Sacrifice to the Emerald God

by Paul Blades

  The Priestess proceeded to trim Margie’s hair all around her head until all that was left was an inch tall stubble. Margie remembered the one young woman touching her hair earlier and asking the priestess something and now she knew what they had been talking about.

  Once she had practically denuded Margie’s head, the priestess handed off the pile of long, blond strands of hair to one of the other women who then scurried from the hut. The priestess retreated to where she had been working a short while before and came back with a small, clay bowl. The bowl contained a wiry mass of scrapings in it that looked like shredded tree bark. The woman who had left returned and she had in her hand a long stick with a flame on its end. Cupping it to protect it from the air, she came over to where Margie knelt grotesquely bound and knelt next to the priestess. The priestess picked up the bowl and presented it to the other woman who dipped the flaming stick into it.

  The mass of shredded bark lit and immediately began to emit a heavy, grey smoke. The priestess took hold of the back of Margie’s head and bent it forwards so that her face was immersed in the acrid, swirling cloud. Margie choked and coughed as she was forced to breathe the foul emissions from the bowl. “P-please, please,…” she croaked as the smoke burned into her lungs. She closed her mouth and held her breath, but the priestess held her head there for several minutes, waiting until she had exhausted her oxygen and was forced to take a long, deep breath. When she was sure that the unfortunate woman had had several, deep lungfuls, she released Margie’s head and dipped her own head into the smoke. She took a deep breath and then passed the smoking bowl to the other two women who did the same. One of the women then clapped a wooden plate over the bowl, extinguishing the burning mass.

  The three, naked, old women knelt patiently in front of the unhappy, coughing white captive waiting for the smoke to have its effect. They had their palms turned out in front of them and were chanting quietly, their eyes closed, their faces turned up. Margie’s head began to swim. The inside of the hut started to vibrate and shimmer and her body became electrified with sensation. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and the tips of her breasts became taut and tingly. Her loins began to burn. Every inch of her skin seemed to have come alive and the sound of the women’s prayers had begun to echo in her head, mesmerizing her.

  After about five minutes, the priestess opened her dark eyes and stared at the pale skinned creature in front of her. Margie’s eyes were drawn deeply into the old woman’s and the whole spinning room was reduced to just the two of them. The old woman, still murmuring an incantation, reached out her bony hands and began to caress Margie’s flesh, starting on her slack, soft cheeks, down her neck and over her breasts. Everywhere the hands went, Margie could feel a strange energy entering her. The woman ran her hands over Margie’s imprisoned thighs and her hips and her shoulders. When she centered one hand over Margie’s distended cleft, the young woman moaned as pleasure seemed to seep from the woman’s thin, wrinkled skin directly into her.

  Placing both of her hands on the sides of Margie’s head, the old woman brought their faces close together. Margie felt their beings start to merge. She tried to resist, mentally asserting herself against the woman’s stronger, more experienced psyche. The woman leaned forward and, holding the white woman’s shorn head still, placed her lips over Margie’s mouth and forced a long, sour lungful of her breath into Margie’s chest.

  Her battle to resist the intrusion of the old woman’s mind into hers collapsed as the priestess’s soul entered Margie’s body. Margie moaned with fear and her body shook. She saw visions of her life passing rapidly through her brain, her childhood, college, Tom, her honeymoon and then her terrible, frightful, dehumanizing experiences of the last six weeks.

  Margie realized that the old woman was drinking her memories from her, delving into her soul. She felt a wave of affection flow into her from the priestess like she was some kind of treasured creature. Their naked bodies rubbed against each other and Margie’s pulse quickened and her heart beat faster as she felt her lust begin to rise. The old woman’s hand slid down her torso, stopping to massage her hardened breasts, her taut belly, and then dipped between her thighs and seized her engorged love lips.

