The Templar Belles - Parts I - VII free porn video

by Bleeding Rainbow


Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and parody, to be read only by individuals aged 18 or above. The events depicted herewith are fantasy and do not reflect real world events or persons in any way..

Foreword: This story is a parody or fan fiction of a number of real-world celebrities. Rather than spam XNXX with a whole bunch of chapters at once, I elected to put them all into one single story instead. It is meant to be read as a whole, but the subject matter varies from chapter to chapter. The major, overarching themes include mind control, teens, romance and the supernatural. In addition to the codes already listed, the overall story codes are as follows:

M/F, M/f+, f/f, teen, mind control, plot, romance, incest, BDSM, non-sexual violence, supernatural

And the following is the content breakdown by chapter:

I. THE ARCHBISHOP (world building, no sex)
II. BELLA (world building, brief sexual accounts, incest)
III. CHLOE (M/Ff+)
IV. BELLA (M/f)
V. THE ARCHBISHOP (M/Ff, young, BDSM)
VI. ELLE (M/Ff+, femdom)
VII. THE PAINTER (world building, brief sexual accounts)





I: THE ARCHBISHOP


“...who work in silence...”

“...and naught but silence can express.”

With those words, so began the débutante ball.

The great white double doors at the top of the balcony swung open, revealing this year's crop of initiates to those in the gallery below. Tradition demanded that each participant don a mask like those of a masquerade to keep their identities hidden from one another, but for the initiates and their accompanying chaperons, its importance in modern times had faded into a mere formality. For the figures below, however, there were stricter measures in place to ensure that none of them would know each other beyond the moniker they had chosen for themselves.

The effect of two dozen gazes falling simultaneously upon oneself was a daunting prospect even for the well-prepared initiate, and the diminutive young lady at the vanguard could be seen inhaling sharply as she felt the heads below turn toward her in open appraisal. Sensing her nervousness, the girl's chaperon squeezed her hand reassuringly, prompting the initiate to take a step forward and begin her descent into the gallery.

Conversation was frowned upon during the solemn procession, but grunts of approval and sighs of appreciation began to ripple through the crowd as they recognized some of the initiates. While no walk of life was to be excluded from the pool of potential candidates, it behooved the organizers of the ball to choose only those with the most desirable physical attributes to be among their crop, as they were themselves the benefactors of their own reaping. As such, the ranks of the débutantes usually were filled with many actresses and singers, as well as the progeny of those who once had been in the public eye; their numbers were then bolstered by the daughters of modern royalty—heiresses of capitalist empires and figurehead monarchies.

The man who called himself the Archbishop smiled as he kept his eye on the first girl, meeting briefly with those of her chaperon—the girl's mother, in truth—as they walked past. He had arranged personally for the fiery-haired actress to be in this year's ball, having gone as far as planning her trip to the Emirates, lending her every assistance in her quest to retrieve an ancient artifact from yonder soil. That honor would be more than enough to earn him the deference of his peers to the right of First Claim, no matter the outcome of the lottery.

The Archbishop was old; too old, perhaps, for pursuits such as these if his compatriots knew his true identity. They went against the canon of his teachings as well, inviolable laws the preaching of which he oversaw. But the older he grew, the more enamored he became of the these arcane customs. The fact that this secret society existed in its current state was evidence enough that there was no longer a higher authority to judge him, alive or dead. He was at peace with knowing that he taught falsehood to his followers. There was no Hell in which he would burn for engaging in what amounted to the rape of minors, no great book of sins before a set of pearly gates in which the murders he had committed would be recorded. If there was any kind of authority on Earth, the Archbishop wielded it in his hands, and with them, he would take the reedy hips of his young prize and mount her from behind as he had done to many others of her ilk.

He had turned his attention to the other initiates when an unpleasant noise broke his revelry. The laughter rose behind him, but he did not have to look to identify its source.

Membership to the society was awarded not by committee but rather by sponsorship. Electing themselves to a council would contravene their paradigm of a decentralized structure, and therein lay the genius of the system in place; although only a single sponsor was needed to introduce new members, few existing members would have reason to add to their number and expand the lottery pool indiscriminately. Fresh blood, or “leeches” as the Fruit Peddler used to call them before his passing, seldom found themselves taught the proper signs required to enter the secret premises where the society's meetings were held. When the débutante ball was last called, however, the society saw no less than two new members added to their ranks. The one who had chosen the guise of a dark-haired young man had called himself the Painter, and the other, a scruffy, barrel-chested man who was presumed to be his acquaintance was known as the Historian. They very nearly had made fools of themselves by carrying on with the air of upstarts, but fortunately they fared poorly in the lottery and were excluded from the choicest girls.

It was the Painter whose laughter had been heard. “Hey, it's her,” he pointed with a free hand while cradling a near-empty champagne glass with the other. The tall blonde actress who was his target looked at him and made a face before her chaperon subtly corrected the girl's etiquette. “Ain't she the one you've been after?”

The Historian stood next to him, draining his own glass and taking a fresh one from a cowled servant. “I'm hoping, man, I'm hoping. Your girl's looking adorable as hell tonight, too.”

The Painter turned, and the Archbishop could see that he was looking at the fiery-haired girl—the prize that was meant to be his. He could not help but grin in satisfaction, knowing the irritating leech was going to be disappointed.

The Proctor, a randomly chosen member whose task was to conduct the proceedings but had no actual authority, rapped his ceremonial staff on the floor and intoned, “Brothers, please observe the customs and keep silent until all the initiates have been presented.” The two leeches nodded cordially and looked toward the Archbishop of their own accord; somehow, they had sensed that there would be competition for the hand of the young red-haired girl.

At last the presentation was over, and the débutantes were allowed to mingle with the guests. The Archbishop shouldered his way past his brothers and cast as wide a berth as possible around the girl he desired, warning away all others who came near. This phase of the ball was meant to give the men a chance to make their acquaintance with the girls, as most of the débutantes were known only by name. The Playmaker had once described it as a period for “wheeling and dealing,” where the men could negotiate trades with their fellows once the order of claimants had been determined, if they should find certain girls more desirable than the rest and wished to improve their chances of winning one of them. Strangely enough, the leeches made no overtures toward the fiery-haired girl, choosing to fraternize with as many of the initiates as they could instead.

