by Cortez. All rights reserved.
They met on the edge of the jungle. Behind them, the Temple of Anthor caught the light of the setting sun, bathing the roofs and decorated columns with the color of blood. The girl had heard the whispers, heard how she might be the next one to become a screaming sacrifice for Anthors cruel appetite for the agonies of young women. She embraced her lover, a last urgent coupling before they fled into the darkness.
СYes, yes, now please, now! she screamed into her bundled clothes as Tamuls thick, oily cock slid up into her body. Her fingernails raked the young warriors back and her slim brown legs clamped round his waist as she rode the fleshy spear of his manhood. Spurred by the pain of her long nails, Tamul used his own powerful hands to press and maul the heavy globes of her breasts, his fingers rolling the thick hard stubs of her nipples so that the girl arched and twisted in delight at the sensations shooting through her body.
She forced the wet material harder into her mouth, trying to muffle the noise of her excitement as her muscular lovers driving strokes brought her, all too quickly, to a shattering orgasm. The threat of discovery, and the agonies that would surely follow, only heightened the excitement as she continued to ride his thick penis unmercifully, her own bucking thrusts forcing him over the brink to a jerking, thrusting climax that filled her cunt with warm jets of fluid, his fingers twisting and pinching her rigid nipples as the spasms of release finally gripped him as well.
She felt his softening shaft slipping free, then, without warning, his strong arms tightened, pressing inwards so she could hardly breathe or struggle. Holding her captive, Tamul called out, his voice ringing round the jungle clearing. To her horror, the girl heard the soft voice of Mordal, Chief of the dreaded Priests of Anthor replying from the tangled vegetation behind her. СCongratulations, Tamul, this one will make a fine and noisy sacrifice. She heard the soft chink of coins. СHere, take this, the sum as we agreed. You may go tell your guard commander nothing of this nights work. If he asks you were on Temple business and may not speak of it
Tamul released his hold and the girl stumbled forwards before feeling the bite of thin rawhide cords clamping her wrists together behind her. Strong, harsh fingers dug into her upper arms, as the priests forced her round. In the flaring blood-red light of the setting sun, she looked up into Mordals hollowed, skull-like face. She shivered, gazing helplessly into the cruel, pitiless stare of his unblinking eyes. He stood motionless beside the narrow path, the soft dark robes and silver circlet with Anthors snakes head sign on his brow adding to his aura of power and cruel command.
Signaling for the prisoner to be brought forward, he reached out, palms upwards until he could caress the firm globes of the trembling girls breasts with long, bony fingers. He smiled coldly as his nails traced the marks left by Tamuls excitement, the smile deepening with awful promise as he pinched each swollen tip, forcing the girl to writhe against the hands that held her.
The Chief Priest slowly traced one hand down the smooth moisture of his prisoners dark copper skin until his forefinger could slide between the wet lips of her sex, teasing into the opening of her vagina so that the girl hissed and surged at the ecstasy of contact so soon after her climax. Mordal worked his finger deeper into her body, enjoying the frantic writhing of his prisoner before holding his hand, now glistening with the mingled fluids of their bodies, in front of her face, before rubbing his thumb deliberately to and fro against the wetness.
His voice was low, gentle with the hint of the agony to come. СAs I thought young and thick with juice Anthor will enjoy your body as you writhe in the ecstasy of his embrace С He gestured to the guards. СBring her!
Blackness descended as a thick cloak was thrown over the girls head then she felt herself being lifted, the breath knocked from her lungs as she was thrown unceremoniously across a guards shoulder. Long, uncomfortable minutes later the jolting discomfort stopped and there was the thud of thick doors closing. More passages, smooth and well paved, then she was set down roughly and the cloak was pulled away. The girl looked round blinking, naked and trembling with fear, in the inner chamber of the temple.
She moaned softly as the torchlight revealed this most secret place; a place where no ordinary citizen was ever permitted. The stone walls, decorated with signs and images of Anthor, soared up until they were lost in the darkness. Archways pierced the walls at interval, and between each one a great torch burned and flared.
On a low platform, Anthors statue gazed down across the marble floor. Taller than life, the body was carved in the likeness of a man. The god was seated on a short pillar, legs astride and arms curved out, forming a circle in the air as though to embrace a lover. The emerald eyes of Anthors cobra head blazed down over the detail of the carved muscular body to the V of the statues hips from where a bronze phallus arched up, wrist thick and an arm span long, jutting obscenely from the groin of the black, basalt statue.
