Enticed: An Erotic Sacrifice

by Colette Gale

  Soon, they were both naked and entwined on the massive pallet in front of Jane, seemingly unaware or uncaring of their goddess’s presence. She could do nothing but watch, suspended by her arms, as the two feasted upon each other with crazy mouths and stroking hands. Jane tried to close her eyes, but the scents and sounds surrounding her were intense and distracting, and she couldn’t seem to block them from her mind.

  The man flipped his partner expertly onto her back. She sprawled on the bed with a soft, pleased whuff and a large jolt beneath Jane’s feet. Her coarse, dark hair brushed her goddess’s toes as the man arched over her. She had small, tight, cocoa-colored breasts with taut red nipples that glistened in the dim light, thrusting up teasingly at Jane—who’d never seen aroused female breasts other than her own. She found it startlingly erotic, and could not pull her eyes away from them.

  Like Jane, the man seemed unable to get enough of the woman’s tits, for he fondled and teased as she gasped and shuddered beneath his busy hands. When his dark head dipped to them, Jane could hear the erotic sounds of sucking and licking, the enthusiastic lapping of his tongue, the low, aroused moans and sighs. The woman cried out softly, her face turned up with an ecstatic expression, her full, wet lips parted. Clearly, she loved her man, and was fully enjoying his attentions.

  Jane realized she, too, was having a difficult time breathing, and that the more impassioned the couple became, the less able she was to look from the tableau before her. The enveloping, sweet smoke in the air combined with whatever they’d given her to eat and drink made her hazy, and yet sharply awake and aware. Even when she managed to close her eyes ever so briefly, she saw and heard them; she smelled the musky scent of man and woman and arousal as it filled her nostrils.

  The twining, writhing, dark-skinned bodies—smooth, shifting muscles, tight breasts, a thick, full cock, and even the flash of a moist pink quim—had her full attention, and the images combined with the sounds of moans and suction and lips and tongue caused Jane’s body to tighten, shiver, and dampen. A dart of arousal shot up from her needy little pip, then settled into a low, insistent pulse.

  Jane shifted as her own quim swelled and grew warm as the couple below her became louder and more passionate with their sighs and groans and cries. When the man eased back, kneeling on his haunches, Jane’s mouth dried at the sight of his ready cock. Not as large as Devilish Grin’s, and not as beautiful as Zaren’s, but turgid and ready. She imagined she could see the gentle vibration of its need as the man closed his fingers around it, preparing to slide into the wet, red heat of his woman.

  Jane clamped her knees together, needing the pressure on her tiny pearl as it began to throb gently. But even that did nothing but tease her as the man shifted his hips and shoved inside his partner.

  Both cried out, and Jane bit her own lip to keep from doing the same. Heat rushed over her, and she felt clammy and lightheaded. The bed on which her toes rested rocked and shifted violently as the man slammed and thrust against his woman. The sounds of flesh slapping flesh, of the soft suction of her wet quim accepting the dark red length of his erection, the scent of musk and pleasure, sweat and incense had Jane panting on her own, writhing against her own restraints.

  She crossed her legs, pressing them hard together, feeling the slippery moisture and the hard little nub tucked in there, shifting her hips desperately—but she was unable to find the relief she needed. As the writhing, undulating couple pumped and jolted and she saw the dark red length of cock slide in and out of the woman’s pussy, Jane found herself moving in the same motion, her hips shifting, her legs glued together as she tried to find pressure, and rhythm, and heat…

  At last the woman cried out, arching up beneath her man. Jane saw her fingernails drag down her partner’s back, leaving deep red wheals all the way to his muscular buttocks. The man’s head reared back as he gusted out a deep moan only moments later, then he fell back over his woman, breathing heavily.

  Jane closed her eyes, her body tight and throbbing and full. Her pip was ready to explode, her inner thighs wet from her useless juices, her quim swollen and sensitive, her nipples pinpoint taut. She realized she was panting nearly as harshly as the couple before her, and tried to pull herself under control.

