The Sacrifice of Aeva

She escaped back into another distant memory. After hearing Sarah’s tale, the young Aeva had been agitated beyond measure, she couldn’t find peace. Images of the red haired girl strapped to the rock and suffering her fate were flashing before her eyes, making her restless. Her mind was obsessed, she could not contain it. Finally that night, it had been too much to bear, she had slipped from her bed without a noise, and fled into the darkness.

The air was cool and crisp, the grass freezing under her naked feet as she ran to the forest under the moonlight. Her nightgown was flying into the wind, and goosebumps were forming in her most intimate places. After a time wandering in the woods, she had found her secret tree. It had been a long time since she had visited. Her secret rocks were still there, tucked under the largest root.

She slipped out of her nightgown, and placed it over the root at her side. She was now fully naked under the stars, with only the moon and the gods to see her. Her breathing was shallow and fast, her statuesque frame shivering in the night. The dark nipples on her large pale breasts were fully erect from the cold and from the thoughts in her head. And between her legs ran a fire that would consume her if she let it.

Kneeling in front of the large tree, she pulled her special rocks from under the root, and set it in plain view. The largest one was a heavy flat rock with one of its long sides an irregular, jagged sharp edge. She had used it in the past, when she had been consumed with another twisted fantasy. She had found herself obsessed with imagining what it would feel to be struck by an ax in battle. And she had pleasured herself while pressing the sharp edge of rock as hard as she could against her soft stomach, imagining a strong warrior burying his blade into her abdomen. 

However, she had a different idea for tonight. She lifted the heavy stone, and planted it into the earth, the cruel edge looking up towards the sky. In her left hand she took the two smaller flat rocks, making a fist and pressing them together. And in her right hand she grabbed the last rock, her favorite instrument of pain, a sharp pointy rock.

She turned around, pressed her back tightly against the coarse majestic tree. And then, spreading her knees, she lowered herself letting her full weight rest onto the jagged sharp edge of the vertical stone. Going down, the soft skin of her back scraped against the rugged tree, and the vicious side of the stone dug deep between her open thighs, into her most sensitive skin. 

She closed her eyes and recalled the tale of the Sacrifice old Sara had told. But in this new fantasy, Aeva herself was the one broken, tied and exposed for all to see. The coarse bark against her back was the sharp Sacred Rock scorching her skin. The pain in her crotch was the result of the guards having assaulted her relentlessly. 

She was free to fully give into her perversion now. There was no one to judge her, no one to keep appearances for. Her devious imagination could run wild, and the fire in her crotch could consume her totally.

In her fantasy, her sex was left mangled and broken after having been defiled violently by every King’s guard. She imagined their members much larger and powerful than the sexes of the few boys she knew. Her abusers would have had no care in the world for her well-being. Instead, they would have been strong, bestial even and each one would have forced their enormity inside her in a brutal thrust, tearing her apart. She could only guess how it would feel deep inside of her, but her hips were grinding back and forth against the sharp chiseled rock as she imagined the destruction of her sex. It hurt so much she thought the rock must be mangling her nether. And still she wanted more, needed more pain.

The last guard to present himself would be the most vicious. This demon of a man would not stop at splitting her apart with his gigantic sex. No, he would want her to suffer more. He would punch her in the breast, repeatedly. And so she hit herself, with the flat stones encased in her fist, bruising her bosom. The pain was severe, but her whole body and mind craved it. In his viciousness, her assailant would grab her vulnerable breast and squash it. And so her left hand opened up the two small flat stones around her left nipple, and she made a fist squeezing with all her strength and crushing her sensitive extremity. She couldn’t prevent a long wail from tearing into the night.

The demon-man would not relent, he would twist and pull and squash and so her hand followed her brutal fantasy, turning and grinding the stones, reducing her nipple flesh into a pulp. The pain was unbearable, but there was no choice, nothing would deter the demon-man from his sadistic urges. The scraping of her delicate skin folds against the sharp rock accelerated. The man was a monster, he would use the pull on her breast to increase his leverage and wreck her hole even harder, deeper. Her mind was gone, the pain and the sexual obsession were overtaking her in a destructive whirlwind of conflicting feelings. She was close to the edge.

The demon-man would leave her broken, forever ruined. And the shaman would come next, with a spear in his hand. He would position the tip of his weapon upon her abdomen and he would push in, slowly. And so her right hand followed, pressing the pointy rock against her soft, pale belly skin. Her whole body was shaking under the combined pain of all the rocks, but it was not enough. Her mind raced to increase her torment. The shaman would be too weak, so he would hand off his spear to a strong warrior. The man would pull the spear out of the shallow cut, and with all his weight and strength he would pierce through her guts. And so, she swung the pointy stone in a wide gesture, and jabbed it on herself as hard and as deep as she could, right under her ribcage. And she jerked it up, violently. The stone was too blunt to pierce her flesh, but sharp enough to scrape and tear her skin. Under her own assault she came, hit by wave after wave of savage ecstasy.

When she emerged from her trance-like experience, everything was pain. Never in her previous acts of self inflicted torture and pleasure had she gone that far. The large sharp stone sticking up from the earth between her legs was reddened with her blood, her left breast carried deep bruises where the stones had hit her, and her crushed nipple was leaking red droplets that fell on her hips. Her skin was ripped where the pretend spear had skewered her, with more blood trickling down onto her pale shivering waist. She was quenched, consumed and scared of her urges all at once. 

She cleaned her special stones with leaves and stuck them back under the root of the tree. She knew her wounds would hurt for a long time. She would have to hide them, secretly dress them until they healed. But another thought was emerging into her mind. Wouldn’t she soon want to feel her ecstasy all over again? Would she be able to wait until she was healed? And if she didn’t wait, then it would hurt even more… And that depraved thought was already lighting another fire in her loins.

Emerging from her thoughts In her cold damp bed, under the relentless rain,  Aeva found that one of her hands was rubbing tirelessly between her legs, and her left nipple was firmly locked between the fingers of her other hand. She was moaning, twisting and turning until a wave of pleasure overtook her. It was a pale shadow of what she had felt when she hurt herself with her rocks all these years ago in the forest. But something in her was waking again. 

She had missed these feelings so much. It suddenly hit her that since her late husband Sigur had died six winters ago, she had only been a shadow of her former self. Now, with the prospect of her imminent end, her old passion was coming alive again.