In the light of the flaring torches and the ominous glow of charcoal braziers, the statue seemed to flex and move, almost as though Anthor was eager to embrace the next victim to be placed astride the massive bronze phallus. The master carvers had even recreated the pattern of scars and raised ridges of the ceremonial tattooing across the statues chest, the swirling designs circling and emphasizing each flat nipple.
Set before the statue in the middle of the floor a single, curved shape rose from the stone flags. Standing about waist high and made of dark red, polished granite it looked, from the side, like a quarter of some giant wheel. As she was pushed closer and saw the front edge, the girl saw that the whole stone tapered. The base, where it arced up from the stone slabs, was over a shoulder span wide but the top was barely a hands width across.
With rough speed they made her sit astride the smooth red curve whilst the leather strap was unwound from her wrists. Then she was pressed down, forced to spread her thighs wider and wider until she was straddled against the stone on her knees, her legs pressed back along its base on either side. She faced the statue, spread before it as though offering her self for Anthors cruel attentions
One of the guards stood in front of her and shoved her head backwards with his outspread hand. Nula was pressed irresistibly against the smoothly curved surface, her body arcing backwards like a bow until she was staring up, gazing back into the green crystal eyes of the god before her on the dais. Once again, she felt the harsh bite of rawhide on her wrists, then her hands were pulled back and down. Immediately, her shoulders were wrenched into taut discomfort, but the full globes of her breasts, each so pointedly crowned with its thick, stubby nipple, were pushed up and outwards, just as though she was offering them to Anthor for some special attention.
Her wrists secure, the guards lashed each knee hard against the base of the carved stone and she was left alone, opened and pinned like some specimen, waiting for her fate. As she waited, trembling and wet with fear, the priests filed in from the arched openings around the chamber, each one gazing at the firm lush body of the young girl strapped to the Stone of Torment each one eager for the ceremony to begin
Mordal clapped his hands and a girl appeared, very slim and small breasted, her dark brown body completely naked apart from a thin cord round her hips that held a soft black leather pouch cupped over the bulge of her sex. СPrepare her, he commanded quietly, Сlet her sing to Anthor first.
The priestess bowed once before moving to the stone and bending down to smooth the hair away from the girls face. Her fingers touched the outthrust globes of the girls jutting breasts very gently. She smiled, licking her lips with excitement. The feather caresses tickled the smooth curves as she teased the sensitive under flesh before moving to circle the thick stubby nipples.
СOh, oh yes, please touch them, please the girl whispered, her voice carrying clearly to the watching circle of priests. They could see the girl lifting herself against the straps, suddenly desperate that the priestess should play with the sensitive peaks themselves. Then, she groaned in pleasure as she got her wish. The girls lips closed over the tip of her right breast and she felt the tugging suction and the flickering delight of an expert tongue against her nipple. After a minute the priestess moved across to her left breast and the girl began to pant softly as the priestesss touch continued to arouse her body.
The young priestess suddenly stopped and looked into the girls longing eyes. She twisted the hard, glistening peaks to and fro, smiling as she ran the pointed tip of her tongue over her lips. One of the priests walked forwards, bowing to the statue as he handed her a clay bowl and a small brush
The priestess paused, looked down at the glistening, rigid tips of the girls breasts, a cruel delight in her eyes as she showed the girl the fine brown powder in the bowl. Seeing the confusion in the pinioned girls eyes, the priestess smiled again and started rubbing the coarse stubby bristles to and fro over her nipples and the wide circle of each surrounding aureole. СAh, ah p-please, Aaaaah! The cries were forced from the young girls throat as the bristles burned and scratched against the tender tissues. As the careful torment continued, the priestess dipped her head every so often, once more licking each increasingly sore peak back to gleaming wetness before swirling the brush across the rigid tips to drag another scream from her victim.
After five minutes that left the girl panting and gasping with a mixture of arousal and pain, the priestess lifted the bowl before coating the now-moist bristles with the brown powder. From the darkness a drum began a slow, deep beat, almost like a giant pulse throbbing through the temple. Around the writhing girl the priests began a soft, wordless chant The priestess straddled the girls body, pressing herself sensuously against the moist olive skin rubbing the soft leather cup that concealed her sex slowly up and down the curve of the girls belly.
