Sacrifice
They met on the edge of the jungle. Behind them, the Temple of Anthor caught the
light of the setting sun, bathing the roofs and decorated columns with the
colour of blood. Like everyone else the girl had grown up in fear and awe of
Anthor's dread rule. Now she had heard the whispers, heard how she might be the
next one to become a screaming sacrifice for Anthor's cruel appetite for the
agonies of young women. She embraced her lover, a last urgent coupling before
they fled away into the darkness.
'Yes, yes, now please, now!' she screamed softly into her bundled clothes as
Tamul's thick, oily cock slid up into her body. Her fingernails raked the young
warrior's back and her slim brown legs clamped round his waist as she rode the
fleshy spear of his manhood. Spurred by the pain of her long nails raking his
back, Tamul used his own powerful hands to press and maul the heavy globes of
her breasts, his fingers rolling the thick hard stubs of her nipples so that the
girl arched and twisted in delight at the sensations shooting through her body.
She forced a thick wedge of her cloak into her mouth, trying to muffle the noise
of her arousal as her muscular lover's hard, driving strokes brought her, all
too quickly, to her first shuddering climax. The threat of discovery, and the
agonies that would surely follow, only heightened the excitement as she
continued to ride his thick penis unmercifully. Minutes later and on the brink
of climaxing again, her rapid, jerking thrusts forcing him over the brink and
she felt the sudden warmth as he filled her cunt with spurting jets of fluid,
his fingers twisting and pinching her rigid nipples as the spasms of coming
finally gripped him as well.
She kept her legs wrapped round him until she felt his softening shaft slipping
free, but without warning, as she put her feet down, his strong arms tightened,
pressing inwards so she could hardly breathe or struggle. Holding her captive,
Tamul lifted his head and called out, his voice ringing round the jungle
clearing. To her horror, the girl heard the soft voice of Mordal, Chief of the
dreaded Priests of Anthor replying from the tangled vegetation behind her.
'Congratulations, Tamul, this one will make a fine and noisy sacrifice.' She
heard the soft chink of coins. 'Here, take this, the sum as we agreed. You may
go...' His voice became stern. Tell your guard commander nothing of this night's
work. If he asks why you left your watch... say you were on Temple business and
Mordal has commanded that you may not speak of it...' He laughed softly, 'you
will be safe, he knows better that to risk the anger of Anthor's servants.'
Tamul released his hold and the girl stumbled forwards before feeling the bite
of thin rawhide cords clamping her wrists together behind her. Strong, harsh
fingers dug into her upper arms, as the priests forced her round. In the flaring
blood-red light of the setting sun, she looked up into Mordal's hollowed,
skull-like face. She shivered, gazing helplessly into the cruel, pitiless stare
of his unblinking eyes. He stood motionless beside the narrow path, the soft
dark robes and silver circlet with Anthor's snake's head sign on his brow adding
to his aura of power and cruel command.
Signalling for the prisoner to be brought forward, he reached out, palms upwards
until he could caress the firm globes of the trembling girl's breasts with long,
bony fingers. He smiled coldly as his nails traced the marks left by Tamul's
excitement, the smile deepening with awful promise as he pinched each swollen
tip, forcing the girl to writhe against the hands that held her.
The Chief Priest slowly traced one hand down the smooth moisture of his
prisoner's dark copper skin until his forefinger could slide between the wet
lips of her sex, teasing into the opening of her vagina so that the girl hissed
and surged at the ecstasy of contact whilst she was still so roused and tender.
Mordal worked his finger deeper into her body, enjoying the frantic writhing of
his prisoner before holding his hand, now glistening with the mingled fluids of
their bodies, in front of her face, before rubbing his thumb deliberately to and
fro against the wetness.
His voice was low, menacingly gentle with the promise of the agony to come. 'As
I thought... young and thick with juice... Anthor will enjoy your body as you
writhe in the ecstasy of his embrace... 'He gestured to the guards. 'Bring her!'
