Sacrificed to the Demon (Beast Erotica) by Christie Sims, Alara Branwen Page B
Authors: Christie Sims, Alara Branwen
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stomach and thighs when she saw that man. Her azure eyes followed him as he continued to lead the horse. His back muscles were jumbled and tight. His entire body looked like it’d been created by a master sculptor.
That night when Ayra was in the quiet of her room, she thought about the powerful man again. She imagined being pressed against his firm, muscled chest as his strong, calloused hands caressed her back. She planted small kisses along his chest as he tenderly leaned down and pressed his lips against her neck. He would take a small bite of skin between his teeth and gently suck, then work his way downward.
She then saw herself stand up on her tiptoes to give him a small kiss on the lips as his hands continued to work their way over her back. They took hold beneath her scratchy, sackcloth night shirt and raised it over her head. She moved her small hands over her breasts and pretended they were his strong, powerful palms pressed against her mammaries, and his powerful fingers stroking her nipples.
Moisture flooded into Ayra’s maidenhood, the same way it had done when she had imagined a night of passion with that farmhand six years ago.
A powerful, ringing sound of a gong shattered the stony silence of the room. There was a steady, somber sound of clicking coming down the hall. Click-clack click-clack , the rhythm echoed a foreboding song that danced merry fear in Ayra’s ears. The sounds grew ever closer until a shadow of a hooded figure appeared in the doorway.
The figure entered the room, a small man in a draping, red-hooded robe, carrying a lantern from his frail and wrinkled arm. The man started chanting in as deep and somber of a tone as his raspy, high-pitched voice could manage. Behind him came other figures, mostly men, but a few women as well, all wearing red robes and chanting in grim voices. Ayra tried to see the faces of those that came into the room, but they kept their skin hidden by their heavy clothing. Slowly the members of the Order, twenty by her count, took their places along the curvatures of the wall and continued their morbid chanting.
Once they all took their place, the members of the congregation held out their hands. Their chanting grew in volume, and the small figure held his lantern up. The small purple flame that burned inside of it flickered. It twisted and expanded into a writhing, dancing tongue inside the glass casing. The small man turned a little knob on the lantern and its glass door opened.
The flame shot out in many different directions, straight toward the robed figures, leaving behind a fading trail of purple. The flames reached the robed figures’ hands and halted. Small purple globes floated a few inches above the palms of the Order, save for the old man, who re-closed the lamp.
The old man raised his hands to the sky and his chanting grew in pitch. The other members mimicked his movements. A confusing cacophony bounced off the walls as the purple globes of flame floated toward the pentagram on the ceiling. The flames struck the symbol and filled the grooves with flame.
The chanting grew louder and the fires on the pentagram started to radiate. They slowly changed shades to orange, to blue, and as the chanting reached a crescendo, turned crimson. The tongues of flame expanded and began to cover the ceiling. Slowly it stretched across the stone, until the entire circle was hidden beneath a roaring sea of red.
The Order moved forward and closed in on the bound woman. She watched with wide eyes as they stepped forward, robes swaying to their movements. Beneath their dark hoods she could see their mouths a flash of lips and teeth. Their eyes gleamed in the red firelight. The room steadily became warmer. Ayra barely worried about the cool of the room anymore. It was becoming more temperate, about the same temperature of a nice, spring afternoon.
However instead of beautiful flowers and trees in bloom, there were red-robed
That night when Ayra was in the quiet of her room, she thought about the powerful man again. She imagined being pressed against his firm, muscled chest as his strong, calloused hands caressed her back. She planted small kisses along his chest as he tenderly leaned down and pressed his lips against her neck. He would take a small bite of skin between his teeth and gently suck, then work his way downward.
She then saw herself stand up on her tiptoes to give him a small kiss on the lips as his hands continued to work their way over her back. They took hold beneath her scratchy, sackcloth night shirt and raised it over her head. She moved her small hands over her breasts and pretended they were his strong, powerful palms pressed against her mammaries, and his powerful fingers stroking her nipples.
Moisture flooded into Ayra’s maidenhood, the same way it had done when she had imagined a night of passion with that farmhand six years ago.
A powerful, ringing sound of a gong shattered the stony silence of the room. There was a steady, somber sound of clicking coming down the hall. Click-clack click-clack , the rhythm echoed a foreboding song that danced merry fear in Ayra’s ears. The sounds grew ever closer until a shadow of a hooded figure appeared in the doorway.
The figure entered the room, a small man in a draping, red-hooded robe, carrying a lantern from his frail and wrinkled arm. The man started chanting in as deep and somber of a tone as his raspy, high-pitched voice could manage. Behind him came other figures, mostly men, but a few women as well, all wearing red robes and chanting in grim voices. Ayra tried to see the faces of those that came into the room, but they kept their skin hidden by their heavy clothing. Slowly the members of the Order, twenty by her count, took their places along the curvatures of the wall and continued their morbid chanting.
Once they all took their place, the members of the congregation held out their hands. Their chanting grew in volume, and the small figure held his lantern up. The small purple flame that burned inside of it flickered. It twisted and expanded into a writhing, dancing tongue inside the glass casing. The small man turned a little knob on the lantern and its glass door opened.
The flame shot out in many different directions, straight toward the robed figures, leaving behind a fading trail of purple. The flames reached the robed figures’ hands and halted. Small purple globes floated a few inches above the palms of the Order, save for the old man, who re-closed the lamp.
The old man raised his hands to the sky and his chanting grew in pitch. The other members mimicked his movements. A confusing cacophony bounced off the walls as the purple globes of flame floated toward the pentagram on the ceiling. The flames struck the symbol and filled the grooves with flame.
The chanting grew louder and the fires on the pentagram started to radiate. They slowly changed shades to orange, to blue, and as the chanting reached a crescendo, turned crimson. The tongues of flame expanded and began to cover the ceiling. Slowly it stretched across the stone, until the entire circle was hidden beneath a roaring sea of red.
The Order moved forward and closed in on the bound woman. She watched with wide eyes as they stepped forward, robes swaying to their movements. Beneath their dark hoods she could see their mouths a flash of lips and teeth. Their eyes gleamed in the red firelight. The room steadily became warmer. Ayra barely worried about the cool of the room anymore. It was becoming more temperate, about the same temperature of a nice, spring afternoon.
However instead of beautiful flowers and trees in bloom, there were red-robed
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