EXTREME WARNING. This is intended for persons of 18 years of age or
above. If you are not 18 then go away.

EXTREME WARNING. This story contains descriptions of violence, snuff,
eroto-cannibalism and sexual acts. Do not read if these subjects are
likely to offend.

EXTREME WARNING. In no way do I condone any of the anti-social behavior
described in the story. This is an erotic fantasy, not to be confused
with reality.

Please reply by preference to the newsgroup, or failing that to
grim_williams@my-deja.com

The Feast of Purim
By Grim Williams

Series One, Part Four

Guy watched the sun descend behind the Castle, perched precariously on
the steep, imposing hill in front of him. It had turned golden,
shedding a deep reddish hue over the entire city. The whitewashed
buildings of old Shushan were now rich in color, a sepia montage of
assorted styles, built piecemeal over nearly two hundred years.

He sighed.

A black crow sat perched on the lip of a tall chimney just inside the
city wall, swiveling its watchful head through several full turns. Guy
admired it for a while, silent, thinking.

Ruth would be here a little later. She would help him sell the dams for
a good price, a very good price. Then there would be enough money...
for a while. He was in no doubt that it wouldn't last, that he would
soon spend it: he always did.

He wondered how it felt to be rich, not to have to worry about the next
meal, to have a real home rather than just the motor.

Maybe if he were rich, he might even buy Ruth. His cock stirred. What a
fine meal she would make!

Or Esther...

His mind blurred.

Indeed. Esther.

What was he going to do about Esther? His thoughts there were in some
disarray. Could he really sell her to a Butchery and abandon her to be
eaten? What kind of person was he? Of course he wouldn't abandon her
literally, he told himself. He would be there until the very end. He
would hold her hand. He would be a shoulder for her to cry on during
any moments of regret. After all, she was his sister.

But God. How his conscience bothered him! How could he actually sell
his own sister to a Butchery! What kind of man was he?

But it was what she wanted, came the immediate answer. How could it be
any other way? After all, when all said and done, under those newfound
clothes and fancy manners she was still an Aquarian. She could never be
anything else. How can any of us ever escape our destiny?

We may fight it; or we may take flight; but it will catch us in the
end.

Esther might fight; oh yes, Esther might flee; but sooner or later she
would resume her naked, greased acquaintance with the spit, her legs
would part, welcoming its final embrace. It was inevitable.

So what was the point in running?

Esther wanted it.

So where was the point in fighting?

Esther lusted for it.

He stared up at the crow, as it gazed silently back at him.

Perhaps, if they'd not been born Aquarian, then things would have been
different.

Perhaps. If...

Maybe.

Such are the words of dreamers.

They had both been damned from the moment of their birth, from the
instant of their conception, to struggle, to fight against their
destiny.

"I don't understand," Guy had asked his mother just a few days after
his sixth birthday. He'd been puzzled. Why did they have to live hidden
in the caves of the desert, forever in fear of these mythical strange
men with their guns? For although his mother often spoke of men, he'd
never actually seen one. He'd sat down, naked in the hot sand; his sun
parched body as blistered and burnt as wood charred by the fire.

"How is it that the Zodiac knows I'm going to be bad?" he'd asked
irritably. "How can it know before I've even been born?"

His mother had corrected him. She wasn't his real mother, of course. He
knew that. His real mother had been Capricorn and had abandoned him at
birth. "The Zodiac didn't know before you were born, Guy," she'd said
kindly. He still remembered the tired sigh in her voice, her long red
hair, and those huge pendulous breasts. "It only knows when you come
into the world, at the moment of your birth. From that instant nothing
can be changed. It's all there, written in the stars."

The next few nights he'd spent outside, looking up at the sky, looking
for all these things that were written in the stars.

"But how, mamma?" he'd asked a little later. "How does it get up there
in the stars? Who puts it there?"

Of course, his mother hadn't known about that. It was the first of many
questions she hadn't been able to answer.

He remembered another one. "Why am I so different?" he'd asked, holding
his cock. "Why is it that I'm the only one with a penis?"

"Because you're special," his mother had told him solemnly. "Very
special. As you grow older you'll be taller and stronger than any of
the girls. The source of that power is down here," she'd gently pushed
his hand away from his soft naked dick, caressing it herself. Even then
it had been big. "Remember, Guy. This is your power. Be careful with
it. Don't damage it. Never do that."

And so he'd been careful. He'd looked after it well, for another ten
years. But at the age of sixteen, he'd been out hunting for wild snakes
in the early morning gloom. At that time of day, the snakes are still
half-asleep. He'd gone with Esther, as was his custom. She was four
years younger than he was, but she was already a genius when it came to
catching breakfast. That day, she'd snared them a monster.

