HPDBC Sexy Tribal Sacrifice
Sexy Tribal Sacrifice
Sexy Tribal Sacrifice
Even Greetings, the drae girl I’d been making out with, had gotten her shit together after two weeks and graduated to the next step of sacrificehood. Eleven newcomers came and went. I alone remained as the helpless basket-case unable to take her fingers off of herself long enough to pass the goblin sisterhood’s test of faith.
Oh, I did try doing the ‘put dick here please’ poses and to be honest, after centuries of non-stop naughtiness, I am pretty damn good at stuff like that. Like, good enough I could easily be worshiped as the patron goddess of instagram models looking for new ways to make followers thirsty.
Every time I tried, I succeeded in tempting a sister of the Cstabath to offer her cock. I’ll let you imagine what happened after those thick slabs of unwashed goblin-meat smacked my thigh and their owners asked ‘ass or pussy’. Hint, I did not say: ‘Oh please, no dicking for me, I’m trying to prepare myself as a sacrifice.’ I begged for cock like the thirsty bitch I am and rode them as long as I could.
“Be brave, offering Uh’Ah,” Shamaness encouraged me one night.
Frustrated and desperate, I buried my face in her green gobbo tiddies and bawled. “I’m trying my best! I really am, but I can’t take this anymore.”
Shamaness caressed my hair, cooing gently. “Shh. Be shhh, Uh’Ah. World not end. Me believe Uh’Ah one day able to make it.”
I sniffled, and began laughing, when I noticed I’d just slipped my hands into my panties and started fapping. “I can’t. It’s impossible. I just can’t do it. Don’t you have chastity belts or magical geas commands or just plain old bondage? Something to help me not beg for cock.”
Shamaness frowned. “That not be purpose of the trial of Garden Of Joyful Faces. Purpose be to find worship for pleasure of others within oneself, not with help of equipment.”
“Okay. Alright. Maybe one of the sisters could act all dommy to me and tell me not to do it?”
Shamaness frowned. “Purpose be to find worship within oneself.”
“Gaah.” I groaned, detaching from her to slump against my totem pole. Mentally destroyed, I continued to fap.
“Maybe there be another way. Maybe not all offerings can complete Garden Of Joyful Faces, but still be complete other trials and make good sacrifice.”
I raised my head, hopeful. “Do you mean...”
Shamaness offered a sympathetic smile and walked up to unlock my collar from the totem. “Me mean that Uh’Ah can move on to next trial.”
I wiped a tear of joy and glomped her in a hug of purest cheer!
Thirty minutes later, I had already forgotten whatever lecture the Shamaness gave about The Hall of Big Thick Worship. The Hall itself was that big oval clay-house right next to the totem garden, the one that was emitting a constant hubbub of orgy-noises. It was warm inside. Walls were clay-red and the floor hard dirt and amber magelights lit the place. The place was divided into stalls and sparsely furnished with lounging chairs and large urns with foodstuffs and oils. Incense hung in the air, blunting the edge off of the pervasive stench of sex.
In the air hung also roughly thirty or so offerings, who’d been brainwashed to worship cocks with religious fervor. That bit right there — the religion — is prolly why I didn’t manage to get into the right headspace for it, but I’ll get back to it later. The sight of that room was... Woof! Now I may be an extra thirsty lesbian masochist, but I bet even brothers and sisters and others of average thirst would’ve gotten hot at the sight of so many submissives trussed up in intricate and extremely exposing shibari suspensions.
Still, to this day, I have zero clue as to what I was supposed to be learning there. Like, sure, I could use my mantle as a goddess of knowledge to find out, but honestly I like leaving a few mysteries behind. Makes the whole thing feel more absurd and that tickles my humor kink.
Whatever the case, I apparently failed.
I was panting heavily, tied into a lewd breeding position with my ankles and wrists behind my neck, hanging from the ceiling from my hair and harness. Droplets of cum slid down my heavy tits as I stared ahead, drooling like a brainless fuckdoll with a womb. It took a long time for me to register that the goblin standing before me was Shamaness and that the noises she was making were speech.