Left alone with his soon-to-be prize, the Archbishop approached her with all the confidence of a man who controlled his own destiny. “Welcome, Bella,” he said, caressing the girl on the cheek. Edicts forbade him from doing more, but his brothers must know already that tonight would be his night, and that his claim over the girl was strong enough for him to do as he pleased. “I've been waiting for you. You know me by another name, outside, but in here you will address me as the Archbishop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Archbishop, sir,” the girl replied. She was unusually nervous, especially for an actress not known to be discreet and whose older sisters had been débutantes. The Archbishop liked to think that his very countenance had reduced the normally outgoing girl to a quivering shell of herself. His pulse began to race as he thought of undressing her in his chambers. Her sapphire gown was cut modestly as befits the formal occasion, yet there was still plenty of shoulder and bosom on display, more than enough to suggest what she would look like once she was commanded to step out of it. She would have no need of the corset pushing up her small breasts once his hands took its place.

“Good. I can't order you to not speak with my brothers, but I would ask that you try to keep to yourself if any of them should talk to you.” He looked at the girl's chaperon and added, “Tamara, don't let her talk too much about herself. It is your job to make them look elsewhere.”

The woman curtsied respectfully. She had often tasted of his patronage as well as his cock, and she belonged to him as much as her daughter soon would be.

Assured of his success, the Archbishop retreated into a corner and observed the interactions of the other débutantes. Many centuries ago, ownership of a girl was permanent, but as those in the brotherhood were wont to swap their charges in order to sample a wider variety of delights, the rules were changed so that a girl's rights could be given to another. While it was rare for virgins to be traded, he knew that a number of girls in his stable were lusted after by some of his brethren; perhaps one of them could be enticed into parting with a maiden in exchange for a girl he no longer cared for.

He found at least one girl other than Bella whom he would like to deflower: Elle would make a perfect addition to a harem that included her sister. The Archbishop would have set his eyes on her had Bella not been a débutante this year, but it would behoove him to maneuver into a position to claim both tonight.

At the moment, however, the junior couturist appeared to be conversing with the detestable Painter. The man looked all too comfortable in his tailored Armani suit, even squatting on his haunches as he was, staring up at the reserved young blonde and bantering with her until she dissolved into a fit of giggles. Charisma was a weapon seldom used in these quarters when the men held absolute sway over the initiates, being that it was only good for relaxing the girls and making their deflowering a more pleasant experience. The Archbishop saw it as a sign of weakness; he would find a way to use this against the leeches.

Next he sought out the Historian. The man had chosen for himself a form taller than any of his peers, enough that he was easy to spot. The Archbishop guessed that he must be making up for some manner of inadequacy; few in the brotherhood were eager to draw attention to themselves, at least outside the confines of their private quarters. The diminutive creature to whom he was speaking was named Kiernan. Her eyes were fixed upon him as he gestured theatrically, sharing whatever pedestrian humor in his forte. The girl's chaperon, herself an actress whose duty it was to ensure that the rules prior to the draw were followed, seemed to be caught up in the man's antics as well. While members of the brotherhood were prohibited from fondling the initiates sexually, there were no such restrictions on their chaperons. It was rare for the men to pay them as much attention as to the initiates, but here the Historian was taking every opportunity to involve January in the conversation, even going as far as to grope her bottom overtly. In the Archbishop's eyes, she was displaying a shameful lack of decorum, setting a horrible example for the débutantes. This was neither the time nor place for it, but he decided that the woman would have to be punished for her indiscretion.

Soon the Proctor's staff rang against the floor once again. "Brothers," he intoned, "the time of the Drawing is upon us." Prompted by the declaration, the chaperons began to usher their young charges away from their admirers and arrange them in a straight line, shoulder to shoulder, across the breadth of the hall. The Archbishop always had wondered what it would be like if the girls had not been hypnotically conditioned over a long period of time. Without the proper behavioral attunement—a delicate balance between a complete brainwash and individual autonomy—the initiates would undoubtedly be gripped in a state of panic and shame. As it were, each girl's personality was left largely untouched to preserve their "flavor," but otherwise their loyalty to the brotherhood was entrenched firmly in their subconscious.

It was one of the reasons why the girls could not be initiated all at the same age; some children were more susceptible to the indoctrination process than others, and rare was the specimen that did not first achieve puberty before being considered suitable.

"We have been blessed with another fine bounty this year," the Proctor recited once the initiates were in place. "Now we shall reap the rewards of our labor. As was ordained, this shall be the order in which the first phase of the draw is done." The list established the order in which the men would pick a small sphere from a sealed box; inside the spheres were wooden balls with numbers etched upon them, from one to however many members were in attendance. The seal itself was an arcane thing, impossible to breach without destroying the box's contents, and the penalty for attempting to tamper with it was harsher than the trouble was worth.

One by one the men were called forth and bade to draw their lots from the box. The Proctor of the previous débutante ball always went first, as those chosen for the role in the current year must always be the last to claim their sphere as per the rules. Naturally, if the last Proctor had won First Claim, he would be relegated to second last in this phase of the draw. Luck, therefore, played an important role in determining the final draw order, and while many in the brotherhood were skilled at manipulating chance in their favor, the seal on the box rendered all such efforts futile.

The remaining guests went in reverse of the order which they had claimed their débutante in the previous draw. When the Proctor himself had taken the last sphere in the box, he signaled the end of this phase and led his brothers in a brief chant. "May the fruit of my labors be wrought in what I seek," they called in unison before breaking open their spheres.

Commotion during this portentous moment always was inevitable; the men who had drawn the poorest lots wallowed quietly in their misfortune, while those among the first dozen were wont to cheer their good luck. The Archbishop was slow to break his own sphere, knowing he could leverage the recovery of the artifact into the position of First Claim if necessary. Before he could read the number inscribed on the ball within, however, a loud cheer sprang up not five feet away from him, drawing the attention of all those present.

"Oh, fuck yeah!" the Historian's voice boomed, spilling joy through his dour mask. "Number two, baby! Number fucking two."

