Gradually, the people stopped milling around and began seating themselves in a large circle. The fire was at the center of it; it was a surging blaze, throwing bright sparks high into the air above it, casting weaving shadows onto the trees behind the heterogenous array of men and women that were seated at its periphery.
At the point of the circle furthest from the entry road sat a man with a drum between his knees. As soon as everyone was seated, he began playing a soft, insistent rhythm; it wasn't long before the bodies of the seated people began swaying in time with it.
On his left, a man wearing a robe stood up, looked over the assembled crowd and smiled. "I want to welcome you all," he said, "to our annual Festival of Choice. As you all know, we've spent the last six months deciding on this year's Choice; the final drawings have been done, the Choice has been made, the Choice has been informed. I shall now turn you over to my wife, Joan, who will tell you who the Choice is! Then, without delay, we will begin this year's festivities!"
Grandly, he gestured to the woman next to him, who was still seated. She was remarkable beautiful, her reddish-brown hair long and full, her large green eyes set in a broad face with a full mouth. She was dressed in a long white gown, cut low enough to expose most of her breasts, and split up each side almost to her waist. She stood, took his hand, squeezed it, and looked up at him; her smile was full and somewhat impish.
"As you may recall," she said, "last year's Choice decided on privacy; such was his right, but we were not able to share his experience with him. This year, it will be different. This year, the Choice has decided on spectacle; this year the Choice has decided on participation!"
For a moment or two there was silence; then, somewhere among the seated onlookers, someone began to applaud. Another joined in, and within seconds the whole assemblage was applauding. Various people began calling out, demanding that the identity of the Choice be revealed.
"The Choice," Matt called, silencing the crowd, "will now be revealed to you. The Choice is..." he paused, hesitated for dramatic effect. "Joan, my wife!"
Again, there was a silence. Then, thunderous applause, whistles, shouts. Joan smiled; she was almost glowing with pride.
"Matt," she said, turning to her husband, "let's get started! I want to start dancing, Matt!"
He waved his hand toward the open ground in front of the fire and kissed her lightly. "Dance," he said.
She left him and went to the open area; she posed for a moment, her arms up over her head. Then, slowly at first but with a gradually increasing vigor, she began dancing around the fire. The drummer increased both his volume and his tempo, and her dance quickly became wilder and wilder. As she whirled around, her long and smoothly tanned legs were completely exposed, as was the dark triangle of her pubic hair. Dancing close to the flames, she began to perspire, and soon her white gown was quite damp; it clung to her body, revealing the shape of her high, firm breasts and erect nipples. While she danced, Matt left the circle and returned a few moments later, bearing a number of weapons--a long lance, a sword, several knives. He tossed them on the ground, the onlookers clapped again; Joan ignored him and danced on.
Around the circle of observers, the men began to stand up and remove their clothes. When they sat back down, the women--many of whom had stripped as well--either began massaging the men's genitals by hand or dipping their heads into their laps and sucking their penises. They were quite careful, however, not to bring the men to a climax.
Matt stood in front of the crowd. "Who will be first?" he cried. "My wife should not go where she is going with her vagina and her mouth dry! Who will be first?"
In the front row, a dark-haired young woman encouraged her partner, and he jumped up and ran into the circle, his penis erect and bouncing slightly. Joan, giggling, stopped her dance and bent over, flinging her gown up and exposing the pale areas of her firm buttocks. The other man stood behind her, holding her slim waist, and pressed his erection against her. She was obviously very wet, and he immediately slid inside her.
She tossed her head from side to side as he moved within her, her breath coming in harsh gasps. He didn't take long; only seconds later, he thrust himself hard into her and climaxed. Pulling out, he watched his semen run slowly back out of her vagina and down the backs of her long legs.
As he retreated to his seat, Joan faced the crowd herself. "Another," she said, beckoning with both hands and smiling seductively. "I need more, I want more!"
Another came; she dropped to her knees as he approached her and immediately took his penis between her lips, sucking him with long, smooth strokes while Matt moved close to them, watching them closely. Joan looked up at him and grinned around the penis in her mouth, but she didn't miss a stroke.
This man didn't last any longer than the first had, and as he began his orgasm, Matt pushed Joan's face away for a moment, so that part of his semen could spray onto her lips and into her open mouth. Then he too returned to his place, and another was called.
Many more men came; she took them all. At her invitation the fourth man ripped her gown off and pushed her flat on the ground, slamming himself hard into her. Matt guided him to ejaculate on her breasts, and the next man on her cheeks; by the time they stopped calling forth the men, her breasts, face, stomach, buttocks, and legs were covered with semen.
She climbed to her feet, smiling at the onlookers, rubbing the semen into her breasts and belly, moving slowly in time to the driving drumbeat. Matt kissed her, then went to the pile of weapons he'd brought in and selected one, a lethal-looking spear with a five-foot hardwood shaft and a six-inch double-edged head of gleaming steel. Throwing off his robe, he came back to Joan, holding the spear in his hand.
"That's a good choice," she said as he drew close.
"I thought so. You ready?"
