by Chera Zade
SHARED BY THE DRUIDS
Erotic Pagan Ménage
Chera Zade
© 2015 Chera Zade
Kindle Edition
Originally published as Shared in the Stone Circle, under Steffanie Holmes.
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
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A TASTE OF WHAT'S TO COME
Another man stepped out from behind the north sarsen. He stood at the edge of the circle, his toes grazing the threshold, and regarded us with a grave glare. He too was naked, clothes strewn around his feet. I noticed the while cloth of a druidic dress balled up against the sarsen stone. The new druid had painted his muscled chest with the sigils of the Goddess, the blue lines gleaming in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal, unearthly aura.
"Donmal." Balor said.
"Balor."
The men nodded at each other.
"You know this man," I asked Balor. "Why is he watching us? How dare he interrupt the ritual?"
"It is alright, Eithne. He is a fellow Druid," said Balor. "We trained together in the mountains. He is a friend, and a good man. But his presence here is a real mystery. Why have you come tonight, Donmal?"
"The chieftain of the next valley asked for a druid to come and dance for the rains. I arrived in the valley just yesterday, and saw the dire state of the crops. I read the sky and determined that tonight was the time to perform a ritual to secure the fertility of the valley," Donmal shuffled on his feet, but did not step inside the circle. "I hadn't anticipated that the circle would be occupied."
"It is a large circle," said Balor. "You may join us in our ritual."
My eyes widened. I stared at Balor. Is he serious? But there are two of them and only one of me? How will this even work?
"That is," Balor said. "If Eithne consents."
I stared at the second man, and he met my gaze and gave me a tentative smile. As his eyes flickered over my body, I saw his shaft rise and stand as erect as the sarsen stone he leaned against. His cock wasn't as long as Balor's, but it appeared thicker in girth. With his toned muscles and his friendly, clean-shaven face, he appeared as a Seelie prince, a mischievous warrior of the fey lands from one of the ancient stories.
What would it be like to share two men? If Balor's touch could light my body on fire so, what would Donmal do? What would they do to me together? I was scared of submitting my virginity to these two powerful men, these warriors of the spiritual realm, but as I felt a tingling spreading between my legs, I realized I was curious too. I wanted to feel them both, together. I wanted to know them both, and to have them know me.
"He may join us," I said.
SHARED BY THE DRUIDS
The moon shone bright above me, the light filtering through the twisted branches of the grove and casting eerie shadows over the ground. A cool breeze blew through the trees, and the branches brushed against each other, the gentle rustle of their leaves serenading me as I picked my way cautiously through the grove. I held my skirts tight in my hand and pulled my fur cloak over my arms, not wanting to cut my skin on any thorny branches. I had to remain perfect and intact for the ritual.
The trees began to thin and I caught my first glimpse of the circle up ahead. I shivered as the breeze swirled around me. I had been to the goddess' henge many times for rituals, but never alone and never at night. The moon shone on the tall stones, arranged in a wide circle on the top of the hill, their grey surfaces dappled with ethereal light. The thin ditch dug around the raised bank that marked the outer edge of the circle appeared as a black scar against the earth. My ancestors had dug the ditch and piled the dirt high, packing it down with their feet to form the raised bank around the outside. They had dragged the stones from a quarry in the next valley, and placed each one according to the instructions of the local Druids, the stargazers who communed with the gods and brought their magic to the earth. This was the sacred site the Great Goddess, the bringer of fertility and plenty.
No rain had come to the valley for months. Our crops were dying, withering and shrinking away in the ground. My brother had left this day to take the cattle into the next valley in search of water – already they had lost much of their condition. My father, who was king in the valley, had tried everything – he sacrificed our finest animal to Arausio, the god of water. He beat on the drums for hours, trying to call down Ambisagrus – the thunder stomper. He had ancient fertility symbols burned into the skin on his chest, calling upon the fire of the Goddess to consume him. He sent for a local witch woman to bless our fields. But the rains still didn't come. But still the rains did not come.
Finally, he had sent a messenger to the caves in the mountains, asking for a Druid to be sent to the valley, that he may advise on what to do to appease the gods and bring the rains at last.
The druid had arrived from the mountains this morning and, since my father was king, he was given our home to perform his prayers. I had never seen a druid priest before, and although I wanted to be a dutiful daughter and remain in my chamber, I was curious. While my father walked with the druid among our fields, I hid myself behind the curtains in my father's chamber, and watched through a gap in the thick blanket as the holy man entered the room.
He was clad in a fine white robe, the fabric pristine despite the days he must have spent on the dusty roads walking into the valley. Over this he wore a black cloak and hood, pulled low over his face so I could see nothing but his chin – which was clean-shaven, unlike other men in the village, and strong and firm. He wore a leather pouch on his belt and carried a long staff, strung around the top with bleached bones and clear crystals. These talismans clattered against each other as he moved across the room. I could see through the way his robe hung from his body that beneath it he was taut and muscular. I wondered what he looked like under that cloak – was he an old man, wizened with age and wisdom, or a young acolyte, fresh from completing his education?
