We slept right there under the stars. I had a few reasons, mind you. I didn't
feel right about staying in the temple myself and I didn't want to leave her in
there alone with those awful priests anyway, and besides she looked so... Oh, I
don't know. Perfect. She looked so perfect lying there that I couldn't bring
myself to move her. Though I did fetch a blanket from inside the temple. We
slept under the stars, under the watchful eyes of the gods.
Actually, she slept. I may have napped a bit, but I don't think so. I didn't
trust that bastard priest to leave her alone while she slept, and I had a
suspicion he wasn't above slitting my throat either. So it was that, sometime in
the early morning, I heard quiet footsteps coming toward us from the direction
of the village. I feigned sleep while they drew near, but I put my hand on my
dagger to be ready.
The footsteps stopped just in front of us and I opened my eyes ever-so-slightly
to see the hand of a shadowy figure reaching toward the Prayer beside me.
I pounced like a wolf on that figure, savagery rising in my veins, and I hurled
it to the ground and pressed my knife to its throat before it could react. "Just
what are you up to?" I demanded in a snarl, but soon my anger faded.
The dagger fell from slack fingers and I sat back against the temple, my
strength leaving me. I had almost slaughtered a young girl!
At first she was frozen with terror, but she regained control of herself and
knelt there before me, her head bowed as if in apology. "I have come with a
request for the prayer."
What the hell? Was she on call all hours of the night now? I wanted to rip the
child's head off out of spite, but I controlled myself.
"She's tired," I told her, "and she's resting now. Can't you come back tomorrow?
Better yet, come back next week when she's recovered a little."
The little girl shook her head. "No! If my mother knew I was hear she'd flay
me!" she said. "I may not get another chance to sneak out like this. It has to
be tonight!"
That was an odd circumstance. "Why does your mother not want you to make this
prayer?" I asked her, thinking that, if it was important, I could tell the
Prayer about it later.
I had to remind myself I would be leaving soon. Ah well--perhaps I could have
the elder pass it along.
The girl seemed embarrassed to tell me about it, but she pressed on. "I want..."
she said, her voice trailing off... "I want to be... beautiful."
What? The vain brat!
She moved closer to the Prayer and pulled back the blanket that covered her,
revealing her shapely form, the swell of her hips and the intoxicating contours
of her chest, the finely toned muscles that made her so irresistible. I tried to
hide the way she affected me. The girl made no such effort, excitement clear in
her voice--and in the way she moved her hand between her legs--as she caressed
my Prayer's tortured but mercifully still smooth skin.
"I hear my brothers talking and I know what you men want," she said. "I want to
have a pair of tits like those. I want hips that make men want to fuck the shit
out of you. I want a body that begs to be raped, just like hers. I want men to
lust after me and abuse me. I want to be beautiful!"
Could she see that my mouth was hanging open, aghast? She wanted to be
beautiful. Looking at the Prayer, I could understand why. She was everything the
girl had described and more. But at what cost?
"Look," I said, tucking the blanket around my beautiful Prayer once again, "I'll
tell her when she's stronger and then she can pray for you, understand? It's
time for you to go home."
"You promise you'll tell her?"
"Of course I promise," said I, glad that I would never see this girl again. "Now
go."
The girl rose and started out of the clearing and I shook my head in wonder.
What would these people do without my little beauty to suffer for their every
whim?
My heart froze in horror when I heard the Prayer's voice. "Little girl," she
said, "wait."
No!
"Your prayer is to be beautiful?"
"Oh yes!" she cried in glee, clapping her hands and running back to embrace my
prayer. "My mother didn't want me to trouble you but I thought since it's such a
small request it shouldn't be very hard to fulfill and I knew that you'd be
happy to help me and I'm so grateful that you're going to help me--"
The poor abused girl at my side groaned at the girl's touch but returned her hug
wholeheartedly while the girl chattered, then she smiled and held the child at
arm's length, putting a finger over the little girl's lips. "I will be glad to
help you," she said.
Los, you bastard! What are you going to ask for this time? If I'd believed in
praying myself, I would have begged all the gods to let this sacrifice be an
easy one.
