The Ritual

 

Erotic Stories of the First Agricultural Revolution

Part II: The Ritual

Travel was not made easily. the valuable hempen rope that pulled my sled chafed at my hands, with a burn that lingered even after I applied poultices at the end of a day walking. Curled up on a soft patch of grass I spent a minute in self pity. Why did older brother leave this task to me, why was he taken so early. I; thrust from my family, roaming house to house. Used and low I hung my head. 

Of course I had stroked my own sex to completion many times in the shade of a tree, out of the eyes of my family. Of course I had dreamed about what it would feel like to share in that carnal and sacred act with a mate. How then did I now find my situation so miserable. I was only spurred on by a sense of familial piety, to trade and better the situation on our homestead. Despite the burning heat, I shuddered involuntarily at the memory of the ritual. 

In front of the family I would chew mouthfuls of pomegranate seeds, spitting the pulpy masses into a carved wooden bowl. This was smeared on our faces and necks and we were ceremonially stripped of our clothes. Once surrounded by the family on a straw mattress, a fire was lit, the woman was then covered in blankets and rubbed by many hands, as heat makes the body more fertile. I was orally stimulated by the eldest female until I achieved erection, and then angled in to the vagina. As I withdrew from each thrust, the firm hand of the family’s head would thrust forwards my buttocks, forcing me to enter once more. This was repeated until my orgasm was reached, and then I was discarded while the family swarmed the woman, raising her legs up in the air to ensure that the fluid remained. Only then could I discuss my barter with the head of the family.

Having repeated this cycle so many times, I was thoroughly depleted. I wished once more that older brother could come back to life and relieve me of my burden. Blistered and scorched by the sun I sobbed into my homespun clothing, bemoaning my wretched fate. 

The next day, I reached a homestead that was covered in shade, with a stream flowing some paces away. I dropped to my knees at the stream and splashed the running water on my face, laughing like a child. I drank, filled my gourd and washed the dust from my aching soles. As I began to feel better, I heard a feminine voice floating from the household, and as though in a trance, I walked towards it…