Cease these thoughts now, Eithne, I scolded myself as I crouched lower behind the curtain, my legs aching from the awkward position. Why would you think something so disrespectful about a powerful stargazer? Why are you here at all?
Because the valley is in danger, and I want to know the truth. I answered myself, squinting through the hole in the curtain as the men moved about the room.
My father lit a fire on his hearth. The priest scattered herbs from his pouch over the flames, and a pungent, spicy smell filled the room. The two men joined hands and the druid led my father in a chant in an old, long-forgotten tongue. His deep voice filled every corner of the room, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as the haunting, dirgelike tones of his words mesmerized me. The vapors from the fire swirled around my head, making me feel light, as if I might float away.
The druid finished the prayer, and he and my father sat down. My father poured drinks and set a bowl of bread and fruit in front of the druid, but the priest did not touch them. In that deep, penetrating voice, the druid asked a series of questions; when had it last rained? What rituals my father had performed? Where in the sky was the moon rising on those nights? While my father answered as best he was able, the druid drew strang
e sigils in the dust with the end of his staff.
The druid leaned back in his chair, waiting until my father had finished speaking, He drew from his pouch five small bones, which he threw onto the wooden table. He studied the pattern in silence for several minutes, than leaned in close to my father. I leaned forward too, my eye pressed against the fabric as I squinted to see what was going on.
The druid glanced up from the bones, his gaze locked on my father. "You have a daughter." He said. It was not a question.
"I do. How did you know that?"
"She is hiding behind that curtain."
Panic rose in my stomach, but it was too late. The druid knew I was there. But how had he seen me? He hadn't even removed his hood. I shrunk back behind the curtain, but I could hear my father's footsteps approaching. He yanked the curtain back and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me roughly into the centre of the room, glaring at me with hateful eyes. Shame burned inside me – if my presence messed up the ritual or angered the druid, it would mean bad things for the entire village.
My father pushed me to the ground, told me to kneel before the priest. "I apologize for my daughter's impertinence," he said, kicking my leg with his boot as I groveled in the dirt. "She will be properly punished for violating the sacred space."
Strong fingers grabbed me under the chin, pulling my head up. I stared up into the deep black hood, and I could feel the druid's hidden eyes upon me, drawing from my frightened face all the secrets of my soul. I shivered against his touch, feeling shame and awe in the presence of such a powerful figure.
The druid held up his hand to my father. "It is no matter. Your daughter feels keenly the plight of your village, or she would not have hidden here to find out what was being done about it. It is the hand of the Goddess who led her here today, for the ritual I believe you must perform requires a women of her beauty and countenance. Stand her here, in front of me. Tell me, is she pure?"
My father pushed me forward, so I stood in front of the druid. I hadn't noticed behind the curtain how tall he was, but he towered over me, his broad shoulders filling my entire vision. He grabbed my chin harder between his fingers, twisting my face this way and that. His touch burned on my skin, causing a tongue of fire to lick through my chest.
"Eithne is nineteen summers old, but has not yet been touched by a man," my father said.
The druid nodded, but didn't speak. He seemed to be sizing me up, although how he could be doing this through his thick hood, I had no idea. Even though I was fully clothed, I felt naked, exposed, as if he could see right through my garments.
"She is perfect." The priest tapped my shoulders with his long staff. The bones brushed against the skin of my neck, making me shiver. "Eithne will perform the ritual."
What? What did he say? I stared at that dark, expressionless hood. Surely he didn't mean I would perform a ritual for the Goddess? I wasn't qualified. I wasn't a druid, or even a spirit woman. I had no great connection to the gods. Why does he want me …
"Excuse me?" My father also appeared stunned.
"Our Great Goddess, the Divine Huntress, demands our penance. She has not been honored in this valley as she should. Her shrines have been neglected, her offerings weak and unacceptable. So it is that she demands the body of a nubile, fertile, women – one who has never before known the touch of a man. Eithne must go to the circle during the new full moon, and she must strip naked and perform the fertility ritual beneath the eyes of our gods."
"What ritual is this?"
"She will caress herself. She will make herself warm and moist, until her juices spill onto the earth, a libation to our fertile Goddess."
My cheeks burned with shame as the meaning of the words became clear to me. My father stuttered in protest, but the priest held up his hand to silence him.
"The full moon is tonight. If your daughter does not perform the ritual then, she will have to wait till the next moon, and that would be too late."
The druid turned on his heel and glided silently from the room, the white robe swirling around his broad figure.
And that was how I found myself wrapped in my warmest fur cloak, leaving our home at the darkest hour of the night, passing through our bleak, barren fields, and entering the grove of ash and elder trees that hid the henge on the top of the hill.