Blackness descended as a thick cloak was thrown over the girl's head then she
felt herself being lifted, the breath knocked from her lungs as she was thrown
unceremoniously across a guard's shoulder. Long, uncomfortable minutes later the
jolting discomfort stopped and there was the thud of thick doors closing. More
passages, smooth and well paved, then she was set down roughly and the cloak was
pulled away. The girl looked round blinking, naked and trembling with fear, in
the inner chamber of the temple.
She moaned softly as the torchlight revealed this most secret place; a place
where no ordinary citizen was ever permitted. The stone walls, decorated with
signs and images of Anthor, soared up until they were lost in the darkness.
Archways pierced the walls at interval, and between each one a great torch
burned and flared.
On a low platform, Anthor's statue gazed down across the marble floor. Taller
than life, the body was carved in the likeness of a man. The god was seated on a
short pillar, legs astride and arms curved out, forming a circle in the air as
though to embrace a lover. The emerald eyes of Anthor's cobra head blazed down
over the detail of the carved muscular body to the V of the statue's hips from
where a carved phallus arched up, wrist thick and an arm span long, jutting
obscenely from the groin of the black, basalt statue.
In the light of the flaring torches and the ominous glow of charcoal braziers,
the statue seemed to flex and move, almost as though Anthor was eager to embrace
the next victim to be placed astride the massive phallus. Every detail was
there, the smooth domed glans and the intricate network of raised veins around
the shaft. The master carvers had even recreated the pattern of scars and raised
ridges of the ceremonial tattooing across the statue's chest, the swirling
designs circling and emphasising each flat nipple.
Set before the statue in the middle of the floor a single, curved shape rose
from the stone flags. Standing about waist high and made of dark red, polished
granite it looked from the side like a quarter of some giant wheel. As she was
pushed closer and saw the front edge, the girl saw that the whole stone tapered.
The base, where it arced up from the stone slabs, was over a shoulder span wide
but the top was barely a hand's width across.
With rough speed they made her sit astride the smooth red curve whilst the
leather strap was unwound from her wrists. Then she was pressed down, forced to
spread her thighs wider and wider until she was straddled back against the stone
on her knees, her lower legs pressed along its base on either side. She faced
the statue, spread before it as though offering her self for Anthor's cruel
attentions
One of the guards stood in front of her and shoved her head backwards with his
outspread hand. Nula was pressed down irresistibly against the smoothly curved
surface, her body arcing backwards like a bow until she was staring up, gazing
back into the green crystal eyes of the god before her on the dais. Once again,
she felt the harsh bite of rawhide on her wrists, then her hands were pulled
back and down. Immediately, her shoulders were wrenched into taut discomfort,
but the full globes of her breasts, each so pointedly crowned with its thick,
stubby nipple, were pushed up and outwards, just as though she was offering them
to Anthor for some special attention.
Her wrists secure, the guards lashed each knee hard against the base of the
carved stone and she was left alone, opened and pinned like some specimen,
waiting for her fate. As she waited, trembling and wet with fear, the priests
filed in from the arched openings around the chamber, each one gazing at the
firm lush body of the young girl strapped to the Stone of Torment... each one
eager for the ceremony to begin
Mordal clapped his hands and a girl appeared, very slim and small breasted, her
dark brown body completely naked apart from a thin cord round her hips that held
a soft black leather pouch cupped over the bulge of her sex. 'Prepare her,' he
commanded quietly, 'let her sing to Anthor first....'
The priestess bowed once before moving to the stone and bending down to smooth
the hair away from the girl's face. Her fingers touched the outthrust globes of
the girl's jutting breasts very gently. She smiled, licking her lips with
excitement. The feather caresses tickled the smooth curves as she teased the
sensitive under flesh before moving to circle the thick stubby nipples.
