The Sentry

Posted by Barbanne on February 07, 2002 at 21:51:15:


It was the greatest of honours.
To be selected to guard the camp of my sisters through the long dark night showed that I had the trust and respect of the motherhood of elders.
Like all but the motherhood, who always wore golden cloth, I was dressed in the tribal loincloth, comprising two long thin rectangles of gilt edged white cotton front and back, strung around my hips by a thin golden cord and on my feet were the golden sandals which everyone wore. Being entrusted with sentry duty I carried my spear and wore none of the golden ornaments which I normally would have had around my neck, wrists and ankles.
My long brown hair was swept up and pinned together to allow me unrestricted freedom of movement.
Our hidden city of Kand-yla-ne lay where it had since it was built by the ancients back in the mists of the time beyond. Long colonnaded walkways, pristine Grecian buildings and glorious gardens made Kand-yla-ne a veritable paradise on earth. We warrior sisters of Kand had lived here in peace and security for aeons past, worshipping the great god Keetchawa. Our captive men slaved in the mines of Kand-Omah wresting the precious metals from the ground which gave us the superb wealth of artifacts and ornaments which every Kandyan girl accepted as her right. Some of the most handsome and comely of our slaves were at given times allowed to lie with selected sisters and breed to propogate our tribe. For true sexual pleasure though we relied on each other.
Now though, more and more of the clothed outsiders from beyond the plains below the mountains were penetrating ever deeper into our mountain fastness and threatening our ancient way of life.
Thus was I doing my duty standing guard and defending my sisters.
The great messenger gong hung on its stand above me and in the event of danger threatening I would strike it thus summoning my sisters from their sleep.
My name is Bar-barra and I am Kandyan and proud to have been entrusted with this most important task.

The men, there were five of them, had been led into our home by an evil turncoat slave, one of the coastal tribes with whom we sometimes traded our goods. How he knew the secret passageway through the sanctuary I was never to know, but it allowed them to come up behind me. They were armed with their fire sticks and with the wickedly long sharp knives of the outsiders made from fine, razor sharp steel.
As they approached me they were presented with the sight of my totally bare back, the thin rectangular strip of my loincloth covering only the crack between my otherwise bare buttocks and reaching only to mid thigh.
The knife was thrown with great force and accuracy, looping over and over through the still night air until the point of the blade thwanked into my bare flesh between my shoulder blades.
The pain was incredible.
The shock of the stabbing blow was worse.
My spear fell from my grasp and skittered away and my knees folded and I tasted coppery blood in my mouth as I tumbled to the floor, my breasts flattening squashily against the cold stone flooring.
I lay there as though dead.
I was not sure if I were or were not dead in truth.
They gathered around my fallen body, muttering in their strange language, "She's dead,"....."maybe we should make sure,"......"no point she's finished alright,"......."come on the treasure's what we came for,"........and then they were gone.
The pain between my shoulder blades was intense.
I barely suppressed a groan.
I had failed my sisters.
Failed, failed, FAILED, I had let them all down.
I tasted the blood in my mouth and weakly pushed myself up. My mind was clouding. The gong stood above me. The steps leading to it looked metres high. I pulled myself across the rough stone floor and crawled up, gripping the edge of each step and dragging my numbed body up level by level. My breasts crushed against the cold, hard stone and my body weakened with each succeeding effort. The knife wound in my back ached abominably and any sudden movement sent excruciating spears of pain shooting through my flesh. The knife was still buried deep in me and my weak scrabbling fingers couldn't reach it.
Slowly and in awful agony I dragged myself from step to step.
Sweating profusely and shivering from vicious attacks of hot and cold waves, I finally lay at the base of the gong. I grasped its brass edges in my damp sweaty hands and pulled myself to my knees and then to my feet. I was dripping wet and blood was trickling from between my lips and my whole back was on fire with pain. My knees shook and my hands slipped where I grasped the gong and I felt black unconsciousness sweeping over me. My hair had become unpinned and hung in stringy strands around my face. I was almost out and had to call upon all of my sisterly training to feel around for the covered wooden striker. My hands closed on it and with one last enormous effort I drew myself upright and swung the cloth covered, wooden handled ball at the disc of brass.
The task was done and the waves of sound reverberated around Kand-yla-ne.
The sisters were awakened and summoned.
My task was done.
My eyelids fluttered and my strength leached away and was gone and I stumbled and hit my shoulder and then my body was tumbling back down the steps.
Rolling, rolling, rolling.
Each time I rolled onto my back I felt the knife being driven further and further in until as I flopped over the last step I died and my spirit fled into the sanctuary of the collective consciousness of my tribe.

The sisters had been summoned and came running just as the intruders, my murderers, had made their way into the treasure house. Armed with bows and arrows and overwhelming superiority of numbers the sisters attacked the five men.
They fought back with their fire sticks and Ju-anna, My-arn, Dee-arna and Jo-dee-ann all died with the fire sticks blossoming red flowers of death on their breasts and foreheads.
The sisters kept up their attack and soon all five of the intruders lay thoroughly skewered with their arrows, innumerable times and all quite dead.

A great mourning was called and my body was laid out with those of Ju-anna, My-arn, Jo-dee-ann and Dee-arna.
We lay side by side on the great stone slab of Keetchawa.
The gold robed priestesses moved around us.
Our corpses were striped quite totally naked and washed and rubbed to a polished shininess with oils. My hair was spread out around my face which in death had lost the signs of the pain of my passing and showed only inner peace.
In the collective consciousness I heard the incessant sibilant whispering of all of the souls of the departed.
With them I looked down on my own corpse.
My eyes were closed, lashes resting lightly on my cheeks and my mouth was just open, lips just apart and my breasts pointed upward and my nipples had been shone with oils and ever so slightly shaded with make up. My arms and legs were spread and my pussy was garlanded with blossoms.
All five dead girls were splayed out on the slab.
The ceremony was over and now the sisters were allowed to pleasure themselves on the bodies of the fallen.
Three of my best friends, the girlfriends with whom I had grown up, carried my limp and pliant corpse away to their bed chamber. My body was theirs to enjoy.
A vessel for erotic pleasure......................
....................and they used me well.
Fiddling with my toes, playing with my breasts, thumbing my rubbery nipples, combing my hair with their fingers and exploring the cavities of my mouth and my ass and finally my love tunnel which they spread wide open with their fingers while they toyed with my labia and clitoris and all of the soft, red, inside fleshiness of my slit, those tissues that had afforded me so much delight when alive.
Using secret essential oils they kept my dead body supple and fresh for a long, long time and, now absorbed in the collective, I was so very happy that my earthly flesh remained a source of pleasure and excitement for these sweet friends.
When at last the time came to inter me they did it with great style and my corpse was freshened with oils and my face prettily made up and I was dressed in my ceremonial cloak before being laid for the last time in the catacombs of the tribe's dead.

There my body remains to this day while my spirit helps to make up the great collective, the source of our wisdom and power through the ages.