by Tomoko Kaiawate
(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/254133.html)
The massive stone doors crashed shut with the ponderous thud of a young girl’s fate being sealed. Mitsuo took a few slow, calming breaths, attempting to slow her racing heart. To think, of all the young maidens in the village, she was the one chosen for the ritual. It had been going on for centuries, a dark and secret rite never spoken of with outsiders. It was true that harvests were bountiful, that the village was safe, that natural disaster never befell… but in exchange…
The young shrine maiden shivered and gathered her white and red vestments more closely about her heaving bosom. In the dim light of the sacrificial chamber, she could catch just a hint of movement beyond her vision, and her ears picked up a sort of sound… a deep, unsteady breathing, like the panting of a madman slowed down and played back.
“H-h… hello? I… I…” Her voice quavered and broke just a little, a flush coming to her cheeks. “I come to offer myself as sacrifice!”
The words rang off the stone walls in piping alto tones, and were quickly answered by a vaguely aquatic-sounding growl.
“Sacrifice, hmm? Come into the light… let us… let us have a look…” The voice was so deep and echoing, Mitsuo could feel the vibrations within her chest. It was strikingly, horrifyingly inhuman, at once stroking the low notes of the scale and tickling the higher pitches, a voice of many genders and yet no gender. The voice, in short, of a monster.
Quivering, the maiden climbed to her feet and stepped more fully into the pool of filtered glow in the center of the room. Long black hair was bound up in a traditional red bow atop her head, her slender limbs and fertile curves shrouded modestly in a shrine-maiden’s vestments. Her feet however were bare, symbolic of her inability to escape, and the rough stone floor, patched and varicolored with stains whose origin… suffice it to say, her feet were cold.
As she presented herself for inspection, a questing tentacle emerged from the darkness. Its bulbous misshapen length glistened cruelly in the diffuse light, trailing strands and streamers of mucous to the floor below. It moved in heaves and jerks, as though only semi-prehensile, and its bulbous tip was decidedly phallic in its acorn-swell, knobbed and ridged with merciless protrusions. She felt her knees knock together as this monstrous extremity squirmed toward her, sweaty palms wiping urgently at the panels of her chaste uniform.
“So… this is my… sacrifice… hmm?” The demonic voice rang out again as the tentacle rose from the floor to nose questingly at the ankle-length hem of her robes.
“I… well… yes, Great One. I… I was chosen for this… this… fate…” Tears bunched in the corners of Mitsuo’s eyes as an errant coil of tentacle slapped, warm and wet, across the top of one bare foot as the tumescent tip prodded at the far ankle hem of her skirt. Her fingers convulsed on the garment and tugged downward at it, as though to repulse the inhuman advance. She could see further motion, out beyond the edge of the light. Faint shimmers of reflection of slime hints of noisome movement, and the dread coils of… countless more tentacles teased the edge of her vision.
Mitsuo’s thoughts bent inexorably toward her fate. While the ritual was meant to be a secret, there were still rumors, tales. It was said that the sacrifice was not a mortal one. No matter how desperate, the honor of her people would never permit them to send a young girl to her death. The pact specified the offering of a young maiden. A virtuous, beautiful young girl.. For a bitter moment, Mitsuo felt she might be flattered by her election, if she were not consumed with fearful thoughts of those squirming tentacles.
She gave a breathless gasp as the questing tentacle slithered beneath the hem of her robe and smeared thick slime against her ankle as it rubbed against her soft skin. A deep shiver travelled up from the base of her spine as goosebumps sprang forth along her leg, tracing with lightning pace the likely path of the monster’s salacious advance up her calf, behind her knee, over her thigh, and…
“So, in this ritual, we are going to…” The voice of many tones sounded almost… hesitant, albeit in a deep and bestial way.
Mitsuo paused her fearful imaginings, taken aback by the querulous tone. “My, em… my virtue is to be offered up, to slake your divine and monstrous… lusts…” She squirmed, feeling the tentacle tense up against its ankle, pausing its slow wrap.
“Oh you mean… I just assumed it would be, you know… prayers of appeasement. Maidenly songs extolling my dark virtues. Maybe a nice fruit platter?” The demon’s voice had taken a rather naive tone despite the multi-octave range of its haunting register.
“Oh heavens no! We offer those things at seasonal festivals all the time. The… Offering only comes once a decade. But surely you… this pact has existed between our people and your malevolence for hundreds of years! Have you not, you know… have not countless maidens come before?”
