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The Sacrifice

by tantalized for Akasha

March 2014

Perhaps because he was still young enough to hear everything but now old enough to pay attention, Zli’tet was the first to hear the hoofbeats. Before any of the others understood that the rumbling below the earth was moving towards them, Zli’tet ran for his sword, which stood outside the tent. He had mounted his horse just as the others were peering at the horizon.

It was not just the women who screamed when the Mistress’ forces came over the hillside. Zli’tet’s tribe was small and isolated. They had never had to defend themselves from a force as large as the imperious horde that was descending upon them.

Ronka’sha, the Mistress, rode at the head, her hair glistening as brightly as her weapon. There was no counting the warriors who rode beside and behind her, only that they screeched like aviary predators in the night sky.

Behind him, Zli’tet’s people gathered, the men circling the women, some on horses, some crouching, protective, afraid.

Only Zli’tet was a fool. He charged straight at the attackers. He was aiming for the Mistress, the stupidest place he could go. In his folly, he was courting death the way only a young man would.

Ronka’sha saw him coming and laughed. There were many in her army who had once been members of tribes like this one that was about to be obliterated by her regime. Every so often, there was a fool who would race alone against her. She had fed their corpses to her followers, always reserving the heart for her own consumption.

She laughed as an arrow struck Zli’tet’s leg and another his arm. He did not seem to mind. Nothing appeared to slow or frighten the youth. He drove forward towards his single target. She had to admire that.

When her guards realized that this insane and unprotected boy was nearly upon them, they pushed past the archers to make him their target. Scythes and swords and mallets rose in their arms.

Zli’tet evaded them all. A single hand and his legs were all he needed to control his horse. His sword hand barely moved, except when one of the guards came close enough for him to bedhead it without breaking strike.

And then he was upon her, the Mistress, the Terrible One. His sword thrust forward and stopped just as it pricked her naked throat.

The silence was as terrifying as the hoofbeats. Even the air was still.

Ronka’sha’s eyes – the color of her hair – flashed at him with fury although her voice remained entirely under control.

“You will wish I killed you,” she said in the accent of the north.

“I know who you are, and what you are, and how you enjoy the pain of your enemies,” Zli’tet answered. “I am here as a sacrifice.”

Hakar, her chief guard but not, as others assumed, her lover, scoffed. “We can kill you then kill all your people.”

“You can,” Zli’tet answered, his eyes never leaving the Mistress. “But not before I killed her. And then your army would fall apart, you would kill each. Everything you have fought for would be destroyed.”

“And you want what?” Hakar snorted. “For us to depart, leave your people to their pathetic existence?”

“I want my people to go. I know you are here for our crops and our animals. I know my sacrifice is not great enough for you to forsake what you need. But you saw the pathetic response of my people. They are not fit for your army. Let them leave, the women, the men, the children. When I know they are safe, I shall take down my sword.”

“When you know they are safe, you shall slit my mouth,” the Mistress said.

“I am a man of my word, just as I know that you are a woman of yours. If you claim that my people are safe, I shall lower my sword and allow you what you wish of me. I am the sacrifice to be taken.”

“I give you my word and you trust that your people would walk free?”

“There is a reason you have an army behind you. You have never gone back on what you say.”

She laughed.

“Then I make you a promise. Your people go free and you will wish that you were dead and that they were all dead. You will regret each and every day of your life. Your pain will be unbearable and what comes after your pain will be worse. And I shall enjoy ever moment. Now, tell me: is this a sacrifice you truly wish to make?”

Zli’tet did not move.

“Take their animals, their crops, and their land. Leave them their tents, clothes, and babies. Let them march away,” the Mistress commanded.

Zli’tet lowered his sword.

Ronka’sha grabbed it and struck him with its side. He tumbled from his horse which reared. Hakar grabbed it as Zli’tet assumed the supplicant’s pose, his head hung low, his arms useless at his side.

“Come closer,” the Mistress commanded.

He did as told.

