Ritual    

  by Leslie Schmidt



Nala had been in preparation for the opening. For two 
weeks, the child had been in the sacred women's hut, 
attended by her mother, aunts and older sisters. She had 
been instructed and held in a deep trance by the High 
Priestess.  Nala had drunk the bitter elixir, then lay and 
watched as bright ants started to crawl over first the roof, 
then the walls, then the floor, and then, finally, her naked 
body as she lay tied, spread to four stakes driven into the 
hard, cool clay floor. She had watched with interest, not 
fear, as the glowing red and blue insects had approached, 
then climbed over her from all directions, hundreds of tiny 
points of light, crossing her small frame, her flat chest, 
climbing along her legs, all converging on her clean, 
preteen, sex. Then they had entered her, moving inside her 
passage, filling her child womb. And then had come the 
Priestess, her old lined face with brilliant blue eyes, 
watching from between her legs, gently spreading the little 
girl lips, opening her for the creatures. Then, just as the 
child was being filled by the lightening bugs, the Priestess 
leaned forward and, placing her mouth on the child's sex, 
gently pulled the ants from her. The child lay, writhing as 
the octogenarian's tongue played along her, pulling at her, 
her body flowing with repeated, and unfamiliar, orgasms. 
Then, just as the last of the ants were leaving the child, the 
old woman had lashed out with the stick she held in her 
mouth, plunging into the child, tearing the thin membrane. 
A warm orange darkness enveloped the child, the pain left 
her, a green bubble rising from between her legs, floating to 
the ceiling then disappearing. The warmth covered her and 
she fell asleep.

When she awoke, the effects of the drug had completely 
worn off. Again she was tied, but this time she was across 
the alter in the village commons. Around her were all the 
members of the tribe, dressed in colorful robes, dancing 
and chanting to drums. But, immediately around her were 
eight men, each wearing nothing but a large ornate mask. 
All of them were stroking their tools, they stood out like a 
circle of lances above the child. She looked up, the man 
directly above her head had an enormous dick, it waved 
above her forehead, occasionally the pendulous testicles 
would brush the top of her head. She knew, even though 
she could not see his face, that this was her uncle, her 
mother's brother. She looked down and, standing between 
her legs, his cock suspended above her mons, was her 
father. She knew it was he, but he could not see his face for 
the fearsome mask. She knew that around her were her 
uncles and older brothers. The youngest one being just 
fourteen with just a small patch of dark curls at the base of 
his penis.

The men are chanting, the village is chanting, as the men 
each work up their sperm, stroking their cocks in unison to 
the music and chanting, a crescendo starting to build as an 
undercurrent to the singing. The child's father pours out a 
flask of oil over the child's mons, it is warm and 
comfortable. The women of the village start a high calling, 
a rapid singing as he lowers the head and gently pushes it 
against his daughter's slit. She feels as she is opened and 
her father's penis, the tool which had first given her life, 
enters her, moving deep. The feeling of pure ecstasy filled 
the girl as he moved in and out of her. Her uncle's cock 
brushed her forehead and she looked up, taking him into 
her mouth, feeling him push against her tongue and throat. 
He also thrusts with the music, sliding in and out of her in 
unison with her father. The din of the chant fills her ears, 
fills her soul.

A warm tingling starts in her sex, she is acutely aware of 
her father sliding in and out of her. Her uncles cock moves 
comfortably in and out of her mouth, occasionally pushing 
into her throat. The beat is getting faster, the warmth is 
spreading. She can taste the saltiness of her uncle's pre-
cum. Her father is now pushing deep into his child, pushing 
his cockhead against her cervix. Her uncle is pushing 
harder into her mouth, her jaw is sore. The music hits a 
loud explosive note as her pus and her mouth are flooded 
with sperm. Her father and his brother-in-law fill her with 
seed as the other six men's white goo sprays across her 
shoulders, chest, stomach and hips. Splashes of sperm cross 
the child's naked body as she bucks and shakes with the 
waves of her own orgasm. She looses consciousness as the 
last of the men's sperm dribbles onto the child, is pushed 
into her child womb or she swallows the final drops.

When she awakes she is alone, the lashing have been cut, 
she is covered with the white crusts of dried semen. The 
village square is empty but, from the low sounds of laughs 
and groans from nearby huts, she knows that many more 
children will be conceived that evening. She will go alone 
to the river and, met there by the Priestess and the next 
youngest girl in the village, she will be ritually bathed, 
dressed in a white robe, then led to the hut of her future 
husband's family. There to live another five years before, at 
the age of 13, she and her husband will build their own hut. 
That night, the next youngest girl in the village, her friend 
Carnica, will go to stay in the Priestess' hut.