"Oh yeah?" the Painter chuckled next to him, raising his ball and waving it proudly before his friend's eyes. "I got number one!" Bellowing excitedly, the Historian bumped fists with his friend and hugged him, jumping together in mad revelry.

Their behavior was farcically sophomoric, but the bewildered guests recovered quickly enough to approach the two and congratulate them. The Archbishop suppressed his mild irritation at this turn of events and examined the number on his ball: three. He would have to deal with the leeches after all, but armed with such a favorable lot, it should not be very difficult to persuade his brothers to advocate his desire for a trade once he presented the artifact.

First, however, he would gauge the Painter's intent for himself. The leech had expressed an interest in Bella, to be sure, but there were other fine candidates in this year's crop, and if he knew what was good for him, he would accept the Archbishop's proposal and walk away with two girls instead of one.

He faced the Painter and extended his hand. "Congratulations," he offered. "Only your second débutante ball, and already you get to feel what it's like to have First Claim." The Painter stared momentarily at the proffered hand before accepting it. The grin on his face grew wider as he shook the hand enthusiastically.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it." His grin wilted as quickly as it had grown, vanishing from his masked face as he gazed into the Archbishop's eyes. "But if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, then the answer is no."

The rebuff was as cavalier as any the Archbishop had ever been given. If he were any less of a man, he would have flinched and let his anger show. Instead, he allowed the handshake to break of its own accord and showed his lot to the Painter, making sure that the number on it was visible. "I am offering you a chance to take any one girl from my stable and claim another girl today," he stated calmly. "Not only would you come away a winner, but you would also earn my appreciation. Surely you can see the wisdom in that."

The Historian was not privy to the conversation as he had been approached by others seeking to trade for his lot; the Painter, keeping pace with his friend, rolled his eyes at the Archbishop's counsel and said, "Listen. There's no way in Hell I'm giving her up, so save your breath and pick whomever you want with your number three ball."

The Archbishop felt a murderous intent rise within him. His face betrayed nothing but disappointment, but a cold rage had begun to simmer in his gut. Turning aside, he began to plot his next move while pretending to listen to other offers.

After the negotiations were over and the trades were settled, the time came for the second and final phase of the Drawing. Although the Painter had announced his own victory earlier, no one except the Archbishop knew if he would trade his lot with someone else, and the mystery would linger until the winner was called forth by the Proctor.

"Let the most blessed among us come forward," he cried, punctuating the moment with his staff. The Painter strode forward proudly and presented his ball. The Proctor examined it briefly, nodding his satisfaction at the object's authenticity. "The Painter has won First Claim," he announced. "Brother, which of these initiates do you choose to take into your charge?"

"A moment," said a voice within the crowd. A slight figure emerged and proved himself the speaker by adding, "My apologies for interrupting, but I would make aware of a piece of joyous news which, perhaps, we all should hear before our brother the Painter graces us with his selection." The Archbishop smiled. The man who had spoken, named the Aperturist, was an ally in his camp. For appearances' sake, the Archbishop had bided his time waiting patiently for someone else to speak up for him. Events appeared to be unfolding according to plan.

The Aperturist continued, "Our brother the Archbishop, too humble to claim this honor, has delivered unto us an artifact which we have sought for many years. Brother, would you deign to give us a glimpse of it?"

The Archbishop waited until all eyes were upon him before he spoke. "I was going to present it after the ceremonies were over, but since our brother is so eager to see it, I have no choice but to oblige." He gestured for the servants to bring the item forward. Two cowled individuals bearing an object covered in cloth came forth and placed the item on the table next to the box. The Archbishop himself unveiled the artifact to a litany of gasps.

"Behold! The Gift of Utnapishtim," the Archbishop declaimed, waving a hand over the small stone tablet that was revealed.

"What the fuck is that supposed to be?" the Painter asked aloud to the apparent amusement of the crowd.

"The Epic of Gilgamesh, man," the Historian explained. "I'm guessing he thinks that the secret to immortality is written on that piece of rock."

"It is," the Archbishop countered stoically. "Using the coded formula inscribed on this tablet, we will be able to derive an elixir which will sustain our life force for all eternity."

"I'll believe it when I see it," the Painter said, unfazed by the derision leveled at him by his peers. "Anyway, what does this have to do with picking our girls?"

The Aperturist once again spoke on behalf of his ally. "Brother Archbishop has done much for us in the past, and he has surpassed even his own deeds this time. For retrieving the Gift of Utnapishtim, I would propose that he be given First Claim."

Other voices—ones that the Archbishop knew would support him—added to the motion. "I think he deserves it," said the man known as the Sandworm. "Give it to him," said another, and another.

"Bullshit!" the Painter exclaimed in response. "I don't care if he raises fucking R'lyeh right under our feet. Nothing in our doctrine says that I have to give up First Claim."

"True," the Aperturist conceded before launching into his retort, "but it has long been our custom to honor those who have sacrificed much for the advancement of the order as well as the Great Work. You would disgrace yourself in our eyes should you refuse to yield."

"You're wrong, brother," argued the Dragon Rider, a new voice and one of the few to have remained neutral. "The Drawing is a sacred rite, and no one should be motivated to work against the will of the draw regardless of prestige."

The gallery was on the verge of chaos when the Proctor slammed his staff into the ground. "Enough!" he proclaimed. "As Brother Dragon Rider pointed out, there is no cause for which Brother Painter must yield his claim to another. Whether he exchanges his lot for that of Brother Archbishop's is his choice alone. What do you say, Brother Painter?"

The Painter ignored his peers and placed his ball back in the box, affirming his claim. The gallery went silent as he showed his defiance. "I'm keeping First Claim," he shouted, meeting their eyes and settling on the Archbishop's furious glare. He raised his arm and pointed at the fiery-haired girl. "And I am picking Bella Thorne."




II: BELLA


Bella's heart caught in her throat as the Painter pointed at her. She'd been shaking since the men started bickering, growing more nervous by the minute, but it was the culmination of her life's purpose that made it almost too much to bear.

She couldn't remember a time when her destiny was unclear, if there had been one at all. There was a long stretch during which her dyslexia made life difficult, but Mom and Dad had always promised that the pain would go away once her true masters welcomed her into their fold. It all started with those weird bedtime stories, which evolved into fairy tales about how the world was really run by a group of people in secret. When she became a teenager, she believed in it wholeheartedly. Dad died when she was still a kid, but Mom never lost faith in Bella. With her help, she became a television star and managed to catch the eye of the brotherhood. Fame is fleeting, Mom always said, but initiation is forever.