'Oh, oh yes, please touch them, please...' the girl whispered, her voice
carrying clearly to the watching circle of priests. They could see the girl
lifting herself against the straps, suddenly desperate that the priestess should
play with the sensitive peaks themselves. Then, she groaned in pleasure as she
got her wish. The girl's lips closed over the tip of her right breast and she
felt the tugging suction and the flickering delight of an expert tongue against
her nipple. After a minute the priestess moved across to her left breast and the
girl began to pant softly as the priestess's touch continued to arouse her body.
The young priestess suddenly stopped and looked into the girl's longing eyes.
She twisted the hard, glistening peaks to and fro, smiling as she ran the
pointed tip of her tongue over her lips. One of the priests walked forwards,
bowing to the statue as he handed her a clay bowl and a small brush...
The priestess paused, looked down at the glistening, rigid tips of the girl's
breasts, a cruel delight in her eyes as she showed the girl the fine brown
powder in the bowl. Seeing the confusion in the pinioned girl's eyes, the
priestess smiled again and started rubbing the coarse stubby bristles to and fro
over her nipples and the wide circle of each surrounding aureole.
'Ah, ah p-please, Aaaaah!'
The cries were forced from the young girl's throat as the bristles burned and
scratched against the tender tissues. As the careful torment continued, the
priestess dipped her head every so often, once more licking each increasingly
sore peak back to gleaming wetness before swirling the brush across the rigid
tips to drag another scream from her victim.
After five minutes that left the girl panting and gasping with a mixture of
arousal and pain, the priestess lifted the bowl in homage once more before
coating the now-moist bristles with the brown powder. From the darkness a drum
began a slow, deep beat, almost like a giant pulse throbbing through the temple.
Around the writhing girl the priests began a soft, wordless chant. The priestess
straddled the girl's body, pressing herself sensuously against the moist olive
skin... rubbing the soft leather cup that concealed her sex slowly up and down
the curve of the girl's belly.
Almost dreamily and keeping up the gentle movement of her hips in time with the
drum, the priestess began to paint the girl's prominent aureoles and the wet,
turgid nipples with the powder. She kept dipping the brush back in the bowl,
coating the sensitive peaks, and watching the young girl's increasing discomfort
as the powder began its work.
'Now feel as your pleasure becomes pain. That powder is ground from the seeds of
the finest chilli peppers. Let Anthor hear your agony as the sacred powder
scorches your body...' Mordal's voice was thick with anticipation as he
whispered in the pinioned girl's ear
The girl against the stone shuddered, feeling the first heat as a gentle
throbbing itch. The itching built up until she was working her shoulders to and
fro, trying to jiggle her breasts, trying to do anything to relieve the growing
burning sensation. Within a few moments the itch had become a fire and the sweat
was running off her forehead as the burning agony increased.
'Ah, ah, ah, ah, oh no, no please, it burns, please ah no, no p-p-please!' the
scream echoed round the chamber as the chanting increased in volume.
The girl's frantic cries rose over the chant as the fiery chilli powder scorched
the sensitive peaks of her breasts. After five minutes she was shaking so much
that her breasts were bouncing and swinging uncontrollably as she cried and
babbled at the scalding pain. The priestess pressed harder against the girl's
heaving belly, letting her agonised movements stimulate her own pleasure by
working the soft leather against her naked labia.
Mordal signalled and two priests ran forwards, each one kneeling by the side of
the stone to cradle one of the girl's breasts, holding the soft, hot globe quite
still so that the priestess could work on the nipple again, each one now swollen
to almost twice its size and looking like a grape, over-ripe about to split,
brushing another layer of the fiery powder over the tortured nerves of each
fleshy tip.
'NOOOOO! AAAAARRRRGH!'
The girl squealed helplessly as the chilli powder burned into flesh already
agonisingly raw and tender. As the girl surged and bucked beneath her, the
priestess's breathing became a harsh panting, her own mouth hanging slack with
arousal as the demented movements of the girl on the stone served to work her
towards her own peak...
Long, screaming minutes passed as the girl writhed and babbled.