His own sword pierced his vest, cut it to shreds, then did the same with his other covering. He stood before her naked.

She gazed at his strong but supple body. He was not as developed as her warriors and this only made her lust stronger. She could have those muscled bodies any time she chose.

This was a man – a boy, really – whom she could torture and destroy.

She gushed at the thought of what she would do to him. Her skin flushed and her eyes glistened.

He thought he knew what he was doing when he offered himself as a sacrifice. She could already hear the screams and cries and pleads that she would never answer with anything but more pain.

The Binding

It was the women who bound him.

They came from the rear as the warriors descending upon what had been his village, harvesting the crops, capturing the animals, and burning the dwellings.

Some of the women were on horseback, some on foot, some in carts. They looked toward the Mistress who nodded.

The ropes they used were strong and expertly made.

As Ronka'sha looked on, they teased Zli'tet, pried open his mouth, examined his teeth as if he were a horse. They grabbed his thighs and biceps, derided his flesh, comparing it to the firmness of the warriors they served. They flicked his member, grabbed and twisted his balls, pulling so hard he thought he would be dismembered.

Zli'tet said nothing. He did not cry out. He did not beg. He was their sacrifice. He merely looked at the proud Mistress, saw her pleasure in his torment, knew this was only the beginning.

The first binding looped around the back of his neck, crossed his chest, and then returned to force his arms behind him. He could feel the women's expert hands as the strand criss-crossed his arms, slowly making its way down the length, drawing them together as they steadily tightened.

Another set of ropes bound his hands to each other, cruelly forcing his thumbs one against the other, making escape impossible.

A third set bound his chest, so that his breathing was restricted. He had no intention of running, would never escape, a man of his word. Nevertheless he could feel how effective this was.

A fourth set was used to hobble him. They permitted him only short strides.

Then a trim, short, lithe blond reached for his cock and stroked him. He struggled against her ministrations but was powerless to do so. He hardened in her hand.

Ronka'sha laughed and handed her maiden a short, braided whip. It fell upon his engorged cock, lashing it relentless. He screamed.

With his cock sore and tender, three of the young women took a thinner robe and begin to force the cock down against his scrotum. They bound it tightly, then lashed it to his balls. He did not know their skill, was not aware that they measured the blood flow, made certain that he would be tight but not damaged.

He was only aware of the pain.

When the horsewhip fell against his back, he stumbled.

When it came down again, he tried to run, thinking that was what was required of him. The ropes that hobbled him would not yield. Two more strokes of the whip and he fell to the group.

The whip continued to fall as he rolled, helpless, then attempted to inch himself forward like a snake.

When they had finished, he attempted to rise but could not. There was more laughter. He knew this was the Mistress' amusement.

At a signal from her, they grabbed and lifted him. A leash was attached to the ropes that bound his manhood. He was led behind them, the last of the last, desperate to stay upright as he struggled desperately to keep him, his hobbled strides barely allowing him to move.

At night, they roasted two of the lambs and a goat his village had raised on a spit. The smell of their flesh made his mouth water. He swallowed it back. He had been given no water all day.

A blacksmith appeared with an iron collar that was placed around his neck. He led Zli'tet towards a fire, then soldered the collar shut. The heat of the fire burned Zli'tet's neck, scarring him beneath the now permanent attachment.

Only after all the warriors and women had had their fill was a small vessel placed on the ground before him. Ronka'sha stood above him as he fell to his kneels, groveling to reach the gristle and other rejects that were his only meal. He devoured the meagre offering under her imperious glaze.

He could not rise.

He looked at the Mistress imploringly. She told him he had no need to be anywhere but on his knees.

There was a river not far; he could hear it. On his knees, he tried to make his way towards it.

"Where are you going?" Ronka'sha demanded.

His face flushed. His bladder felt like it would burst.

"I must pass water," he quietly answered.

She laughed.

"Go ahead. I give you permission this one time."

He knew then that there would be no unbinding.

He knew he could no longer restrain himself.