  Margie sighed and moaned while the old woman caressed her. She entered the bound woman’s mouth with her tongue and Margie sucked and played with it gratefully. The impassioned, pale skinned woman could feel her body’s pleasures reflected in the old woman’s mind and then passed back to her with a renewed intensity. The woman’s fingers slowly and smoothly rubbed Margie’s hard bud of pleasure until her body could no longer tolerate it and she exploded in orgasm. As her pussy contracted and pulsed, Margie felt as if the two of them were both experiencing it, a thought reinforced by the woman’s hearty groans and the shuddering of her flesh.

  As her pussy’s intense, pleasurable spasms retreated, the woman slowed her caresses and then parted her body from the white woman’s. Margie, her mind still recovering from her crisis, saw the woman smile affectionately. It was if the woman now knew all about her, had rifled through the files in her brain and read them all. She stroked Margie’s cheek with her bony hand and then she and the other two women got up and went back to their work.

  The exhausted, well pleasured young woman hung helplessly on the frame as the native women completed their tasks. As she watched them, Margie was reminded of the three witches in Shakespeare, toiling about their cauldron, brewing a boon and a curse for the Scottish thane.

  The priestess instructed one of the other women to do something and the old woman left the hut. She retuned a few moments later with a young, immensely pregnant young woman in tow. Her small breasts were full to burst and her belly rode out in front of her like a porch. She smiled bashfully at the trussed up, white woman and then obediently knelt by the bowl in which the three women had been mixing their brew. She shimmied over close to it and the priestess, after stroking her head gently, took one of her breasts in her hand and began to stroke it. She tugged playfully several times on the nipple and then, wrapping her hand around the tit’s base, began to give it strong, but gentle pulls. Margie watched in amazement as milk began to spurt into the bowl from the young woman’s breast at each downward tug of the priestess’s hand. The girl seemed to be relieved at the pressure on her teat and sighed as her breast was emptied. When the flow of milk slowed to a stop, the process was repeated on her other breast. Once that supply of milk had been exhausted, the priestess pulled the girl’s head up and gave her a sweet kiss on her plump lips. The girl smiled and then rose and ambled carefully from the hut.

  Margie’s head had largely cleared from the entrancing smoke the old woman had made her inhale and she had begun to wonder whether the experience of the priestess virtually inhabiting her body had been a drug induced hallucination. It had seemed so real, but defied her civilized, rational ideas of reality. As her senses came back into focus, she became aware once more of the dull, painful aches in her arms, shoulders and thighs. Every time that she moved her head, a wave of unhappiness flowed through her as she felt the breeze on her scalp where her hair used to be. Although the old woman’s demeanor had been kindly, her continued cruel bondage denoted her continued servile status and the likelihood that more unhappiness was in store for her.

  She watched as the three old women put the final touches to the concoction they had been mixing. The priestess dipped a finger in it and put it to her lips. Her body swayed and her eyelids fluttered a she absorbed the drop of milky, white fluid. She held herself still for a moment, her eyes shut tight, and then she opened them and smiled. She gave both of the other women a taste and they both gave the same overwhelmed reaction. The priestess dropped a wad of yellowed, grassy leaves in the mixture and swilled them around until they were heavily laden with the fluids. She rolled the leaves up and squeezed the excess fluids from them until they were formed into a compact ball a little smaller than her fist. One of the other women handed her a pliant, yellowed, filmy object that
looked somewhat like a small balloon. The priestess opened the balloon at one end and stuffed the ball into it. When the ball was inside, stretching the balloon-like object tautly, she tied off its end. Then, taking a sharp sliver of bone, she poked four tiny holes in it allowing the liquid held by the ball inside to start to seep out.

  Margie realized with a start that the balloon wasn’t a balloon at all, but some small creature’s stomach. She could see vein like ridges on its stretched surface. When the women approached her, she understood its purpose. She frowned with dismay and began to plead unhappily.

  “Please don’t put that inside me, please,” she said miserably. She knew full well that the women probably did not understand her words, but she hoped that they would understand their import. “I’ll be quiet, I promise,” she said desperately. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please, don’t, please.”