Almost dreamily and keeping up the gentle movement of her hips in time with the drum, the priestess began to paint the girls prominent aureoles and the wet, turgid nipples with the powder. She kept dipping the brush back in the bowl, coating the sensitive peaks, and watching the young girls increasing discomfort as the powder began its work.
СNow feel as your pleasure becomes pain. That powder is ground from the seeds of the finest chili peppers. Let Anthor hear your agony as the sacred powder scorches your body Mordals voice was thick with anticipation as he whispered in the pinioned girls ear
The girl shuddered, feeling the first heat as a gentle throbbing itch. The itching built up until she was working her shoulders to and fro, trying to jiggle her breasts, trying to do anything to relieve the growing burning sensation. Within a few moments the itch had become a fire and the sweat was running off her forehead as the burning agony increased.
СAh, ah, ah, ah, oh no, no please, it burns, please ah no, no p-p-please! the scream echoed round the chamber as the chanting increased in volume.
The girls frantic cries rose over the chant as the fiery chili powder scorched the sensitive peaks of her breasts. After five minutes she was shaking so much that her breasts were bouncing and swinging uncontrollably as she cried and babbled at the scalding pain. The priestess pressed harder against the girls heaving belly, letting the her agonized movements stimulate her own pleasure by working the soft leather against her naked labia.
Mordal signaled and two priests ran forwards, each one kneeling by the side of the stone to cradle one of the girls breasts, holding the soft, hot globe quite still so that the priestess could work on the nipple again, each one now swollen to almost twice its size, brushing another layer of the fiery powder over the tortured nerves of each fleshy tip.
The girl squealed helplessly as the chili powder burned into flesh already agonizingly raw and tender. As the girl surged and bucked beneath her, the priestesss breathing became a harsh panting, her own mouth hanging slack with arousal as the demented movements of the girl on the stone served to work her towards her own peak
Long, screaming minutes passed as the girl writhed and babbled.
A single clap of Mordals hands silenced the drum and the chanting. The priestess and her helpers scramble away from the stone, leaving the girl twisting and crying alone as the fiery powder burned against the bulbous, swollen tips of her breasts. Mordal bent over the heaving body strapped helplessly to the red stone. СAh, thats good, very good. Now prepare yourself to tell Anthor of the ecstasy of your pain
СAh, AAAAHHH! Noooooo, no, oh pleeeease! ARRRGH!
Mordal smiled as he watched the girls head lift, her eyes wide with pain and astonishment as she studied the bulging, and swollen peaks of her breasts. She shuddered and gasped with the shock of sensation as he used a fleeting touch of his fingertips against the hot, tender flesh. СThat was nothing nothing at all. You have merely been prepared you for what is to come, he whispered. СNow we can begin. He clapped again.
The girl searched wildly in the darkness of the chamber, screaming out as she saw the man step forward, a thin cane in his hand. Slim but heavily muscled, he was naked, apart from a white loincloth. In the torchlight his body shone with oil. Like the priests, his face was almost expressionless but the girl saw the pitiless look of cruelty and enjoyment in his black, slanted eyes, as he studied her arched body, especially the full globes of her breasts and their swollen red peaks thrust outwards and ready for his skilled attentions.
Mordal smiled down at the girl on the stone, watching her hissing intake of breath as the man gently tapped the very tips of her swollen teats with the cane, the split ends of the bamboo making a soft clicking noise as he teased each nipple in turn.
He bowed to the statue lifting his arms in salute. СMighty Anthor, accept our offering
The man took his position at the side of the stone, lifted his arm and flicked the bamboo across the bulbous tips of the girls breasts. She gasped, taken by surprise at the sharpness of feeling as the split ends nipped and teased the newly tender flesh of her aureoles. She had no chance to adjust to the sudden pain because he was using the cane like a willow wand. With expert movements of his wrist and arm he flicked a continuous rain of strokes across her nipples so that they bounced and vibrated as the knife-like bamboo slivers began to flay the skin away from the tip of each one in turn.
СN-N-N-noooooo! Ah, AAARRRGH, no, stop, stop IIIIIIEEEEEH!
