The Sacrifice

Again, with exactitude, he struck her bare backside with the pizzle making her squeal with agonizing delight. Her pleasurable sensations heightened, as moments from that fresh spring morning replayed through her mind: Standing there near the steel pen. The huge, powerfully built beast lying upon its side. Its mighty ribcage rising then falling, and its heavy bulk twitching, as the muscles of its prime heart tried valiantly to fight against the measured dose of saxotoxin. Over and over she’d pleaded with him to let it live, as she’d tried with all her female strength to pull the bone handled knife from his rugged hands. Though, for the second time he was stronger and he’d pushed her back onto the fresh hay behind the pen next to the bamboo blowpipe, broken as it was, in to two, from their first struggles. There she’d lain breathless, her eyes red, and moist with tears, whilst he reasoned what quality of life could possibly be maintained by any member of the male species without ownership of his God given, potency. "And it will surely bring us nothing but the pleasure and the fertility we have so long deserved Susan." He’d reminded her of what the warlock had promised them both. Then, the final moments of the prescribed ritual, and the flash-storm hail, a sound like cicada against the tin roof, before he’d knelt down with a grimace to swiftly remove the necessary organ within a crack of lightening, and before the hollow roll of heavy thunder which followed.