  The women ignored their distraught captive’s entreaties and while her two acolytes forced her jaws apart, the priestess pressed the soft, taut balloon over Margie’s lips. It rode against her teeth and then plopped inside.

  Margie received the effects of the drug in the mixture like a blast to her mind and body. She sagged in her bonds and her jaw grew slack. The old women had swooned at the consumption of a mere drop of it and ten fold of that was seeping from the filled, round bladder in her mouth. She tried desultorily to push the offensive object from between her lips with her tongue, but the women wrapped a wide leather thong over her mouth and tied it off in the back of her head. Her vision went dark as another broad, leather thong was tied around her eyes.

  There was no way that Margie could determine how long she knelt there, her mind swooning and her body tingling with the effects of the drug laced mixture. She knew that there was activity in the hut as she heard the humored voices of some of the women as they came and went. Her pussy began to burn with need and her teats yearned for touch. Her skin radiated all over her. She drifted off now and then into a sleepy, mesmerized state only to jerk awake as a breeze floated across her highly sensitized skin or at the sound of one of the women’s voices.

  She had fallen into a dozed state when she felt the frame behind her being lifted from the floor. She moaned with pain as her arm and leg muscles strained. But the simple movement of her mouth caused more of the liquid to seep from the pin holed ball in her mouth and a fresh wave of excitement flowed over her body and through her mind.

  Outside the hut, darkness had fallen and the compound was lit by the recently fully reconstituted moon. The villagers had gathered and were chatting and laughing gleefully. It was not every day that there was a ceremony and the break in the otherwise monotonous routine of village life was welcome. Besides, the arrival of the white woman was an event of great portent and everyone was looking forward to the good fortune she would bring. A large fire had been built up in the middle of the compound. Three of the men were pounding rhythmically on drums and another two were playing on long, melodious flutes. Several of the women had brought out special, grooved sticks, rattles and other percussion instruments and were keeping time merrily with the compelling beat. The children had all been put to bed in the community hut, for tonight’s entertainment was going to be strictly for adults.

  Margie heard the harmonious noise of the native instruments as she was carried across the compound. She moaned as the strain on her discomforted shoulders and thighs intruded on the feverish excitement of her body brought on by the strange concoction locked into her mouth. The old witches brought Margie’s frame to the front of the fire, about 15’ away from it and between it and the crowd. They fastened it into a hole similar to the one in the women’s hut. Margie gave a little grunt as she felt the frame drop into place.

  It was time for the ceremony to begin. The priestess waved her hands and clapped them together for silence. She stepped over to the white captive and removed the wide thong that had covered her eyes. When she moved to the side to give the crowd a good view, the people gave shouts of approval and clapped their hands noisily.

  Margie blinked her eyes and took in a deep breath as she saw the people of the village arrayed in front of her. She could feel the warmth of the fire behind her and the light shone and danced on the faces of the kneeling crowd, giving their faces fierce, demonic miens. Her mind was befogged, but she was alert enough to be struck through with an intense pang of fear. She moaned with unhappiness as she saw that each of the native women was wearing a skein of her recently shorn beautiful, blond locks tied decoratively onto their hair. The old man had promised her a nefarious end should she disappoint the villagers, but had she sinned so grievously already? She struggled at the bonds that held her fast to the frame and began to sob. The movements of her mouth caused another stream of the befuddling fluids to seep out of the bulging bladder and she quickly forgot her dismay as a wave of pleasure and excitement passed through her body.

  The old priestess began a chant. The repeated rhythms of the ancient poetry were soon taken up by the primitive band. The crowd then joined her. Within a few minutes, the crowd had gotten up from their knees and started swaying and clapping their hands, singing and moving in time with the familiar refrains.