The toughest part of the process had been to keep her true aspirations a secret. In addition to being hidden to outsiders, the order's doctrine also prohibited potential candidates from identifying themselves to one another. As such, although her siblings were mercifully in the know—Dani and Kaili both made it to the initiation stage but neither were claimed by a master—there was no one else in whom she could confide. It sucked that her best friends had to be kept in the dark, but since her indoctrination rarely interfered with her professional and social life, the stress of living with her secret was manageable. And while she really did like the boys she dated, in the back of her head she knew that her knight in shining armor wouldn't be among them.

She wasn't surprised to see a lot of girls in the business in the convocation room where they were summoned prior to the presentation. They were all dolled up like herself, dressed head to toe in designs from Alexander McQueen to Zac Posen, stuff she'd love to keep after this was over like the Jean Schlumberger clip in her freshly highlighted hair. She recognized a few through their meager disguises right away—Chloe Moretz looked like she wanted to hug her, for one—but as they were forbidden from interacting with each other, she couldn't go up and talk to them. Worse, she discovered that none of her besties were among the initiates; she hated keeping this part of herself from them, and it would've been so much fun belonging to the same secret society with her BFFs. Still, she saw no reason why she couldn't make friends with them once they returned to the outside world and were allowed to hang out as initiates.

When she first saw the men in the gallery, a sense of relief coursed through her; finally one of them would take her under his wing and reveal to her the deepest mysteries of the order. She had been taught that all men were equal among the brotherhood and that it was a privilege to be chosen, as not every initiate to the débutante ball were so fortunate. Neither Dani nor Kaili knew the comfort of belonging, even though they were often summoned to the brotherhood's meetings to serve. Yet Bella could see that the men were distinct individuals, and she could feel their differences in her gut on top of their varying appearances and poise.

The choice wasn't hers to make, but as she led her fellow débutantes down the stairs, she began to entertain the idea of being claimed by someone she liked. The two guys who spoke up caught her interest instantly, particularly the one who supposedly thought of her as “his girl.” She wondered if he might be someone her mother knew, maybe even the same person who had initiated her sisters, but Mom showed no sign of recognizing him. In fact, when Mom realized that she'd been staring at him, she squeezed her daughter's hand and made her look down.

It was already too late; the man's fierce green eyes were burned into Bella's head. Not knowing his name, she decided to call him Cat Eyes. She imagined what it would be like to kiss the hard lines of his jaw beneath the half mask, to nuzzle at the short, thick hair atop his head. She thought he smelled really nice, too, when she walked past him. He wasn't the tallest guy in the room, but the way he carried himself in that tailored suit made it irrelevant. He might have been twenty five or thirty five—old enough to make it creepy to outsiders, even if everyone else in the gallery probably was older—but the teenage boy she called her boyfriend in the outside world just didn't compare.

Bella had always wondered what it would be like to have sex with an older man. She had practiced abstinence her entire life, knowing there was no chance in Hell that she would be chosen if she let someone else other than her future master take her virginity. But she was far from ignorant; her family was very supportive and made sure she learned as much as she could without allowing penetration. Dad’s passing made training a little more complicated, but once her brother Remy was old enough she was practicing on him every chance she got.

They trained whenever and wherever, but a lot of times they would make it a family thing whether it was at home or at the hotel by Six Flags. Dani had the most experience with the men of the order, followed by Kaili and then Mom. Even though they had not been claimed, members of the brotherhood often invited Dani and Kaili to personal excursions or group ceremonies—orgies, pretty much. Her sisters would come back and talk about how they sucked this guy off together, or was put on fluff and rim duty while he fucked this big Oscar winner who had been an initiate in her red carpet dress, or how they ate out this country singer’s cream pie at the behest of her master even though the girl wasn’t that comfortable with lesbian stuff. It sounded like a lot of fun.

Remy was the luckiest one, of course, being a guy and all. If he distinguished himself, he might become a servant of the order some day, but already he was reaping many of the benefits of being the only male in a family of initiates. His cock was the first one that Bella sucked, although it was Mom who swallowed his first load, just after his twelfth birthday. The girls loved to tease their brother. They took turns invading his shower every morning, sometimes all three together. They pulled him aside sometimes while he went on dates and blew him behind the girl’s back, except Bella when he was dating Pia Mia because she felt bad about making her brother cheat on her bestie. They thought it was hilarious when he started dating a girl also named Bella, because it was obvious that he had a big crush on his little sister. She thought it made perfect sense, considering they’d been playing with each other since they were kids, and he’d always wanted to put his cock inside her even though she wouldn’t let him. Still, he performed his duty as man of the house by keeping Mom satisfied. He was an awesome brother to have.

She was still lost in her memories when one of the other men approached her. She heard his introduction and realized that he'd been the one her mother had told her about, the man in the brotherhood who had sent her to the Emirates to retrieve the stone tablet from one of his agents. The Archbishop looked strong and dignified, but there was an off-putting vibe about him; Bella compared the experience to Katniss from the Hunger Games meeting President Snow for the first time. She tried to picture herself kissing him, but Cat Eyes' face would always reassert itself. From the way he spoke it was clear that he intended to claim her, and she grew nervous when she thought he might be able to see what she was thinking.

With Mom busy fending off most of the claimants looking her way, Bella had plenty of time to stare at Cat Eyes. He and his tall friend were clearly different from the other men, charming their way through the initiates while the rest of the brotherhood checked them out like jewelry or slabs of meat, knowing the girls had no say in the matter. She began to feel jealous of the other girls he approached, especially when he started to flirt with Elle Fanning and made her laugh. Bella was only a television star, after all, and Elle was a movie star, taller, and blonde; it stood to reason that Cat Eyes would like the slender young actress more. She wanted to scream when the Proctor announced the next phase of the draw suddenly. He hadn't so much as looked in her direction!