The girl screamed in agony as the rapid, flickering blows turned each nipple into a red blazing hell of raw nerves. After a minute or so, the priestess knelt by the girls head, holding her shoulders still to deny her even that small mercy of movement as the flaying continued. Apart from the girls animal squeals, the only sound in the chamber was the rapid Сwick, wick, wick, wick tattoo of the bamboo cane and the creaking of the leather ties as the young girls body bucked and surged uselessly against her bonds.
Within ten minutes the girls cries had become a series of hoarse, choking grunts, the peak of each breast swollen even more, each nipple left peeled and raw by the mans devilish skill. Mordal raised his hand and relentless rhythmic beating stopped. The girls head flopped back against the stone, her chest heaving as she tried to suck enough air into her aching lungs.
СAh, ah, mercy, Lord, please mercy. Youll kill me, please mercy The girl babbled the words out, eyes searching for any sign of pity from her torturers. She wailed as she saw the hot eager expressions on the priests faces and the cold cruelty of Mordals features, a half-smile playing across his thin lips as he listened to her feeble protests.
He brought another scream from the girl as he touched the raw, red bulb of her nipple, sliding his fingertip across the wet flesh so that she shivered and twitched in remembered agony. He caressed her sweat-stained face. СNow you are ready, ready to become the bride of Anthor
СPlease, please youve hurt me enough, please let me go, please Ill do anything, anything at all
СHurt you enough? Mordals voice was almost a chuckle. СOh dear, you have no idea, no idea at all Watch as they prepare your saddle
As he spoke, Nula felt the ties holding her wrists being loosened. After so long in one position, cramp had set in and she screamed in agony as the priests brought her arms up, lifting her upper body away from the stone so she could look directly at the statue.
Two more priestesses, like the first quite naked except for a waist string holding a soft leather cup between their thighs, were kneeling on either side of the statue, their hands slick with oil as they stroked and caressed the gods massive bronze phallus. The girl whimpered as she watched the simulated masturbation, knowing that they were readying the shaft for her own impalement.
Then the priestess began stroking and tickling the split bulge of her cunt, skillfully teasing and arousing her helpless victim so that the girl felt the growing wetness as her body betrayed her to the priestesss sure touch.
The grip on each arm tightened as the girl wriggled, hips bucking uncontrollably as the priestess opened her body still further, one finger slipping up into the moist heat of her vagina before fondling the inner lips again. She used two fingers, curling them round deep inside the girls body to stroke that secret place that holds such pleasure for a woman.
СAh, no, no, Ah, oh AH, AH, AH, Yes, please, yes, YES!
The girl surged to and fro against the straps and the priests hands, clenching her buttocks to drive her hips forwards against those clever fingers. Now the blazing pain in her breasts was adding to the storm of feeling as the little priestess deliberately masturbated the girl towards a peak.
Just as the girls rhythmic grunts and bucking hips began to signal her approaching climax, the priestess sat back on her haunches and bowed to Mordal. At his signal, she used a little jeweled knife to cut the ties holding the girl to the stone, the priests dragged the shuddering girl forwards and the drum sounded once more, beating a faster and more urgent rhythm as the moment of final sacrifice approached.
The circle of watching, white-robed figures gave a single cry as the two men swung the girl high in the air, hands guiding her legs inside the statues circling arms until she stood on the carved thighs of the god himself, the great bronze phallus reaching almost to the girls trembling knees as she struggled in the relentless grip of the guard-priests.
Each man gripped one of the girls ankles whilst the two priestesses held the girls hands locked behind her, steadying her body for the final stage. The four torturers waited, eyes turned to the Chief Priest for the signal to begin the sacrifice. The girls head flailed wildly as she twisted and turned against the hands that held her upright. She pressed back against the stone circle of the statues arms in a desperate attempt to keep her tortured breasts from touching the rough, sharp ridges of the carved ceremonial scars that covered the massive chest.
Mordal lifted his hands and the chanting of the encircling priests rose once again, their voices adding to the thick urgency of the drumbeat. Lifting his eyes to the cobra head of Anthor, he clapped once and the priests pulled the girls ankles apart, but letting her down so slowly so that all could see the slick bronze head of the gods phallus spreading the girls labia and pressing against the moist opening of her body.