She'd called for him to come and see it.

"Look, Guy! Come look what I've caught!"

He'd come running, and when he'd arrived, he'd discovered that she had
a constrictor: green, black and brown, and the colors all mixed up.

He'd stared incredulously, because she'd let the thing wrap itself
around her body.

She knew what she was doing, of course. It was a game to her. It was
still early morning and so playing with snakes wasn't so very
dangerous.

He still remembered her face, that sly smile, her lanky arms and legs,
her short black spiky hair sticking out in a thousand different
directions.

Of course, she'd been nude. Like him, she hadn't any clothes. The snake
had slid around her bare flat chest. She'd let it, wriggling from side
to side because it tickled. And then it had hooped her again, this time
hugging her boyish stomach, caressing her. Her face had been a picture;
so much excitement, so much unadulterated joy, And then the snake had
done it again. It had made its final coil, looping round her sun
scorched back for a third final time. It had gently hugged her ass,
cupping her sand-covered buttocks, its head appearing from around her
narrow little hips, suddenly attracted by something musky. What was it?
Ah yes! It had found and was sniffing her cute little pussy.

It had shown quaint interest; watching, waiting, and then its tongue
had darted out towards her smooth, bare slit, slithering across it. It
had touched her one, two, even three times. She'd let it,
unselfconsciously opening her legs to let it feel her, allowing it to
dart inside.

"Look what it's doing," she'd said excitedly, staring at him with a sly
contented expression filling her face. "Isn't it rude, Guy! Isn't it
bad! Look where it's going! Ooh, it tickles! It tickles, Guy!"

He'd watched, transfixed, and suddenly he'd felt very strange. His cock
had begun to harden and swell. Of course, she'd noticed that. She'd
noticed it at once, and that had made his young cock grow even more.

"It's as large as this shitty snake", she'd laughed in that old
familiar way, touching the twin lumps on her chest with her hands,
pinching them, while the snake continued to tickle between her open
legs with its darting tongue. He'd felt funny, awkward. His face had
flushed red. And his embarrassment had made her laugh even more.

And so he'd turned tail and come running home, unable to escape the
haunting image of her teasing face and the snake amusing itself between
her naked cunt lips. "She isn't my sister," he'd announced to his
mother, hiding in a crevice at the back of their cave. "She can't be!
How can she be my sister? She's taking my strength. She wants my power.
And not only that, how can she be my sister when she doesn't look like
me at all?"

All his doubts, all his concerns had come flooding out at once.

"Well of course she isn't your real sister," his mother had said,
noticing the hardness of his cock. She pushed her lank, dusty hair out
of her eyes and had sat beside him. Those breasts. He still remembered
the freckles on her big sagging breasts as she'd cuddled him. "Esther
is an Aquarian," his mother had gently explained, stroking his balls to
make him feel better. "She's an Aquarian just as you're an Aquarian.
And so her mother abandoned her, just as yours abandoned you. But
she'll always be your sister. Don't you see? You've been reared
together. Whatever else happens, she'll always be there for you. And
you must be there for her. And you must never, ever waste your power on
your sister. You must save it for when you need it. You're Aquarian.
You must think ahead. One day this thing will save your life. It will.
But until that day, you must look after it. You must save its power."

Guy had swallowed hard. He'd loved his mother. And so he'd tried to
listen carefully to her words. It hadn't been easy. Sometimes, it
seemed as though his cock had a mind of its own. It seemed that just
being with a girl, looking at her pert young breasts as she reached up
for something high; or her cute pretty ass as she bent over for
something low; or her sweet shy pussy whatever the provocation, would
make it grow large and thick and angry.

But he'd done it. Yes, he had. He'd controlled himself, until the day
the Librans had come in their big, fancy motor. That was the day. That
was the big red-letter day for Destiny.

They'd come when he'd been out scavenging for food. He was always
scavenging for food, because food was scarce and had to be found.

There had been many women they could have picked, but for one reason or
another the Librans had chosen his mother from the rest. Maybe they
liked her red hair; maybe they liked her huge pendulous breasts. Hmmm.
Yes. That was probably it.

Destiny.

They'd climbed into their expensive motor and then had chased her
across the desert for nearly five miles. Five miles. It had been a one
sided contest from the very beginning. Esther had run too. The Librans
hadn't been after her, of course, but how could she desert the one that
had raised her?

That's what she'd said afterwards. That's what she had told him.