"But before I can do that, I need to know if this is really what you want," said
the Prayer. "And I want you to watch part of the sacrifice. Do you understand?"
The child nodded, smiling, happy to be getting her wish. The little cunt.
# # #
"Have you ever seen a sacrifice?" the Prayer asked the child.
The child shook her head.
The Prayer nodded. What was she thinking? Did it bother her that the child might
not have been so eager if she knew what sacrifices were like? Was the look of
happiness on her face a front? Or was she pleased to offer this girl's first?
Something in me wanted it to be the latter, though my own thoughts on the matter
were something else entirely.
"Trader, why don't you take her down to the river for a moment while I prepare?"
I could see by the light of the moon and stars that there would be no arguing
this, but I did my best. "Why don't you go ahead of me? I'll be with you soon,"
I told the girl. And then I turned to my sacrificial beauty.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I demanded, grabbing her shoulders. "She
comes to you in the middle of the night with a worthless prayer and you're
willing to... to fucking kill yourself for her! Don't you realize that you could
be putting your life in danger?"
I held her close, afraid to let go.
"I have to," she said, her voice so soft it seemed she spoke directly into my
heart.
There was nothing I could do. Who was I do deny her something she wanted so
badly? So I held her so that I could look into her eyes--I wanted to see the
truth, to see into her soul. "Will it be hard?"
And then what I saw in her eyes scared me.
She nodded. "Los normally ignores prayers like hers," she said. "He dislikes
vanity and punishes beauty, and he doesn't normally like to meddle in such
affairs. This..." She wrapped her arms tight around me, resting her head against
me. "...this will require great pain."
I didn't want this for her. If there had been any other way... But I knew that
there was nothing I could do. Maybe that was why she let me get so close.
"That is why I must do it," she said. "Not just for Los, but for her, too: I
need to show her what life will be like for her."
"But not everyone becomes a Prayer."
"No," she said, and she laughed ruefully. "Only the most beautiful become
Prayers. But even if she does not, life won't be any easier for her. Not in this
place. After all, I won't have to endure much longer."
Don't talk that way! I wanted to shout. But instead I just held her. And I said,
"I'll be back soon."
At the river, I actually considered that my Prayer might be spared all this
trouble if I were to toss the girl into the river and watch her drown. But I
didn't. I couldn't think of anything to say to her, either. We just sat on the
bank, listening to the water, uncomfortable as that might have been for the two
of us. I don't know whether or not she noticed.
"Do you understand what you're asking for?" I asked her.
Her answer didn't impress me and I concluded that she didn't. No matter, I
suppose. She would soon see exactly what she was asking for. All I could do was
hope that it made her sick. We started back to the temple.
"Why do you love her?"
A hunting spear could not have stopped me any more effectively than her simple
question. Suddenly I found myself asking, Do I love her? Then something inside
me shouted, Yes, shit-head, you love her! You didn't think she was just an easy
fuck or a cheap good luck charm, did you?
Did I?
The latter, perhaps, for a little while--or a day's entertainment, since I had
been too tired to continue on my way. But a quick fuck I'd never have to worry
about again? Never! I did love her. Why hadn't I realized it?
But that wasn't what the child had asked.
"Is it her udders?" she asked. "Or are you an ass-man? Maybe her legs?"
I didn't even look at the brat. I don't know what I was looking at.
"Did you fall in love with her cunt? Did she just feel good? Or maybe you just
get off on watching her get fucked up. I bet you love watching her sweat,
watching her bleed, hearing her scream. Do you?"
No! "No!" I shook her, struggling with the urge to slap her for what she'd said.
"I love her because she's the most beautiful creature I've ever met. Any fool
could see that! A blind man could see that!"
Was I crying?
What the fuck was wrong with me?
Fuck Los! I had to get back to that temple!
"But--" the girl interrupted.
"I don't care if Los gives you the most fuckable body of all time," I told her,
pushing her away, "you won't be half as beautiful as my Prayer! Don't you
understand?"
