Chapter 7: Morning Devotions
The slap came again, sharper this time, a bright bloom of heat on the sleep-soft flesh of his ass. Minalan jerked awake, confusion and adrenaline flooding his veins. The deep, perfumed dark of the bedroom was gone, replaced by a silvery dawn light filtering through the sheer drapes. He was on his stomach, the embroidered linen crushed under his cheek.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Julian’s voice was a low, amused rumble close to his ear.
Before Minalan could process, before he could even remember where he was or what had happened—the pool, the mirror, the impossible, shattering feeling of Julian’s fingers and Vivian’s mouth—a new weight settled over his hips. Soft, warm hands slid under his torso. The scent of vanilla and sleep-warmed skin enveloped him.
Vivian.
He felt the slick, hot press of her against the small of his back, then lower. She was already wet, a shocking humidity that made him gasp into the pillow. His own body, traitorous and half-asleep, had responded. He was achingly hard, his cock trapped beneath him, throbbing against the silk sheets.
“There’s his morning devotion,” Vivian purred, shifting her hips. He felt her guide him, her hand reaching between their bodies. The head of his cock nudged against something infinitely softer, hotter. She sank down onto him with a smooth, practiced roll of her hips.
The breath left Minalan’s lungs in a helpless rush. She was so tight, a molten, velvety glove that squeezed him on all sides. She was already fully seated, having taken all of him in one fluid motion while he was dazed. He cried out, the sound muffled by the bedding.
“Lesson one,” Julian said, his voice taking on a instructive, almost stern tone. He was beside them, a dark silhouette against the grey light. His hand came down, not a slap this time, but a firm, possessive grip on Minalan’s hipbone. “You don’t just lie there, boy. You participate. This,” he said, applying pressure and pulling Minalan’s hips back slightly, “is a tool. A beautiful, god-given tool. It’s meant to be used. Do you feel her?”
Minalan could only nod, his face still buried. He was trembling. The fullness was overwhelming, a delirious contrast to the vulnerability of the night before.
“Words, Minalan.”
“Yes,” he choked out.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… I feel her.”
“Good.” Julian’s other hand gripped his other hip, boxing him in. “Now, you move.With me. Follow the rhythm I give you.”
Julian began to rock him, a slow, deep, pendulum motion. Minalan’s body, heavy with sleep and shock, resisted for a moment before succumbing to the insistent guidance. He felt himself sliding partially out of Vivian’s incredible heat, then being pushed back in, deeper. The friction was insane. It was a different kind of fullness than the poppers and the fingers had given him; this was about his own flesh claiming, being claimed.
“Oh, fuck, Julian,” Vivian moaned, bracing her hands on Minalan’s broad back. Her nails dug in slightly. “He’s so… thick. He fills me up completely.”
“He will,” Julian grunted, his own breathing becoming uneven. He increased the pace, driving Minalan into her with more force. The slap of skin on skin, the wet, sucking sounds of their joining filled the quiet room. “Deeper, sweet boy. Fuck her. Plant that holy seed where it belongs. Isn’t that what your scripture says? To be fruitful?”
The blasphemy, wrapped in the most base physical act, should have shattered him. Instead, it lit a fuse somewhere deep in his gut. A raw, grunting sound tore from his throat. He began to meet Julian’s pushes, tentatively at first, then with a gathering hunger. His hips found their own crude rhythm, pistoning back and forth. The bedframe started a soft, rhythmic creak of protest.
“That’s it,” Vivian hissed, riding him, meeting every thrust. “Yes!Just like that. Use that beautiful farmboy strength. Fuck me, Minalan.”
Her words, so filthy, so direct, unlocked something. His shyness burned away in the furnace of sensation. He became an animal, driven by a need he’d never named. He fucked up into her with a desperate, driving power, each thrust jolting her body, making her cry out. The world narrowed to the slick, clutching heat of her cunt, the smell of sex and sweat, the sound of their bodies colliding.
Julian watched, his eyes dark, a sheen of sweat on his own forehead. He released Minalan’s hips, seeing the boy had taken the lesson to heart. He leaned over, whispering into Minalan’s ear, his voice rough. “Look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.”
Minalan turned his head. Vivian’s head was thrown back, her neck a taut line. Her breasts swayed with the force of his thrusts. Her expression was one of pure, abandoned ecstasy. Seeing it, knowing he was the cause, sent a violent surge of power through him. He pounded into her, losing all finesse, driven by a primal need to see her come apart.
“I’m gonna… I can’t…” he gasped, the coil in his balls winding to a breaking point.
“Not yet,” Julian commanded, but his voice held no authority over the tidal wave building inside Minalan. Vivian’s internal muscles began to flutter and clamp around him in rhythmic pulses, her moans escalating into sharp, broken screams. That was the final trigger.
