El-Hani meets Anya again; personal revelations; the penis guillotine
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El-Hani – A Story of Ancient Anatolia Previous sections of this story may be found at: http://bmeworld.com/eunuch/Alpha/E/ea_28323El-Hani_.htm http://bmeworld.com/eunuch/Alpha/E/ea_6403El-Hani_.htm http://bmeworld.com/eunuch/Alpha/E/ea_27503El-Hani_htm http://bmeworld.com/eunuch/Alpha/E/ea_53573El-Hani_.htm In the Kitchen – Part 8 Two weeks later came a day free of all responsibilities. The High Priestess and most of her staff were away in neighboring Ibhama for a law-making congress. He slept late, lazily awoke himself, wondering momentarily at the unaccustomed quiet around his quarters before remembering why they were all gone. Most of the priestesses-in-training had also taken the day off to be with their families. El-Hani finished washing up, put on a plain tunic, and headed toward the kitchen, to find something for his growling stomach. The morning cooking shift had already gone for the day when he entered. Finding some grapes in a bowl, still filmed by a layer of morning dew, he stood looking out the open windows over the terraced gardens below, idly plucking grapes from the bunch and eating. He heard someone enter the room behind him. He thought at first it was the kitchen help, but when he looked around he was startled to see one of the priestess-trainees – the girl the High Priestess had called Anya. In an instant he felt the blood rushing to his face, a surprisingly school-girlish and completely irrepressible response to the memory that burst unbidden into his mind – the last time he had seen Anya, and the last time she had seen him: standing naked before her class, his rigid penis in the firm grip of the High Priestess, blasting the most explosive ejaculation of his life toward the ceiling, in full view of the assembled class of priestesses-in-training. Awkwardly, he tried to divert his own mind from the memory. “Good grapes here – want some?” he asked. She nodded assent, came closer, seemed to examine the bunch in his hand closely, then took the offering, with a very direct smile. “Thanks”. She plucked off two and put them in her mouth, chewing slowly. She regarded him without a hint of embarrassment or self- consciousness. Maybe, he thought, she simply doesn’t remember I’m the same boy... “I know!” she exclaimed, dashing his hopes abruptly. “You were the ... the anatomy lesson!” Her face reddened a little, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, as if to express “there I go again”, the implicit acknowledgement of a thoughtless impulsiveness that had probably gotten her into social trouble countless times before. He sighed, smiled tentatively. How could he deny it? and, what would be the point? He had, after all, done it entirely at the behest of the one obeyed by all, the High Priestess. “I was the lesson”, he acknowledged. “I didn’t ... I had no idea what she was going to do, until just before the class.” He looked away from her, out the window, afraid she – a little older than him – might view it all with condescending amusement. He was a training tool, an in-vivo anatomy lesson for use as the High Priestess saw fit. He hoped Anya wouldn’t keep asking questions. “What she did to you in that class ... has she done that to you before? Were you very embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, you know. You have a very nice ... body”. He looked at her, and was surprised to see a faintly rosier color rise to her cheeks. Did she, herself, feel awkward asking about it? Or, was it something else? “Watching you – your penis – rise up like that, and being able to touch it – and the way she made you squirt at the end...” “Ejaculate”, he corrected. “You never saw a boy like that before?” He began to feel more comfortable with her. She held some sympathy for him, seemed to be trying to be friendly. He was a little surprised, but secretley pleased, at her boldness. He turned away from her, feigning interest in the stack of bowls on the kitchen table next to him. Her recounting of the “male anatomy” class was having an effect; although very recent, it was now treasured in his memory as probably the most profoundly erotic moment of his brief love life with the High Priestess. “Oh, I’ve seen lots of little boys ... I’ve got two little brothers, you know. And a few men naked, across a courtyard. But a guy like you ... never up close like that. And I never ... touched one before.” “No boyfriends?” He was teasing, a little. The life of a priestess-in-training left little time, and less opportunity, for even