And I ran, harder and faster than I thought I could run. I don't know what the
hell I thought I was going to do when I got there, but I ran.
# # #
When I got there, I knew: I was going to kill that son of a bitch.
The Prayer hung from a swooping branch of a grand old tree at the edge of the
clearing, her wrists bound over her head, her arms were spread so far apart that
the strain from simply hanging there had to be excruciating. Her legs tied apart
as well, roped to stakes driven into the ground. I drew nearer and began to move
carefully, quietly, trying to quiet my breathing before getting much closer. I
could make out the sort of rope the priest had used to bind her: a hemp rope of
the most unpleasant kind, good mainly for tearing into the skin of prisoners.
And he had made good use of it. I had never before seen a woman tied in such a
way. He had made a sort of harness for her from rope, binding her breasts and
stomach, wrapping it round her thighs and pulling it tightly between the lips of
her sex. And was it a trick of the torchlight or did I see some further
instrument of torture pressed inside her there between her legs, a fat wooden
cylinder held in place by the ropes?
Oh yes, I was going to kill him for certain. But not for what he had done to her
already. For what he was about to do.
In his left hand he held the left a flogger with links of copper chain affixed
at the end of each of its six tails. Gods! He wasn't going to use that awful
thing, was he?
Indeed he was; the priest had begun beating the Prayer with the cat, bruising
her agonized body from her abdomen and shoulders to her thighs and buttocks,
coating her with marks that quickly began to turn black and purple in addition
plain red welts. He avoided her most sensitive places at first, but only so that
he could pay them special attention, it seemed.
I took the opportunity to get closer without being noticed only to see that
devil slash my beauty's breasts with the hard flogger, the copper links bouncing
painfully off of her bosoms. And suddenly I thought it odd that she had yet to
cry out despite his onslaught--could her faith be so great? Or, at least, did
she not normally pray when her pain at its greatest?
Then I saw the true reason: he had gagged her, tied a leather strap in her mouth
like a horse's bit, making it impossible for her to do more than moan and
whimper. And moan and whimper she did when he began to swing the horrible weapon
up into her poor cunt, its lips held apart by her position, left open and
exposed to any horror he chose to inflict on it. All this and he denied her the
ability to speak to her god, to make a sacrifice of her pain! What the hell was
he thinking?
At that moment, I knew.
He spat on her, his phlegm landing on one of her nipples. The spittle mixed with
blood that oozed from a welt opened by his copper-tipped whip, making him
laugh--the laugh gave me a chill.
"I'm sorry," he said, "let me wipe that off..."
Crack! --the sound of the flogger as he battered her breast again. She moaned,
her head lolling from side to side, drool running from one corner of her mouth,
blood dripping from the other.
"Hmmm. Looks like I missed."
--Crack!--
My knuckles went white on the hilt of my dagger. I was going to cut off his head
and piss in his throat!
But what of the Prayer? Would she need him to complete her task? She would never
forgive me if...
How could I love anyone enough to sit by and watch them hurt like this?
"You seem bent on killing yourself, slut," said the priest, caressing her fair
cheek. "The people all say they've never seen such dedication to the god. But I
know the truth." His hand moved from her cheek to her bloodied nipple and he
ground it between his fingers as he spoke, making her squirm. "The truth is that
you just love the pain, don't you? You love to ride the whip--you'd have it fuck
you senseless if you could!"
She whined through her gag, forced to give voice to her pain under his cruel
touch. The tears in her eyes became tears in my eyes.
"You'd die under the whip, if only anyone would take you far enough..."
He took something from a sack on the ground--a bullwhip, long, braided leather,
obviously soaked in oil--and held it near a torch. "This is your dream lover,
isn't it." And he held it in the fire for a moment. "Well, my little pain whore,
tonight is your night!"
The whip caught fire and my heart caught in my throat as he dropped the flogger
and laid into her with the now-burning bullwhip, screaming madly as he beat her,
the flames burning bright and hot with each swing as they gulped in air and
belched fire, her flesh twisting and shaking with the agony, the heat, as he let
the lash wrap around her entire torso, scorching her back and tits at a stroke
twice, thrice--eight times in a row!--and then as he let it lick round her
midsection--and again--and her thighs, five times each, so that each time the
tip of the whip--a cruel tip designed to cut the flesh--met between stretched
lips of her pussy....