They'd both been naked, of course. His mother and Esther. Scared and
naked. His mother's big floppy breasts would have bounced painfully as
she'd run. Up and down, up and down, jerking into the air, slapping
against her stomach. Up and down: hurting, painful. They would have
been the butt of so many Libran jokes and ridicule. Because for them it
was just a game: fun, entertainment.

They'd fired little barbed darts from an air pistol to slow and weaken
her. Esther had tried to get in the way, to prevent the darts from
reaching their target, but they'd easily been able to avoid her,
driving around in their motor to the side or to the front where they
would get a perfect view of their real target.

Each hit was met with a huge cheer from the Librans, and a gasp of
agony from his mother. She would yelp, and skip and cry out in pain,
feeling desperately with her fingers for the little sliver of twisted
steel, sometimes able to tease out the hook, sometimes not so lucky,
tearing chunks of flesh in the process.

On and on they'd chased them. On and on until his mother had been
broken and exhausted, until she'd fallen beaten and bleeding to the
earth.

She'd only had Esther to protect her, to help her. Esther had stood
there, firm, between them and her mother, defending, defying.

"Let's eat them," they'd said, forming a circle around them both. "What
about the young one? I like her. She's cute."

"Let's fuck them," they'd said, steadily closing in, closer and closer.
"Let's rape them both. Dick's real hard and hurting."

"Let's kill them," they'd said, grabbing Esther and throwing her to the
ground beside her mother. "Painfully. Let's cook them slowly and make
them watch as we eat their choicest cuts."

By the time Guy had finally tracked them down it was after dark and the
fire had already been lit. The scaffolds had been erected. His mother
was fastened to an A-Frame. She hung by her feet, with her long red
hair almost trailing in the hard dusty dirt, her hands bound helplessly
behind her back.

Esther was standing a little distance away, her hands and arms also
bound tightly behind her back, from her wrists to her elbows. One of
the Librans held a large iron spit, while another opened a tub of
marinade.

Guy watched in horror from the darkness, from the safety of a large
granite boulder.

He counted them. There were four of them. Four against one.

His sister stood still, trembling, the dark black nubs of her small
inadequate breasts quite visible in the flickering orange light of the
fire.

They'd already shaved her mound. Guy could see that. The light fluff
that had so recently started to grow there was now quite gone. Her
pussy was as bare and slippery as the day that big constrictor had made
love to it.

Now they were greasing her hair. They used their hands, grabbing great
handfuls of the heavy grease from the tub, then massaging it into her
short, untidy spikes; kneading it in, making sure it went down to the
roots. Her hair, normally so bristly and alive, now lay heavy and
plastered to her head.

And she'd let them. Her feet hadn't been tied. She could have run if
she'd wanted. She could have struggled and fought. But she hadn't done
any of those things. She'd stood perfectly still, allowing them to
prepare her for the roast.

Because she was an Aquarian. It was what she wanted. It's the way she
was made.

Next came the marinade. Again they used their bare hands to apply the
prepared spicy barbecue, rubbing it into her skin, into every inch and
pore of her, between her toes, her fingers, inside her ears, into every
secret place. There were hands touching her breasts, her nipples,
fingers massaging the sauce into the inner sanctum of her shaved pussy,
spreading her ass and rubbing it there, working it deep into her anus.

Guy had watched, enthralled, aggressively rubbing his cock.

God. He couldn't help it.

His sister had stood so tall, so proud, allowing them to touch her,
accepting her fate without a murmur. She had wanted to die, to be
cooked and eaten by these men. She had yearned for the spit. To feel a
hunting knife ripping open her stomach.

He knew that now.

But why? God, why? He didn't understand.

And there was his mother, broad-assed, naked, swinging slowly on the
light breeze by the ropes binding her ankles.

The Librans had pushed Esther onto her back. She'd been lying on a
large platter. One of them approached, greasing the huge iron spit.
He'd told Esther what he wanted her to do, and very submissively, very
obediently, she'd lifted her legs and had held them open, her knees
pulled right back to her shoulders. She'd muttered something, and two
of them had stepped forward to help her, each of them taking an ankle
and holding it still.

Guy hadn't heard, but he knew what she'd said. However willing, she
would find it impossible to hold that pose once the spit began to
puncture her insides. And he'd felt the pressure building at the base
of his penis. He held it firmly, rubbing it hard.

And here it came. The man with the spit had pressed gently, pushing the
sharp point against her flesh, half way between her two holes.

They were talking to her, asking her the question. This was it, the one
they always asked. Did she want it up the ass, or in the cunt?