The girl reared back, her mouth open in an O of astonishment and horror as her slow impalement began. At each side the priestesses held her upright, twisting her hands behind her as the men let her sink down onto the blunt, bronze stake.
СUH! UH! UH! Oh, oh. ARRRGGGGGGHHHHH!
The increasing gasps of terror told the watchers of the girls desperation as she tried to cope with the relentless stretching pain as the massive bronze glands sank deeper and deeper. Then she jerked, jolting upright with every muscle taut with agony as the first scream rang out, wild and inhuman, forced from her by the sudden shock of the massive bulb popping through the entrance to her vagina. That scream acted as signal, silencing the drums and chanting. The circle of priests drew closer, drinking in the girls agonized grunting
СNuh, nuh, nuh, NUH, NO, NO, NOOOOoooooooo!
Now came the slow refinement of her torture. Positioned on either side of the statue was a tower of flat clay tiles. With the glands inside her cunt, the impalement was deep enough for the priests to guide her scrabbling feet until she was posed, arched up on tiptoe, resting precariously astride the statue on the two towers of tiles. They watched as she fought against the slow descent, thighs and buttocks straining to clench against the metal shaft, calves quivering with the effort of holding herself on tiptoe, anything to hold that thick column from slipping, fraction by fraction, up into her body.
The priests released her ankles, knowing that she could no longer free her self from the gods phallus. They stepped back, leaving the girl braced back against the circling arms desperately holding herself up from sinking further down the bronze shaft that had stretched her flesh beyond her wildest nightmares.
The two priestesses now added the final torment by taking the ends of the girls wrist ties round the back of the statue. As they pulled the thin leather thongs taut, the girls arms came up and forwards. To the watching circle it seemed as though the straining figure was reaching forwards, embracing the god in her ecstasy. A high keening wail of agony sounded in the chamber as her flayed nipples scraped and scratched against the stone ridges and scars on the statues torso marks carved and placed deliberately to catch and tear the flayed and tender flesh of each new sacrifice.
Mordal lifted his hand; fingers outspread twice to signal the first ten strokes as the whipmaster stepped forwards once more, his cane ready. The girl, posed like an oiled statue herself, spread legged on tiptoe astride the shining bronze shaft, cried out in futile protest as she felt the gentle aiming taps of the cane across her smooth rounded bottom.
СArrrggghhh! No, no, please, no, no! The girl squealed, jolting on the shaft so that it moved within her, the first stripe from the split bamboo slicing across the quivering cheeks.
СThwack! the second blow had a flatter sound as the split ends of the cane landed across the soft sensitive crease at the top of her thighs.
СNo, NO! NO! NOOOOoooooooo! The girl squealed, trying to move and ease the burning sting of the caning whilst remaining on tiptoe. Mordal saw the first smear of redness on the statues chest where her raw nipples had been forced against the carved stone by the agony of the caning.
Ten strokes brought the girl to a new pitch of anguish, screaming and surging, working her body unavoidably up and down the bronze shaft as she writhed with the pain of the beating. Mordal signaled to the guard priests and they knelt by the side of the statue. As the caning reached the tenth stroke they waited for the inevitable dancing, hopping movement of the girls feet and then pulled the first of the thick flat, ochre colored tiles from the pile beneath each foot.
The girl screamed in a deeper agony as she felt the bronze shaft sinking further into her body. Her toes scrabbled madly, seeking a new purchase, anything at all to hold her up for just a little longer. Behind her, Mordal waited for the frantic twitching to calm down then held up his hand, fingers spread once, then once more the cane whistled through the hot, thick air as the first of the next ten strokes sliced across the red weals of the girls bottom.
Beside the statue, the two guard priests waited impassively. Mordal smiled as he watched the girl bucking and screaming in her endless torment, he had been right she was truly a lover worthy of Anthor.
As the last of the strokes landed, he signaled for the next tablet to be removed. The screams reached an even higher pitch of agony as the girl now felt the great curved bulb of the bronze penis thrusting hard against the very mouth of her cervix.
Mordal lifted his hand, fingers signaling the next ten strokes, and the wet Сthwack of the cane sounded again.
He looked at the demented girl hearing her animal squeals as she embraced Anthors image so agonizingly. Mordal knew that there were still nine more tiles to remove from each side. He wonderedhow many more would this one survive?