“Be not worry, Uh’Ah. Even if Uh’Ah fail here, sisters of Cstabath will be patient until Uh’Ah learns what it mean to be Sacrifice.”
From there, my slave life became a rollercoaster of challenges I never had any hopes of completing.
They tried to teach me worship by having me follow a goblin on all four as her personal relief pet. They tried bending me into a sexy girl-pretzel with rope and bamboo and had me spend months as Shamaness’ chair, with my face as her ball-rest. They tried keeping me in a discount tribal version of a horny jail to ‘clean space in my head for pious thoughts’, which obviously worked as well as you might imagine. Those poor cute sexy gobbos invented a dozen religious challenges just for me, desperate to make me into a devout Sacrifice the way other Hellos, His, and Umms were. Lewdly speaking, I was ready to be sacrificed. Spiritually, I apparently kept on lacking whatever crucial part they required of me.
I guessed that it had something to do with the fact that I am, ya’know, a demigoddess. No matter how much I tried, it was physically impossible for me to worship another entity in a religious sense, even with divaslab’s restrictions on!
Two years passed. Countless female cattle came and went. I alone remained a constant quest of the research facility’s goblin reserve.
Though our relationship was strained at times, Shamaness and I became fast friends. But even our friendship could not overcome the fact that I was a stain on the pride of the Cstabath Cloister, and so, eventually, the day came when I was given to the Great Big One to impregnate.
It was a windless sunny day, as days in the windless and sunny artificial enclosure tended to be. We gathered at the ritual inverted pyramid, a tiered clay hole that I had until now been barred from entering. Shamaness, the sisters of the cloister, and a small group of perfectly good sacrifice candidates had gathered to pray for my success in hopes that their devotion could offset my blasphemous nature.
Guided by Shamaness’ hand, I eased to kneel on the large altar slab, while sisters of the cloister chanted in goblin.
Lilac curves of my motherly figure glistened under layers of scented oils and ointments. Even the durlatex bondage lingerie given to us by the research facility were shined. My hair was enchanted with magic that put Loreal commercials to shame and ritual make-up put my beauty on full display, drawing attention away from the numerous arcane tattoos and the piercings marring my body. I wasn’t bound. Not even gagged. The ceremony required faith and sacrifice, and as the Sacrifice of tonight I was already supposed to have learned the art of bondageless-self-bondage. Plainly speaking, I kept my arms folded behind the small of my back, kept my legs folded, my back straight, and posed there all exposed and still like I was a submissive waiting for her domina to start telling her she’s been a bad girl.
Oops. Drool slipped down my chin. I licked it back up and hoped nobody noticed.
Shamaness’ was shouting at the sky, hopping about. Her tribal bling jingled together with the chant rising from the cloister of goblin futas, rising in depth and in intensity, growing into a thundering rhythm, and then beyond thunder into a physical sensation.
An enormous pressure leaned on the world. Something beyond sight turned its attention on the goblin village. All across the painted mountain-range and the painted sky, arcane runes flashed into bright shades of pink and purple, but it did not stop the descent of the otherworldly presence. Fake peeled open above me like parting lips and along with it, reality.
Emerald scales. No. Feathers? One blink they were one, then became the other. The being extending towards me was a coiling snake or a wyrm, its neck a tapestry of scintillating hues too beautiful to fully fit the mortal plane, and thus it bent laws of reality to forcibly squeeze itself into being. Its face, if it could be said to have one, was a mass of interlocking clay plates shielded by a thick mane of plates decorated with tribal sigils similar to ones I’d seen the goblins wear as tattoos. Transfixed by its beauty, I stared at the fledgling god reaching down towards me, wondering if I should say hi.
Before I could decide, its plate-covered face opened into and a mass of pink tentacles reached out and yanked me up into a world of tightly squeezing darkness and hot slithering tentacles ruled by the cutest little perv of a fledgling goddess I’ve ever met.