All Chapters of Spicy Hot : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

I receive.Sometimes, during ceremonies, Adrien signals to me. I approach, I kneel, I offer my body. Not on the altar that is for initiations but beside it, on the benches, on the cushions, against the walls. I am taken by members of the circle, by several at once, by him especially. I give and I receive, without counting, without restraint. My body learns to accept everything, endure everything, desire everything.I heal.Between ceremonies, my body repairs itself. The marks fade, the bruises yellow, the cuts close. But something always remains a thin scar here, a more sensitive area there, a pain that reappears when I move a certain way. My body becomes a book where my story is written, night after night.And I love him.Him. Adrien. The High Priest. The man who opened me, broke me, rebuilt me. I love him with a love I never thought possible, which has nothing to do with those I knew before. It is not sweet, not tender, not reassuring. It is burning, demanding, total. It is the love

The members of the circle applaud a murmur of hands meeting, a strange sound, almost religious.Elsa looks at me. Her eyes are moist, but she does not cry. She has learned to hold back her tears, to transform them into something else."Speak," I say. "Tell them what you are."She turns to the circle. She takes a breath. And she speaks."I am the one who was hungry," she says. "Who was always hungry, without knowing for what. I am the one who found, here, the only nourishment that could satisfy her. I am the one who gave her blood, her pain, her pleasure. I am the one who was emptied of everything she was, and filled with what she had to become."She pauses. Her eyes scan the faces, the lowered masks, the attentive mouths."I am your second now. She who watches over you when the High Priest watches elsewhere. She who guides you when you are lost. She who opens you when you are afraid to be opened. I will be hard, but just. Demanding, but loving. I will take your blood, your pain, your

ELSAThe next day, Adrien says he wants to talk to me.We are in the garden, under the old linden tree. The spring sun is beginning to warm the air, the first leaves appear on the branches. Lena sits a little further away, on a bench, knitting, looking at us from time to time."I've been thinking," Adrien says. "About what you told me yesterday. About what you're going through.""And?""I think you need to go back to the beginning. To relive what you lived that first night. But more intensely. More deeply.""You mean... a new initiation?""Yes.""But that's forbidden. A second cannot be re-initiated. I know the rules.""I know. But rules are made to be transgressed, sometimes. When the situation demands it. When the person demands it.""And the circle? The others?""I will tell them I decided. And if anyone wants to contest, they will face me."I look at him. He is serious, determined. There is something in his eyes I haven't seen in a long time. Fear. Not for himself, for me."You ar

Lena withdraws the blade, wipes the blood with a black cloth, applies an ointment to the wound that sizzles, cauterizes, leaves a white, permanent mark.The right breast. Same gesture, same cut, same scream, same blood.Then the thighs. The inner thighs, where the skin is most sensitive, where my fingers have so often caressed, penetrated, possessed. Lena cuts, a fine, deep incision, blood flows abundantly, covers the altar, flows onto the black stone.Elsa no longer screams. She howls. An animal howl, primal, coming from the deepest part of her. Her body arches, writhes, her bonds creak, her skin pulls at the cuts."Stop," I say. "Enough."Lena stops. She wipes the knife, places it on the altar, steps back.Elsa lies, panting, covered with blood, sweat, tears. Her eyes are wide open, fixed, empty. She has crossed something. She is elsewhere."Come back," I say, placing my hand on her forehead. "Come back here."Her eyes move, slowly, fix on me."I'm here," she murmurs."You see? You

ELSAI wake up in our bed.My body is one single pain. Every scar, every cut, every bruise wakes with me, reminds me of what happened. The cuts on my breasts, on my thighs, where the knife passed. The whip welts on my back, my buttocks, my thighs. The marks of the bonds on my wrists, my ankles. And deep inside me, his presence still, filling me, possessing me.But beneath the pain, there is something else.A peace.A fullness.The void has disappeared. Filled. For good this time. I feel it in my belly, in my chest, in my throat. Like a warmth that will not go out. Like a presence that will never leave me.Adrien still sleeps beside me. His face is relaxed, soothed. His scars shine in the morning light, those white lines that tell his story. I touch them with my fingertips, gently, so as not to wake him."You're there," he murmurs without opening his eyes."I'm here.""You're in pain?""Yes. But it's good."He opens his eyes. His light eyes, so clear, so close. He smiles at me."It's g