Absolution

2018

Tags: castration, amputation, dubious consent, gaslighting

Everything was going perfectly.

The young acolyte was finally going through with one of the most important rituals in the Yellow Prince’s Order, and he was lucky enough to be paired with his favorite senior, a scholar who would serve as an officiant for the proceedings.

Everything was already in place.

The Prince’s seal was copied perfectly on the floor in dull yellow ink, and the acolyte was sitting in the center, waiting for everything to begin.

He had already removed his garments and brushed out his long white hair, so that it was free of tangles. The scholar came after and braided it neatly, then used it to bind the acolyte’s hands behind his back, fully preparing him for what’s to come.

The scholar himself was on the far side of the room, humming a little tune as he got the necessary tools out of the cabinet: one of the Prince’s favorite bowls and a sharpened ceremonial knife.

He leaves the cabinet open as he joins the acolyte in the circle, setting his tools on the ground next to him before carefully rolling the acolyte onto his back.

“Try not to squirm too much,” the scholar says, his deep voice washing over the acolyte like a wave of honey. “If you pull too hard, you’ll do a real number on your scalp.”

The acolyte nods eagerly. The scholar smiles softly as he spreads his junior’s legs, exposing his ball sack and flaccid penis.

The acolyte closes his eyes and shivers with anticipation. This was it. This was finally his chance to show his devotion to the Yellow Prince through the sweet pain of castration, to give up a vital part of himself for the Prince’s consumption if that’s what was necessary—

The scholar gently moves his penis aside, jarring the acolyte from his thoughts as his eyes fly open.

The scholar smiles, clearly holding back a laugh.

The acolyte balks, his face going red as his heart leaps into his throat.

If...he was to be honest with himself, and to his Prince, then it was true that his devotion might have been tainted by lingering feelings for another, and that was exactly why he shouldn’t be feeling like this now.

As if he can hear the acolyte’s thoughts, the scholar chooses that moment to be more deliberate in his fixation, stroking the acolyte’s penis at a painfully slow rate and watching it harden.

The acolyte shuts his eyes in the face of such indignity and bucks his hips to shake the acolyte off, but only increasing the simulation more.

“Nn...stop.” the acolyte whines.

The scholar chuckles and pokes the head of the acolyte’s erect penis. “I didn’t realize you were so impure.”

The acolytes opens one eye, only to see his penis towering between his legs, as flushed as he is and leaking from the tip too.

“Aww,” the scholar coos. “Is this your devotion to His Highness?”

The acolyte looks away. Of course the scholar found this turn of events hilarious. Surely nothing like this happened when he was doing the ritual and the scholar’s love for the Prince was as untainted as fresh honey.

“I’m kidding,” he says, his jocularity only fading slightly. “I’m sure you don’t even touch yourself, right?”

Touch himself? The acolyte shakes his head. The scholar covers his mouth with his hand.

“Well, I can’t do anything with it like this,” the scholar says, poking the leaking tip once more. “It’ll be a bloodbath you know. Say some verses until it fades. Unless…”

The scholar gestures, makes a fist and pumps it up and down. The acolyte blinks. This time the scholar doesn’t bother to hide his laughter.

“You’re so pure. It’s admirable, but we don’t have all day.”

With that cryptic statement, the scholar leans in and presses his soft lips to the acolyte’s.

The acolyte squirms, suddenly aware of his penis and the effect the scholar is having on it, his heart hammering away madly in his chest.

He wasn’t so pure. He knew what the other acolytes in his class got up to, the depravity, the secret meetings. He knew there were things that would distract him from his beloved Prince, thoughts that kept him up at night, fantasies of this exact moment—

The scholar pulls away, and the acolyte almost whimpers at the loss.

“Can I make a confession?” he whispers,his cool breath tickling the acolyte’s lips.

The acolyte nods, slowly.

“I do this for most acolytes. Some of them try to save face by complaining the whole time, others beg for it the moment I shut the door. Some don’t know about this at all and reject me outright...They almost remind me of you.”

