'I'm going into town this morning,' her mother said at breakfast. 'Got to take your brother to the dentist. You want to come?'
'No, thanks. I really ought to do some work on my thesis before I return to the Uni.'
Normally she would have jumped at the chance of a little shopping, but not if she had to listen to the moans of her young brother. Anyway, who wanted to tramp around a stuffy concrete jungle on what was going to be another fine hot day?
Finishing her breakfast she went back to her room. What to wear? Finally she settled on cool in preference style; slipping into a shapeless shift dress and trainers - no bra, not if the heat was going to be anything like yesterday.
Collecting her laptop she left the house by the rear door; strolled down the garden; pushed through the straggly hedge at the bottom, and out onto the edge of the moor that backed their property.
She'd thought it boring when they moved here in the spring, but the fine weather was making her appreciate the open heath-land with its soft, cooling breezes, and the chance to sunbathe away from the crowds she'd previously had to endure in the city park, or down at the beach. That reminded her, she'd meant to check out the Druid henge the couple next door had enthused over.
According to local legend it had been a place of pagan worship. There the tribes inhabiting the area in ancient times were reputed to have held their rites; making their bloody sacrifices at Beltane, Midsummer and Samhain; and all the other major dates whose names escaped her. It was whispered that even now on certain nights, if the weather was clear, one could dimly see the light of a bonfire, and the bare bodies of the neighbourhood Wicca coven dancing their rituals. Unlikely, she felt. The setting, although close, was still too far from house, or road to see any figures - clothed or naked - and, in any case, it was protected by a dip in the ground.
It didn't take long to find the rough track that, presumably, led to the site - it appeared still in use, which rather supported the story of a local coven. A gentle stroll of twenty minutes through the rough grass and heather brought her to the edge of a saucer shaped depression about thirty yards across. Carpeted in sheep cropped grass at its centre was a large, table sized rock with a flat top. The perfect size for a sacrificial altar - surely it wasn't natural.
Moving down the gentle slope she stood before the altar, leaning forward to run her palms across the smooth, dry stone. How many maidens, she wondered, had been deflowered on its ancient surface. Scores . . . hundreds . . . maybe even thousands over the millennia of its use. What had they felt, what was it like? Newly nubile, scores . . . hundreds . . . maybe even in their thousands over the millennia of its use, they would have been made women. What had they felt, what was it like? Now, she stood here, still determinedly clinging on to her maidenhead. Was this progress?
Shrugging off her reverie she settled on the dry grass; her back to the stone; the sun full on her face. She kicked off her trainers - better watch she didn't get sunburn. Opening her laptop, the screen angled away from the sun, she clicked on the folder containing her thesis.
-oOo-
The chanting was low. The line of figures dim in the moonlight as they shuffled widdershins around the altar stone. She stared at them. What was happening? Where was the sun?
The tall, white robed figure who stood beside her, a set of stag's antlers on his head, led the chanting.
'Lord of the Earth and Skies. We praise you for your power. Reveal to us your teaching that we may walk in your footsteps. . . . Behold we offer unto you one to make life anew. Grant her the spirit of fertility that through her loins she may continue the Circle of Life'
Setting aside the horns on his head the Druid unfastened his robe, and let it slip to the turf. Naked he turned to her. 'Come it is time.'
Reaching down he grasped the hem of her drab, rough shift. In one swift movement, he lifted it up and off.
Looking at her he licked his lips for, below a pretty face framed by a wild tussle of brown hair, her figure was slender; her legs long and her waist trim. Her nipples stood proud in the cool night air; her stomach muscles rippled with her breathing.
His already stiff cock still visibly swelling he traced a finger down the deep cleavage between her firm, succulent breasts to her navel. His hand grasped the waistband of her undergarment. Kneeling before her he ripped it down and off then leant forward and pressed hot lips against the soft skin of her belly.
Suddenly rising he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her to the altar. Carefully he laid her on her back. She felt she should be wary and apprehensive, but instead she was relaxed and curious.
Placing a hand on each knee he unhurriedly - irresistibly - parted her thighs. His lips found her navel then slid down to her curly, brown bush, and finally his tongue was licking up and down her slit.
Pleasure coursed through her. She whimpered, her eyes widening with wonderment as her body responded. She arched her back, pushing her cunni against his face as his lips fastened around her erect clit.
'Ooooh,' she moaned.
Reaching up he took hold of her wrists and, with one hand, pinned them against the far edge of the stone above her head. Gently he lowered his hard, lean body onto her.
She could smell his maleness; she could see the gleam of lust in his eyes; she could no longer hear the encircling acolytes, his heavy breathing drowned every other sound, but nothing mattered except the feel of the hardness of the stone under her, and the hardness of his erection pressing into her belly.
His hand was between her legs. His fingers were twining her soft hair. She spread her thighs wider to allow a finger to slip between her lips - to enter her virgin tunnel. It was feeling, searching, pumping in and out. It was splitting her hymen. It was preparing her to become a woman.