She only felt worse when Cat Eyes shouted that he'd won First Claim. She loved the way he and his friend celebrated when they won the first two claims, because they showed genuine emotion instead of being dopes like their brothers. Yet with so many beautiful girls available for his choosing, her chances of winning his favor appeared astronomically remote. Despite the insinuation earlier that he wanted her, she had ended up being one of the girls he ignored. The insults she had heard all her life, the awful names she'd been called, never cut her deeper than they did now; to everyone in the room, she was just a stupid, uncoordinated, talentless slut.

When the Archbishop disputed his right to First Claim, Bella was caught between her obedience to the order and her yearning for the Painter—thanks to the Proctor's pronouncement, she knew how to address him properly at last. One of the strongest edicts impressed upon unclaimed initiates was loyalty to the brothers of the order, and to look upon each man as though he were already her master. Thou shalt not be disloyal to the brotherhood—Mom had made her recite those commandments every day since she learned to talk. And they weren't meaningless prayers; there was real power in them that made it hurt to even think about violating them. Siding with the Painter amounted to insubordination because it implied disloyalty to the Archbishop, and the more she wanted to cheer for him, the more nauseous she began to feel.

Fighting the knot in her gut, she tried to shut their voices out and closed her eyes, consoling herself with the knowledge that once the Drawing was over, the Archbishop's claim, or anyone else's for that matter, would compel her to forget the Painter ever existed.

Then she heard him speak her name. Just like Mom and Dad had told her, the pain disappeared.

When Bella opened her eyes again, she saw her master's finger pointing straight at her. She could almost feel his hands gently soothing away the agony even as she walked up to him and took his hand. No longer did she have to pretend that he wasn't superior to his peers; Cat Eyes, or the Painter as he was called, had chosen to become her supreme authority, and the dissonance of having to obey the brotherhood equally was silenced by the euphony of knowing that she would be loyal to him above all.




III. CHLOE


Chloe remembered him as the guy whom she'd made a face at earlier. She would’ve laughed when the man they called the Painter upstaged everyone, were she not so scared out of her mind. She could tell that things were usually run a lot more smoothly, because it didn't make sense for the brotherhood to subject them to this kind of torture; for every moment they argued, more girls doubled over in pain. With her chaperon's help she managed to stay on her feet, though she saw that Bella was on the verge of collapsing, whereas Elle was already on her knees.

But the Painter's declaration for Bella turned a nightmare into a magical moment. It brought relief to Chloe and the other girls, though judging by the look on the redhead’s awestruck face, it brought her that and much more.

To piss off the Archbishop, he made a grand show of claiming her, sweeping Bella off her feet and kissing her deeply. Every little thing on that girl’s face spelled excitement, from the fluttering of her eyelashes to the shy little smiles on her lips between kisses. Chloe was happy for her, but she doubted that she’d enjoy being handled the same way herself.

Ignoring the disdain of the crowd, the Painter started to sweet-talk his initiate as he spun in a circle slowly, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not giving you up to anyone. Not to him, or him.” He cocked his head at each man, chuckling when he finally faced the angry Archbishop. “And especially not to him.”

The Painter’s tall friend stepped up and slapped him on the shoulder. “Congrats, buddy!” he said. The impact startled Bella, and he took this chance to talk to her. “You won’t believe how long this guy’s been crowing about you. Just think about it. He could have had anyone in that asshole’s harem and someone else from today, and he told them all to fuck off because he wanted only you.”

Chloe wanted to gag, but Bella seemed to eat it up, judging by how red she was under her mask when the Painter pulled it off gently. “Thanks, but I don’t need a wingman. Now go and pick your girl.” The crowd parted for him as he carried his girl off into the distance, with her mother following behind.

The Proctor beckoned the tall man to approach. “Brother Historian, which of these remaining initiates do you choose?”

The Historian rubbed at the number on his ball as he swept his gaze over the girls, giving Chloe a start when he stopped on her. Not that she really gave a shit about how he and his friend were behaving earlier, but they were at least partly responsible for hurting the girls. Unlike Bella, she didn’t have stars in her eyes for any man, and even though she had to obey them, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about being indentured to a stranger.

She felt a different force tugging at her when the Historian finally made his choice. “Let me have that saucy blonde,” he said, crooking his finger at her. The sensation began to envelope her slowly as though she were sinking into a pool of water, leaving her with just enough time to wrinkle her nose at the man before her legs carried her forward, affecting a catwalk strut of their own accord. Once she was submerged completely in that feeling, however, Chloe was relieved to find that she could still think for herself, and her opinion of the man was little improved.

“Hey there little girl,” he said, smirking at her. “Wanna come home with me?”

Playing along, she slipped an arm around his waist and put her other hand on his chest, bumping him with her hip. “My name,” she cooed, “is Chloe Moretz.”

“I know who you are, Hit-Girl.” He pulled off her mask and pinched Chloe's nose playfully. She bit her lip to stop herself from sassing him, but it seemed odd that she was able to resist him even that much when it should have hurt like a motherfucker to defy him mentally.

She glanced uncertainly at her chaperon and saw a grin on Eva’s face. What was that about? she thought, and then it dawned on her. Her lessons had included some boring material on how the bond between a master and his initiate worked. It was almost as if they’d intentionally made it as dry as possible to put her to sleep, but she retained a surprising amount of information even though she couldn’t understand most of it. While it is impossible for an initiate to disobey a direct order, the metaphysical nature of the bond often exhibits counterintuitive, quantum characteristics. Specifically, this predictive ability allows the initiate to choose her response based on an indeterminate outcome as decided by the master, often before he is aware of his own preference. Chloe thought she might have been eating out Eva during that lesson; her chaperon’s pussy was anything but dry on most occasions.

Confusing as it were, Chloe now had an idea of what was expected of her. She and her chaperon followed the Historian deeper into the gallery, away from the gathered crowd. Each guest was supposed to have a private room to himself, but it looked like her master and his friend were content to play out in the open. Bella was nestled in the Painter’s lap, making out in the apparent absence of her chaperon. She had to admit that they looked like a cute couple, especially now that the Painter had removed his mask and jacket, showing off a face that looked like it belonged on a CW show.