With that, the scholar rises and walks back over the cabinet. He digs around inside for a bit, then finds what he’s looking for and turns back to the acolyte.

The acolyte can’t tear his eyes away from the yellow…prosthetic member.

The scholar takes his place between the acolyte’s legs once more. The yellow member is glistening with lubricant, it seemed like the scholar was so used to this that he had it prepared beforehand.

“N-no! Stop!”

The scholar pauses.

“Very well.”

The acolyte sighs in relief.

“Handle it yourself.”

The scholar reaches forward to undo the braid binding the acolyte’s wrist, then takes his hand and guides it to his penis, wrapping it around the shaft and giving him a few tutorial pumps.

“Keep going. Just like that,” the scholar says as he lets go of the acolyte’s hand and picks up the prosthetic member again.

The acolyte could say no. Hell, with his hands free he could probably push him away, but instead he lets the scholar continue. If he says no here, forces the scholar to stop, then the other acolytes would be the ones to have experienced his touch, his attention.

He was betraying his Prince, but he couldn’t let this moment pass him by.

The acolyte opens beautifully for the prosthetic member, or, at least, that’s what the scholar says. It feels like it goes on forever inside him, hitting wonderful places he wishes he didn’t know about while the scholar sings praises he doesn’t want to hear.

“Wonderful,” the scholar murmurs in his ear, sounding almost genuinely reverent. “Isn’t it wonderful that the Prince brought us together like this?”

The scholar chuckles, sarcastic, but the acolyte’s heart skips a beat.

Of course. Of course! The acolyte had always been so faithful, so devoted to his beloved, beloved Prince. He knew all the scriptures in and out, Yellow and Topaz and Gold, and he’d give up his life at a moment’s notice if the Prince commanded it, if only he should pass this trial.

Of course! Of course the Prince would see fit to reward him, even with something like this, allow him one last indulgence before—

The acolyte has his first orgasm.

It doesn’t necessarily hit him all at once, but trickles down like water, sneaking past all the defenses he’d put up against it until he finally gave in.

His orgasm comes with a cry as his body finally indulges, as his back arches and pushes him closer to the scholar, splattering his seed on both of them.

The acolyte’s breath comes in shallow pants as he comes down from his orgasm.

The scholar watches dispassionately as his penis softens, then, in one quick move, grabs the ceremonial knife from where he left in on the floor and slices off the acolyte’s scrotum and penis with what seems like an absent flick of his wrist.

The acolyte’s voice dies in his throat. He was prepared for castration, yes, but—

“You intend to let sin consume you so quickly?” the scholar says.

With another flick of his wrist, the acolyte’s arm falls, separated cleanly at the shoulder.

“I…”

The acolyte blinks.

Of course. Of course! The Prince would allow him to indulge this once, but like any proper acolyte he wouldn’t let the moment pass for granted. He’d bear any pain for his beloved—his glorious—his radiant—!

The scholar gathers the scrotum and penis and places them in the bowl, while the arm joins them on the altar as offerings.

“Glory to the Prince in Yellow,” the acolyte says, full of a numb, buzzing fervor.

“Glory to the Prince in Yellow,” the scholar says as he somberly puts away the prosthetic member and sits by the altar, knife in hand. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“You learned to do confessions, right?”

“Of course, of course.”

The scholar glances at the acolyte, then takes a deep breath before recounting, well, everything.

The indecent acts that occurred in that very room, the blackmail that usually followed, all sorts of illicit dealings in the high ranks, and, finally, his love for the young acolyte that had been slowly spreading like a creeper vine choking his heart.

Those words very nearly slip past the dazed acolyte’s ears, and it isn’t until the scholar removes his own offending arm with the ritual knife that the acolyte realizes the depths of his love.

When the other acolyte’s arm is finally freed from the braid binding it, the two of them clasp hands and kiss, as they’ve always longed to—not bathed in sin, but in absolution granted by the Prince himself.