Something about Dr. Adams’ ordinariness, in contrast to Sarah’s naked and bound state, seemed to make the shame much greater. He advanced a few steps toward her. Sarah noticed that he held what looked like a standard medical chart, as if she had become a real patient under his care.
“Instructional exams are for girls who will soon experience first coitus with a man. I’m going to be carrying out a routine gynecological examination, but I’m also going to demonstrate some things about what you can do to please the man who uses your mouth, vagina, and anus.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped, but no words emerged. Dr. Adams washed his hands in silence, then he pulled a wheeled stool from the corner of the room and sat on it. He scooted it closer to her, until his face hung just six inches or so from her pussy. Looking straight at it, the man whose appearance so resembled a kindly family doctor said, “You’re very pretty down here, Sarah, but the men who will enjoy you now, in your new life as an Ostia girl, rightly expect more, when they choose to have intercourse with you, whether it’s in your mouth, your vagina, or your anus, all of which you will regularly provide to them for their pleasure from now on.”
“Now don’t ask useless questions, Sarah,” the doctor said, glancing up at her with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re a columba now, and you’ve signed your contract. Your body’s charms belong to us, now.”
Don’t ask useless questions. But Sarah James had based her identity on the asking of questions, from her schooling to her new career at the CIA. How was she supposed to do her job if she couldn’t ask questions?
He installed the IUD quickly and efficiently.
Then, from a drawer below Sarah, in the base of the examination chair, Dr. Adams took something, bending down to retrieve it and then raising it up in his right hand to show her. It was long and thick. For a moment Sarah didn’t recognize its nature, since it seemed to her mind such a strange thing to be in a doctor’s exam room, wielded by this man whom she seemed unable to stop thinking of as a family practitioner.
Dr. Adams held a long, thick, penis-shaped dildo.
“We call this the girl-trainer,” he said. “You may call it a dildo, if you like. I’ll be using it in your mouth and your anus, and in the entrance to your vagina today to get you used to how it will feel to have a man use you.” He held it closer to her face, and Sarah saw the ridge of the head, and the veins running down its side. “Take a good close look, Sarah, before I put it in your mouth. I’m a trained psychologist as well as a gynecologist, and I know how important it is for a girl in your position to begin to develop a positive relationship with the male reproductive organ. You will be seeing—and doing your best to please—a great many penises from now on, and part of my job here today is to make sure you feel comfortable with the idea that your body was made for a man to enjoy with his penis, whenever he likes.”
Sarah couldn’t suppress a little whimper as her body rebelled once again against her mind, and her pussy clenched at this terrible degradation. How could a doctor say these things? Clearly Dr. Adams wasn’t an ordinary doctor, if she had ever thought he might be, meeting him in this strange, erotic world. Yet his words had a terrible logic to them: Sarah could even imagine an enlightened medical man of the distant past telling a young bride that she must understand that her husband would deflower her, and then fuck her when and how he wished.
“Because you asked a useless question, I’m going to put the girl-trainer in your mouth now, Sarah, as a lesson in obedience and respect. I will move it vigorously back and forth, pushing it in quite deeply, the way a man will when he uses your mouth with his own penis. You will almost certainly gag, but as you will see I won’t stop thrusting the girl-trainer, because you were disobedient but also and more important because many men regard it as their right to continue using a girl’s mouth even though she is experiencing transient distress.”
Part One: Chapter One
Almost exactly twenty-four hours earlier, Sarah James, cocky young intelligence analyst had sat down in a basement conference room at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
“Because of the nature of its content, the video couldn’t go viral,” Seth Goldberg, the director of the CIA’s anti-conspiracy task force said. “So we think their leadership might not be aware of what it’s possible to reconstruct with image enhancement. If the Internet had gotten hold of it, I can’t imagine that what our technicians have found would have been discovered.”
“Wait,” Sarah James said, feeling her brow furrow as she tried to remember. “Is this that story about the porn video shot in Rome?”
“Ostia,” said Joe Harkins, a senior analyst, nodding. “The ancient seaport outside Rome,” he explained. “But yes.”
“And someone was claiming that a cardinal was having sex with…?”
“Several young women, yes,” Goldberg said. “That’s in the foreground of the video, as you’ll see, but there’s no way to identify the cardinal. The video looks so much like a standard amateur porn shoot that no one bought the story, true though it was, about the cardinal. The league, as we think they call themselves, quietly quashed the story and made sure the video came down from the X-rated video site where it had surfaced.”
Sarah remembered seeing the news item in her social media feed, perhaps for a day, after which of course she had forgotten all about it until now. Some rogue porn production company had shot a particularly strange sadomasochistic video on an ancient site—an imitation of an ancient ritual, or something like that. It had only lodged in Sarah’s mind because of her interest in ancient religions, she thought.
Joe, Sarah’s immediate boss, glanced at Seth, and Seth nodded. Joe pushed the spacebar on his laptop, which was in front of him on the spare table in this windowless room deep below Langley, and the screen on the opposite wall came to life.