A single clap of Mordal's hands silenced the drum and the chanting. The
priestess and her helpers scramble away from the stone, leaving the girl
twisting and crying alone as the fiery powder burned against the bulbous,
swollen tips of her breasts. Mordal bent over the heaving body strapped
helplessly to the red stone. 'Ah, that's good, very good. Now prepare yourself
to tell Anthor of the ecstasy of your pain...'
'Ah, AAAAHHH! Noooooo, no, oh pleeeease! ARRRGH!'
Mordal smiled as he watched the girl's head lift, her eyes wide with pain and
astonishment as she studied the bulging, and swollen peaks of her breasts. She
shuddered and gasped with the shock of sensation as he used a fleeting touch of
his fingertips against the hot, tender flesh. 'That was nothing... nothing at
all. You have merely been prepared you for what is to come,' he whispered. 'Now
we can begin.... ' He clapped again.
The girl searched wildly in the darkness of the chamber, screaming out as she
saw the man step forward, a thin cane in his hand. Slim but heavily muscled; he
was naked, apart from a white loincloth. In the torchlight his body shone with
oil. Like the priests, his face was almost expressionless but the girl saw the
pitiless look of cruelty and enjoyment in his black, slanted eyes, as he studied
her arched body, especially the full globes of her breasts and their swollen,
purple-red peaks thrust outwards and ready for his skilled attentions.
Mordal smiled down at the girl on the stone, watching her hissing intake of
breath as the man gently tapped the very tips of her swollen teats with the
cane, the split ends of the bamboo making a soft clicking noise as he teased
each nipple in turn.
He bowed to the statue lifting his arms in salute. 'Mighty Anthor, accept our
offering...'
The man took his position at the side of the stone, lifted his arm and flicked
the bamboo across the bulbous tips of the girl's breasts. She gasped, taken by
surprise at the sharpness of feeling as the split ends nipped and teased the
newly tender flesh of her aureoles. She had no chance to adjust to the sudden
pain because he was using the cane like a willow wand. With expert movements of
his wrist and arm he flicked a continuous rain of strokes across her nipples so
that they bounced and vibrated as the knife-like bamboo slivers began to flay
the skin away from the tip of each one in turn.
'N-N-N-noooooo! Ah, AAARRRGH, no, stop, stop IIIIIIEEEEEH!'
The girl screamed in agony as the rapid, flickering blows turned each nipple
into a red blazing hell of raw nerves. After a minute or so, the priestess
returned to kneel by the girl's head, holding her shoulders still to deny her
even that small mercy of movement as the flaying continued. Apart from the
girl's animal squeals, the only sound in the chamber was the rapid 'wick, wick,
wick, wick... tattoo of the bamboo cane and the creaking of the leather ties as
the young girl's body bucked and surged uselessly against her bonds.
Within ten minutes the girl's cries had become a series of hoarse, choking
grunts, the peak of each breast swollen even more, each nipple left peeled and
raw by the man's devilish skill. Mordal raised his hand and relentless rhythmic
beating stopped. The girl's head flopped back against the stone, her chest
heaving as she tried to suck enough air into her aching lungs.
'Ah, ah, mercy, Lord, please mercy. You'll kill me, please mercy...'
The girl babbled the words out, eyes searching for any sign of pity from her
torturers. She wailed as she saw the hot eager expressions on the priest's faces
and the cold cruelty of Mordal's features a half-smile playing across his thin
lips as he listened to her feeble protests.
He brought another scream from the girl as he touched the raw, red bulb of her
left nipple, sliding his fingertip across the wet flesh so that she shivered and
twitched in remembered agony. He caressed her sweat-stained face. 'Now you are
ready, ready to become the bride of Anthor...'
'Please, please you've hurt me enough, please let me go, please... I'll do
anything, anything at all...'
'Hurt you enough...?' Mordal's voice was almost a chuckle. 'Oh dear, you have no
idea, no idea at all... Watch as they prepare your saddle...'
As he spoke, Nula felt the ties holding her wrists being loosened. After so long
in one position, cramp had set in and she screamed in agony as the priests
brought her arms up, lifting her upper body away from the stone so she could
look directly at the statue.