casual relations between sexes. “Well, I’ve known a few boys – but not like that,” she said, a bit defensively. “I don’t meet boys my age at the Temple. I’m training to be a priestess, though. ALL the rituals.” Her emphasis on “all” he knew to be a reference, obliquely, to the spring fertility rituals, when priestesses and female devotees would choose men from the community for the rites of fertility, sacred sex dedicated to the Goddess. “And who”, he asked, “were the men you saw naked in the courtyard? I don’t recall an orgy taking place in front of the Temple recently.” “You silly”, she said. “It wasn’t an orgy, and it wasn’t in that courtyard. I shouldn’t say, I’ll get into trouble.” “I won’t tell. I promise. Goddess smite me if I tell.” He winked conspiratorially at her. She sighed, looked doubtfully at him, then up at the ceiling, back at him again. “I can’t talk about it here”, she said. “Anyone could come in.” She averted her eyes, looked around the kitchen and surveyed the several doorways opening into the room. Then, she seemed to suddenly decide he could be trusted. “There’s a place we can talk”, she said softly. “You’ve got to promise.” She looked up at him, her eyes firmly demanding. He nodded, more seriously this time. “All right, follow me then ... but NOT right behind me, I don’t want us seen going together there.” She gave him the firm look again, he nodded, and without another word she turned and walked from the kitchen. He watched her, made sure to note which doorway she disappeared through, in the long hallway coming off the kitchen. No one else was around. He turned and casually followed. He thought she was being a little silly, playing spy games. Or was it hide-and-go-seek? He walked a little faster, headed down the hallway, turned into the doorway where he had seen her turn. Several doors opened into this hallway, all closed except for one. This door had a heavy bar and locking mechanism, but it was open – just enough for Anya’s slim figure to slip through. He looked back behind him, and, seeing no one, approached the opening and slid through, into darkness. Anya’s hand, invisible, grasped his wrist and he felt himself pulled farther into the blackness. He felt her move past him, saw the light from the open doorway glow briefly on her young face. He was struck again, in the dim instant, by the illusion that he was seeing the face of the High Priestess; then she had pulled the door shut and all was dark. “Wait here”, she said softly, almost in his ear. He heard her move past him again, away into the echoing darkness. She seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of the room, finding her way in the smothering blackness. A few seconds later he heard the grating sound of a ceiling cover sliding to, and a brilliant shaft of pure sunlight poured down into the space ahead, illuminating dust motes in bright sparkles as they drifted into the light. She was stepping down carefully from a bench she’d stood on to reach the ceiling window cover. She grinned conspiratorially at him. El-Hani - The Storeroom: Confessions and Revelations – Part 9 “There!” Anya announced. “Welcome to the storeroom, repository of all things dark and secret in the Temple.” He gazed around, but could make out little in the dim light illuminating the rest of the room. He stepped tentatively toward her, into the light. “All right, we’re here,” he announced. “I’m sure no one can see us or hear us now.” He looked around, into the dimness. “What is this place? I’ve never been in here before.” He could begin to make out rows of shelves against the wall, bowls and baskets of all sizes, equipment on benches and stacked in corners. “The priestesses keep all kinds of stuff in here,” she answered. “I don’t know what it’s all for. People only go in here a few times a year.” “So... “ he wanted to get back to the interrupted disclosure she had begun back in the kitchen. “Who are these naked men you saw in the courtyard? More anatomy classes?” He stepped closer to her, looked down into her face. In the light, her face seemed to glow, and her eyes sparkled. Being near her was unsettling, exciting. He felt his heart pounding, was sure she must be able to hear it. “It wasn’t at the Temple, it was the little courtyard at the altar to Attis ... out by the edge of the forest, it’s a long walk from here. Me and a friend – another priestess-trainee – were near there, and we heard people talking. They had a man bound to a post – the priestesses and eunuch guards brought him there. He was a criminal.” “Spying” he accused. “Only priestesses are supposed to be there.” He knew of the