Minalan’s vision whited out. With a final, brutal thrust, he slammed into her and held there, his body bowing as his orgasm ripped through him. It felt like his soul was being pulled out through his cock, a torrent of pent-up confusion, shame, and raw desire erupting into her depths. He shook, sobbing through the release, until he collapsed, spent, beneath her.
For long minutes, the only sounds were their ragged breaths. Vivian slowly, tenderly, lifted herself off him and slumped beside him, tracing patterns in the sweat on his shoulder.
Julian placed a kiss on the nape of Minalan’s neck. “An excellent first lesson. You’re a natural.”
Later, after a silent, shared bath where Vivian washed him with a tenderness that felt alien, Julian laid clothes out on the bed. Not Minalan’s old ones. These were new: soft, dark linen trousers that clung to his thighs, a silk shirt the color of charcoal, boots of supple leather.
“Elysium has a dress code,” Julian said simply.
The drive was a blur of winding coastal roads and Julian’s low commentary about the vineyard owners and tech exiles who populated the hills. Minalan stared out the window, his body still humming, feeling simultaneously hollowed out and remade. The memory of Vivian’s body, the things he’d done, played on a loop behind his eyes.
Elysium was not a building, but a cavern.Literally. The car stopped at a discreet entrance carved into a cliffside overlooking the moon-drenched sea. A man in a black suit, who said nothing, nodded to Julian and led them down a long, torch-lit tunnel. The air grew cooler, carrying the smell of damp stone, ozone, and a bass rhythm that vibrated in Minalan’s teeth.
They emerged into a vast, subterranean chamber. The ceiling was a natural dome of glittering rock. A pool, glowing with bioluminescent algae, formed the centerpiece, around which bodies moved.And what bodies. Naked, near-naked, clad in leather or sheer mesh or nothing but glitter. They danced, they conversed, they touched with a casual intimacy that stole the air from Minalan’s lungs. In the shifting, colored lights, he saw things that made his brain stutter: a woman being fed grapes by two men while a third kissed her feet, a pair of men intertwined on a low divan, their movements unmistakable.
It was a waking dream. A beautiful, terrifying orgy of flesh.
“This is the outer circle,” Julian said, guiding him by the elbow through the murmuring crowd. Eyes landed on Minalan—appraising, hungry, curious. “The real spectacle is deeper.”
They passed through a heavy curtain into a smaller, hotter room. The air was thick with the scent of poppers, sweat, and clove cigarettes. Here, the acts were not suggestions but performances. In a padded alcove, a man was being bound in intricate rope patterns by a woman with silver hair. On a low stage, a couple moved together, her legs hooked over his shoulders as he drove into her to the beat of the ambient music, a small audience watching with languid appreciation.
And in the center, on a large, circular bed beneath a spotlight, was a man. He was perhaps Julian’s age, powerfully built, with a close-cropped beard and eyes that seemed to catch the light like a cat’s. He was naked, and he was being serviced by a man and a woman simultaneously, his head lolling back in obvious pleasure. Yet his gaze was sharp, roaming the room. It landed on Julian, then snapped to Minalan.
He held up a hand, and his attendants immediately stilled, sliding away from him like retreating tides. He stood, utterly unselfconscious in his nudity, and walked toward them. Every eye in the room followed him.
“Julian,” the man said, his voice a smooth baritone. He clasped Julian’s forearm in some familiar gesture. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Marcel,” Julian replied, a genuine smile on his face. “This is Minalan. The project I mentioned.”
Marcel’s eyes, a pale, luminous green, swept over Minalan from head to toe. The scrutiny was more invasive than any touch. It felt like being X-rayed, weighed, and priced. “Project?” Marcel chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Julian, you old devil. You’ve unearthed a masterpiece.” He stepped closer to Minalan, so close Minalan could smell his skin—sandalwood and salt. “That innocence. Paired with that physique. The contrast is… exquisite.” He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Minalan’s forehead. The touch was shockingly intimate. “Does he speak?”
“He’s learning,” Julian said.
Marcel’s hand trailed down, over the silk of Minalan’s shirt, pausing to feel the hammer of his heart beneath his ribs. “Fear.Good. It’s the best seasoning.” His eyes met Minalan’s, holding them. “Welcome to the workshop, beautiful boy. We specialize in repurposing the divine.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Minalan’s ear, his whisper cutting through the thrumming music. “I can’t wait to hear you break.”
He stepped back, his smile widening as he saw the tremor that ran through Minalan’s frame. “The contract is ready in my office, Julian. I think we have a star.” His gaze lingered on Minalan for a beat longer, full of promise and possession, before he turned and melted back into the shimmering, carnal dark.