  Through her befogged brain, Margie realized that she was witnessing a ritual probably old as time itself. She tried to bring herself to full attentiveness, but the mind numbing liquid that continued to seep into the pores of her mouth drove her to distraction. Her body felt like it was about to explode with sexual need. She strained fruitlessly to free her bound hands so that she could stroke her fevered slit. She yanked and pulled at the confinements that held her knees widely splayed in the hopes of being able to press her tingling thighs together.

  A man and woman separated themselves form the crowd and approached the priestess. She was holding the bowl that contained the witches’ brew and she dipped a stick into it and then let several large drops fall into the mouths of first the woman and then the man. The couple swayed and closed their eyes as their bodies absorbed the potion and then the woman dragged the man to a spot between the white captive and the crowd and they began to dance.

  Margie had never seen anything so sensuous. The man was broad-chested and tall for the men of the tribe and in his youth. His arms were strong and his thighs muscular. The woman, young as well, was slender and graceful. Her breasts bobbed smoothly as she danced. Her face was long and her lips full. Her belly curved enticingly down to the well of her sex. The couple rubbed their bodies together and caressed each other’s flesh. Their movements were slow and deliberate and in perfect rhythm with the beat of the primitive orchestra. The woman placed her lips on the man’s chest and began to kiss his torso feverishly, running her hands over his hips and thighs. She dipped her knees and mouthed the length of the man’s hardening cock never losing her body’s swaying movements in time with the mesmerizing beat. When she stood, the man returned the favor, kissing the woman’s stiffened nipples and then, crouching before her, burying his face in her loins.

  Since the fire was behind the couple, their figures appeared to the audience as dark shadows, simulacrums of the human form. The darkness and obscurity of their shapes made them appear ghost like, reminiscent of the spirits and ghosts that ruled the tribe’s lives. After they had danced for about three minutes, their excitement rising higher and higher, the priestess advanced and, after squeezing Margie’s cheeks to ensure that she received a blast of the potion’s effects, removed the bladder from her mouth.

  This was the signal for the impassioned couple to approach the white captive. The woman knelt before the man and, placing her lips on his cock, pleasured him into rigidity. She then stood and, with one hand, guided his firm, thick manhood to the white woman’s lips while the other took hold of her pale cheeks and squeezed them until Margie’s mouth formed into a little ‘o’. With a thrust of his hips, the man slid his cock across Margie’s distended lips and entered her.

  Margie’s mind literally short circuited as the man’s cock brought a welcome, exciting heat
to her mouth. She grasped the meaty pole with her lips and scoured its surface with her eager tongue. The man stood before her, gently and rhythmically stroking his long, fat cock along her pursed lips. Margie closed her eyes and moaned. In a remote, still conscious corner of her mind, she protested against her callous treatment, denigrated herself for her surrender to the fierce fire that burnt inside her. But when the woman knelt next to her man and slid her hand over Margie’s distended and vulnerable pudenda, all reticence at enjoyment of her sexual delight passed away.

  The woman’s fingers busily stroked the white woman’s quim as the man continued his strokes in her mouth. Margie realized that she was participating in some kind of ancient fertility rite. She represented the earth itself, passive, recumbent, and the man was planting his seed in her. The woman was making the ground, i.e. Margie, receptive to him. Despite her acute arousal and her dire predicament, Margie experienced a mild sense of amusement as she imagined explaining her participation in this rite to her colleagues at the University of Chicago.

  But the thought quickly passed as the effects of the stiff, salty member in her mouth and the agile hand at her loins soon drove the young, white woman into a state of delirious arousal. She sucked hungrily at the pleasure giving rod and attempted, futilely, to push her hips at the hand that was skillfully and delicately caressing her cunt. When the man’s cock began to throb and pulse within her, her pussy began a series of intense, pleasurable contractions. She moaned and her body shook in her bindings as the man’s juices flooded her mouth. She swallowed them joyfully, relishing the taste and smell of the man’s meat. When the cock, its rigidity fading, withdrew across her lips and the hand that was tormenting her pussy left her, Margie gave out a long, satisfied moan.