  But the days and hours of intense pleasure she’d experienced since arriving in the jungle—from Zaren and Jonathan and even the people here in this village—had taught her body need, and arousal, and had caused her to become so sensitive to scent, touch, and sound that she couldn’t fight it back.

  And so Jane stood there, sagging by her arms, her knees squeezed tightly together, her body hot and damp and pulsing insistently, her nipples tight and jutting against the vines and leather wrappings around her, her quim throbbing wetly between her thighs, and she waited.

  Now that the couple was done, what would happen?

  It seemed a long while before either of the prone figures moved—a long while in which Jane hung in a state of uncertain arousal—but at last they stirred.

  Slowly, the man ran his hand along his woman’s body, and she shivered and smiled as a lover often does. Then she smoothed her hand over his belly and as Jane watched, the woman closed her hand over his relaxed cock. He smiled, arching into her grip, and his eyes rolled back with pleasure as the woman began to stroke him.

  As his partner began to coax his cock back to life, the man slid his fingers between her legs. Jane’s mouth went dry as the woman’s knees spread apart and she could see the moist red of her nether lips below the thatch of dark hair. She smothered a desperate moan as the man slid his hand over his woman’s quim, slipping and sliding through the musk-scented juices with soft, sleek suctioning sounds.

  The woman shivered and sighed, her hand moving faster up and down his erection. Now Jane could hear the sounds of friction, of a hand over the velvety skin of a cock, and the soft, wet splats of fingers sliding into the depths of the woman’s hot pussy. The man gave a soft, erotic chuckle and bent to lick a saucy nipple, lapping and sucking vigorously.

  Jane moaned, curling her fingers around the cords that bound her gently to the bedposts, drawing in a deep breath and trying to block the growing strength of her pearl and its desperate throbbing. Please, she mouthed…not knowing what she really wanted, just wanting something.

  Her nipples were so tight they hurt, and the unfulfilled arousal between her legs was sharp and tingling, and still the couple played and licked and sucked and stroked. The woman shifted on the bed and knelt to take her man’s cock in her mouth. Jane’s eyes latched on to the sight of her juicy red lips sliding up and down the thick length, and she trembled, somehow wanting to taste it herself.

  Not once did they look up at her. Not once did they appear to even notice her presence, let alone her need and desperation. They were completely, utterly engrossed in the body of the other, and Jane was nothing but an unwilling spectator. An untouchable goddess.

  When the man thrust himself inside his partner once more, Jane gusted out her breath in a moan that matched the woman’s, and she could not tear her eyes away from them as they mated, coupling wildly in front of her, flesh slapping, bed rocking, muscles bunching and sliding. The long red cock moved in and out, faster and faster, and Jane’s hips twitched in vain, desperately matching each thrust with no hope of relief. The bedposts creaked with her rhythm and that of the couple below her, and when they reached their peak, Jane cried out too.

  But her moan was one of pain and need, while the other sounds in the chamber were that of pleasure and satisfaction.

  Once again, the pair collapsed on the bed in front of her, and Jane had the terrifying thought that she might be witness to them coupling all night. Over and over, as her arms grew numb and her body overheated, and her arousal was left unfulfilled and in pain.

  “Please,” she whispered. This time louder. This time, loudly enough for them to hear.

  But she was answered only by the soft, grinding snore from the man, and a delicate, contented sigh from his partn
er.

  They were asleep.

  And Jane was left hanging there, swollen, dripping, aching. Frustrated.

  — III—

  Jane must have dozed off, or slipped into some other sort of stupor, for she slowly became aware of her surroundings once again.

  Her arms ached, and she realized they were immovable—she was still suspended from the bedposts. The hut was filled with a soft yellow glow emanating from the fire pit and renewed torches, and she wasn’t able to tell whether it was light or dark outside. The scents of musk and coitus and the titillating incense still colored the air.

  She realized the altar-bed below her was empty; at some point the couple had left. Likely only recently, for surely she wouldn’t have slept that heavily. Jane felt a wave of relief that they’d gone instead of subjecting her once again to their lovemaking.