The audio was dominated by the sound of men’s voices, chanting repetitively in a language that might be Latin. The singers couldn’t be seen, unless the shadows in the background, holding blazing torches but so deep in the shadows cast by those flames that Sarah could make out only that they were probably human figures and probably tall, did the chanting. The only other sound came from the cries of mingled pain and pleasure that emanated from the much better lit group in the center of the frame.
In the foreground, atop a bench that stood between two columns, upon what seemed an ancient mosaic depicting a bull, a middle-aged man in a blood-red robe drove his cock into the ass of a pretty young blond woman of about eighteen years. In his right hand, he held some sort of whip that seemed to have a dozen tails of braided leather. From time to time he brought the whip down upon the back of the woman whose bottom he fucked, making her cry out. The girl had a collar, a belt, and wrist, thigh, and ankle cuffs, all of leather. By these she had been secured over the wooden bench.
Behind him, another beautiful girl of about the same age—this one a redhead—clung to his shoulders and appeared to rub her pussy against his right thigh as he fucked. In front of the first girl, on a kind of throne from which rose padded knee stirrups that spread and lifted, sat an older woman, of thirty or so, Sarah estimated. Her sea-blue robe was open to reveal a neatly trimmed pussy and, as the video continued, she pushed the head of the girl with the cock in her bottom down until the little face must be fully enclosed between the priestess’ (Sarah’s mind instantly made that jump) thighs. The middle-aged man just kept fucking the blond girl’s bottom, and she kept crying out, though those cries were now muffled by the priestess’ pussy.
The priest—for Sarah’s analyst’s brain made the same leap on his behalf as it had on behalf of the woman—was shown only from his gray-haired chest down. He gripped the left hip of the blond girl firmly in a hand with a slightly gnarled quality about it that clearly indicated he was in his late fifties. His physique was still powerful, but there was no doubt as to how old he was.
Sarah watched in silence, pushing her emotional reactions to the scene to the back of her mind and studying the details of the video. At last, after about three minutes of the whipping and anal fucking of the blond girl, the ministrations of the redhead, and the lesbian display enforced by the priestess on the girl with the cock in her bottom, a voice that seemed to come from the unseen mouth of the priest gave a growl in a language that sounded like Italian. He held his hips tightly against the girl’s backside, and his body jerked with his orgasm. The chanting, which had grown in volume as the sex grew more frenetic, quieted, and the camera jerked around to the side as whoever was taking the video prepared to turn it off. A flame-lit blur was succeeded by a black screen.
Sarah looked at Seth, arching her eyebrows to indicate how unfazed she was by such things. She didn’t know that she really was unfazed, but she could certainly fake it.
“What did you notice?” Joe asked. It was a standard training question, and Sarah didn’t feel insulted, since fresh eyes often noticed things that even analysts who had pored over a piece of intelligence for days had missed. Indeed, one of the most important jobs of an intelligence analyst was to try to keep his or her eyes fresh. Connections like the ones Sarah had made in the case of the priest and priestess held the utmost importance as well, but a good analyst learned to let go of those connections, too, and to make new ones, seeing new patterns that might differ entirely from what she saw before.
“Torches, chanting, mosaic, robes, for a start,” Sarah said, moving her eyes from Seth to Joe and back. She felt her face color a bit, though she knew Seth and Joe were much too professional for her to feel any real embarrassment. “Anal.” She glanced up at the screen, whose blackness let her re-project her memory of the video on it. “The bull on the mosaic. Virility, right?”
She turned back to Joe, who nodded approvingly.
“The voice was identifiable as the cardinal’s, I assume? What was he saying?”
“Umberto, Cardinal Deriano, to be precise,” said Seth. “Of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith—the Inquisition. Yes, that’s clearly how the story got started. Someone recognized the voice. We think it’s Latin, like the chanting.”
“Saying what?” Sarah asked. “And what are the chanters saying?”
Joe slid a sheet of paper across the table to her. Sarah read:
Analysis of audio track from video 15-346
CHANTERS: solus vir verus nates puellae bellae habeat futuit futuat futuit fortiter futuat nates (repeats)
LANGUAGE: classical Latin
TRANSLATION: let only the/a true man have the buttocks/bottom/ass of a beautiful girl. He fucks. Let him fuck. He fucks strongly/bravely. Let him fuck her/the buttocks/bottom/ass. (Or, He fucks. Let him fuck. He fucks. Let him fuck her/the buttocks/bottom/ass strongly/bravely.)
SUBJECT 1 (RED ROBE, VOCAL MATCH WITH DERIANO): consummatum est, agna. bene fututa es.
LANGUAGE: classical Latin
TRANSLATION: It is finished/accomplished/achieved, (female) lamb. You have been well fucked.
Sarah looked up at Joe. “Seriously?” she said. “It’s… well, don’t they do this stuff at fraternities? I mean, even if a cardinal is involved—well, I guess the Vatican wasn’t happy, but it hardly seems like a matter for us, does it, unless…” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s in the blur at the end?”