Two more priestesses, like the first quite naked except for a waist string
holding a soft leather cup between their thighs, were kneeling on either side of
the statue, their hands slick with oil as they stroked and caressed the god's
massive black phallus. The girl whimpered as she watched the simulated
masturbation, knowing at last what her fate was to be. The 'Bride of Anthor'
Mordal had said and she knew that they were readying the shaft for her own
impalement.
Then the priestess who had tortured her breasts only a little while before knelt
in front of her and began stroking and tickling the split bulge of her cunt,
skilfully teasing and arousing her helpless victim so that the girl felt the
growing wetness as her body betrayed her to the priestess's sure touch.
The girl wriggled madly, hips bucking uncontrollably as the priestess opened her
body still further, one finger slipping up into the moist heat of her vagina
before fondling the inner lips again. She used two fingers, curling them round
deep inside the girl's body to stroke that secret place that holds such pleasure
for a woman.
'Ah, no, no, Ah, oh AH, AH, AH, Yes, please, yes, YES...!'
The girl surged to and fro against the straps and the priests' hands, clenching
her buttocks to drive her hips forwards against those clever fingers. Now the
blazing pain in her breasts was adding to the storm of feeling as the little
priestess deliberately masturbated the girl towards a peak.
Just as the girl's rhythmic grunts and bucking hips began to signal her
approaching climax, the priestess sat back on her haunches and bowed to Mordal.
At his signal, she used a little jewelled knife to cut the ties holding the girl
to the stone, the priests dragged the shuddering girl forwards and the drum
sounded once more, beating a faster and more urgent rhythm as the moment of
final sacrifice approached.
The circle of watching, white-robed figures gave a single cry as the two men
swung the girl high in the air, hands guiding her legs inside the statue's
circling arms until she stood on the carved thighs of the god himself, the great
black phallus reaching almost to the girl's trembling knees as she struggled in
the relentless grip of the guard-priests.
Each man gripped one of the girl's ankles whilst the two priestesses held the
girl's hands locked behind her, steadying her body for the final stage. The four
torturers waited, eyes turned to the Chief Priest for the signal to begin the
sacrifice. The girl's head flailed wildly as she twisted and turned against the
hands that held her upright. She pressed back against the stone circle of the
statue's arms in a desperate attempt to keep her tortured breasts from touching
the rough, sharp ridges of the carved ceremonial scars that covered the massive
chest.
Mordal lifted his hands and the chanting of the encircling priests rose once
again, their voices adding to the thick urgency of the drumbeat. Lifting his
eyes to the cobra head of Anthor, he clapped once and the priests pulled the
girl's ankles apart, but letting her down so slowly so that all could see the
slick oiled head of the god's phallus gradually spreading the girl's labia and
pressing against the moist opening of her body.
The girl reared back, her mouth open in an O of astonishment and horror as her
slow impalement began. At each side the priestesses held her upright, twisting
her hands behind her as the men let her sink down onto the blunt stake.
'UH! UH! UH! Oh, oh.... ARRRGGGGGGHHHHH!'
The increasing gasps of terror told the watchers of the girl's desperation as
she tried to cope with the relentless stretching pain as the massive glans sank
deeper and deeper. Suddenly, she jerked, jolting upright with every muscle taut
with agony as the first scream rang out, wild and inhuman, forced from her by
the sudden shock of the massive rim of the carved glans popping through the
entrance to her vagina. That scream acted as signal, silencing the drums and
chanting. The circle of priest's drew closer, drinking in the girl's agonised
grunting...
'Nuh, nuh, nuh, NUH, NO, NO, NOOOOoooooooo!'
Now came the last slow refinement of her sacrificial torture. Positioned on
either side of the statue was a tower of flat clay tiles. With the glans inside
her cunt, the impalement was deep enough for the priests to guide her scrabbling
feet until she was posed, arched up on tiptoe, resting precariously astride the
statue on the two towers of tiles. They watched as she fought against the slow
descent, thighs and buttocks straining to clench against the polished black
shaft, calves quivering with the effort of holding herself on tiptoe, anything
to hold that thick column from slipping, fraction by fraction, up into her body.
