One of the services provided by the Temple of the Hidden Moon, was the coming of age ceremony, and Analysis. Our most sensitive acolyte could handle a second star reading, which was generally good enough for any peasant born. As with the exponential power difference between ratings, so too was the rarity. From time to time a peasant would come and it would be discovered that one or more of their skill branches was too high to be read. Those, we would send to the Magi Tower. Their fates would likely take them into an apprenticeship of another magi.
When my moon blood came at the age of thirteen, I knew it was time, I could no longer remain a child. I'd known for a month prior, but I hadn't shared it with others. I never shared with others, sharing brought out their displeasure. The last thing I desired was to annoy those around me. I was after all, already burden. So I kept it to myself, and lived in ignorance. Those unknown abilities of course got me into trouble, I exhibited risky behavior.
That first morning as I awoke to a new awareness past threshold, it was incredible. It was as if my mind had expanded to encompass the entire temple. I knew roughly where everyone was, I knew the layout of each stone, I knew so much all at once. I laid in bed for hours beyond morning bell just trying to come to terms with it. A mouse crawled along a gap in the stones between mother's room and mine, to return to the babies in it's nest. I could feel their hunger, tiny yet distinct. I could even feel the world itself as it danced a dervish about the sun. Far beyond the horizon, a moon whirled it's way forth. It would rise before lunch. I felt suddenly dizzy, as if I might be flung off into the yawning void beyond.
When I finally sat up, it was hunger and a full bladder that forced my hand. I did my best to take care of myself, but my sense of balance felt off and the deluge of alien information left me distracted. Eventually I stumbled half dressed into the hallway and failed to notice the passing Acolyte until I slammed straight into him. My hand fell to his forearm to steady myself and prevent him from being knocked off his feet. The impulse failed. I ended up on the floor, on my back, with a grown man atop of me.
His desire was plain, plain in a way I'd never experienced before. Yes, I felt his erection swell to life, that wasn't new. Yes I felt his sudden lust directed at me, familiar as my own skin. Yet while the intensity and suddenness were new, I'd never before experienced the full and deep understanding of just what he desired to do to me. My instant disgust was overwhelmed as his fantasy imprinted itself within me and his desire grew.
A minute passed, two, five. No one else passed in that time, this wing of the temple only held spartan sleeping quarters and it was nearly lunch. I could feel the distant presence others by the hundreds, but none drew near. I even felt someone a floor below as she worked, cleaning. Maybe in an hour or two she would reach this floor. I was for now alone with him as my mind was bent and warped under the invasive assault of his desire.
He didn't ask as he pulled my nightgown up. There was no thought of self control, consequences, or permission in his heart as he parted my thighs. By that point there was no thought of resistance within mine. I had changed at a deep and intimate level. I did not struggle and my fleeting cries were half hearted. I wasn't a weakling by any stretch, and he was no musclebound brute. Had I tried I could have gotten away, I knew that then as I know that now. I didn't try, I didn't even think to try. I became weak and helpless below him and I didn't understand why nor even question the fact of it. I was a weak and helpless virgin, that was my role, my body was just a vessel for his seed, a womb to fill. I would learn from him, must learn all he had to teach me—no matter how much humiliation I felt.
He thrust into me without hesitation, without even attempting to arouse me first. He found my passage slick and inviting. I had felt no lust that day but my body prepared for him just as he expected. His soft tip nestled between my damp folds, slid down, and caught at the cleft of my entrance. In that same stroke my hymen tore, a stinging bite that made my breath catch. Deeper he forced himself, his hips had to rock back and forth just to wedge his meager penis inside. To me, it felt like a tree trunk entering, through him it felt wonderful. I wailed a cry of lamentation for what he took, yet the pain was distant and the pleasure so familiar and comforting. The sensations embedded themselves in my mind and heart. I would never forget that moment, his imprinting of himself upon my soul. My first.
He bottomed out, only half way inside of me. I felt as if he reached my throat, as if he were hung like a hill giant. As he withdrew and thrust again, the discomfort faded away. His third stroke, I moaned. My purpose was fulfilled under him, my life complete! I lost focus then, lost track of him as a separate thing from me. The sensation, the pleasure of my young, narrow passage, it was divine. I achieved my very own climax for the first time. I'd felt hundreds of others ascend that lofty peak, vicarious pleasures, yet I'd never once touched myself. I had never needed nor desired my own personal achievement. My phantom sense spanned the entire temple after all, the waves of pain and pleasure were never ending. Those phantom sensations though were pale imitations to what I achieved now.
He climaxed a moment later and spent himself in to my shuddering depths. I clung to him with my face buried in his throat. My body was curled forward and legs were wrapped behind his rump. Each thrust, I bucked to meet. Each withdrawal, I slammed my hips to the floor. Even as his orgasm faded, the thrusts continued and his erection remained strong. Most men climaxed once and were done. Some, the most passionate, would mount my mother three or four times over the course of an evening. Never had a man simply—continued.
Above me, the acolyte's body slammed into me over and over. His breaths were ragged and his emotions chaotic. Under the lust, under the passion, fear grew. He was out of control and so was I. No longer a virgin, I'd distorted, had I truly been a virgin? No, I was experienced in his eyes, a temptress who had seduced him. In my heart, I began to change. Minute by minute, thrust by thrust, orgasm by orgasm. I was a wreck, mentally and physically, yet the desire didn't end. I threw the man over mid stroke, onto our sides, then rolled myself atop. I sat down, hard, and buried him inside. After a few strokes I found the rhythm, then I found the deftness required. The muscle memory was there, borrowed from my mother and numerous others. My hips rolled smoothly, my stomach clenched in time.
Below me, he lay helpless as the power between us shifted. He wanted to escape now, but he was weak and I was strong. Strong and becoming stronger. I grabbed his hood and jerked it off his head, then tangled my fingers in his hair to rip it from it's messy braid. I leaned in, and kissed him, hard, violent, and passionate. I bruised his lower lip, then split his upper with a bite. He came again inside of me weakly and grew weaker. I peaked again a breath later and slammed down hard enough to bend his spire and bruise my cervix. It hurt so wonderfully, an ache so deep and intimate. The pain he felt echoed the ache within me. I slammed again and again until he was sobbing. The man even begged me to stop, but I didn't, I couldn't.
The acolyte eventually escaped when my body gave out and my focus wavered. In the end shortly before the noon bell rang, the priestess assigned to cleaning reached my floor and found me, barely conscious in a smeared mess of sexual fluids and virgin blood. He had been the first I touched upon breaking through my threshold. Uncontrolled and unidentified abilities had brought us both low. A mutually reinforcing set of abilities. Had I a bit more stamina and strength, the man might have died due to my lack of experience.
I did not blame the acolyte for raping me, I'd forced him to, though at the time I didn't understand that. He'd left me with a complimentary reflection of his prejudiced desires imprinted upon my heart and mind. Those influences remained in my impressionable mind and grew. Had I known better I could have purified and stabilized my mind, I didn't. Neither did the Priestess. She cleaned me, healed me, then put me back in bed. She told no one about the encounter, a secret shared between us. She felt she had no right to point fingers.
