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Author Topic: The Five Sisters  (Read 1407 times)

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Offline joyfully

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The Five Sisters
« on: March 25, 2009, 05:02:13 AM »
The eldest of the five sisters stood before the altar, making sure all preparations for the ceremony were done. It was part of her responsibility, as the head priestess in charge of this ritual. The sacrifice was hers, after all.

She turned and looked at the pentagram in white paint on the black marble floor, encircled by pillar candles, except for at an opening at the far end where the candles formed a small path pointing towards double wooden doors. An iron spike was driven into the floor at each of the five points of the pentagram. A white candle topped each spike. She signaled for her two youngest sisters to light the candles.

The ceremony was never easy, even after so many years. But it was necessary. They had talked, the five sisters, on occasion of stopping the sacrifices, but that’s all it was: talk. They knew that they never would, no matter the cost.

When the candles had been lit, the eldest nodded that they were ready to begin. The two youngest stood and pulled the hoods of their red robes over their heads and walked to the heavy wooden door at the far side of the room. They removed the bar across it and pulled open the doors.

A figure in black was revealed, standing between two other red-robed figures. He was taller than they were, but his entire form was covered with loose fabric. Except for his hands, which were bound in front of him with rope. The two red-clad figures grabbed his arms and led him forward to the center of the circle, the two youngest moving the candles onto the circle behind him.

The eldest stepped forward, placing her hand on the hood over the figure’s head. This was the worst part, the realization of the betrayal in the eyes as the hood was removed. But it was too late to stop.

“Goddess,” she intoned, “we have once more gathered to offer sacrifice, the blood of one of our own. May you find our offering worthy, and grant us the youth, beauty, and eternal life that we have enjoyed for so many centuries, purchased with the youth, beauty, and life of one of our own. As ordained, on the twentieth anniversary of his birth, we sacrifice to you, oh Goddess, my son.”

She removed the hood at this, revealing the boy’s handsome face, his eyes startled. The drugs were still affecting him, his mind slow to grasp what was happening. He stared at his mother, her eyes staring out at him from under her red hood. The sisters removed the robe that covered him, and he blushed as he stared down at his naked body, covering his genitals with his bound hands. His hair was long now, down to his shoulders, and his body lean and muscular.

Turning away from him, she grabbed a torch and touched it to the coals laid in the trough of the altar. Flames sprang up, and crackling sparks rose to the ceiling. She turned back to her son and, with a sharp knife, cut the ropes that bound his wrists.

“Bind him down,” she commanded, and her sisters grabbed the drugged boy and laid him on his back. He struggled a bit, uncertain as to what was happening, but ropes were tied around his wrists and ankles and his limbs spread wide as they were bound tightly to four of the spikes. The eldest walked around to her son’s head and placed a simple noose around his neck, tying it to the spike at the top of the pentagram. When they were done, the sacrifice was secured in the center of the pentagram, surrounded by candles and ready for the ritual.

As high priestess, it was the mother’s duty to go first. She stripped off her robe and stepped into the circle, the eyes of her son on her. She was beautiful, she knew, but there was always some resistance from the sacrificial victim. Her son tried to cry out, but a gag was thrust into his mouth by one of his aunts. The eldest knelt between her son’s legs and took his genitals in her hand, massaging and stroking them until her unwilling victim responded. He tried desperately to pull on his bonds now, the drugs wearing off so that he was no longer the compliant victim that had walked into the chamber moments before. The bonds held, and she took his cock in her mouth.

She stroked herself as she sucked his cock, though she needed very little to get herself wet. His beautiful bound body was enough on its own, and his frantic struggles only increased her desire. She removed her mouth from his cock and sat up, placing her hand on his belly as it rose and fell with his frantic breaths. Wordlessly she slid onto him, feeling him inside her, his traitorous cock responding to her in spite of his revulsion. His face reddened as he struggled, the noose around his neck pulling tighter.

He came, screaming behind his gag, his semen exploding in her and starting the cycle all over again. As he had been conceived by his predecessor on the day of her previous sacrifice, so her next sacrifice was being conceived. Another beautiful boy, another offering to the Goddess to secure her own youth and beauty.

She leaned forward and removed the gag, kissing him on the lips before he could say anything. His heart beat hard in his chest, and she laid her head down against it, listening to the strong beat. Pumping his youth and vigor through his body. Soon it would be hers.

She moved off him, then, giving her sisters their turn with the victim. The second oldest moved into the circle and fondled his spent cock, slowly coaxing it back to life as the victim once again pulled at his bindings. She watched his face, the fear and humiliation battling with the intense pleasure.

Kneeling at his head, she stroked his hair and his face as her sister [email protected] him, shushing him when he tried to cry out in protest. She loosened the noose a couple of times when it tightened too much and threatened to cut the ritual short. As each sister took her turn, she whispered in his ear that he was a good boy and that it would all be over soon.

When they were done, they donned their robes again as the victim laid exhausted on the floor. The four younger sisters took vials of consecrated oil and poured it on his skin, anointing his flesh. The eldest took a knife and knelt once more at the head of her son, setting the knife down beside her and cradling his head in her hands. He stared up at her with fearful eyes.

“We thank you, Goddess, for the gifts that you have bestowed on us,” she prayed, “and return to you this most precious gift, this c h i l d of my womb, this boy who is now a man. We offer up his beauty, his youth, his vigor, and his life. His body shall be a burnt offering on your altar, and his soul shall be your slave for eternity. I give this offering to you most willingly, this son that I have loved.”

