Sacrificed to the Demon (Beast Erotica) by Christie Sims, Alara Branwen Page A
Authors: Christie Sims, Alara Branwen
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being with someone who would love her for the rest of her life. She’d never known the joy of being there for a little one who needed her. And she’d never known the joy of feeling the caress of a man’s flesh against hers.
She felt tingles fizzle to the top of her large breasts. A melancholy smile appeared on Ayra’s face as she looked into one of the flickering flames on the wall. At least her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.
Every three years, the Order had to sacrifice a young woman to the demon that watched over the city. If they did not, plagues and pestilence would rain down on the inhabitants and destroy them all. Her death at the demon’s hand would ensure life for everyone in the village, including the wicked Theocrats that ruled the city, and the rest of the world. On top of being a mere common sacrifice, she was a virgin as well. Virgin sacrifices usually ensured not only the city’s survival, but good fortune for years to come. It was lucky they’d chosen a woman such as her — lucky for the city anyway.
Ayra looked down at her wiggling toes, and let her eyes traverse the curvatures on her cream-colored skin. Once she’d presented herself to the temple, the Order stripped her clothes, bathed her, led her to this room and tied her to a stone slab in the shape of an “X.” Her arms and legs were separated and bound against the cool stone with cold, iron chains.
The chains clanged as she tried to wiggle and get comfortable. The stone sent little chills up her spine. She chewed her plump lower lip and raised her head to stare at the dark entrance a few feet away. She was told the members of the Order would walk through that door when the ceremony was about to begin.
Her lush brown locks folded in on themselves when she rested her head against the stone headrest. The air in the small room was cool, cool enough to entice her nipples to stand erect. The coolness of the stone seemed to press into her firm buttocks and spread throughout her body. Her muscles were twitchy and restless against the smooth stone. The cold gathered into her stomach and was stirred by the fear and dread that awaited her.
Ayra didn’t know what was going to happen. She asked the Order about it, but they didn’t say. All they did was prepare her body for the ritual. Everything she’d read said the ritual required the life of the one being sacrificed, but the sources didn’t say if there’d be any pain or not. She hoped there wouldn’t be, but she had a feeling that was a false hope. She knew the Theocracy enjoyed torturing their enemies, so their demonic masters were probably just as sadistic.
She tried to think of things to take her mind off the sacrifice, but nothing would worked. She riffled through thoughts but nothing would take hold, nothing would block out her fear. Then she came across one: a memory of a summer eve six years ago.
The sun shined bright in a clear sky. It was warm, but the heat of summer hadn’t quite taken hold of the land yet. Ayra and her friends were running through the fields, outside the city, like they’d always done after they were done with their chores, when their eyes fell on a farmhand tilling soil.
He was a large man, easily a head taller than Ayra’s father, with thickly corded muscles that shimmered with sweat. His skin was darkly tanned, and the muscles on his shirtless chest rippled with each movement he made.
The girls stopped their running and watched this smoothed faced, powerful man as he went about his work. His leg muscles bulged as he guided a plow pulled by a large, brown stallion. He stared at the ground, making sure the blade cut into the soil, unaware of the gaggle of gawking 13-year-old girls watching him.
Ayra had tingly feelings before when thinking about some of the other boys she knew in the city, but thoughts of them were nothing compared to the flowing river of tingles that fell from her breasts, down through her
She felt tingles fizzle to the top of her large breasts. A melancholy smile appeared on Ayra’s face as she looked into one of the flickering flames on the wall. At least her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.
Every three years, the Order had to sacrifice a young woman to the demon that watched over the city. If they did not, plagues and pestilence would rain down on the inhabitants and destroy them all. Her death at the demon’s hand would ensure life for everyone in the village, including the wicked Theocrats that ruled the city, and the rest of the world. On top of being a mere common sacrifice, she was a virgin as well. Virgin sacrifices usually ensured not only the city’s survival, but good fortune for years to come. It was lucky they’d chosen a woman such as her — lucky for the city anyway.
Ayra looked down at her wiggling toes, and let her eyes traverse the curvatures on her cream-colored skin. Once she’d presented herself to the temple, the Order stripped her clothes, bathed her, led her to this room and tied her to a stone slab in the shape of an “X.” Her arms and legs were separated and bound against the cool stone with cold, iron chains.
The chains clanged as she tried to wiggle and get comfortable. The stone sent little chills up her spine. She chewed her plump lower lip and raised her head to stare at the dark entrance a few feet away. She was told the members of the Order would walk through that door when the ceremony was about to begin.
Her lush brown locks folded in on themselves when she rested her head against the stone headrest. The air in the small room was cool, cool enough to entice her nipples to stand erect. The coolness of the stone seemed to press into her firm buttocks and spread throughout her body. Her muscles were twitchy and restless against the smooth stone. The cold gathered into her stomach and was stirred by the fear and dread that awaited her.
Ayra didn’t know what was going to happen. She asked the Order about it, but they didn’t say. All they did was prepare her body for the ritual. Everything she’d read said the ritual required the life of the one being sacrificed, but the sources didn’t say if there’d be any pain or not. She hoped there wouldn’t be, but she had a feeling that was a false hope. She knew the Theocracy enjoyed torturing their enemies, so their demonic masters were probably just as sadistic.
She tried to think of things to take her mind off the sacrifice, but nothing would worked. She riffled through thoughts but nothing would take hold, nothing would block out her fear. Then she came across one: a memory of a summer eve six years ago.
The sun shined bright in a clear sky. It was warm, but the heat of summer hadn’t quite taken hold of the land yet. Ayra and her friends were running through the fields, outside the city, like they’d always done after they were done with their chores, when their eyes fell on a farmhand tilling soil.
He was a large man, easily a head taller than Ayra’s father, with thickly corded muscles that shimmered with sweat. His skin was darkly tanned, and the muscles on his shirtless chest rippled with each movement he made.
The girls stopped their running and watched this smoothed faced, powerful man as he went about his work. His leg muscles bulged as he guided a plow pulled by a large, brown stallion. He stared at the ground, making sure the blade cut into the soil, unaware of the gaggle of gawking 13-year-old girls watching him.
Ayra had tingly feelings before when thinking about some of the other boys she knew in the city, but thoughts of them were nothing compared to the flowing river of tingles that fell from her breasts, down through her
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