Bacchanalia

Hestia trembled in a mix of fear and anticipation. She had been dedicated to the service of the god since birth, carefully protected, nurtured, instructed in the mysteries and now, a woman grown, she was to fulfill her purpose.

The harvest was in, unusually bountiful. The grapes pressed, the frivolity of the stomping through. The new wine had been decanted into the casks and skins, put down to ferment. Now the god must be appeased, Bacchus, god of wine must be placated, thanked for the bountiful harvest and implored to perform his magic and turn the grape juice into wine.

"Come girl," the priestess beckoned, now a withered crone but once young like Hestia, once bride of the god as well.

Hestia followed the priestess out of the hut and the mingled throng of the village cheered her appearance singing and dancing as they formed a processional behind her, following them up the long, winding path to the god's temple atop the low Etruscan hill. The priestess stopped before a low cave in the hillside and the townspeople gathered into the clearing, forming a half circle around them. Hestia stood before the priestess.

"Hear me o god, we your people thank you for the bounty of this harvest. In thanksgiving and in supplication for your blessings we offer you this bride, woman grown, yet virgin. Take her as your own and give us your bounty, turn the juices of the grape into wine."

Beckoning to her acolytes, the priestess signaled that the ceremony should begin. The two matrons, functioning as acolytes for the priestess, stepped up behind Hestia and removed her robe. The young woman stood naked and proud before the throng as the acolytes wove strands of grape leaves into her rich, dark curls singing a paean to the god as they worked. As they finished, the priestess beckoned Hestia again, and she lay back upon a raised knoll. The priestess made a gesture and Appolonia, the midwife, stepped forward and walked to the supine girl.

Hestia opened her legs, knowing her part in the ceremony. Appolonia knelt between the girl's legs and gently parted the folds of her sex with her hands. Examining her closely for a moment, she stood and announced, "She has not known man. She is virgo intacta."

"Then let the celebration begin," the priestess intoned.

The shepherd's pipes began to play as the crowd cheered. Wineskins were broken out and the villagers began to dance to the music of the pipes as they swigged the sweet red wine that made the village famous throughout the empire. The dancing went on and on and still Hestia lay on her knoll, trembling in fear, anticipation, she knew not what. She watched the revelers. That was allowed, encouraged. Soon the dancing became more frenzied, provocative, lewd as the wine was consumed. Fabius the baker, grabbed Portia, a woman half his age and not his wife, and kissed her. Far from being offended, Portia, normally a reserved country matron, reached under his tunic and grabbed his manhood.

As if this were the signal, the revelers abandoned their dance and turned to one another; or rather their dance became a different one, an older, more visceral dance. Clothing was shed and with it inhibitions, all trappings of civilization as a more primal instinct took over. Hestia watched a young maiden laugh as two young men nuzzled her neck. Her laughter stopped as one moved lower to nuzzle at her breast and her eyes glazed over. She looked back to see Fabius now entering Portia from behind, fucking her with hard powerful strokes as she grunted like an animal on all fours in response. Portia's husband Marius stood before her and Portia took his prong in her mouth, stifling her grunts on his manhood. All around her the townspeople copulated in twos, threes, more. Hestia felt herself moisten, burn. She longed to touch herself, to give herself the only relief she had ever known in her young life.

She saw Medina on her back, legs splayed wide as her sister Fabia knelt between them and bent to kiss the other girls nether lips. Hestia wondered how that would feel, and, as if by magic, she felt a feathery touch between her legs. She looked, surprised and saw the withered face of the High Priestess framed between her thighs.

"Relax," the older woman told her, "You'll have an easier time of it if you do."

Hestia closed her eyes and gasped as the priestess bent again to her sex. She had touched herself before, giving herself pleasure in the only way not forbidden to her as one consecrated to the god but those feelings paled in comparison to the explosion of pleasure the older woman's tongue created. She felt as if she were sinking into herself, becoming denser, compacting, folding until just her enflamed sex existed. She tensed, rising to her peak when the priestess stopped. The girl let out in involuntary sob in frustration but that was all the protest she voiced. She knew why the woman had stopped.

"Oh Bacchus, we your people call upon you now. Come forth and bless us with your seed, make our lands fertile, make our wine sweet, grant us another years life." The priestess intoned, facing the cave with her arms raised.

Hestia's breathing increased as she saw movement at the caves mouth.

"Come forth and claim your sacrifice," the priestess commanded.

From the gloom of the cave a creature stepped forth. Shorter then a man, dark. A head of black, wiry curls, small horns protruding from them, topped a powerfully muscled torso. The creature came further into the light with a hopping gait. The man's torso ended at the waist, blending into the hindquarters of a goat, the hair stiff and wiry, black like his head ending in a pair of cloven hoofs. A Satyr, Bacchus' own creature on the earthly plain. The satyr straightened and displayed its huge, erect phallus. Longer, thicker then a man's, out of proportion to its diminutive frame. The creature sniffed the air, inhaling the scent of dozens of sweaty, copulating bodies as the town's people fucked with increased vigor as the creature made its appearance.

The priestess stepped aside and gestured to Hestia who opened her legs to the creature. Making a whining noise, the satyr hopped over to the girl and stood before her. Hestia's eyes were glued to the creature's huge manhood. The satyr's phallus throbbed as it inspected her. Bending down, the creature put its head between her legs and sniffed, flicking out its tongue to briefly taste her. Satisfied that she was untouched, the satyr gave out a shrill cry and fell on top of the girl.

Hestia gasped at the weight of the creature, its coarse body hair scratching her tender skin, the rank animal smell overpowering her. The overwhelming male musk rather then repelling her, caused her sex to burn. She arched herself up to the creature. She felt its enormous cock bang her thigh as it searched for her. She reached down, capturing it in her hand. It was hot, burning, throbbing, alive. She guided it to her entrance.

Feeling her against him, the satyr thrust forward brutally, spearing the girl with its manhood, blasting past the ineffectual barrier of her maidenhead in a frenzied spasm of lust.

"Ahhhhh!" Hestia screamed as the creature brutally took her virginity. The townspeople cheered, seeing the sacrifice accepted by the god and continued to carouse around the pair, moving closer to surround the satyr and its bride with a circle of heaving carnality.

The smell of her virgin's blood enflamed the beast, its nostrils flared as it began to pump away into her tender young flesh. The pain was at first indescribable as the thick rod of the satyr's sex brutally opened her virginal passage, but the creatures musk soon overcame her as it rose off the beast like a cloud. The monster's scent wormed deep into the girl's brain, triggering a response at odds with the brutal taking. She moaned as her sex opened for him, arching her hips into it, reveling in the brutal pounding as the satyr's thick cock slammed against her womb. The creature yipped as its man-like hands mauled Hestia's tender young breasts while its goat-feet drummed against the packed earth. The townspeople cried out as well, the satyr's musk flowing over them as well, intoxicating them with the scent of distilled sex as they responded, quaffing one another in abandon.

With a mighty heave the creature groaned as it spilled its seed into the girl, spurting wave after wave of cum into her, overwhelming her as it dripped from her to mingle with her maiden's blood on the damp ground. She screamed her release as her climax shook her, yipping like the goat-man as it continued to pound into her.

Reaching down, the priestess gathered a handful of the satyr's semen from the girl's thigh and, holding it aloft, announced ecstatically to the throng, "The god's blessings are upon us!"

The town's folk, overjoyed at the god's favor, began the Bacchanal in earnest.