Her heart began to race when the Painter started to unzip Bella's corset. The redhead straightened her back to make it easier for him, pushing her boobs forward as the top part of the gown fell away, leaving only the black strapless bra underneath. She gulped involuntarily when the dark-haired man began to knead Bella's breasts together. They definitely looked bigger than her own.

“You like to watch?” asked her master's amused voice while his hand groped her ass. Chloe gasped and looked up, noting that her chaperon was tangled up with him at the same time, only on the opposite side. He had Eva by the waist, pulling the woman close even as his fingers clung to a champagne glass. She could smell cigarette smoke, saw it drift out of the Historian's mouth and nostrils as he exhaled. She realized that he'd removed his mask, too. He looked scruffy, brutish, arrogant; he looked straight-up pimp.

“So what if I do?” Chloe shot back, trying not to wither under her master's smoldering gaze. Caught between the sight of a half-naked Bella and the Historian's suaveness, she didn't need to be compelled to feel horny.

The Historian dangled a cigarette between his lips and seized a handful of her skirt. He yanked so hard on it that she nearly fell over backwards, but the violent tug split apart the dainty Valentino from the hip down, leaving her legs bare to the world. Teetering on her tall heels, Chloe yelped and clung to her master for support, then covered herself with both hands while glaring at him reproachfully. “Why’d you do that for?”

His subsequent nudge pushed her awkwardly close to Bella and her master, who were too preoccupied to notice her. The redhead’s bra was still on, but the Painter had popped her breasts out and over it, making her swollen nipples that much more inviting. The Painter’s mouth harried his girl’s delectable nubs across her teenage mounds, making a game of putting them just out of reach as his hands mauled and pushed her breasts into different shapes.

“You know why,” the Historian’s voice urged from behind. “Go on, don’t be shy. My friend won’t mind if you joined in.” She was still fidgeting when the Painter suddenly smiled at her. He reached out and pulled her into his antique armchair. Her pulse beat a deafening drumbeat in her ears as the man guided her fingers toward Bella’s wet breasts. A delicate nipple yielded to a gentle push from her fingertip, eliciting a gasp from Bella as she turned to look at the newcomer. There was nothing in her eyes to indicate that she was perturbed by the interruption; in fact, her chest was heaving from the excitement of being joined by a familiar face. Chloe found herself fondling Bella’s boobs without the Painter’s guidance, giving him the opportunity to strip her down to her underwear.

Her parents had requested that Chloe’s training be overseen by her chaperon. She wasn’t sure if that or growing up with four brothers had a bigger influence, but while she had no aversion to guys, she liked girls a lot more. They were prettier, softer, smelled better; she understood how to make them feel good, and she knew how to make them reciprocate. Men were a different kind of beast. Her brother Trevor had no complaints about her oral skills, but whether she could perform as well during sex was still a question for which she had no answer.

As she leaned forward to meet Bella’s lips, Chloe gained a new appreciation for her own master’s wisdom. She was being eased into her role as his servant, the same way Eva had taught her to touch another girl, particularly virgins, with her fingers. She was being manipulated into becoming more obedient to him without the brute force of the bond, and she couldn’t help but love him for it.

She was naked except for her jewelry, her shoes and her underwear, the remnants of her dress having been shed while she was busy tasting Bella’s tongue. Chloe had met the girl before, and while she wouldn’t really call her a friend, she liked the girl’s bubbly personality. And she was so hot; Chloe was absolutely enthralled by the way she looked naked, lean and soft with a hint of olive to her complexion. Bella’s master didn’t seem to mind that Chloe was monopolizing her time, caressing the both of them with his big, warm hands while they made out in front of him. He’d left behind enough of Bella’s lip gloss after kissing her that Chloe could still taste it in abundance, that minty, strawberry flavor teasing her palate. Balling a little spit on the tip of her tongue, she let the redhead suck some of the sweetness right back into her own mouth.

The Painter elected to leave Chloe and Bella in the chair, slipping out from underneath and giving them room to cleave to each other. With nothing standing between them, Bella began to fondle Chloe's breasts, and the girl's deft fingers were reminding her of just how hard her own nipples were. She was getting wet in her panties, but when she sneaked a hand between Bella's legs, she was surprised that they weren't both enveloped in steam. Greedy for that fevered taste in her mouth, she began to forge a path from Bella’s neck to her chest, nipping at her throat and collar impulsively. Bella’s hair tumbled over her boobs as the Painter reclaimed the mouth of his servant, kissing her as he loomed over them, but Chloe simply brushed the bright copper tresses aside and started to bite around one nipple, causing Bella to squirm and sigh between breaths.

She was beginning to trust Bella’s master as well. She couldn’t tell whether he was controlling the girl’s behavior in some way, but it made no apparent difference to Bella, who was enjoying every minute of being at the center of attention. Figuring that she would relinquish Bella's upper body to the Painter's care, Chloe went on to nuzzle at her taut belly, distracting the girl as she hooked her fingers into her panties. It seemed that Bella was just as eager to be rid of her panties, because she lifted her legs and cooperated as Chloe slid them off for her, taking care not to disturb the heels on her feet.

Now for the really fun part, Chloe grinned inwardly as she brushed her lips lightly across the front of Bella's hips and over the top of her thighs. She wanted to taste Bella badly—as it were, she was tingly enough to finger herself through her panties while teasing Bella—but Eva had always taught her that just the right of amount of frustration went a long way toward putting a girl under her spell. Bella's master appeared to share the same idea; rather than let his servant give Chloe directions with her hands, he held them by the wrists and folded her arms across her chest, gently but firmly arresting her struggles while keeping her content by playing with her breasts together. Chloe gave him a knowing wink before nudging Bella's thighs open, sinking her face between them and working her way ever closer to the girl's hot little cunt.

The musky scent hit the back of her throat even before she laid eyes on its source, making her flush like a sniff of wine. Bella's mound was immaculately smooth, picked clean of hair to emphasize its virginal quality—the same Brazilian waxing that Chloe had to endure. She hated going through with it, but seeing the results on someone else made a world of difference. Bella was squirming harder now that her pussy was exposed to room temperature, but Chloe ignored her whimpered pleas and nibbled along her inner thighs instead, fighting the girl's thrusting hips and her own desire to dive between her labia.

