip the back of her dark hair so tightly she gasps, making her lips part, and I shove her down into the water—it’s to cleanse her from past sexual partners. A chosen should be as clean as her Lord.

She’s gasping for breath and coughing when I pull her up. I grip the hem of her dress and yank it up all the way to expose her body to the Lords below. She’s not wearing a bra or underwear. I prepared her beforehand. Told her what we must do in order to be together. For me to make her mine.

Grabbing her waist, I spin her around so the front of her body is against the glass that faces the Lords below. Wrapping one arm around her waist, I pull her hips back and use my free hand to grab my cock. I push into her pussy and start to fuck her in front of everyone, knowing that I’ll get to do this all year. Of course, I have ulterior motives as to why I’m here with her today, but only I know that.

Her soft cries and heavy breathing fill the large building. I slap my hand over her mouth, silencing her. Right now is all about me. She’s mine to fuck. A chosen one is a slave to her Lord like the Lord is a servant to his society.

My teeth grind, my breath hitching, remembering how fucking good pussy feels. It’s like I’m getting it for the first time again.

My least favorite place to fuck is in water, but when you’ve been deprived of something that brings so much pleasure, it’s earth shattering.

I feel my balls tighten, and I can’t help but come. Not able to hold out, I don’t care if she got off.

The vow ceremony is to show ownership over our chosen. Not please her.

Pulling out, I remove my hand from her mouth and yank her from the water. We’re both dripping wet. I leave her dress pulled up, exposing her body to my fellow Lords as I walk her down the staircase where we go to sit in the front pew. “Eyes on the floor,” I order in her ear, and she drops her head like the good slut she is.

We’ll wait until every last senior has completed the vow ceremony for their chosen. I’ll take her home and use her all night long. However I want.

Come tomorrow morning, I’ll tie her facedown, naked, with a gag in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes and leave her there while I go to my classes—pretend they matter. All while livestreaming it to my phone from all the cameras I have set up in my room, just like I was instructed to do.

Make it public.

Use her, fuck her, claim her. She is mine to use as I see fit. Typical chosen, really. Most Lords treat their chosens like slaves. But it’s what I’m supposed to do when I’m not with her that’s so important.

It’s a distraction. Watch me do this while I’m really doing something else.