Raine: The Lords of Satyr by Elizabeth Amber Read Free Book Online

in my labia,” she answered truthfully.
    “I’d like to measure it at full attention,” Salerno told her. “Stroke it into tumescence for me.”
    She glared at him, appalled, but he took no notice.
    “Shall I do it?” he inquired helpfully when she didn’t obey. “Or one of the others here? Or would you prefer that I bring in a female to provoke it? There are doubtless plenty of whores prowling the streets, even on a night like this.”
    Salerno would do exactly that, she knew. He was oblivious as to how revolting his suggestions would seem to her. Even if she explained, there would be no way to make him understand. He was as ever incapable of empathy with another human being.
    “Whores?” one of the drunkards echoed, his interest perking. “Where?”
    He and his tipsy companion roused themselves to gather with the others around her, intrigued by the prospect of new entertainment.
    “I’ll do it. But I require privacy,” said Jordan.
    Salerno tsked and blustered, shaking his head. “This is no time for false modesty. I want to observe the process to see if it proceeds normally. Where’s that tub of ointment?”
    The bishop located the pot and extended it toward her.
    She frowned at it.
    “Do you require assistance after all?” the bishop asked.
    “Not from the likes of you.” Jordan snatched the cream, swirled two fingers in it, and then curled her torso into the most concealing hunch she could manage. Closing her eyes, she blocked out her observers.
    At ease, her phallus was only slightly longer than her palm. She worried at it for a few moments, searching her mind for inspiration. A vision of the shadowy, taller man who’d earlier come into the theater with the bishop sprang to mind. Her shaft invigorated. Six silent men watched her stroke herself to hardness.
    “Ah, to be young and have a cock that rises so eagerly,” said one of the drunkards, toasting her.
    Two droplets of red wine splashed on her thigh. She stared at them. The splotches looked like—blood. This, too, was just as she’d seen it in her dream.
    Her gaze darted around the room, searching warily. Where was the third part of the dream? Where were the ribbons? When would they come to her? And from which direction?
    Salerno shoved her hand aside and took the measurements he required. “Five point one inches.” He scribbled in his notebook, and then replaced his silver tool in its velvet-lined case.
    The two drunkards watched as the bishop’s hand took over her movements on her shaft, squeezing toward its tip. She put a hand over his to stop him, but his fist tightened on her cap, forcing the slit at her tip to separate like a tiny mouth.
    “An excretory canal for urine,” supplied Salerno, leaning over to observe.
    “And sperm?” The bishop gazed directly into her eyes. She felt a brief flash of recognition. But she was certain she’d never met him. Surely he only resembled someone else she knew.
    With a mighty shove at his chest, Jordan pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”
    “Answer him,” said Salerno, his pen poised once again to note her reply.
    Though her blood boiled, she made a show of studying her nails, affecting boredom. “Yes,” she replied.
    The Sicilian stroked his beard. “Then do you suppose the subject could actually father a child?”
    Salerno eyed her speculatively. “Difficult to say. I suppose a whore could be brought in to test the theory in actual practice.”
    “I’ll not impregnate any whores for you,” Jordan protested, pulling herself into a tighter ball and wrapping her arms and the cloak around her knees. “Even if I’m able to. Which I’m not.”
    “You deny that you possess testes? A phallus? You deny all evidence of your God-given maleness?” asked the bishop.
    “No! In a physical sense I’m not completely male or female. And I accept that. I simply wish in my heart to live as a woman in this world.” How good it felt to say it aloud.
    “Are you sexually aroused by men?”