place, but didn’t say more. “We didn’t go there to spy!” she retorted. “But we heard the commotion, and went closer to see what it was about. They punish criminals at the altar to Attis, and my friend and I found a place we could see from, in the woods, without anyone knowing. They bring men there - men who assaulted women for sex – raped them, or beat them up – and were sentenced for punishment. Do you know what they do to those men? “ He squirmed a little, said, “I’ve heard about it, yes.” “It’s a horrible thing”, she said earnestly. “But, it has to be done. These men don’t deserve a penis anymore. He’s bound to a post, and they tear the front of his tunic so he’s all ... exposed, and we could see his penis and everything. The priestesses make him hard – I don’t know how he does, knowing what they’re going to do to it – but he gets very hard, and long, and they keep doing things to his penis until he squirts – just like you did, in class, but they aim his penis into a little bowl and collect it all, and then... oh, I don’t know if I should tell you this ... one of the priestesses holds his penis with one hand, and she has a ritual knife in the other, and then – while he’s actually still spurting his seed...” She came very close to him, looked up into his face, straight into his eyes – said, very softly, as if someone near might hear, even though there was no one else... ”Then, she cuts off his penis! In one stroke, it’s off.” She gazed into his face for a moment, looking for reaction. “Sometimes they use a kind of a machine”, she continued. “They make him hard, and then they push it right up against his stomach, with his penis going through a hole, and just as he starts to spurt, a big blade drops, and ... ka-chunk! it just drops straight down, into the bowl.” “After the first time, we could tell when it was going to happen again because they keep the man in the Temple for a week, beforehand – he’s kept in a cell here. So when they take him out, we know where he’s going – what they’re going to do to him. We went back a few times, to watch. Sometimes my mother does it – cuts them off. I’ve seen her do it. She’s very good at it.” Almost proudly. El-Hani stared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her mother! “Someday I’ll do it,” she continued. “My mother will teach me, and other priestesses, how to cut men.” She shivered visibly, looked down. “I’m not sure if I could do it. Even to a bad man...” He reached toward her, gripped her arm firmly, looking at her intently. “You said ... your mother. She’s a priestess?” She looked at him in surprise, then a slow smile crept a across her face. “Don’t you know? I thought everybody knew! How long have you lived here?” “I’ve been ... “ he started. “I’m new here. Five months...” “Oh, well – and I’ve been away at Ibhama for training, the last three,” she said. That’s why we didn’t see each other – until the class.” She looked away for a second, thinking she’d said something wrong again by reminding him of the class. Then she looked at him again. “The High Priestess has three children,” she continued, speaking slowly and deliberately. “Two boys, and a girl. The girl is the oldest... her name is Anya.” She looked at him steadily, waiting for the light to go on. He could only stare at her, stunned. It all made sense now – the striking similarity, staring him right in the face all this time. The daughter of the High Priestess! His mind was in turmoil. He sensed, suddenly, a growing and fundamental emotional conflict: He was legally, sexually, the chosen consort to the High Priestess, a relation that had a deeply religious foundation. From its formal and official beginnings, it had nonetheless grown into mutual respect, admiration, and genuine fondness for each other – not to mention, considerable passion – but on a schedule, dictated by the Temple, seasonal rituals, and the teachings inscribed in temple scrolls. And here was Anya, daughter of the High Priestess, a girl his own age, and he was surprised at the intensity of his feeling for her. He wondered why, with all the frequency and variety of physical release offered by the High Priestess, sometimes with assistance from her retinue of priestesses, he nonetheless felt a growing and lusty ardor toward this newcomer. It was more than sex. Perhaps it was the sense of control, the empowerment, he was beginning to feel with Anya. With the High Priestess, there was never any question of who was in charge, who took the initiative. Now, with Anya, he felt a liberating give-and-take, the possibility of togetherness with a partner of equal status, where either