  For clearly what they’d done before her was nothing less than making love. After the last days and weeks of experiencing a variety of physical pleasure and torment—both willingly and unwillingly—Jane recognized the depth of emotion between the man and woman.

  The same sort of emotion and deep passion flared between her and Zaren whenever they were together—and had, from the very first time he’d touched her, when she was caught up and entangled in a web of vines.

  A man like Devilish Grin could draw pleasure and coax—well, unleash might have been a better term—intense relief and erotic pleasure from Jane, but it had no more depth or emotion than taking a piss. Jane had come to understand the difference, and she realized now what had been lacking between her and Jonathan.

  Zaren…his very touch was layered with love and affection and respect. He would never allow another man to touch her, or to trade her for any sort of treasure. How could she have ever thought she loved Jonathan? How could she not have seen through his superficial care and deceit? When he had shared her body with Kellan Darkdale, his partner in crime, she should have realized he didn’t truly love her.

  Jane swallowed hard. She didn’t wish violence on anyone and she didn’t celebrate his demise at the teeth and claws of the lion, but she was damned glad Jonathan would never bother her again.

  But Zaren. Oh, God, please let him live.

  By agreeing to come back here, she’d made the best bargain she could; she’d done the only thing that gave him a chance of being healed. She believed if—no, when—he recovered, they’d find a way to escape this village. But she had no way of knowing what was happening with him, or whether he still thrashed and rolled from the fever that had begun to take him. The village healer had seemed willing to help, and Jane had put her trust in the old woman.

  But she wanted to see him. She needed to assure herself Zaren still breathed. I am a goddess. I should be able to command these people!

  She pulled at her bonds in frustration no longer related to sexual need, but desperation for the man she loved. The bedpost creaked but the bonds held firmly.

  She was just about to call out, to make an imperious command, when the hut door opened. Moonlight glowed on the ground outside, and in walked Cold Eyes, followed by two young women.

  One carried a sort of basket, the other a large vessel that clearly contained some sort of liquid.

  “How have you fared, goddess?”

  “My arms are numb. Surely there’s no need for me to be restrained,” she said sharply.

  The two young women—ones she didn’t recognize, and who seemed hardly into their teens—jolted a little at her tone. Good. Let them fear me.

  “Very well, then. We can adjust that.” Cold Eyes came to stand behind her, and Jane felt the warmth of his body pressing into her bare backside. He reached up and fumbled with the cords that held her left arm, releasing it from its raised position. But instead of leaving it free, he merely moved it down so it extended directly out from her shoulder.

  The blood rushed back into her arm and Jane gritted her teeth against the sharp prickles. She was in such discomfort she hardly noticed when the two girls approached. As Cold Eyes lowered her other hand and affixed it to its post, the attendants began to unwind the flowers, vines, and leather wrappings that had acted as clothing—such as it was. Then they used warm, scented water and sea sponges to wash her nude body.

  They dabbed at her tender breasts, sliding the rough sponges over her sensitive skin, down over her belly, and along her thighs. One of them used a cloth to bathe Jane between the legs, forcing her to relax her clenched knees. The friction and stroking of her nether parts with a hot, scented rag caused Jane to sigh with relief…and then to tense and throb with expectation and awareness once again. The ablutions seemed to have the effect of reawakening her body, which had temporarily gone quiet and dormant—exhausted from frustration and tension.

  By the time the girls were done, Jane was quivering and wet. Her skin was damp from the warm water that now ran in tickling rivulets down her arms and legs, and her little pip was full and throbbing once more.

  In an attempt to put the demands of her pulsing sex from her mind, Jane said, “I wish to see Zaren.”

  Cold Eyes, who had watched silently during the bathing, shrugged. “You have more to do this night, goddess. Your grace and favor was clearly upon Timi and Greela, for they came out of your chamber with great happiness. Now you must bestow the same upon the others who desire it. And here they are—Dahla and Guri.”

  He turned as a man and woman came in through the hut door. The young bathing attendants squeaked in surprise, as if they’d been caught falling down on their tasks. But Jane hardly noticed, for the woman who came in the door immediately caught her attention.