The closer she came to kissing Bella's pussy, the louder the redhead whimpered. When the noise reached a certain pitch, she knew it was time. She decided to make one last pass over the girl's tummy when a blur of movement caught her attention. Peeking over the armrest, she saw her chaperon's head bouncing in the Historian's lap. They were seated on a sofa nearby, and Eva was sucking his cock expertly. Her master was working on a fresh cigarette, watching the threesome through narrowed eyes. There was another pair of hands fondling his genitals, too, belonging to Bella's chaperon who had returned in time to watch Chloe duck between her daughter's legs and make the girl shudder violently with a firm lick.

Bella’s moans reflected no small measure of relief now that Chloe was fulfilling the promise of her kisses, but the redhead had only just begun to articulate her desperation. The girl bucked her hips and squeezed her thighs around Chloe’s head, intending to trap her there in case she tried to pull away. That little slut! she thought, though not in a malicious way as she pushed Bella’s legs into the air. Her own pussy was on fire, forcing her to divert one hand to placate her own lust while reassuring Bella that her mouth wasn’t going anywhere. She began to nudge the thick part of her tongue into the girl’s shy but swollen clit, letting the rest of her appendage bathe in the juices bubbling out of that sweltering crevice. Gradually Bella began to relax, eschewing her wild bucking for a calmer gyration while allowing Chloe to splay her legs open.

Having won the girl’s confidence, Chloe slowly added her fingers to the fray. Ultimately, only the Painter knew what he wanted out of the threesome, but judging by his interactions with his servant earlier, she could tell that he wanted to make love to his girl. Just to be sure, she stole a peek above and saw that Bella was savoring the length of the Painter’s cock. His dick was jutting out of his pants, parting his shirttails and riding over the lips on Bella’s upturned face; its sheen suggested that she’d been nursing on him for a while. He was substantially thicker than Trevor, a quality that made her worry if the taller Historian might be even bigger. It was shaped like a baseball bat, too, thickest near the tip and tapering off toward the root; it was definitely going to hurt Bella.

She decided to take it upon herself to make the girl ready for him. The fact that her vagina resembled a freshly-blossomed rose, whose smallest petals were still curled up within the bud, was enough to remind Chloe that she needed to be gentler than with Eva; that woman’s demands alone made her wince occasionally. Luckily the redhead was wet as can be, and she had no trouble slipping the first digit into her slit. She doubted that it was Bella’s first time being fingered, but the girl shuddered from the invasion nonetheless, showing just how sensitive she was. Stopping just short of the first knuckle, Chloe began to work her fingertip in a circle, touching every contour on Bella’s delicate labia. As the girl’s natural elasticity began to adapt, she nudged another finger inside and widened the circle.

Chloe was so absorbed in eating Bella’s pussy that she didn’t sense the presence behind her until a pair of hands seized her suddenly, tugging under her arms and pulling her to her feet. She wanted to protest, wanted to tell them that she wasn’t finished, but another, larger hand had already usurped the place of her mouth, cupping her playmate’s mound from above and slipping its middle finger inside. She couldn’t help but feel jilted when Bella gave no indication that she missed her, but her master’s voice assuaged her jealousy.

“It’s his turn with her now,” his deep voice resonated in her chest, “and mine with you.” Chloe was still watching the Painter kiss and fondle Bella when she was pulled off to the side to fulfill his desires.




IV. BELLA


The chair was very comfortable, but she could’ve been sitting on a bed of nails and still felt like she was in Heaven.

The Painter had put her there. Cat Eyes did; she liked having her own pet name for him. Whatever his name, he was her master, the guy whom she'd wanted to pick her the most.

Bella felt ashamed that she hadn't said anything when he showed her off to the crowd, or when his tall friend came over and told her he'd been talking about her. She felt guilty about doubting him. She should've thanked him aloud for choosing her, the same way he had bragged about keeping her.

But he didn't seem mad at all. In fact, he was nibbling on her ear as he carried her away from everyone, with Mom following behind in a state of shock. She couldn't have been too happy about failing her patron, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

They found an armchair in a corner. Before they settled into it, he whispered something in Mom's ear and sent her off. That was just fine with her; she was hoping to spend some time alone with her new beau anyway.

He set her down and shrugged out of his jacket, craning his neck to let her loosen his bow tie. She reached for his belt buckle next, but he just smiled and made her take his mask off instead. He looked every bit as cocky as he’d acted earlier, but she could tell that he had the substance to back it up. It made her want to stand on her tiptoes and kiss every inch of his face, but her legs had suddenly turned to jelly, and it wouldn't be until they both sat down that she was able to reach him.

He laid her across his lap, gathering her layered skirts over her legs so that he could caress her thighs. She could feel a lump pressing against her leg, prompting her to wriggle her butt against it; she wanted him to know that he didn't have to take it slow with her. Cat Eyes chuckled and brushed at her bangs; he seemed to really enjoy staring at her, and she would have let him do that for days on end, too.

“I didn’t mean for you to panic,” he told her sincerely, his voice cascading through her like waves on a beach. His eyes drifted below her neck, watching her chest heave as his hand slipped between her thighs. She wanted to tell him that it was all right, but all that came out was a whimper as he touched the dampness on her panties. His tone had implied the start of a conversation, but now he seemed more interested in fondling her, drawing his fingers firmly along the length of her slit. Whatever he had to say, he chose to express it through action in lieu of words.

Bella couldn’t have been more thrilled. Pulling his face close as much as she pulled herself forward, she cleaved her lips to his and coaxed his tongue into her mouth, tantalizing her palate with his taste and filling her lungs with his masculine scent. It felt wonderful to have him inside her, even if it was just his tongue. She let his essence sweep aside the memories of her boyfriend, let his fingers unravel the doubts in her heart. She unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand inside, tracing his nipples through his undershirt and reciprocating as best she could. His heart beat a strong, steady rhythm under his chest; she wanted badly to know what he felt inside, who he was and how he came to choose her. But more than anything else, she wanted him to fuck her.

First she had to get her gown out of the way. The Vera Wang was the prettiest thing she’d ever worn, but Cat Eyes could have ripped it to shreds right then and she wouldn’t have made a peep. She regretted the absence of his hand from her crotch when he started to undress her, but having him pull down her bra and play with her breasts felt just as nice. Already her nipples were hard as pebbles, and they grew harder still when he teased her with the heat of his mouth, making her gasp at the occasional, solid bite delivered to whichever lucky nub was within his reach.