They were going to spit her; they were going to spit his young sister.

Any moment. Any moment.

He was about to come. His penis was shaking and about to explode.

How would she answer?

And suddenly he could hear his mother talking, talking in his head.
Only it wasn't his mother, it was his conscience speaking with his
Mother's voice.

"She'll always be there for you," she'd said. "And you must always be
there for her."

But he'd wanted to come. He'd wanted to shoot his load over this big
ugly boulder and be done with it.

"You must never waste it," his mother had said, stroking his cock. "Not
on your sister. Never on your sister."

He'd leaned back. It was building inside him. There was so much jism
inside him he was gong to burst.

"How can you stand there and let them do that to your sister?" his
mother called out to him. "Shame on you, Guy. Shame on you."

Screaming, he'd launched himself from behind the boulder, hurling
himself upon them like a mad spirit from another world, trying to shut
out that persistent, droning voice. He'd hurdled the fire and thrown
himself upon the two men holding Esther's legs. What happened next was
a blur. He remembered being hit, lashing out, Esther screaming abuse.
What had happened?

He didn't know.

But suddenly he had the spit in his hand and he was driving it into
some man's stomach. There was a gasp, a gurgle of death, and the man
sank weakly to his knees.

Guy had pulled out the spit, swirling it round. Did it hit someone
else? He rather thought it did.

God. He'd been hit too. Never mind, it was only a scratch. He'd yelled
out again. He felt fury, rage, lust: it was all in that cry. He'd cried
like one possessed, and perhaps he was.

For when he had finished, Esther was on the ground sobbing, shaking
with emotion and rage. Her skin was bright orange, her hair lacquered
to her head.

She'd been angry. "Don't you understand?" she'd screamed, furiously
rubbing her barbecue-covered slit, trying to come, trying to make
happen what the flames would have accomplished. It was slimy and wet.
"I wanted them to do it. I wanted it. I wanted them to roast me. Look
what you've done. Oh, God, how could you!"

Right then he should have known that there was only one way to truly
please her. At that moment he should have done it. He should have done
it himself. She'd already been prepared; her wrists were bound behind
her back. It would have been so easy to finish the job. He should have
listened to her and roasted her as she wanted.

He knew that there was no one else in the world that she'd rather have
eat her meat than him.

But he hadn't done it. He'd been a coward. He'd ignored her, walking
instead to where their mother hung. He'd turned his mother around so
that he could see her face, and had lifted her head fondly, caressing
it in his lap.

She'd been dead. She'd been dead for some time. They'd severed off her
breasts with a portable guillotine, and where her big sagging tits
should have been, there was just a bloody mess. The blood ran slowly
across her chest and dripped off her shoulders.

And all over her body were the places where the darts had shredded her
flesh.

The Librans had left her hanging upside down while they'd sat in a
circle surrounding Esther, chewing upon freckled tit flesh, making her
watch, offering her the raw meat, all the time talking about what they
were going to do to her.

He'd cried then. His body had heaved with those tears. He'd cried as
he'd never cried, either before or since. But when the tears had been
shed, he'd gone back to the fire and had icily collected more wood,
stoking it up.

He was the head of this family now. He had to think ahead.

The Librans were still lying where they'd fallen in the dirt; their
large motor parked a short distance away.

He'd checked that they were dead, and when he'd discovered that one
wasn't, he'd completed the task.

Then, he'd cut down his mother from the A-frame and prepared her in the
way he'd seen Esther being prepared.

He'd shaved her tenderly, greased her, tended her wounds, and then had
coated her with marinade.

Esther had kept sobbing. All the time she'd cried. She was still bound
and clothed in that ghastly marinade herself. Guy had not spoken to
her, neither had he comforted her. He'd just got on with what he'd
needed to do.

He couldn't speak. He was too frightened of what she might persuade him
to do.

He'd taken the spit, cleaned it of the Libran's blood, greased it, and
then held it between his mother's parted legs.

"I'm sorry, mamma," he'd cried. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you the
choice, the one you said they always give you..."

** ** **

Guy Nyrian looked up at the black ugly crow, sitting on the chimney. It
was still there, awaiting its moment, swiveling its head, waiting,
watching.

He sighed. Even now, despite the fact that she was dead, he somehow
felt that his mother was with him.

He looked up to the heavens, to the stars and the almighty Zodiac.
"Help me, mamma," he moaned. "Help me do what's right by Esther." He
took hold of his long, fat penis and began to stroke it with slow
regular strokes. "Help me to be strong. I need my power. I need it all.
Help me give Esther what she needs."

End of Series One, Part Four