The Sacred Grove
A young bobcat, chosen by lot, is hanged to ensure the land's fertility. A priest helps the Sacrifice enjoy his death.
It is my last night. I have been dressed in the Chief's robes since noon yesterday. I have sat in the center of the High Table as Chief; I have eaten the best foods, been given Winter Wine to drink.
Now a junior priest, a wolf less than 3 years older than me, helps me out of those robes. His name is Giles. His hair is light brown, almost blond, his eyes are gray. He helps me get into the bed. It is stuffed with goose feathers: no string net for a Chief.
And then he kisses me on the cheek. When I reach under the quilt to help myself sleep, he whispers for me to wait. "Don't. If you refrain, it will be very good tomorrow, you'll see."
I wonder how he knows. He's never been Chosen, never been Chief for a Day, never gone through what I will face tomorrow. But I take his advice anyway.
I toss and turn for what feels like hours. My cheek tingles, almost burning, where he kissed it. Thinking about tomorrow, I am frightened but also excited, a difficult combination when trying to sleep. But eventually I fall into sweet dreams of Giles kissing my forehead, applauding me as I show off my hunting skills, offering me food and drink.
Morning. Dawn of my last day. I am awoken by a coyote with brown hair and green eyes.
"Good morning," she tells me, "I am Junior Priestess T'maka. I am here to prepare you."
I have been looking forward to this morning with anticipation for a week, ever since I drew the black stone from the sacred jar. Will I do it right? Will it hurt horribly? The gods know, but they haven't bothered to tell me.
T'maka dabs a subtle scent, a little sexy but still soothing, on my shoulders and the sides of my neck. She helps me dress in my ceremonial robes -- the robes of a chief.
Giles comes in as T'maka is fastening my sash. He inspects my robes, twitches them into a straighter drape, then nods and whispers to me. "The longer you stay conscious the more pain, but also the more pleasure. So when you're up there waiting, take fast, deep breaths, as many as you can, even if you get dizzy." Then he kisses my lips. Wow! Giles steps aside; T'maka flows into my arms and also kisses my lips. Very nice, but Giles's kiss is hotter.
The two of them lead me out of the temple. The whole village awaits me. They are excited and expectant, nearly as much so as I am. I stand before the villagers, an adult male bobcat -- just barely adult -- shivering a little in spite of the warm air. But I hold my head high, and my gaze is clear. We enter the sacred grove. T'maka and Giles lead me to stand under the thick branches of a huge oak, The Oak.
I am a virgin, of course. Nobody, male or female, will go with a male until after Beltane of the year he reaches maturity. It is forbidden. Each male must face The Choosing untouched. I have known sexual pleasure only by my own hands.
The High Priest, an ocelot just entering middle age but still handsome, takes me by one hand. I am very aware of the warmth of his hand on mine. He leads me to a thick log. The top is above my knees.
T'maka and Giles kneel before me. I reach out and touch Giles's forehead. He and I have an Understanding. I think. I hope.
They help me climb onto the log. When I am atop it, a thick soft rope is passed over a low branch and fashioned into a noose.
"Take a moment to think, before you make your Final Choice," the High Priest tells me.
I've already thought about it, but I pause to review my thoughts. This past year, I was the best at finding and chasing deer and other large animals. I can outrun any of the other hunters, and with my quick hands I'm among the top three at catching small game like rabbits and squirrels. I was on my way to becoming leader of the hunt. With my lean, long-limbed body, deep voice, and my status among the hunters, my parents were already starting to talk about grandchildren.
If I do this, I will never become hunt leader, never have a chance to be Chief for real, never have children, never have my own house. But I will die bringing food and fertility to the village, and my name will be remembered with honor among the other boys my age. If I reject this, I can have a house, a mate, children... but somewhere else. No female or male of this village will be with me or even talk to me.
And Giles promised "it will be very good."
I make my Choice. I shed the ceremonial robe, pull the noose toward me and slip it over my head. I clasp my hands behind me, and Giles ties them securely.
T'maka and Giles tie my ankles together. I test the knots. Not really tight, more of a hobble. I will be able to Dance as befits the Holy Sacrifice, as I have seen other Sacrifices Dance before.
I shiver, waiting. The other celebrants come forward and press against me, stroking me with their fingertips, touching and kissing me all over (Yes, kiss me there again, please. And there, and there too, please, please, please) -- except the one place I most want them to kiss -- teasing me into arousal.
The tall lion who was Chief yesterday morning -- and will be again in a few minutes -- wears only the simple shirt and breechclout of a hunter. He takes me in his mouth for a couple of seconds, affirming the temporary reversal of our social positions.