Someone else had gasped, too, a girl’s voice nearby. Her heart fluttered when she realized that they were being watched, but she felt safe in her master’s presence. She was proud to be his; she would have spread her legs wide open and let him finger her while the entire brotherhood looked on.

Whoever the source, she had crept close enough to be on top of them. As Cat Eyes turned to greet the girl, Bella leaned forward and bit him passionately on the earlobe. She could sense that someone else was about to join in, another warm body with whom to cuddle and share in the joy that flowed over her.

She was only too happy to see the leggy blonde her master reeled in was none other than Chloe. It didn’t bother her at all to play with other girls, and if it pleased her master to make out with her, then she was going to drive him crazy by making it as hot as she could.

Better still was that Chloe seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Bella discovered that there were differences to being fondled by a grown man and by a girl of the same age, but she appreciated the attention all the same, whether it was her master’s vigorous mauling or Chloe’s attentive thrumming. She moaned exultantly into her new playmate’s mouth, swirling her tongue around that of Chloe’s and sharing the sweet taste of their lip gloss. Coupled with her master’s insistent touching, the pleasure became so intoxicating that she had to draw breath consciously to keep the dizziness at bay.

She caught herself protesting mildly as her master slipped out of the chair, taking away the warm lap and the hard lump underneath her. It gave her slightly taller playmate the advantage of higher ground, but Bella fought back by cupping Chloe’s breasts and rolling her nipples between her thumb and forefinger. She grinned inwardly when the blonde squealed in surprise, but her efforts were trumped a few moments later when Chloe retaliated by sticking a hand between her legs. It just wasn’t fair when her body wanted to surrender so badly, when she was so heavily inclined to lose.

As much as she had learned from her family, they couldn’t have prepared her for this journey of self-discovery. For all they could teach Bella about pleasuring others, only her master could teach her what it was like to be pleasured. Only Cat Eyes could dig deep enough inside her and make her realize that she liked being submissive.

He didn't need to hurt her or humiliate her to do it, either. All he had to do was hold her firmly by the wrists while her blonde playmate kissed her way between her legs. Chloe was avoiding that aching, throbbing spot on purpose, too, nibbling all around the inside of her thighs after pulling off her panties, teasing the shit out of her. She was helpless to keep from moaning out loud when the girl's tongue lashed across her vagina. She wanted to whine to her master, to show him what an adorable brat she could be and persuade him into letting go. She struggled against his grasp, tried to squeeze Chloe's head between her thighs; she started to suck eagerly on his tongue, offering him head in exchange for freedom.

By the time Cat Eyes took up her offer, she was no longer so eager to be freed. She had thrown her tantrum, and when it didn't work, the frustration that had been building up transformed into contentment. She kept up the pretense of resisting by testing them intermittently, but she was beginning to enjoy being pinned to the chair, unable to move while they tormented her.

As if to reward her good behavior, her master pulled her hands toward his belt and let her pry it loose. Her vision was a haze as she looked at his bulging crotch, and her frustrations threatened to return when her trembling hands failed to solve the buckle right away. Luckily, her master was just as eager to let her finally play with his cock, and with his help she was able to reach inside his pants and fish out her prize.

Her first impression upon touching him was one of awe. Bella was surprised that he’d been able to keep it inside for so long. She knew what boys looked like when they were excited, but her master was anything but a boy. Rather than point straight in the air, it weighed heavily in her palms, more than filling both her hands. She kissed its tip reverently and began to stroke its veiny length, sighing in exhilaration as the significance of the act struck her. I am going to make you cum so hard, she thought, flashing him a coquettish look.

She recalled her training and attended to him accordingly—lick behind the corona, tease the frenulum, pout your lips and let him see how wet they are. But the longer she played with him, the less she had to rely on it. Cat Eyes had grabbed her by the hair and showed her exactly where he wanted her mouth to be. She had to adapt quickly to his demands, whether simple as rolling his balls in her mouth, or challenging as suppressing her gag reflex when he fucked her throat. He didn't hold back on account of this being her first time with him, and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Chloe was doing a great job of indulging her below as well, using fingers in addition to her mouth. As always they felt tight initially, but as she started to loosen up, the sensation yielded yet another layer of pleasure to the experience, more subtle than her tongue lashes but coming in steadier waves, too. Each gentle stab of those fingers helped to propagate a need to be filled, driving it deeper into her pussy until it spread through her abdomen.

Perhaps it was the urgency with which she hugged her master's hips, or the fervor in her hips as she humped Chloe's face, but Cat Eyes could tell that she was ready. The mouth between her legs was replaced by his hand, bridging the blonde girl's absence as he moved to the front of the chair.

As her gaze climbed toward his features, she began to pant with anticipation the likes of which she'd never felt before. She was naked with her legs spread in front of a relative stranger, a man who had demonstrated that he wasn't afraid to exert his authority; yet she felt only love and lust for him, her mind devoid of shame or doubt as she reached out imploringly. His exquisite frame bore down into her open arms, drawing her eyes into his own. She opened her mouth to gasp, her body growing taut as he slipped the head of his cock between her labia.

She felt him pin her firmly to the chair—and the pain followed shortly after. She winced at the sudden pressure, whimpering and squeezing her thighs together involuntarily. A bead of sweat broke out on her temple as she shivered in distress, but all it took was a kiss from her master, a small but reassuring gesture of his affection, to dull the sting of her torn hymen. Soon the pain was consumed by her lust, allowing her to relax and take his cock deeper inside her, satisfying her need to be filled by him at last.

Bella was glad to feel her master so close to her again, as he had been when she was in his lap. She loved the feel of his weight and warmth upon her, adored the heat and girth of his cock as he stretched her out. She wanted him to put the whole thing inside her, not only because she thought it would please him, but also because she was feeling just a bit possessive; she wanted to be the best fuck he'd ever had.

Judging by his demeanor, he was enjoying it as much as she. He started fucking her with steady strokes as soon as he managed to work enough of his cock inside her, growling into her ea