His cock, tied down, left him no option but to simply allow the warm piss to run down his legs.

He blushed at this.

"Look at me," she demanded as the piss continued to pour over his own body.

Her hand reached down between her legs. She pleasured herself at the sight of his degradation.

Once she had climaxed, she pushed his over. He fell on his side.

"Sleep if you can, you foolish boy. Today was the kindest I shall ever be to you."

She strode away.

All the others were under furs and blankets. He shivered on the cold earth, a coldness made all the worse as his pee evaporated and chilled him.

He was a slave now, a toy, an object.

His sacrifice had barely begun.

The Gelding

Another days march, and Zli'tet was forced to witness what would have become of his people had he not made his sacrifice.

The village was much like his own -- a few huts and skins made into tents, some scraggly animals, crops.

The Mistress' legion scoured them all.

The children and elders were killed without exception. The young women were raped by the warriors; those deemed sufficiently attractive handed over to the camp followers, the others hacked to pieces. Young men who seemed sufficiently strong were stripped, given the choice of death or absorption into Ronka'sha's legion.

Except for five youths. They were brought before the Mistress who nodded.

"Have him watch," she commanded, indicating Zli'tet.

He could not ascertain why these five were being singled out. Like the youths, he was deposited with the women.

The women seductively surrounded the boys, stroked them, played with their manhood. They giggled, teased, made them hard.

The two whose cocks were smallest had their throats cut.

That left three.

The women continued to tease until the mistress arrived. She surveyed the remaining boys. By now, Zli'tet understood the selection -- their pricks were enormous, far larger than his.

The Mistress dismounted, grabbed the boys' cocks, one by one, in her hand. She was testing, feeling the thickness and length of their shafts. Testing their endurance.

The boys were trembling. One could not remain hard. He was summarily executed.

Pre-cum dripped from the remaining two.

As Ronka'sha continued to consider her choice, two fat, flabby men Zli'tet had not seen before appeared. They held smoldering torches.

"This one," Ronka'sha decided, then drew a knife from the folds of her robe.

Four women immobilized the terrified youth. The Mistress grabbed the boy's ballsack and severed it from his body.

He screamed louder than any man Zli'tet had heard scream before.

As the two fat men stepped forward with their torches, cauterizing the clean, practiced wound, Ronka'sha scooped the gelding's testes from the ground, turned towards Zli'tet with a glint in his eye.

"Open," said one of the fat men in a voice higher than a woman's.

They are what this boy has just become, Zli'tet realized. She's done this before.

Inside its prison, his cock and balls shriveled.

Ronka'sha stuffed the gelding's balls into his mouth, gagging him.

 

Hours later, he was led to the Mistress' tent.

The two eunichs were there along with the gelding, who whimpered.

A large skin lay on a frame.

Zli'tet was forced to watch as the eunuchs bound the boy to the board.

"Suck it," Ronka'sha demanded.

For a moment, Zli'tet was bewildered.

"You will never share his fate. Poor you. But you can, as part of your sacrifice, prepare him for my pleasure."

Zli'tet winced.

"You promised to suffer. If you fail in this simple task, I shall turn and hunt and destroy your people."

Zli'tet moved to the board. He had to close his eyes as he approached the boy's member. He leaned over, took it in his mouth.

To his amazement, the boy began to stiffen.

Zli'tet continued his ministrations, gagging, increasing his speed. At least he won't spill his seed in my mouth, he thought.

Then he realized that was what this operation was all about. The Mistress desired a cock but did not wish a child. This was the one way to insure her pleasure with no chance that she would ever be incapacitated.

The eunuchs roughly removed him.

"Watch," Ronka'sha commanded. "Watch where your cock shall never go. Not into me, nor any other woman. Ever."

She lowered herself on the gelding and rode him.

After she climaxed the first time, she turned towards Zli'tet and laughed.

"Remember what this looks like," she said. "You will long for it, ache for it, but never have. You will never even see it again.

Then she came again.

 


 

 

     
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