I had been captured in the latest raid on my village. They were looking for victims to sacrifice to their gods on the Beltane Eve.
I was kept in a small hut, a cramped and dusty prison if there ever was one.
At last they came for me... It was my time to be the victim, but as I prepared to die, little did I know just exactly what kind of sacrifice I was to be.
The womenfolk of their village arrived silently at the hovel and motioned to me that it was time to be prepared as a gift to the god. They walked me to the nearby stream, where I was dunked in the chilly water as they began to wash me down with a strong soap. They scrubbed me with reeds and small pumice stones until my skin was raw and red from the effort. I was then escorted out of the water to the waiting priestesses who began to anoint my hair and body with an oil. The aroma reminded me of the wildflowers near my village along with sandalwood, sage, and a slightly musky scent. The oil had been warmed and sent tingles down my body as it was applied. The contrasts of temperatures stirred a feeling within me of sensuality I could not understand and the smell made me slightly lightheaded. The administrations of the women's hands made me aroused and as soon as my member became erect, they directed their attention to it. The warm balm stiffening me as the feelings of their coarse hands and the warmness combined with lubrication of the oil sent my head spinning as they caressed and stroked my manhood to life. Since we did not speak the same dialect, I could only understand bits and pieces of what was being said. Something about the Goddess and how happy she would be to receive the life from me as her groom. Just as I was about to spill my seed out into the grass, they stopped, saying something about not wasting any of the virility of the gift.
The scent of the body rub and hunger made me drowsy. I was given a warm tea, which I am sure was drugged, and allowed to lay down on a bed of fresh reeds that was intertwined with an aromatic flower that further enticed me to slumber.
The next thing I remember is being awakened in the middle of the night. A full moon glowing through the cracks in the walls as I groggily stumbled out of the hovel. My eyes easily adjusted to the night thanks to the lunar illumination. Before I was led away from my cell, I was blindfolded and bound by my wrists. I walked in complete darkness, but heard the drums get louder as I was directed towards the source.
Once there, I felt the heat from the Beltane fire and after the hoodwink was removed, I tried to shield my eyes from the glare emanating from the flames. The tribes people were dancing around a stone alter in the middle of a henge made of stone as well. With the drug from the tea still intoxicating me, I shambled my way to that slab of gray, as if on cue, thinking I just had to lie down again before I vomited. Upon doing so, three priests appeared as if by magic. They undid the bindings on my wrists, but bound each arm and leg in a spread eagle position, with my back, cold against the stone, and the rest of me exposed to the heat of the fire. I prepared myself for the inevitable, my life given in sacrifice to their god, my blood pooling on the stone as my life drained out slowly. It was at that point that the drums stopped, the priests disappeared, the goddess's name was slowly and quietly chanted, and she arrived.
The quiet of the crowd caused me to make an attempt to look and see what was going on and it was then I caught a glimpse of their goddess... or her designated priestess as it turns out, as she entered the henge for her sacrifice.
Her golden brown, reddish hair swayed softly in the slight night breeze, made to look as part of the bonfire by the flames lighting it from behind. A golden circlet around her head glinting in the fire and moonlight. Her green eyes transfixed on a focal point somewhere in the distance as the drums began anew.
She began her dance of seduction around the alter as I lay there, my eyes half open to see the feminine perfection in her form via shadow through a thin linen shift. The soft curves of her hips, full breasts pushing out the draping garment high on her chest, long neck bent to the side in an almost trance-like state as she ran her fingers down from her hair, along her neck, over her breasts, down her trunk and onto her thigh. The dance began as small circles as she made a full revelation around the alter. Her hips began to move in time to the drumbeat as she would approach, backwards and frontwards, where I lay. She would arch her back, allowing her hair to drape over me in a slightly teasing manner and then turn around to reverse her course, allowing me to view her perfect tits bounce and sway under the shift as she moved.
.... There is more of this story ...