The priests released her ankles, knowing that she could no longer free her self
from the god's phallus. They stepped back, leaving the girl braced back against
the circling arms desperately holding herself up from sinking further down the
stone shaft that had stretched her flesh beyond her wildest nightmares.
The two priestesses now added the final torment by taking the ends of the girl's
wrist ties round the back of the statue. As they pulled the thin leather thongs
taut, the girl's arms came up and forwards. To the watching circle it seemed as
though the straining figure was reaching forwards, embracing the god in her
ecstasy. A high keening wail of agony sounded in the chamber as her flayed
nipples scraped and scratched against the stone ridges and scars on the statue's
torso... marks carved and placed deliberately to catch and tear the flayed and
tender flesh of each new sacrifice.
Mordal lifted his hand; fingers outspread twice to signal the first ten strokes
as the whipmaster stepped forwards once more, his cane ready. The girl, posed
like an oiled statue herself, spread legged on tiptoe astride the gleaming black
shaft, cried out in futile protest as she felt the gentle aiming taps of the
cane across her smooth rounded bottom.
'Thwuck!'
'Arrrggghhh! No, no, please, no, no!' The girl squealed, jolting on the basalt
penis so that it moved within her, the first stripe from the split bamboo
slicing across the quivering cheeks.
'Thwuckk...!' the second blow had a flatter sound as the split ends of the cane
landed across the soft sensitive crease at the top of her thighs.
'No, NO! NO! NOOOOoooooooo!'
The girl squealed, trying to move and ease the burning sting of the caning
whilst remaining on tiptoe. Mordal saw the first smear of redness on the
statue's chest where the peeled tips of her nipples had been scraped and
scratched against the carved stone by the agony of the caning.
Ten strokes brought the girl to a new pitch of anguish, screaming and surging,
working her body unavoidably up and down the arm-thick shaft as she writhed with
the pain of the beating. Quietly, Mordal signalled to the guard priests and they
knelt by the side of the statue. As the caning reached the tenth stroke they
waited for the inevitable dancing, hopping movement of the girl's feet and then
pulled the first of the thick flat, ochre coloured tiles from the pile beneath
each foot.
'EEEIIIGGGHHH!'
The girl screamed in a deeper agony as she felt the massive cock sinking further
into her body. Her toes scrabbled madly, seeking a new purchase, anything at all
to hold her up for just a little longer. Behind her, Mordal waited for the
frantic twitching to calm down then held up his hand, fingers spread once, then
once more... the cane whistled through the hot, thick air as the first of the
next ten strokes sliced across the red weals of the girl's bottom.
Beside the statue, the two guard priests waited impassively. Mordal smiled as he
watched the girl bucking and screaming in her endless torment, he had been
right... she was truly a lover worthy of Anthor.
As the last of the strokes landed, they knelt, waiting obediently the signal for
the next tile to be removed. At Mordal's nod the tiles were pulled away and the
girl's screams reached an even higher pitch of agony as she felt the great
curved bulb of the basalt phallus thrusting hard against the very mouth of her
cervix.
Again, Mordal lifted his hand, fingers signalling the next ten strokes, and the
wet 'thwucck' of the cane sounded again.
He looked up at the now demented girl, listening to her animal squeals echoing
round the stone chamber as she writhed in the god's embrace agonising embrace.
Already her buttocks were striped, raw meat and a thin trickle of blood trailed
down the underside of the phallus from where it disappeared into the girl's
writhing body. His judgement had been right...the sacrifice was good, Anthor
would be pleased.
Mordal smiled as he listened to the regular wet impacts of the cane...there were
still twelve more tiles to remove from each side. He wondered...how many more
would this one survive...?
Cortez
Cortez Sacrifice
