The Sacrifice

It took two years of putting her name into the monthly ballot before she was chosen. There are no shortage of volunteers. The dragon visits only once every full moon, and takes only a single sacrifice each time. Twelve each year. Dawn knows that she is lucky to have been chosen at all. There are hundreds of women who would readily take her place.

That doesn’t stop her being nervous. As night falls, she rises from her bath and the acolytes wrap her in warm, soft robes. They set about grooming and shaving her, oiling her skin, brushing her hair. It all feels unreal, as though it’s happening to someone else. She’s been anticipating this night for almost her entire life now. And it’s finally here. Her stomach shrinks at the mere thought of what’s to come.

It’s not without danger, giving yourself to the dragon. His teeth are sharp. His claws are long. Many of the past sacrifices bear scars from their night spent on the hillside outside the city. There are rumours that in the old days sacrifices were sometimes even killed. Burned or torn to shreds in the throes of lovemaking. These are, Dawn fervently hopes, only rumours.

But the danger’s there. As is the reward. The sacrifices live good lives after their duty is done. There are places for them within the walled inner keep of the city. Places that make Dawn’s current lodgings in the mason’s district look shabby by comparison. And should she fall pregnant (although nobody has for years now) then there’s a place for her within the palace itself, along with all the other mothers of dragonborn.

But that’s not why she’s doing it. She’s doing it because for as long as she can remember she’s been fascinated by the dragon. By the possibility of being a sacrifice. The first time she ever made herself come it was to thoughts of being offered up to something fierce, something of tooth and claw, a wild thing to her soft body, she a gift for it, bound and open and…

Dawn curtails that train of thought. She is already obscenely wet, and there are hours to go yet. Her body trembles. The acolytes must think that it is fear because they put gloved hands on her arms, whisper encouraging things to her. They finish braiding her hair, filing her nails, painting dabs of perfume onto her skin. They surround her – a swarm of concern. They inspect every inch of her. Everything must be as perfect as it can be. She has never felt so studied before.

Before they set out for the hill the acolytes give her wine. To help her relax, they say. Dawn sips it absently. She doesn’t want to relax. She wants to be here in her body while it’s happening. She wants to remember every sensation, even if it’s pain. All the same, the acolytes urge her to drink, and refill her cup whenever she does. By the time they set out for the hillside her head is swimming and her skin is warm.

The streets are crowded. People always come out to watch a sacrifice be taken to the hillside. Some people throw flowers, blow kisses. Men watch her avidly, stone-faced. She sits astride her horse and lets it all flow past her. Eventually the lights and the noise of the city fade, and they climb up into the hills. Just her and the city guard and the acolytes now.

Final preparations are made. She is dimly aware of them, of whispering voices surrounding her. She feels like she’s floating. The robes are taken from her shoulders and she is naked. Shackles clamp shut around her wrists. She is laid gently upon a flat, cold bed of rock. The shackles are anchored. The acolytes spread her legs, opening her cunt to the world. Shackles around her ankles too. A thin blindfold is tied in place around her head – carefully, so as not to disturb her braids.

And then… nothing. The acolytes and the city guard retreat to a safe distance. Cool air on her naked skin. Cold rock underneath her. Nothing to see except blackness. Nothing to hear except the breeze through distant trees. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Dawn’s mind wanders. Her cunt throbs with her pulse. What must she look like to the dragon? Small and pale against the expanse of rock. A delicate creature, spread and helpless. Would the sight of her make its mouth water? Make its dragon cock hard and ready for her? Will it smell her before it fucks her – take the scent of her from beneath the perfume? Will it touch her with claws powerful enough to rip her body in two?

She pulls at the shackles. They’re tight. She cannot reach down and touch herself, however much she wants to. She feels saturated now. So wet and open and ready that the sensation permeates the whole lower half of her body. She can’t remember her name. Can’t remember anything but this.

Then she hears it. Feels it too. A hot downdraft of air that presses her into the hillside. The whumpf of a wingbeat, then another, then another… and then the sharp scrape of claws on rock. The ground beneath her shudders as it lands. The night was empty a moment ago and now it is full. So full of a thing so much bigger than her. Big enough to swallow her whole, burn her, shred her with its claws. She can’t see it, but she can feel it looming above her.

She can hear it breathing. An animal growl of a breath.

As if in response, she feels herself spreading her legs as wide as the shackles allow. She feels herself arching her back. She’s helpless, here. An offering. A given thing. But she’ll let it take as much as she can bear.