rite of passage
Mal heard her name pronounced as if in a dream. It took the urging of two of her Sisters to move her from her kneeling position on the floor, where she’d been meditating as the Mother moved about the room, inspecting the girls, often reaching between their legs to check their wetness, squeezing their breasts to check their firmness. Malak had been spared the inspection, only because no one expected her to be chosen.
She was newly seventeen, the minimum amount of years needed to be chosen by the Goddess for the task of blessing the crops. Most of the girls in the waiting tent had been waiting for at least a year, many of them for more than five. The air in the tent smelled of sex, of wetness and desire and need. It was almost smothering, and when Malak had entered the tent for the first time the day after her seventeenth birthday, she had balked, not wanting to live in the thick air among the unchosen women of their tribe for no one knew how many years. The Goddess was a fickle deity, seemed to have a habit of choosing girls at random with no regard for just how long they had been waiting.
But even with the Goddess’ predisposition towards random choices, no one had expected Malak. She was different than the other girls. Where the others had ample curves, full hips and heavy breasts, Malak’s body was tight. Straight, with small, narrow hips and just the slightest swell to her breasts. Her bottom was tight as well, but rounded and prominent. Her Sisters tended to joke that the only touching Malak was made for was a good thrashing.
They joked about it so much that she had begun to believe them, and she had seriously contemplated simply bringing herself to orgasm and taking the punishment that would come, simply to end this whole foolish charade.
So when her name was called by the Mother after the prayers went up, she couldn’t quite believe her ears. She stumbled forward, barely resisting the urge to cover up her naked body in the presence of the mother, whose figure so closely resembled that of the Goddess: full, rounded hips and ample breasts, a soft face and a gentle air about her. Next to the Mother, Malak felt as though her body were made of only razor sharp angles.
The Mother touched Malak’s forehead, and then each breast, anointing her with sweet-smelling oil. “Chosen.” She whispered, giving Malak a broad smile. “Come, little one. We shall prepare you.”
The next few hours were a blur of bathing and dressing. Her sisters took extra care to bathe her first in fresh water, and then in water scented with herbs. They washed her hair, and scrubbed every place they could reach. /Every/ place, much to Malak’s squirming dismay. They lifted her from the bath, drying her quickly before laying her down, face-up, on a mat and spreading her legs. She instinctively fought to close them, but one of her Sisters landed a sharp smack to the inside of her thigh. “Be grateful.” She chided, and Malak stopped fighting.
She felt one of her Sisters deft fingers reach down and spread her lips, exposing her more. Another Sister teased at her clit with expert hands, drawing it out until it was swollen and Malak was shuddering with need. Still another Sister slid a smooth metal plug into her opening, seating it fully within her. The touch to her clit was replaced with a metal clasp, gripping it and pinching it gently to keep it full as it was now. Malak knew from watching the procedures done to girls in the past, that the plug and clamp were both elegantly filigreed, decorated with opal and set by their village’s finest metal-workers. She was decorated in a fashion fit for one of the Mother’s concubines. Or one of the Goddess’ priestesses.
Her legs were pulled up then, her bottom hole lubed with oil, and another decorative plug inserted. Her bottom was red and stinging by the time they finally got her to settle and take that one.
She was pulled up from the mat, a sari of the finest cloth wrapped around her otherwise naked body, and ushered out into the light. Her Sisters followed behind, giggling at the way the plugs and clamp made it hard for Malak to walk. The journey to the Blessing point was a long, tortuous one, and Mal had to stop several times to breathe and make her body relax, lest it betray her before the ceremony even began.
When they reached the point, she sighed in relief. It was a large, open tent with incense burning all around it and the finest rugs and silks laid on the ground. There was a circle of pillows in the middle, obviously where her part of the ceremony would take place. Off to the side of that was the altar, where the Priestesses would pray to the Goddess as Malak was being fucked. At the point of orgasm, they would burn the first return’s of last years crop, thus completing the ceremony. It was a process that had to be timed perfectly. An orgasm that took place at a point other than the designated one would not bring misfortune upon her people, but the harvest was only truly great when the ceremony was a success, and she would be punished severely if not able to control herself until the right point.
She was led into the tent, and laid down on the pillows, her legs spread wide so that the elders of the village and their warriors could all see everything. She heard their soft prayers go up as she was exposed to them, and she couldn’t bring herself to feel shame. She felt beautiful. Important. At the moment, she was the most important woman in the village, and she could feel that knowledge reverberate throughout her whole body.