"Aren't you glad we've finally gotten started?" he asked her. "Let me make this
very clear. I've wanted you since the day I saw you, since Samhain when you were
dedicated to the god's service. I was mad with desire! But you were off
limits--a slut like you, born to be fucked to death!--off limits! This is my
gift to you, cunt. Savor this moment of peace--it will be your last."
Her chest heaved and I could hear her ragged moans of agony with each breath
that tore from her throat. Saliva hung from her chin and she slung it back and
forth as she shook her head in a pain-mad frenzy as if she could wrench herself
free of her bonds and escape, or at least end her misery by snapping her neck.
My heart leapt to see the sweat that coated her body, streaming from her
cleavage and down her ribs, along her flanks, soaking her entire body. I
realized that, for some reason, I couldn't tear my eyes away.
I couldn't move! I could do nothing but sit and watch my beloved endure her
ordeal, accept her fate! Was she to die because--ashamed as I was to admit
it--because I liked to watch?
No!
Gathering my hatred about me and readying my knife in my hand I concentrated the
whole of my being on gutting that fucking priest and force-feeding him his
entrails. There! One foot in front of the other--he would soon be mine!
I was soon clear of my cover, exposed to anyone who cared to see me, close
enough that only a breath and a heartbeat separated the priest from the
afterlife--
And she saw me.
Her eyes took my breath away and fixed me in place, the way the tears fell from
them, the way the sweat stung them, the almost imperceptible way she shook her
head as if to say, "No: I must endure."
And endure she did, until there was no more oil to burn and his bullwhip fell on
blood-streaked flesh. Until light began to color the eastern sky.
# # #
I was powerless. Whether or not my beauty prayed for death I do not know, but I
certainly did--for hers and mine--and I prayed that the priest be made to
experience a thousand eternities in a thousand hells. But my prayers went
unheard. Dawn came and my beauty was released from her bonds alive somehow. And
she knelt before him to await some new and terrible fate.
"Are you ready to die, whore?" asked the priest.
She shook her head, her body shuddering with the effort required to remain
upright. How I wanted to take her in my arms!
"I thought not," he said with a smile. "Well then, I'll give you a choice. You
can die or you can marry me." He let his loincloth drop to the ground to reveal
his stone-hard dick, already wet with cum. "You have my permission to remove
your gag so that you can give your answer properly."
That fucking bastard!
But my Prayer remained subdued and submissive in spite of his ultimatum, keeping
her head bowed as she unbuckled the gag and as she answered. "I cannot accept
your options," she said, her voice filled with sadness, ragged and hoarse from
her muffled screams. "As a prayer, I still have duties to perform this day."
The priest grunted with rage, raising his fist to strike, but then he controlled
himself. He sighed, shaking his head. "I guess all the trouble I went to not to
utterly ruin your body was a bit of a waste, then," he said, and he produced
from his pouch a ceremonial knife hammered out of black glass. "I hope our god
welcomes you with open arms."
He raised the knife high over his head and my Prayer lifted her eyes toward
heaven, saying some final words...
But then I saw that her eyes did not look toward heaven. They looked toward me!
That glance was all that I required. The fucking bastard was bleeding his guts
out at my feet. I tore off his cock with a little help from his filthy glass
knife and shoved it into his mouth, binding it in place with the band that had
supported his loincloth. "Suck on it yourself," I ordered, spitting in his face
as his consciousness dimmed, his eyes flickering. "Not so hard now, is it?"
Then I brought my heel down on the bridge of his nose. Such was the end of the
priest.
I heard a cry from the forest and footsteps running toward me, a small voice
sobbing as it came--the girl for whom my Prayer had nearly died had returned.
She collapsed in the Prayer's arms wrapped round her with loving care in spite
of the pain the girl's touch awakened and inflamed within her. "It was so
horrible!" she shrieked again and again, disbelief filling her voice. "I never
imagined my prayer could cost so much! Please tell me you'll be all right?"