There was a sound that almost… It couldn’t be, but it almost sounded like an embarrassed snort. “Well you see, I, erm… I am but newly hatched these last hundred years. This… this is my first Offering. I have only recently assumed the role of guardian for your village. So you really, are here for me to, erm…”
The tentacle resumed its wrapping around her ankle with an almost adolescent eagerness, blazing a slimy slug-trail across her goose-pimpled flesh as it turned around her leg, and again. It paused at the ribboned garter wrapped around her thigh, squeezing its interloping mass beneath the frilled fabric and stretching it until it tore dramatically, half-stuck to her leg with slime. Mitsuo gave a deep gasp, feeling the flush on her cheeks deepen yet again. For all the horror she felt, there was yet a certain fascination… She shook her head, hands flying over her mouth in silent shame.
She squealed outright as the tentacle slid over her sculpted thigh, nuzzling curiously at the quivering muscles of her pressed-together inner thighs as she sought fruitlessly to protect her maidenly treasures from its advances.
“N-n-n-no!” Her horrified shriek of modesty pealed out as the bulbous head prodded at her thighs, slowly parting them centimeter by slime-lubricated centimeter. The knurled head of the tentacle brushed across the soft and ceremonially groomed fur of her lap, protrusions bumping and grinding against the sensitive petals of her loins… and sliding right past until the tentacle-head emerged from between her thighs, poking out querulously beneath her buttocks and raising a tail-like bump in the back of her robes.
“Oh, oh that… that feels…” The monstrous voice took a strange quavering quality as the tentacle withdrew back through the clenched prison of her thighs, the incidental brushes against her womanhood raising involuntary goosebumps of a different nature as Mitsuo felt her first touch of this kind. Her mind raced, objecting squeaks deep in her throat as the tentacle slid back, bracing herself and trying to do all she could to prepare herself for the offering, to welcome this… this aberration inside her, to do all in her power to appease its hunger and keep her people safe.
With a deep, echoing groan, the monster drove its veined bulk between her thighs again, faster but with less control. There was a jerking quality to its motion as it squeezed through her legs. She began to take a certain pleasure in the stimulation, focusing on her training, focusing on the stern lectures and knowing advice from village women. She could feel herself beginning to dew up, the reactions of her body ignoring the dismay of her civilized mind. As the tentacle withdrew and poised for the third pass, she permitted her thighs to wriggle, just a bit, shifting to bring her blossom into firmer contact with the questing member, hoping to gather all the stimulation she could in preparation for… the act.
Suddenly, she felt the tentacle tense and firm up. It gave a jerk, then another… A thick, hot gout of fluid splashed between her thighs, against the back of her robe. It dribbled warmly down the backs of her knees, strung quivering opalescent rope-bridges between her legs as the tentacle bucked and spurted. The demonic voice gave a surprised whimper and the tentacle withdrew from between her legs, trailing a sheepish tail of thick inhuman semen along the floor.
Mitsuo blinked, slowly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Surely… surely that wasn’t… the completion of the rite?
“Thank you, frail human. You have… phew… you have earned your village’s bounty for the coming years. Was the mating… to your satisfaction?”
With slowly dawning comprehension, the shrine maiden hitched up her sodden robe, dipping a questing hand beneath it to scoop a generous handful of demon-seed from her thigh.
“You mean you… that was… that was it?”
With a deep slithering sound, the monster’s bulky central body oozed more fully into view. At least a half dozen tentacles protruded from it, ending in lamprey-like mouths, in probing fingers, in slime-dripping tongues, and in purely phallic protrusions. The creature blinked one massive eye, running a foot-thick rubbery tongue around its lipless maw.
“What do you mean? Was that not… was that not the act?” The multi-tone voice was surprised and hesitant, the enormous misshapen pupil dilated in surprise.
Mitsuo took a long, deep breath. She faced something of a conflict… The demon was appeased, for the moment, her obligation satisfied and her maiden virtue unsullied. But the demon could not remain ignorant of the truth forever, and were it to discover in future years what it had missed… the village’s fate could reverse in a hurry. Embarrassed, she realized that the hand beneath her robe had not emerged, was idly dragging fingertips through the cloying slime on her legs, wandering toward her slit…
She took a deep breath. Swallowed. For possibly the first time, the shrine maiden had the upper hand over the monster. She held this thought firm in mind, held her head high and proud as she unfastened her robe and leg it drop, exposing the amber curves of her ripe young body to the creature’s gaze. She began walking toward it, slowly, her hips rocking sensually with slowly mounting confidence as she felt the demon’s premature slime slide between them.
After all, it is but a boy…
“Honored demon… let me tell you about the clitoris…”
(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/254133.html)