  Awareness darted through her as Jane recognized the newcomer. She—Dahla—was the leader of those who’d bathed her the first time, the woman who had shoved her face between Jane’s legs and sucked and drank from her so vigorously, demonstrating for the others.

  At the memory, her lungs constricted, and her body felt hot and trembly, shivery from top to bottom. All at once, Jane was back to that same taut, frustrated state of arousal she’d been in while watching the woman and man coupling in front of her.

  And when Dahla turned to look at Jane, focusing eyes hot and dark on her, she nearly jolted from the weight of them. Already beginning to pant, Jane was only vaguely aware when Cold Eyes and the bathing girls left. Instead, she struggled to control this unusual, intense reaction to the mere presence of this woman.

  The man—Guri—had gone to the table of food and drink, and he beckoned for his wife or partner to join him. Jane watched as they made their selections. Though it had only happened once before, she knew this would be a ceremonial rite, and that they would come and offer their gifts to her.

  Guri lifted a cup to Jane’s lips. This libation was different than the one she’d tasted before—bitter and strong, and with a long aftertaste. Nevertheless, Jane was thirsty and swallowed several large gulps without any trickling from her mouth.

  Then Dahla, the woman, approached. She was holding a small plate with a dark red square on it, hardly larger than Zaren’s thumb. Her eyes were hot and filled with meaning as she lifted the soft reddish cake, breaking a piece off and offering it to Jane, who parted her lips obediently. Her breath was harsh and unsteady as she waited to see what would happen to her this time.

  Dahla slid the bit of sticky sweet into Jane’s mouth, allowing her fingers to linger over her lips then brushing them in a sensual caress. Holding her gaze, still hot, still heavy, she licked her own lips suggestively as she broke off another piece of the sweetmeat for Jane.

  This time, however, she brought it to her own mouth first, tasting it with exaggerated, pursed lips and the slow swipe of her tongue. Then she lifted the bite to Jane, who wanted to turn her head away, to reject the offering…but the woman was too fast and determined. Before she knew it, the sticky fig-like cake was smashed on and into her lips, and she could taste its moist sweetness. She choked a little on a crumb, and swallowed the bit that had gone into her mouth…but much of it was sm
eared on her lips and chin.

  Dahla stepped back, her eyes still avid, and offered the last bit of cake to Guri. They spoke briefly and he nodded, his attention flickering to Jane, then back to his partner, who smiled and drew off the simple tunic-like dress she wore. She had large breasts, an unruly bush of dark hair growing between her legs, and wide, full hips.

  She turned to Jane, who instinctively drew back as far as her ties would allow, arms straining with the effort. But Dahla came after her, taking Jane’s face in two strong hands, bringing her naked body so close her warm breasts pushed against Jane’s, and began to kiss and lick away the remnants of food from around her goddess’s mouth. She was strong and determined, and not at all gentle; her fingers dug firmly into Jane’s jaw and chin as she devoured her mouth with surprising roughness.

  Jane had never been kissed by a woman before, and she found the experience unexpectedly sensual, wholly unfamiliar, and more arousing than she would have expected. Dahla’s tongue was strong and her lips were soft, and she ate at Jane’s mouth, sliding her tongue between her lips and invading her passionately.

  Jane couldn’t breathe, and she couldn’t move, and she found herself groaning and gasping, trying in vain to twist away from the hot, busy lips and strong, swiping tongue. Her insides were hot and moist, and by now her breasts had become crushed harder against the two hard-tipped mounds of Dahla’s breasts, their bellies bumping and sliding against each other in an unfamiliar sensation, the brush of wiry hair tickling her skin.

  At last the other woman pulled away, her breathing rough and fast, her eyes dull with passion. But instead of turning to her partner, Dahla smoothed her dark hands along Jane’s neck and shoulders, down to cover her breasts. The expression in her face changed to one of open-mouthed pleasure as she fondled and hefted each pert-nippled handful, her thumb tracing lightly over one of them. Her other palm pressed flat into the other one as she kneaded and stroked the pale globe.