Welcome to my latest short story. I say short, but find that I am increasing unable these days to keep it 'short'. Like with all things sexual, there should be a long build up, a good deal of foreplay so to speak and lots of catering to each other's needs, ensuring satisfaction is given and received from all parties at the end, by whatever means that was/is/maybe. Thus, I hope this story leaves you feeling that satisfaction too.
There are some dark chapters that some readers may not want to read. I will give you due warning when those chapters present themselves. Remember, I do not force anyone to read what is here. It is a pure work of fiction and should be treated as such. So, a warning from me is all you will get, you are adults after all.
For my loyal readers, and those patient enough to trawl through my dross, sorry for the wait and thank you. I hope you enjoy and as always please leave a comment.
Chapter one.
His eyes finally seemed to focus, for the first time in what felt like hours or maybe even days. And with that clarity came an excruciating pain in his head, the numbness, the emptiness, the in-comprehension. His consciousness screamed within him; reverberated throughout his entire being. Clawing its way like a frightened animal, into the light, desperate to find safety from the darkness. It felt like a withered thing, a thing close to death, yet unable to completely give in and expire. He drew a deep breath, his first for a while, wondering where he had been, what he had been doing, and more to the point, where the hell he now was? His right arm was raised high but his attention was more captured by the ruby-red jewel that dropped into his vision catching the light from guttering candles as it fell, seemingly in slow-motion. He allowed his interest to be piqued and followed the red droplet as it plummeted onto the alabaster skin below, joining the deep pool already there and in so doing, disappeared.
Nestling between the small, partially exposed breasts, of what appeared to be a sleeping young woman, the burgundy pool suddenly emptied in two directions. Off towards her long neck, to be quickly soaked up by the previously white; silken-like material lying about her shoulders; and off down towards her flat hard stomach, where another pool took succour and coalesced within her belly-button.
Callum's jaw dropped open as he looked back upwards, trying to establish the start-point of the ruby. His eyes locked upon the ornate, heavily tooled blade of what he would later describe as a ceremonial/sacrificial dagger. The golden sapphire and diamond encrusted hilt protruded from his tightly gripping fingers, whilst the narrow blade, heavily laden with what he took to be the girl's blood, prepared to shed another drop. He opened his fingers, looking at the hilt and was instantly annoyed that his first thought was that the handle of the dagger resembled a jewel encrusted erect cock. Callum looked at the sacrificial victim? She lay upon a Y shaped altar. Still, deathly quiet, his brain began to scream at him. 'What have you done?'
The girl, in her twenties by the look, had a pale complexion, strawberry blonde wavy hair, with a lustre and fullness that encouraged it to splay about her pretty face and shoulders. The slightest hint of make-up was visible about her closed eyes, all very subtly applied and in stark contrast to the bold lipstick on her rose red and very kissable lips. At first glance, she would appear to be naked, but she was in fact covered in the thinnest of silken material, so shear that it did nothing to cover her modesty; any more than a piece of clear plastic would. And being silk, moulded to her every mound and valley, crevice and peak. Her dark dis-proportionately large areolae, where in stark contrast to her pale blood-less skin and were easily discernible through the sheer material that covered her. Her pubic mound with neatly trimmed red hair was also clearly visible, as were the restraints about her waist, thighs, ankles and wrists. Her arms were drawn up above her head and each wrist was firmly secured to tie rings embedded on the altar top. Her legs, long slender silken skinned, were secured to the Y portion of the altar and were therefore spread wide open; the thin material of her covering, falling between them in some forlorn hope of propriety.
He looked away and from the gloom could now make out several figures. All dressed in monk-like habits, faces hidden in the darkness of their cowls. Unmoving, unconcerned by what was before them; or by what he had done. The monotonal chanting, eventually reaching his ears for the first time was, hedonistic, but at the same time asserting. He was compelled to listen, but too soon found the tone grating. He didn't want to listen anymore his compunction was to scream. Scream because of what he had done, scream because these cloaked figures had allowed him to do it, scream to stop the chanting. His body though, seemed to refuse all action, frozen with the import of it all. What kind of hell was this, how on earth did he get himself involved in the murder of a beautiful woman and a sacrificial murder at that? He lowered his arm with tremendous effort and looked upon the dagger, tears of remorse beginning to well in his eyes.
With a sudden gasp of breath, breaking the atmospheric chant, the girl's eyes flickered open; her chest began to rise and fall sending another molten rivulet of blood from her breasts to her shoulder and into her hair. She was alive! He hadn't taken her life after all. "My God." His voice found substance, loud in the enclosed chamber, drawing the attention of the girl's deep green-emerald eyes as well as those hidden eyes of the now silent cowled figures.
Callum looked at the dagger in his hand once again. Blood splattered his fingers and along his wrist, where his hand had been held high. He assumed it continued along his forearm, now hidden by the black cloak sleeve. He realised then, that he too wore a blackened cape and cowl. Looking at the girl's chest again, he could not see any puncture wound, just the blood, so where had that come from? He searched about him in the dim light. But finding it impossible to see anything in the darkened atmospheric surrounding, he simply dropped the dagger onto the dais behind him.
The chanting began again. The hooded, ominous figures drifted from out of the gloom; towards the alter. Their words, if words at all, held no meaning to him and were all strangely feminine in pitch. Urging..., urging him on, but to do what? What was he to do? Who was he and why was he standing over the prone figure of a beautiful young woman without any notion of releasing her from the tightly secured straps about her limbs and body?
The young woman's eyes flicked to Callum's face, she held the look, it wasn't one of fear, it wasn't one of loathing, it was one of recognition and expectation. He felt arms wrap about him and looking down, saw the painted nails of feminine fingers undoing the tie about his waist, pulling aside the folds of the robe. He was naked beneath and he watch with a strange detachment as the lithe, long, beautifully manicured fingers gripped hold of his flaccid phallus, gently, enticingly, goading it into partial erection, before pointing it towards the girl.
The fingers of one of the hands, gently and slowly drawing back his foreskin to reveal his glans and in so doing, urged his penis on to greater levels of erection. The girl's eyes moved from his face and stared wide-eyed at his penis, watching it grow as another pair of hands began to caressing the base of his phallus and his balls. Both pairs of hands eager to manipulate him into a full and firm condition. They began rubbing along his impressive length in unison. The sacrificial girl's mouth opened and she strained against her bonds, trying to reach out to his phallus as if she wanted to take it into her mouth, she could not reach it. Nor did the manipulating hands seem to want it to happen. The girl lay back, content to watch his now rock hard, throbbing member pulsing with his life-giving blood. She broke into a wide almost satisfied smile.
His erection, despite himself, was now at full strength and had spanned the distance towards the girl, it was certainly a handsomely, large erection, throbbing, pulsing angrily. He felt a presence either side of him and long feminine, fingers grasped his wrists, holding them up, in supplication. The dark-red painted nails, were of a similar colour to the blood that he had spilt upon the girl's chest. He felt more arms circle about him; a hand cupped his balls and gently massaged them. Some rubbed along each thigh, some across his chest and back. He seemed to be surrounded by adoration; urging, urging.
Control of his body was something he did not seem to have a handle on at the moment. And he knew that the inevitable result of all this female attention, even in these circumstances, would be the emptying of his ball's contents? His face was grasped by another pair of hands and was turned to look into the face of another beautiful woman, whose blood-red lipstick, glistened in the candle light as she drew him down for a kiss, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He felt himself responding to the sweet tasting lips. Heard the woman groan quietly into his mouth. Felt her push a cloaked breast against him and rub her thigh upon his. Any resolve he may have had to fight this, was almost completely gone.