of them could take the lead. She was spontaneous, there were no restraints, no rules, no rituals. The possibilities were endless, the future an infinite array of possibilities ...except for one unyielding obstacle, a wall of stone: his future was entirely preordained; he was the Chosen. He felt constricted, trapped, unable to breathe for a long moment. She was looking up at him expectantly, wondering perhaps at his reticence, the visible inner turmoil – he was no good with the poker face, he knew that. “I understand, now”, he said, carefully. “You do look - remarkably - like your mother.” He remembered the High Priestess’ hands working on him, sometimes her lips and teeth, sometimes pressing the cold bronze blade into the skin of his rigid shaft... he imagined Anya’s hands holding his hot flesh, pulling him into her, her eyes wanting him... he shook his head, as if to make the images fly away. His penis ignored the turmoil, grew hot and long and heavy under his tunic. He saw, through Anya’s eyes and memory, a procession of boys and men, members hard and upright, meeting the blade weilded by the High Priestess. One by one, penises came away in her grip, fell to the ground, a growing sacrificial mountain of once-hard, proud flesh. He began to wonder if she realized who he really was. All along, he assumed that Anya, like most of the priestesses in the temple, would have heard about him. Perhaps, that assumption was wrong... “Anya, I should tell you something”, he started. She looked at him, expectantly, and then was a little chastised, apologetic. “I’m sorry, El-Hani”, she said. “I can imagine a boy – or a man – you’re practically grown up, I know – doesn’t want to hear such things. But, you must have heard stories about how bad men are punished, before this. I thought everyone at the Temple knew about it.” El-Hani realized she was entirely mistaking the basis of his discomfort. “And”, she was saying, “it isn’t just criminals. You know about the Chosen? A boy who is the lover – consort – of the High Priestess for a year, or until she’s pregnant.” He nodded. “She’s had nine or ten of them by now, some of them were very nice, and almost my age. I know she loved them all, very much ... but after their year with her, they can never have sex with another woman. Her power and authority come from the Goddess, pass through her. Those powers, transferred through her, and then through him, would go to the other woman, and that mustn’t happen. So those boys have to have it cut off too. That’s the only way. It’s so sad, I know sometimes my mother cries for hours after doing it. She hates that part of being a High Priestess, even told me that once. But please don’t tell anyone that, I’d be in big trouble.” He paused, wondering how to proceed. Her comments about “the Chosen” made it clear to him, for the first time, that she knew nothing about his role in the Temple – and, more importantly, his relationship with the High Priestess – her mother. A minute before, she had seemed amused at his surprise and ignorance. Perhaps, now, it was her turn. El-Hani sighed heavily. If he revealed any more about himself, she would have no trouble figuring out that he was the next Chosen, and what would that do to this friendship? Should he just tell her, and get it over with? There could be no friendship, no romance, no passion with this sweet girl, who seemed pleased with his company. El-Hani - The Penis Guillotine – Part 10 Under his tunic, he was half-erect, and he didn’t think he could face her without her noticing. She was surveying the dusty stacks of small brass bowls in front of them. “Look at all these bowls! it looks like a kitchen pantry in here, doesn’t it? Why do they need so many?” “It’s for the day of sacrifice”, he said. “When the Consort to the High Priestess makes his final ritual sacrifice, every man there also offers his seed to the Goddess. Every woman is given a small collection bowl, and she collects her man’s semen. He has to save it for eight days, before that time. Then they combine it all in a bigger vessel – probably like that big brass one there. Then they take it all out to the fields under the full moon, and sprinkle it on the ground.” She studied him for a moment. “You know a lot about rituals,” she said. “I thought you said you’d never been in here before.” “I haven’t!” he protested. “I just happen to be better-educated than most around here.” Under his tunic, his erection was relentlessly stiffening, and he bent over a little so it didn’t push out the fabric in front quite as much. Five months of conditioning was having the intended effect, although