I would be led out into the warm moonlit night by a group of people, men and women. They would be excited and expectant. My clothes would be stripped from me by the gentle firm hands of those about me, the celebrants of this ancient rite. My hands would be pulled behind me and tied securely together. As we enter the sacred grove, I am led to stand under the thick branches of a huge oak. A thick soft rope is passed over a low branch and fashioned into a noose. I bow my head and submit as it is slipped over my head and tightened around my neck. Then my captors lead me to stand upon a section of log.
When I am atop it, the rope is passed over the limb, the slack taken out, and the rope made fast. I shiver, waiting. The other celebrants come forward and press against me, stroking me with their fingertips, kissing me all over, teasing me into arousal. The priestess intones the sacred words of the story, and at the high point of the ritual, the worshippers step back a step and leave me shivering in the night's gentle breeze. I feel firm hands steady in the small of my back, while someone stoops down and rolls away the log upon which I stand. I slip off and am hung!
I swing back and forth a little, toes pointed down, unable to reach the ground. The rope pulls tight about my neck, choking off my breath, and making my blood pound. I struggle helplessly, tugging at the bonds that restrain my arms. My cock surges up and waves about with my increasingly frantic struggles. My desperate kicking only draws the noose tighter. The throbbing of my cock becomes stronger, the tingling in my ass increases.
I thrust my hips forward and up and release my seed. It sprays up and arches out, landing on the dry soil. Again I spurt, spraying my chest and belly. My spasms become weaker, and my seed runs slowly down the shaft of my cock, to drip upon the dust beneath me. Now that I have given myself in this explosive sacrifice, I am swept into a roaring unconsciousness and know no more.
The village is silent as I step out of my little cottage, carefully closing the door behind me. Everyone is asleep. The full moon shines brightly in the western sky, and I can clearly see the trees of the sacred grove, about a mile away. I hesitate for a moment, but then my curiosity overcomes my fear, and I begin walking towards the grove. In a little while I reach the great oak tree, the center of our village's religious life. The moonlight streams into the deserted clearing around the tree, illuminating the naked body that hangs beneath it.
As I stand beside the massive trunk, I think back to the ritual I witnessed for the first time, just a few hours before. It had gone very well. The victim had given seed twice, and very powerfully, too; if the gods accepted the offering, the crops would be good this year. I stand there for some time, watching the hanging body as it twists slowly back and forth in the cold breeze. I see the wide-open eyes staring sightlessly into the distance; the swollen tongue protruding from the gaping mouth; the erection pointing upwards towards the cloudless sky.
What did he see through those bulging eyes, I wonder, as he was jumping and kicking at the end of the rope in those final moments? A paradise opening to receive him? A yawning black chasm waiting to engulf him? Or merely the ring of people standing around him in their dark robes, looking up at him with their pitiless eyes? I look at the naked buttocks, remembering the powerful, rhythmic spasms they had made during the ejaculations. Was he already dead when the seed was given? Or had his death agony been swept away by the ecstasy of those final, incredible orgasms?
As though in a dream, I slowly step forward towards the corpse. Its legs are stiff, and the flesh of the buttocks rigid and cold to the touch. The erection is as hard as it ever was in life, its shaft still wet with seed. Then the spell is broken, and I step back quickly...
Putting my guilty hands under my cloak, I turn and walk away. As I am about to leave the clearing, I stop and look back. The body has ceased its slow rotations, and the sightless eyes are staring directly at me. Is this a sign? A year from now, for the first time, my own name will be placed in the urn from which the name of the victim is drawn. Am I seeing my own fate reflected in that sightless stare? I shudder at the thought, and quickly walk away, back towards the village.
Soon, as the dawn is breaking, the women will come. They
will take the body down, untying the hands and closing the
bulging eyes as best they can. Then they will bear it in their
gentle hands to the sacred spring nearby. There, the body will be
carefully washed, and wrapped in a white linen shroud. Finally,
it will be placed in the grave already prepared amongst the
ancient trees of our sacred grove.
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