Chapter 12: Talamia's Story

I was thirteen years old when I began my menses. To me, it was a triumph, a rite of passage into womanhood, but to my parents, it was the signal that I was ready for apprenticeship. Of course, not knowing what would be required of me, I was eager to begin my tutelage. I couldn't understand why they didn't want to apprentice me to any of the local practitioners; they were always around, telling me that they would teach me to be a powerful Adept. But my parents refused them all. Bless them for trying to protect me.

Felar was someone who kept to himself. He didn't try to recruit me, and he was rarely at Council meetings because he was only a Master. Masters were of lesser rank than Adepts, but he never showed interest in acquiring a sponsor to become an Aspirant; he was mostly interested in his "pet projects," as my father used to call them. He was a researcher, designing custom spells for others to use. He seemed modest and disciplined; so my parents approached him with a request to apprentice me. Felar seemed surprised, but agreed readily enough. I should have known right then, the way he looked at me, that he was exactly the type of person my father was trying to avoid, but I was too eager to finally learn magic to care.

That night I moved my things into Felar's home. I had a little room right next to his, with a bed, a closet, and a bureau. It was pretty threadbare, but for me it was perfect. I was finally going to be a Candidate! Early the next morning he took me into the basement. There, carved into the smooth concrete floor, was a pentacle about twenty feet across. He had me step into the center, and then performed the initiation ritual. It was profoundly disturbing. I felt like some slimy, putrescent substance was flowing not only around me, but through me. I screamed, and as I opened my mouth it seemed to flow inside, choking me. I couldn't breathe. After a panicked, brief struggle, I passed out.

I woke to a sharp, rhythmic pain in my groin. Opening my eyes, I found that Felar was in the middle of raping me, tearing my insides up as he shoved his thick cock further and further inside me. I knew what he was doing, of course; I had received "the talk" from my mother the first time I found blood on my sheets. I just never thought that it would be like that. I screamed again, begging him to stop, but my cries seemed to excite him, as did my feeble struggling. He just pinned my hands to the floor and started bucking into me with a renewed fervor.

I had never been so scared in my life. My whole lower body was in agony, I could feel his hot breath on me as he held my hands with one of his and used his other to rip off the remnants of my dress, and paw my just-developing breasts. He pinched and twisted, enjoying the pain it caused me. I couldn't stop crying in horror, in terror, in pain... it went on and on, until finally he started slamming into me with a bruising force, and his regular grunts achieved a fevered pitch. Seconds later, he gasped loudly, thrust once, twice, three times, and sighed. He was finished.

I remember hearing a strange whimpering sound, and then suddenly realizing it was me, as I laid blurry-eyed on a concrete floor in the basement of a house that I would spend the rest of my childhood in. An apprentice. A slave. I also remember not being allowed the luxury of self-pity at that point. After only a minute, Felar stood up and commanded me to clean the blood off his dick. It was the first time I really had heard that kind of language, but it was pretty obvious what he was referring to. Instinctively I knew that disobedience at this point would mean death, so I started looking for a cloth to wipe him off with, reluctantly settling on my shredded dress.

He slapped me hard in the face, and I went tumbling back to the floor. Telling me to get up, he said to use my tongue and lips. He must have seen the horror in my eyes, because he grinned maliciously, and his cock started to stiffen again. I pleaded with him, telling him I wouldn't tell anyone, just leave me alone, please, but I saw that the begging was just turning him on. Knowing that I had no choice, I slowly started licking my blood off his hairy thighs. I gagged with every lick, but even that seemed to excite him. Finally, I could avoid it no longer. Having cleaned his thighs, stomach and balls, there was nothing left but his penis. Trembling in shock and self-loathing, I started to tentatively lick the underside of the base. He shuddered in pleasure, as I tried to clean it off as quickly as possible. I don't remember cleaning off the rest of his cock, but I do remember that as soon as I was finished he was rock-hard and wanting to go once more. I remember starting to cry again, thinking that if he ravished me one more time, it would probably kill me. I didn't know at the time the blood was just my virginity being ripped apart, but I knew how much pain I was in, and I thought I was surely dying.