The walk through the grove was very different at night. When I'd participated in processions for Beltane celebrations, we would dance through the trees carrying branches of St. John's Wort to ward off the evil fey, and place white May flowers around the stones while the local spirit women burned the ritual fires. The grove seemed so welcoming, so tranquil. But now the trees buzzed with a surreal, almost sensual energy, the powers of the ancient ones humming through the ley lines. The goddess was listening tonight. I could feel her in the air, her breath caressing my body.
I thought about what I was expected to do. I had only touched myself in that way once before, when I was bathing in the river, watching some of the local farmers as they moved their cattle along the ridge. They were shirtless in the sun, muscles taunt and gleaming with sweat as they drove the herds to new pasture. I had sat in the water, my body laced with fire, and ran my hands along the insides of my thighs, pressing my fingers inside of me, wondering what it felt like to have a man do the same …
No, do not think of it. I had a duty to perform. I had to clear my mind, keep my thoughts open to the Goddess. I had to allow her to lead me in the ritual.
I was a dutiful daughter, I would not fail. I will bring the rains and save our family.
The trees around me began to thin out, and I stepped out of the grove into an open clearing. The grass beneath my bare feet crunched as I walked, dried to a crisp in the unrelenting sun. Up ahead I could see the outline of the henge against the moonlit sky, bank rising high around me as I entered the processional way, and the towering stones of the circle itself bathed in an eerie glow.
As I passed through the bank, the world changed. I could no longer hear the sounds of the valley – the coo and rustle of animals stirring in the trees, the roar of the wind in the trees. I always had a peculiar feeling when I visited this place. This was the home of the goddesses, and it demanded respect.
I began the ritual outside the circle, by chanting a prayer under my breath. I spun around three times and flung my dress over my head. The crisp air tingled my skin, a light breeze causing my nipples to stand on end. Now clad only in the sky I raised my arms above my head, and stepped over the threshold into the circle.
I bowed to each of the markers – the tall sarsen stones marking the winds of the north, south, east and west. My body surged with energy, a strange mix of exhilaration and fear running through my veins. The opening prayers were complete – it was time for the ritual itself.
I positioned myself slightly off centre, lying down on the grass so my body was aligned with the east sarsen stone – the moon visible directly in above it's tapering point. My vision swirled, and the stones seemed up pulse before me, their cold surfaces charged with an unknown energy. I spread my legs wide on the ground and lay back with my head on the crackling grass. I closed my eyes, and focused on the sensations of the wind swirling around my body, the grass crunching beneath my back. The Goddess caressed me, her invisible fingers running over my body.
My eyes shut, I thought of the men I had once seen on the hill, their muscles bulging, their brows furrowed in concentration. I imagined those thick arms draped across my body, holding me close, my body wrapped in theirs. I opened my lips, wondering what it would feel like to press them against another. I reached down with my hands, sliding them across my breasts, over my belly, down, down, to that mound of soft hair between my legs, which had begun to pulse with the same energy as the stones around me.
I heard someone cough.
My eyes flew open. A shadow stood at the edge of the great marker. It was a man, completely naked, the outline of his muscular arms and toned chest illuminated by the moonlight.
I blinked
. The man was still there. A feeling of unease crept into my belly. Why was there a man here at the circle, on this night, when the ritual demanded a female? Was he a faerie, a dark and dangerous sprite? Had I conjured him into being with my visions …
"Wh-wh-who are you?" I stammered.
"My name is Balor." he replied. His deep voice caressed the air. It sounded faintly familiar, but I knew I'd never seen his face before. I'd never forget that face … or that body. His jaw strong and strangely clean-shaven, his eyes a clear, crystal blue, the moonlight bouncing off flecks of light around the edges. The breeze whipped his long, brown hair around his shoulders, and a smattering of dark hair covered his broad, muscular chest.
"Greetings Eithne. You might not recognize me without my cloak and beard," he said with a chuckle.
I stared into those deep blue eyes, and suddenly I knew where I had encountered him before. He was the druid – the one who had come to my house in the morning! He was the druid who had sent me to the stone circle in the first place.
He smiled as he saw the recognition on my face.
But why is he here? At my father's home he had acted as if our plight had mattered little to him. He had explained I would be performing the ritual alone. My face burned red as I realized I was lying skyclad, my legs open and completely exposed before him. All the pleasing sensations fled my body, as if the goddess had shut off the river of fire that had begun to trickle through me. I couldn't perform the ritual with him watching. He was … he was …
"You are awfully … young for a druid," I stammered, pulling my legs closed and sitting up, trying to hide my skyclad body from him with my legs.
"I have proven to be very … adept … in certain rituals," he replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He stepped over the threshold of the circle.
"Wha-wha-what do you want?" I asked.