Joe looked at Seth as if to say, See? I told you she’s good. Sarah felt a little annoyed by the rush of pride that surged through her chest at that.
Joe hit the spacebar on his laptop again, and the projector changed to a very grainy, massively enhanced still that clearly came from the blur. The camera had turned to the left, it appeared, revealing that the men who had presumably done the chanting stood in a circle around the central scene of the erotic ritual, clad in their own red robes that matched those of the priest. All priests? None of them? And what about that priestess?
Visible in the frame were three of the red-robed men. Two of them were lost in shadow, but a red oval encircled a face, well lit though seen only in profile, because the man had presumably taken a small step forward, allowing the light of another man’s torch to cast a ray upon him.
Sarah’s jaw dropped. She looked sharply at Seth. He nodded grimly. Suddenly Sarah understood why they were meeting here, down the hall from the rabbit warren of cubicles where she worked, rather than up where Seth and Joe worked, above ground. She understood why they had chosen her, an eighteen-year-old analyst recruited straight out of her freshman year in college, where she had shown a remarkable facility with Farsi and Arabic. She had thought it must have something to do with the Middle East, but really, Sarah saw now, it had much more to do with her youth, because it meant she was unlikely to have been corrupted.
Unlikely to be in the pocket of David Chilton, director of the CIA, the man whose face had a red oval around it on the screen.
“We apologize, Sarah,” Seth said, “for putting you in this position.”
Sarah closed her mouth, compressed her lips, consciously set her jaw, and turned to him. “I don’t see that you had any choice, sir,” she said. “I guess I wish you’d chosen another girl, but you needed someone like me, and I took this job because I wanted to make our country safer and the world better. I don’t suppose there’s any chance it’s really just a wild party? I mean, it still wouldn’t be wonderful optics for the director to be seen at that kind of party, but…”
“Nope,” Joe said. “We’ve theorized the existence of this organization for several years. Now that we know why the relevant intelligence never got followed up, Seth and I have been able to put some of the pieces together.”
“A league, you called it?” Sarah asked.
“The League of Mithras,” Joe answered, nodding.
Suddenly several things came together in Sarah’s head. The bull, the Latin. Ostia. Mithras. “So they’re bringing back the ancient cult of Mithras? The one that the whole Roman army pretty much practiced?”
“We think that’s the surface of it at least. Sex rituals under the banner of an ancient cult.”
Sarah looked at Seth. “But there’s more, I take it?”
He nodded. “Manipulating markets and controlling elections in every developed nation in the world, and most of the undeveloped ones, too.”
“To what end?” Sarah asked. Seth looked back at her quizzically. She turned to Joe, who also had a puzzled expression on his face. “I mean, you’ll say it’s just to perpetuate their power, but I don’t think you go to the trouble of reviving some twisted version of Mithraism if that’s all there is. Have you uncovered anything about their agenda?”
Seth shot a She’s good look at Joe, but now Sarah didn’t even feel pride—just pure annoyance. “Mithraism is about virility. As far as I can recall, although we don’t know very much about real, historical Mithraic rituals, they didn’t involve sex, let alone whatever kind of S and M sex that was. I’m sure you know all this.”
“Yes,” Joe said. “So it’s just a cover for the kind of party that ensures that everyone can blackmail everyone else if necessary. Game theory.”
“That doesn’t explain why they’d go to the trouble of having their ritual in the actual Mithraeum in Ostia, though, does it?” Sarah said, speaking very rapidly. “Wouldn’t it be much easier to have your sex party in Dubai? Or even in New York? If it’s based in Italy, a villa in Tuscany?”
“Conspiracies do that stuff,” Joe protested.
“Yes,” Sarah said, “but they always do it for a reason, even if that reason eventually gets lost. The mafia’s rituals are about solidarity, and consciously echo the Catholic Church’s practices, because they want to inspire and feel the same devotion to the dons that people feel to the saints and the priests.”
“Fine,” Seth said, in a tone of challenge. “What does anal sex mean, then?” He looked at her intently.
Sarah blushed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But that shouldn’t mean we don’t keep asking.”
“Well,” Joe said, “I think you’re intelligent enough to have figured out by now that we’re going to try to put you in a position to do the asking.” He gave her a raised-eyebrow This is where you say whether you’ll take the assignment look.
Sarah felt her brow furrow. Your crazy, stupid, sexual mission, should you choose to accept it. For a moment she tried to decide whether she really did not have the slightest doubt that she would do it, or whether the impulsive, instinctive side of her had somehow blinded her to her doubts. Leaving college to join the CIA had worked the same way: the idea that she would help her nation in its intractable security challenges, combined with the ambition to do something important as soon as possible, had made the call a very easy one. Nor had she come to regret it.
But this assignment… well, it certainly presented some interesting differences. She didn’t hesitate, but she did wonder whether it might be the moment she would in fact later regret.
“I’m in,” she said.