Her arms were pulled above her head, cuffed and secured to a ring embedded in the wood of the floor. This was so she couldn’t be tempted to reach down and bring her orgasm on quicker than it should come. Her legs were pulled up too, ankles cuffed and secured to the same ring. She was completely open and exposed, every one of her most vulnerable parts on display to the entire village. She closed her eyes, heard the drumbeats begin, heard the Priestesses begin to chant softly. Incense was lit, the heady smell filling the room. She knew, at this point, many of the couples in the village would begin to touch each other as they watched. She knew many of her Chosen Sisters, who had already been through this process, would be reaching between each other’s legs at this point, bringing each other to orgasm. Though her’s was the most important, right now, others could not hurt. Most of the time, the village tried to bring their women to ecstasy as many times as they could, during a ceremony. Anything to bring on the blessings of the Goddess.
She felt hands on her, now. She knew them to be the Mother’s hands, as she’d felt them many times in the past few months, as each girl in the waiting tent was constantly brought to the edge of orgasm, as training for this moment. The Mother took great delight in training the girls this way, Mal knew.
The Mother’s fingers traced slowly down the outer lips of Mal’s sex. This was a deliberate tease, as Mal knew she was avoiding the sensitive areas in favor of making her squirm in anticipation. Fingertips danced lightly over Mal’s inner thighs, over her bottom. A few smacks were landed, just because she could, and Mal had to take a deep breath to calm herself. The Mother chuckled, and Mal blushed. Everyone knew, since the first time she’d reacted this way from a punishment in the waiting tent, that the burn of a spanking made her wet. The Mother reignited the burn in her bottom to the beat of the drum, and for a moment, Mal was sure she’d need no other stimulation. That she would orgasm just from being spanked. But the Mother was merciful, and stilled her hand.
The chanting took on a new tone, a little more urgent as the Mother gently pulled the plug from Mal’s bottom hole, laying it beside her on the mat. Then the plug was removed from her sex, joining the other. And slowly but surely, the clamp was removed as well, making Mal moan out. Hers joined those of many of the other women around her, a few of them having already reached orgasm, many more on their way. She couldn’t help but think of the unfairness of this. She would have to last the whole ceremony for one orgasm, while they got to have many.
These thoughts were all pushed to the back of Mal’s mind, as she felt the tip of the Mother’s tongue press against her entrance. She keened, a sharp yell sounding out above the chanting of the Priestesses. While all the girls in the tent were regularly stimulated by fingers, none of them were allowed to feel the touch of anyone’s tongue until this day, and the sensation was almost more than Mal could take.
The Mother took her time, licking a long, slow stripe all the way up Mal’s sex, and then twisting her tongue as she came back down, making Mal moan out. She pressed her tongue into Malak’s opening, fucking it in and out shallowly. Mal gave soft, needy little whimpers, wishing for the stimulation where she needed it most, on her clit.
The chanting was growing more frenzied, and Mal could tell it was almost time. The Mother was teasing lightly at her bottom hole as she continued to lick Mal lightly. The girl gave soft, choked sobs, feeling what she knew had to be orgasm right there, threatening and beautiful at once.
The next few seconds stretched on for what seemed like years, before the Mother finally lifted her head and whispered a prayer, and then permission to Mal. The smell of smoke on the altar and the Mother’s tongue against Mal’s clit was all that was needed to push her over the edge, and she came hard, wailing out her climax as she shuddered violently.
It seemed like it took hours for her to calm down. The Mother kept her hand cupped over Mal’s sex the entire time, letting her grind up into it as the aftershocks shook her, giving her a little relief, and a little bit of added stimulation just because she could. The final steps of the ceremony were completed, each of her un-chosen sisters coming up and pressing a kiss to her pussy. Each of the warriors of the village doing the same, so that by the time her arms and legs were released, she felt as though she weren’t too far from being able to do the whole thing again. Slowly she stretched out, lithe and sated, like a cat waking from a nap in the sun.
She was helped to her feet by one of the warriors, a tall young man with dark skin, dark curls, and bright blue eyes. He helped her steady herself. The Mother smiled on them, clasping their hands together in blessing. Malak smiled as well. This warrior had obviously been chosen for her, as a gift. The most devout and skilled of their warriors was given to the Chosen each year. She would have him for a week (longer, if they chose), in their own private tent. He was hers to use as she wished. And he was allowed to bring her to orgasm as many times as she wanted.