Ravar gulped, shuffled, wondered if she could sense the thoughts forming in his brain.

“Ahh. I always wondered how you ladies found your way about.” he said at last, having failed to come up with something witty.

“Did you think I was incapable of such when you helped me in the Bazaar?” she asked softly.

He remembered that day well, for it was the night when he’d pledged allegiance, and more, to the Goddess. Laying with a whore in a slum brothel, west of the then closed Bazaar, he’d been taken to new levels of ecstasy. Amidst post-coital lassitude, he’d asked her where she’d learned her trade, being so amazed at her unearthly skill.

She’d told him that all servants of the Lady Marquesa learnt such skills to please men, and many, many more. Filled by the revelation with an overwhelming desire to know more, he decided that he would become Marquesa’s acolyte, no matter the cost. Heading straight for her temple he’d overheard sounds of scuffling from an alleyway, ducked in to investigate as a high pitched scream rent the night air. Two thieves were trying to rob Annah Moravia, and he’d fought them off, helped her up. She’d thanked him and asked for an escort back to the temple.

His fate was thus sealed.

Ravar brought his mind back with a conscious effort.

“Of course not!” he replied, winced at the sharpness in his tone. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to speak so. I know you’re capable, but the covering does make one wonder so.”

She heaved a sigh, small bosom swelling out the red top, drawing his lower regions to further hardness.

“I know. I hoped, somehow, that you were wiser. It’s been three years, Professor. Almost time for your service to evolve.”

Again he cursed himself for his forgetfulness. The earlier lapse had been costly, the clothes ruined. Good thing he kept spares.

“I’m aware. I look forward to it, although… I’m not sure what to expect.”

Instead of replying, Annah leaned forward, jasmine flowers brushing his shoulder. She sniffed, once, came so close that she could have rested her chin on his shoulder.

“I sense your unease, Ravar. What is wrong? You can tell me. We know each other so well.”

Not as well as I’d bloody well like… he thought.

“Is it the mark?” she whispered, “Is it back?”

He nodded, felt the itch between his shoulder blades intensify.

“Come with me, then. Over to the confession boxes. Let your lady priestess take a look and we shall what we can see, eh?”

So saying, she grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, drew him away to the side and into a short corridor. Confession rooms awaited in a line all the way along the side of the main hall; doors of strong and old manna cured oak that prevented sound leakage. People milled about, attended on by more priestesses, readying themselves before entering within to spill out their carnal secrets.

Annah checked the signs on each door by some means unknown to him; red flags for occupied, green for empty. She opened one and slid inside, dragging him along. Inside, under the pale green glow of a worm that lived in the box ceiling, she pulled him aside so they were pressed together, bare calf sliding over his trousers. A section of proportionate size lay on the other side of a central sliding oaken partition, a grille of diamonds allowing priestess and confessor to speak without seeing. She slid it down into the floor, bade him sit upon the foot wide wood, dark brown wall centimetres from his eyes.

Annah sat behind him, skirt hiking up, placed her thighs either side of his. Cool hands grew sweaty on them both in the hot little rooms, their combined body temperature increasing the heat rapidly. He felt the press of soft flesh on his back, her exhalations tickling his earlobe.

“Now, let us see what we can see…” she said, no longer whispering, and her hands went down his sides, lifted up the spare shirt by the hem, drew it up over his head and off.

He felt her intake of air before he registered hearing it, one shoulder turning cooler. Warm fingers damp with moisture pressed the area around the mark, investigated it.

While she was about her examination he thought of the identity of his last nocturnal visitor. When the contract had been sealed- and he’d never expected such a sealing -Marquesa had informed him of what would happen next; every month, perhaps every night or only once on the full moon, one of her servants would visit him and collect from him a tribute.

Every year they were different, and it was as she had said it would be, the visits taking place often or infrequently. The Only Goddess herself usually came to him in dreams on the 24th, full moon night, but not always, keeping him in teased suspense.

Could his latest visitor, the shape-shifter, be Annah? Did the web of divine sorcery extend so far to enwrap a priestess? He liked the idea, liked it very much, but doubted it.
A vampiress, a witch and a succubus, all had coaxed his seed out from him in different ways particular to them; his favourite was the current succubus, her tail a work of wonder as it wrapped its lithe way about his m-

He started at the sudden soft wetness between his shoulder blades.

“Hey!” he called. Annah pinched his cheek.

“Worry not, Ravar. It is the same test as before.” she said, and licked him again. It came away and her short nails- unpainted, he recalled, but glossed to a dull shine -traced the diamond shape again, about double the size of a coin and covering the gap between the blades.

“When you first showed it to me it looked just as you said it had been made, by fingernails. Sharp ones, at that. Every year I see it, it is different. Now it is as if burned into your flesh by a brand, the skin reddened, hard, upraised and…swollen…”

Every one of her words now tingled his loins, and he stifled a moan of ecstasy under her apparently impersonal ministrations, pretending it to be a yawn.

But she can hear me smile…what if she can hear the cum dripping down my thigh? Surely she can’t…

“How fortunate you are, Ravar!!” she breathed, hair tickling his back, “To be marked so by our Lady. How pious have you been, I wonder? Very, I suppose.”

He felt her move away, and then his shirt was in his peripheral vision.

“Here.” she said.
“Thanks.”

He put the shirt back on, turned slightly so that he could see her a portion of her oval face, a curve of that pointed jaw. Fine down glistened with sweat on her cheek.

“You still seem ill at ease still, Ravar, old friend. Does something else ail you?”
“Nope. Can’t say that it d-”

Annah had slid a hand back under his shirt, laid the palm flat against his belly. The muscles there grew taut in an instant.

“Trapped wind, mayhap? I can help with it. Let me. Let your old friend Annah help you. A little lower down than that, I think…”

Nails scraped over his flesh, past his belt and down. He started, jumped up. But there was nowhere to go, and she pressed him back as he tried to get to the door.

“Do not hurry, Ravar. There is no need. Your Goddess would never want you to hurry. Besides, you must prepare for your home prayer.”

Ravar stared at her, sure she knew far more than she’d told him. But mysterious are the ways of priestesses, and more mysterious still their motivations. She was reaching into a pocket of her skirt, having to press him back against the wall of the little box to do so. The curve of her slim arse pushed into his crotch, and he had no doubts now whatsoever; but why did she not come out and say it?

She knew, of course she knew, but she was not letting on. Her hand continued to dig in her pocket, slender swell of buttocks wiggling into him. He thought that his cock might explode, and he had no spare clothes with him.

“This is for you.” she said, at last flourishing a bright red handkerchief. It was of fine silk, about 2 feet long. She turned to face him. “You must tie it on before you commence your prayers.”

“Tie it on?” he asked, hoping with unconscious desire to avoid admitting what they both knew. “Where?”

And you will be my secret, for all time, or I shall punish thee…

The words of the Goddess rang in his head, and he recalled how she had punished him for showing another the mark, though Annah was one of her faithful.

“You know where.” she said, and he wished he could see her eyes under that strip of cloth. “Bind it about yourself. Tightly. She will know if you do not. And now, off with you, Ravar. You have much prayer to take care of.”

Annah moved away, opened the door, letting them both out. He started to leave, circling around her, giving her a wide berth, but she took his wrist in hand again, drew him back to her.

“On your knees, of course.” she whispered, and let him go.