The girl turned to me, "Thank you so much for saving her! I don't know what I
would have done if she had--if she had--" The girl's voice broke and she could
not say it, but I already understood. The price of her prayer had been high
indeed. "Can you ever for--forgive me?"
I didn't want to. She had shown me my greatest love and nearly taken it away
from me. I wanted to thank her and then kill her on the spot, send her to join
the priest. But the way the Prayer held her, stroked her hair, wiped the blood
of her torture from the girl's face, dried her tears... I could not hate her. I
could not help but forgive her.
I embraced them both.
"Don't cry for me," said my Prayer to the girl. "I want you to be beautiful, you
see? Your prayer becomes my own--I would gladly give my life for you. Do you
understand?"
"No!" the girl insisted. "I've changed my mind! I would gladly be the ugliest
woman in the whole world if it--"
My Prayer pressed a finger to the girl's lips to silence her. "Then your beauty
shall be my prayer for you," she said. "But you must leave now. I don't want you
to see what remains of my sacrifice."
The girl turned white. I was forced to carry her to the edge of the village, for
she seemed bereft of any conscious will.
I felt much the same way when she begged of me, tears streaming down her young,
strangely angelic face, "Please, you won't let her pray for me, will you? You
won't! You must save her! Please?"
There was no answer to give her.
I returned to my prayers side, approaching quietly so that she did not know when
I arrived. She knelt still, but she was bent over with pain, her head near her
knees, her arms were crossed in front of her hugging her breasts, and she rocked
back and forth, crying out with each breath, unable to contain her agony. It was
too much for her! I had to ask her to stop.
Ever so gently, I let my hand rest on the back of her head, rubbing softly
against her hair, to let her know that I had returned. She sat up in shock, now
silent again, and bowed her head.
"I wish you had not seen me like that," she said.
I wanted to tell her, So do I! "Please, my love, you cannot go on! You will die,
and then who will say your prayers?"
She shook her head. "I can do it," she said. "I must! But... I cannot make the
sacrifice on the altar. I will..."
She collapsed into my arms and I held her, stroking her hair, blowing on her
welts, doing what little I could to sooth her pain.
"...I will go to the tree," she said, "and I will pray for both of them."
The tree?
"You must help me," she said, looking deep into my eyes, piercing my soul. "I
cannot do this alone."
Had I any choice?
"Will you die?"
Her eyes fell shut and I felt a tremor in her body. She could not answer me, but
I knew what the answer would have been.
Could I help her? Did I love her enough... to let her go? In that moment I made
my decision. I loved her more than anything in all the world. And I would help
her.
"I will help you," I said, "on one condition."
She opened her eyes again. Somewhere beneath all the pain, the exhaustion, and
the sadness, I could see the determination that would carry her through to the
end. "I will do anything you ask," she said at last. "Name it."
"You must say a final prayer," I told her. "For me."
# # #
So I hung her on her tree.
Her body was stretched in agony one last time. She hung from her arms, tied
behind her and over her head, holding her raw back against the rough wooden pole
she called a tree. I tied her legs behind the pole as well, resting their bond
on a peg that would allow her to push herself up if she could, relieving some of
the pressure on her arms in exchange for excruciating torment for her trembling
legs. Her position forced her to arch her back and present her breasts and
womanhood for torment, not to mention expose them the sun now rising overhead.
Soon the heat of the day would be upon us. Already she was sweating again--at
least I had allowed her to drink before tying her there.
"How does it feel?" I asked her.
She sobbed when she opened her mouth to answer. "Ohhh! It feels... like I am
being broken," she said. "And I'm so tired."
I nodded. "Don't worry," I said, my hand caressing her between her thighs.
"You'll have no rest yet." I used my tongue to lap at her pussy for a moment,
allowing my thoughts to wander, thinking how smooth it was--and for an instant I
was thankful to the priest for burning the hair from her cunt with his whip.
