Midsummer Sacrifice

The voices grew louder, as the crowd got more drunk, and more aroused. Torunn had hidden in the barn while they slaughtered the bull and strung it up in a tree. The slaughter had always been her second last favourite thing of the ritual. Her very last favourite thing was the sacrificing of the slaves.

Her own participation would be much more pleasant. She would most likely end up pregnant tonight, and if she did, the young men of the village would line up to ask for her hand. To be able to have children, especially sons, was an important quality in a future wife. And a child conceived at the Midsummer ritual, on the altar of Frej, was destined to be blessed by the gods...

- Bring out the virgin!!!

The chief's voice broke off her daydreaming. She straightened her hair and made sure that her cloak hung straight. the door to the barn opened, and a skinny slave with bulging eyes walked in. He made a gesture for her to follow him, and Torunn obeyed.

The evening was getting late, but the sun had not yet set behind the mountains. Torunn fixed her gaze on the long shadows in the grass as she walked up to the altar. She didn't want to look at the bodies dangling from the trees, or the faces of the drunk crowd. She saw, in the corner of her eye, men and women groping each other, letting their hands slide in under shirts and up under skirts...

The slave left her by the altar, and she looked up at the chief. She would have preferred to give her virginity to a handsome young warrior, and not to this middle-aged, drunken, bearded chief, with a belly as big and round as on a pregnant woman. But, as politics went, she couldn't have been more lucky.

He grinned at her, took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face the crowd. She forced herself to keep her head high and smile. Warriors and farmers, sons, wives, daughters, slaves and slave women, they were all looking at her.

- The Virgin! the chief bellowed, and tore the cloak off of her.

The crowd fowled their approval, as Torunn stood before them, dressed in nothing more than a bronze necklace. The chief stood behind her, so close that she could feel his manhood grind against her butt. He reached round, and put his hands around her breasts, weighed them in his hands. They were big and round, Torunn had always been told that they were the most beautiful part of her body, which was femininely round and healthy. The man and women of the village pressed themselves against each other, not taking their eyes off Torunn and the chief. He leaned closer, and she could smell the beer he had been drinking on his breath. His beard tickled her when he licked her neck. She giggled, and he gave her breasts an appreciative squeeze. Lively, laughing girls were good, a man liked to have fun with the woman he mounted. The gods would be pleased.

He moved his big, meaty fingers up and took her large, pink nipples in a firm grip that made her squeal in discomfort. He rolled them between his fingers until they grew stiff. He wasn't young nor handsome, but he was experienced, and knew how to mount a virgin. Torunn's body was beginning to respond to the rough foreplay, and she raised her arms in the air, closed her eyes, and smiled, as his hands went further down, his fingers finding their way under her curls, in between her moist lips, where they found a sensitive spot; and they caused her to gasp for breath as they rubbed this little nub gently. The crowd sighed with pleasure at seeing the virgin becoming aroused. Many of them began to take off their clothes. Torunn's legs trembled.

The chief realized that she was ready, and lifted her up, carried her over to the tall statue of Frej, the god of fertility, dressed in wreaths, especially around his un-proportionally large fallos, that reached up to his shoulder; and which was now covered in blood from the sacrificed animals and slaves. Torunn swallowed and closed her eyes as the chief laid her down on the blood-covered altar. He backed away and opened his trousers. The audience cheered at the sight of his long erection. The chief parted Torunn's legs, and she braced herself for the penetration. It felt like a sharp sting, and she let out a small cry, which made the crowd howl again, in triumph. The virgin had been taken, on the altar of Frej! The god would be pleased, the crops would be blessed, the earth and the women's wombs would be fertile! Men took out their hard cocks, women hitched up their skirts.

Torunn didn't notice. After the initial pain had subsided, she had been pressed against the hard, slippery surface under the chief's weight, and he was now pounding into her in a steady rhythm that was creating strange feelings in her crotch. Strange, but nice. Very nice. A growing feeling of... of... She moaned, the chief grunted, but no-one could hear them for all the noise when the whole crowd celebrated their own unions; the slaves sneaking away into the forest, young women spreading their legs down in the ditch, getting the attention of one or two or even three men at once; some standing up, copulating frenetically while never taking their eyes off the couple on the altar.

Now, the chief pulled out of Torunn, turned her around, and mounted her like a bull mounts a cow. Torunn cried out when the long cock reached even deeper inside. The chief held on to her hips, she could feel his belly against her ass, and his balls slapping against her mound, for each push.

She didn't care about the crowd anymore; her insides were on fire. She didn't care that the chief was old and fat, her body craved this, craved stimulation, craved release! She felt her body cramp up around the intruder, she screamed out loud out of pleasure, the chief brawled like an angry bull, and his movements stopped. Torunn felt something warm and wet run into her, and then he pulled out, and his seed and her blood dripped down on the stone.

Those who weren't all too busy crawling around in the grass, cheered, and the chief smacked Torunn's butt with a satisfied chuckle before he put his wet, bloodstained cock back inside his pants, and emptied the tankard of beer that a slave brought him. Torunn climbed off the altar, her legs a bit wobbly, and her insides a little sore. She was tired, but there were tears of happiness in her eyes. She picked up her cloak and wrapped it around herself. She caught the yes of a tall, handsome warrior. He looked at her flushing cheeks, her hard nipples, and glistening, dripping folds; smiling, stroking himself through his trousers. Torunn gave him her most inviting smile, and snuck back into the barn...