Those who broke faith were whipped in the farthest reach of the courtyard which was measured off by a high wall and where it was said other ceremonies or punishments took place. One couldn’t tell which ones, as the area was encased in a maze and only the priestesses could provide direction to the differing areas when required. Naama had been there once. It was when an Ayelet Hashachar, or Gazelle of the Dawn, the title for one who was in the month before their Claret Tantra Ceremony, had, out of fear, told the secrets to her closest friend. To make matters worse, this friend was almost a year younger and considered herself nowhere near ready for her own ceremony. Naama remembered the sound of the lash striking the back of the girl as she cried and struggled not to scream, a struggle she lost before it was all over. The girl had been dressed in a crimson robe so as not to show the blood of the whipping. This was because even after her indiscretion the girl’s ceremony had remained. . and they both knew it well.Meanwhile, Mycroft let out a soft moan as he tightened his fingers in his brother's hair before pulling the man off him. "Alright. Stand up and bend over the desk, Sherlock," he said, his voice darker with arousal as he swiftly lubed up the dildo. Sherlock hurried to comply. He gave his brother one last obligatory lick before rising to his feet, bracing his hips against the wood of Mycroft's desk. He rested his arms away from the (surely very important) papers, his own aching cock jutting against the wood awkwardly. His legs felt wobbly with anticipation. Mycroft moved behind him and rubbed his hand over his arse, kneading it before spanking lightly, not enough to hurt. He spread his cheeks apart and without out any preparation, pushed the toy inside him forcefully. Sherlock moaned at the touches. When the toy breached him he shuddered and gasped at the suddenness, and shifted a little to attempt to adjust. He knew better than to speak out, so he bit his.
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