"No," she panted, "not yet--I--"
Her eyes fluttered shut and I chose that moment to push her next torment into
her pussy--a carved wooden cock, studded with roughly-shaped bronze bumps and
ridges, covered in the burning red oil. It was fitted with a leather strap that
allowed it to be fastened to the pole to 'aid' the sacrifice in her time on the
tree--at least it would give her something to fall onto when her arms and legs
were no longer sufficient.
The cock's entry made her moan in agony, made the muscles in her abdomen stand
out, made her jerk at her bonds and push out away from the tree, trying to
escape the pain--but it was no use. She ground her teeth and I saw her leg
quivering--her exertions had caused a cramp. Slowly I massaged it away, working
the wooden dildo in and out of her cunt at the same time.
"Any further instructions?" I asked her, my tone hard.
She shook her head, her breathing pained. "No. I think you--" I pushed the dildo
in and twisted it, and she screamed "--I think you'll do well on your o--Ohhh!
No! Ahhh!--own."
I pressed the wooden cock deeper into her sex and cinched its straps on the
tree, binding it in place beneath her. Now there was no escape for her; she
would never be able to raise herself enough to get clear--not that I believed
she would try.
"Well," said I, "that's half."
"Tell me your prayer," she gasped, her head hanging low out of exhaustion, "and
I'll tell you what to do. You want a safe journey, do you not?"
I took her by the chin and lifted her eyes to mine, shaking my head as I did so.
"My prayer is simple," I said. "I don't want a safe journey. I want you."
At first there was no reaction--she did not understand. But, slowly, it became
clear to her.
"Will you marry me?"
She nodded, or perhaps she was faint with pain.
"Say it!"
"Yes!" she cried. "But I must ask the god for his blessing." She struggled to
swallow and I could see the fear in her eyes. "The sacrifice must represent
commitment," she said, "ownership..."
# # #
The sun is falling in the west now. My beloved hangs there on the tree, fighting
for each breath. The tree has carried many prayers to their final reward, but I
do not fear for her. She will refuse to go.
Blood still seeps from the rings that now pierce her nipples and the hood of her
clitoris; the constant attention I pay them keeps the wounds open and weeping as
my gift to her. I hold before her one last great bucket of liquid pain brought
from the temple, the unknown substance that seemed to tear her heart out
yesterday--she nods and I know she is ready. She has nodded, requesting each
bucket full, for each of the past nine hours of her torture.
I lift the bucket over her head and pour it out slowly, watching her tighten and
flex against her bonds as the pain overcomes her and she screams her agony
again. She hangs limp, exhausted, before even half the bucket is empty; she is
simply too tired to struggle.
"Thank you," she manages to gasp, though her breath is so short that it takes
everything she has to say one word, and then she must pant to catch her breath.
"You're welcome," I tell her, kissing her on the lips. "We're almost ready."
"Please," she says, "the whip--the bullwhip. I need..."
She needed me to whip her, to provide her with inspiration. Otherwise she'd
never be able to ride the tree as she should. I nodded, assenting to her
request, and motioned for her to lift herself from the cock still buried within
her as I added more oil for her torment--oil mixed, this time, with sand, to
help enhance her experience.
As the first lashes fell, she began to fuck herself. Blood ran down her sides
again before I was done, joining the blood that seeped from between her thighs
and the tears that washed her face. I stopped beating her, but she did not stop
riding.
"More," she panted, "more! It is not yet enough..."
Who was I to deny her? The sacrifice was at her discretion, after all. And so I
continued. Tits, nipples, cunt, thighs, arms, throat, feet... This time I did
not stop until I managed to land a stroke atop her mound and draw blood, and the
terrible scream of animal agony told me that, at last, it was enough.
"Now," she cried, "the final part!"
The part I had been waiting for. I took the brand from the fire and let her see
its heat, its red-hot pain, ready and waiting to leap into her body and shatter
her, break her, make her finally and totally mine...
"Are you certain that this is what you want?"
I saw my answer there in her eyes the moment before they closed, the moment
before she steeled herself, before she pressed her cunt out at me, offering it
for the brand. Red iron met red flesh, and her sacrifice was complete.