I am hard now, so hard. But they stop; I need release so bad, it hurts.
The High Priest intones the sacred words of the story. While he's doing that, I take as many deep breaths as I can. Soon I will take no more. Then the worshippers take a step back and leave me shivering in the morning's gentle breeze, and I know it is time. T'maka and Giles stoop down and roll away the log. I slip off. The noose jerks tight around my neck. I am hanging.
I swing back and forth a little, toes pointed down, unable to reach the ground. The rope is very tight about my neck, tighter than I would ever have believed, choking off my breath, and making my blood pound. It hurts. Oh it hurts, more than anything I can remember! Almost enough to forget the other pain, the hardness between my legs. I struggle helplessly, tugging at the bonds that restrain my arms.
Giles is standing in front of me, where I can watch him as I sway. He is rubbing his erection, it's so exciting to see, even through the pain in my neck and chest.
And soon I realize that I need air. I try to breathe, my chest and belly straining, but there is no air. Please, let me breathe.
Then I find my hips thrusting again and again, and I realize that there is pleasure in the pain. So much pleasure. My cock waves about with my increasingly frantic struggles. There is a need between my legs, and soon I feel it burst out of me. I spurt, spraying my belly and the ground, the sacred Land beneath me.
Giles walks around behind me. Why? Even if he won't help me, he could let me watch him while I'm dying.
I'm still kicking, but slowly, little tiny kicks like somebody running on their toes. I become dimly aware of a need again. Again I am hard, how can this be? Then I feel a hot, wet finger in my hole. Giles, it must be him, probing into me, finding a hard spot inside, pressing on it...
Again I feel the pleasure building, and I know I will get there again. It seems to take forever, but then it happens all at once. I would cry out my need, my pleasure, if I could, but the noose has silenced my voice forever. My spasms are a little weaker, and my seed runs down my shaft, to drip upon the sacred Land beneath me.
But now Giles withdraws from me, and the rope still crushes my throat. The pain again, but it doesn't seem to matter as much as it did before. That probably means something, but I can't remember what. I can't keep my eyes focused, everything is blurry.
And I am hard. Again. I need... but I'm not strong enough... Oh please, let me...
I feel something touching my cock. I make an effort and focus, and see that Giles has wrapped his mouth around it. Hot and wet! And his tongue doing something to the underside. The pleasure... somehow the pain at my throat doesn't matter as much any more. But I still need to breathe. Air, please, air! I try to wrap my legs around him and get support that way, but my hobbles keep my feet from getting more than a couple of hand-widths apart.
My desperate kicking only draws the noose tighter. The throbbing of my cock becomes stronger as he works on me with his mouth. And now there is a tingling in my ass, too. Yes, more, please. Please. My cock is straining, jerking around as I kick, and I strain to get to... to wherever he is taking me. Like that, yes... yes...
I thrust my hips forward and up, and he pulls back (no, please that felt so good, don't stop!) as I release my seed (oh yes, yes, oh...). It sprays up and arches out, some landing on his bare chest but most on the dry soil.
I resume my struggles, but weakly. I have very little left of energy, or desire. Even the pain of the rope and in my chest seems far away, like somebody else's story told around the fire.
And now that I have given myself in this explosive sacrifice, I am swept into a roaring unconsciousness and know no more.
The body hangs, swaying slowly back and forth in the gentle morning winds. The village celebrates. They drink, and eat, and enjoy each other on the grass around The Tree.
Giles joins in the celebration, his skin still tingling all over. Even while the others are congratulating him, offering to pleasure him in various ways, he keeps thinking back to the Sacrifice. "That boy was so hot, and he tasted wonderful. And, with my help, he gave seedthree times." Giles takes a swig from the drinking horn someone passes him, and accepts the latest offer, a young hunter who wants Giles to drink his seed. Both of them know that the harvest will be very good this year.
Author's note:
This story is based on "The Grove2" by Johnny and Matthew. I used the first part (written by Johnny) but rewrote it to make the victim's consent more apparent, and also to give him a partner.
By word count, this is about 40% by Johnny, 60% by me. But Johnny contributed the original idea and the plotline of the hanging. And most of the description of the hanging (except the sex, which I added) is by him.
When Johnny first put "The Grove2" on the "Lizbeth" website, he formatted it as two paragraphs: the first one (the hanging) by him, the second (another young man looking at the corpse and wondering) by Matthew.
I don't know if I have made the story any better than Johnny's single paragraph, but I hope you like it.