She leaned over and kissed his forehead, then laid his head back on the floor. Picking up the knife, she raised it above him as he stared at it in terror. But she placed it against his forehead, combing back his long hair with her free hand. Slowly she placed the blade against his scalp and began to shave off his hair. She lifted the first lock and placed it on a gold platter that the second oldest sister held.

“We take from him his hair as a symbol of his beauty,” the eldest droned as she continue to shave his head, “and offer it to you.”

She worked slowly and carefully, gently maneuvering his head until his head was shorn and the platter was piled high with his dark locks. He had closed his eyes as she had shaved him, but looked up at his aunt with the platter, wondering what next they would take from him.

The eldest stood and took the tray from her sister, carrying it over to the altar. As she grabbed the locks of hair and dropped them into the fire, she chanted, “His beauty for our beauty.”

Moving into the circle, the eldest sister knelt beside her son’s outstretched arm. His wrist was rubbed raw by the rope, and she glanced into his anxious eyes as she placed the blade of the knife against the skin of his arm.

She cut along the blue vein, from his wrist to his elbow, as he writhed in pain. Setting the knife down, she leaned forward and lapped at the blood with her tongue. The second oldest handed her another gold tray, which she placed beneath his arm to catch the dripping blood.

“We take from him his blood as a symbol of his youth and offer it to you.”

She moved to his left arm and cut that as well, and the second eldest moved the tray under his arm. The sisters lapped at the blood while allowing enough to drip into the tray. The young man writhed in pain and humiliation, keenly aware of his mother’s eyes constantly on him.

Once again, the eldest sister carried the tray of blood and took it to the altar, spilling the blood into the fire. “His youth for our youth.”

She turned and stared down at the sacrifice, his head shorn, blood still dripping from his arms. One of her sisters handed her the knife as she stepped into circle and knelt between her son’s legs. A tray was placed beneath his genitals, nestled against the bottom of his buttocks.

“No!” he cried out, his eyes wide, but a gag was quickly thrust between his teeth by one of the sisters. None of them wanted to hear his screams, but the next part was crucial to the ritual. The eldest massaged his cock again, the boy writhing in terror and humiliation, until she felt him stiffen. She sucked his erect cock, bringing him close to orgasm once more. When she felt his body buck, she removed her mouth from his cock and placed the blade of the knife beneath his genitals.

“We take from him his genitals as a symbol of his vigor and offer them to you.”

Quickly she sliced through the scrotum, his cock throbbing, his head thrown back as much as his prone position would allow. The scream was muffled by the gag.

As she dropped his severed balls onto the tray, she quickly grabbed his erect cock and sliced it off in one smooth motion. Again, he screamed behind his gag, his body struggling against his tight bindings. Blood poured from the wound between his legs. The eldest lifted the tray and took it to the altar, grabbing the bloody genitals and dropping them into the fire. “His vigor for our vigor.”

When she turned back to her son, his head had fallen to the side, his eyes half-closed. He was going into shock. She knelt at his head again, removing the gag and cradling his shaved head in her hands as the two youngest sisters placed a long grate over the trough of the altar fire. The other two sisters cut the ropes that bound his legs to the spikes. Bringing them together, they carefully wound leather straps around the boy’s legs, securing them tightly together. His wrists were freed next, his arms brought to his side, his wrists tied together on his stomach. More leather enlaced his torso, the straps criss-crossing his body. Even bloody and mutilated he looked beautiful.

When he was securely bound, the four sisters lined up, two on each side of the sacrifice. They reached under him, sliding their hands beneath his body until they were able to clasps wrists with the opposite sister. As they lifted the sacrifice, the eldest continued to cradle his head, her eyes staring down into his, still aware yet of what was happening to him. Slowly they moved him towards the altar, stopping before it. The eldest knew that her son could feel the heat of the fire, his glazed eyes registering the next torture that his body would endure.

“We take from him his life and offer it to you, Goddess. My most precious gift, this beautiful son that has been my joy for twenty years.” She stared into his face as she intoned the words. “I give him to you now, as your slave for all eternity, and in exchange for my own life.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead one last time. “I give you my son.”

The sisters lifted him and raised him onto the grate over the fire with smooth, practiced moves. They had done this so many times. The boy moaned in pain and writhed as he felt the flames on his backside, but his body was too weak to struggle much. As the other four sisters stepped back, the eldest stayed beside her son, staring into his face as the fire grew higher and began to burn his flesh. When the moment was right, she held out her hand, and the second eldest handed her the knife.

Raising the knife over her head, she plunged downward in a swift, strong move, plunging the knife into her son’s chest. His body bucked at the latest violence done to it, and he coughed up blood as she cut into his chest. She reached her hand into the wound, and staring into her son’s eyes, she grasped the still-beating heart. She held it in her hand for a second, feeling the strength that still coursed through it despite the body dying around it, then pulled it from his chest.

“His life for our lives,” she chanted as the heart gave a few more beats before she dropped it into the fire.

The boy was dead now, but she stared down into his face for several long moments, his eyes wide in fear, his mouth contorted in pain. Flames blistered and charred his fair skin. Finally she stepped away and joined her sisters before the altar, and they watched as the sacrifice was consumed by the fire.

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