this wasn’t the intended time or place. She wasn’t looking at him now, however. Her attention was drawn to some shelves and equipment in a corner, dimly lit by the light from the small window overhead. She went over and began studying a tall structure closely. “I’ve seen this before,” she exclaimed. “They used it at the Attis altar on some of the men. Come here, look at this.” She was examining a tall frame consisting of two parallel vertical rails, connected by several evenly spaced cross beams. Three millennia before the invention by the Frenchman Dr. Guillotine, its virtual twin – albeit considerably reduced in size – rested in a storage room, in a Temple dedicated to the Goddess Ishtar, in ancient Middle East. El-Hani waited until she began studying its release mechanism before awkwardly stepping forward, over to the other side of the device, still trying to hide his erection. Its intended function was immediately apparent, although he had never seen it before. At crotch height, a thin crosspiece was constructed with a circular aperture. The top half of the crosspiece could be raised and then clamped down tightly over the doomed penis. At the top of the frame, a thin angled iron blade, honed to razor sharpness in the center, hung suspended by a cord. A thin slit ran across the full width of the top of the crossbar, through which the blade passed in its descent. This blade, once released, would slash downward irrevocably through even the hardest masculine flesh, without any perceptible slowing in its relentless progress. Anya gingerly put a finger through the opening, looking up at the blade, then snatched it back. “Scary thing”, she said. She came around to his side of the frame, and in an unnecessarily low voice, challenged him: “Dare you to put your penis through the hole.” Somehow he had guessed that she might say that, and he felt a flush of arousal and embarrassment working up to his face, and down into his groin, at the same time. Some wild, primitive urge made him want to thrust his concealed but full-grown erection into the opening, but he suppressed it firmly. He was sure she was joking, and he had no intention of exposing his condition to her. Then, he remembered her stories of watching the machine in use, and wasn’t so certain anymore. He couldn’t have admitted it to himself, but - more than anything in the world - he wanted her to see again his rigid erection, feel her hands stroking his hardness. He was forming a polite reply when she seemed to realize she’d gone too far, said, “I’m sorry – that was stupid of me. Just forget I said that.” She looked up at him for forgiveness; then, more brightly, “I’m sure it’s a horrible thing for a man to have his penis cut off. Anyway, you’re supposed to have an erection when you poke it through there to be chopped. I’m sure just looking at this would have quite the opposite effect on a man - I don’t know how they could get hard when they ... “ – she playfully batted at the loosely-hanging front of his tunic as she spoke, and halted, startled, when her hand struck the end of his erect penis, well out from his body. “Oh, by the Goddess ... “ she whispered, and stared into his face, wonderingly. Her hand slowly returned to him, seemingly unbidden, pressed softly through the fabric of his tunic, and ever so gently closed around the hardness projecting from his body. A soft sigh escaped him; her touch was exquisitely arousing, and they both felt a surge pulsing through the rigid flesh, trapped in her hand. She looked up at him, hesitated, reluctantly pulled her hand away. “Is it because you’re with me? Do I make you like that?” “Anya, you’re a very attractive girl”, he said. “You probably don’t realize the effect you can have on a guy. Especially when you’re talking about sex, and particularly when you’re talking about that part of his anatomy. And it’s more than that ... you remind me a great deal of someone I ... a woman I know.” “Ah, so that’s it...” She was trying to hide it, but disappointment came through in her voice. “You have ... a girlfriend, then? You’re very young to have that kind of relation ... is it that kind of relationship?” she pressed onward, much too bluntly, he thought. He was getting flustered, and began to think she would never settle for not knowing the whole story. For those who knew them, his relationship with the High Priestess was no secret, but Anya had spent most of her life training in other Temples. She hadn’t seen them together in his six months at this Temple, except for the day in the classroom. “Anya, I didn’t want it to be that way. She chose me”, he said, simply.