She gave him her mischievous grin again. "You bet! I've been looking forward to this moment for a long time!"
Holding the lance in his right hand, he put his left arm around her shoulders. Slowly she leaned back, farther and farther, letting her arms dangle loosely. Her head was tipped far back, her long hair hanging, her breasts pointed straight up.
Gripping the lance about a foot back from the head, he touched the razor point to her ribs, just under her left breast, and moved it around until it rested on some exact spot he seemed to have been searching for. Leaning over her, he looked into her face and pressed the point tightly against her skin. "How does it feel?" he asked, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"It's good, it's a good spot" she said without raising her head. She squirmed in his arms a little. "Come on, Matt!" she begged. "I'm ready, I'm ready now! Let's get this started!"
"You got it, honey," he said. For just an instant he hesitated; then he drove the lance downward, piercing her chest with it.
Her body jerked and her head came up as the steel sank into her, her eyes flying open and her lips parting as well, but her arms still hung limply. Smiling down at her, Matt pushed on the lance, forcing it in a little deeper.
Once more she jerked, as the lance-head sank in perhaps another inch. Her blood welled up around it, following the valley between two of her ribs around her side, then dripping onto the ground. "Oh, man," she murmured, "Oh, Matt, oh, that's just great, get it in a little more, just a little more! Oh God, it hurts, I can feel the blood running out, oh Matt...!"
"Here you go, sweetheart," he said tenderly as again he pressed down on the lance again. The blade was sharp; there was a little ripping sound as another inch disappeared into her, and a new rush of blood followed it as her body jerked again.
He paused for a second, holding the lance in place, then yanked it out. Tossing it down, he pulled her erect but continued to support her with his left arm.
Lifting her left breast with her hand, she looked down at the wound, at the streaming blood. "Oh, that is good, Matt," she sighed. "Perfect!" She looked up at the spectators, and they applauded loudly. When she opened her pouty lips and allowed blood to drain from her mouth, they applauded even louder.
The onlookers began leaving their seats then, coming closer. Matt directed the first few to the pile of weapons, and they came back bearing an array of swords, knives, and other cutting and piercing instruments.
"Easy at first," Matt warned. "If you aren't careful you'll take her down too quick!"
The spectators were touching her then, several of them dipping their fingers in her free-flowing blood. One of the men caressed her cheek, another her breast, yet another knelt before her and rubbed his hands up the inside of her thighs.
"Gather around me," she urged. "Gather close, hold me up. I don't want to fall, not yet!" Two men went around behind her; one held her waist, the other reached around for her breast. She sighed. "Yeah, that's it," she told them. "That's good, that's real good!" A very young man was standing in front of her, awkwardly holding one of the knives from Matt's hoarde. She smiled at him. "You've never been to one of these, have you?" she asked.
He looked as if he was startled that she'd spoken to him. "Uh--no, no, I haven't--"
"Then you should be initiated," she told him. "Come here."
He did, and a girl joined him, a bright-eyed and very young girl with short dark hair. Joan looked at her and offered her her quick smile as well.
"What're your names?" she asked them.
"I'm Paul," the boy said. "And this is Jennifer."
"Well, Paul." Joan reached out and took his hand, the one holding the knife. "Don't you want to--ah--use this? On me?"
"Y--yes," he stuttered. "Yes, I do! But I'm afraid I'll accidently kill you!"
"Not if you're careful," she said. Her green eyes were wide, eager. "Tell him, Jennifer! Tell him he should do it!"
The girl was breathing very hard; she was staring at the blood flowing from the wound in Joan's chest. "Oh, yes," she sighed passionately. "Yes, you should!"
The green-eyed woman touched her breast, just above the nipple. "Right here," she suggested. "Put it in me here, angle it down. You won't kill me."
"Show me where," he whispered.
Laughing, she lifted his hand and carefully brought it down so that the knife's point was resting against the upper margin of her right nipple. The blade was pointed almost straight downwards. "Now," she urged. "Support my breast with your hand and push it in!" Her eyes fixed on his. "I really want it, Paul, I really do. I want to feel the pain, I want to feel the blood rush out...!"
Still looking at her eyes, he brought his hand up under her breast, and, after a moment's hesitation, he pushed down hard on the knife. Joan winced as it pierced her, but she kept smiling.
"That's good," she told him, looking down at it. Less than an inch of it was imbedded in her flesh, but the blood was oozing out already. "Real good! Get it in deeper now, don't stop...!" Her eyelids fluttered. "Get it in as deep as you can, move it around in there, hurt me, hurt me...!"
He pushed it on down. There was a little tearing sound, but it sank smoothly and softly on into her breast, all the way down until the guards would allow it to go no further.
Joan pushed her hands up into her hair. "Yes," she moaned. "Oh, yes, Christ, that's so good, so good...!"
The boy was staring fixedly at it, at the blood. "Jesus," he muttered. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Sure it does! But you can get into it, and it's really what you want! That's what I want now, I want to be hurt, I want to feel pain!" She touched the knife lightly. "Pull it out now. Pull it out so the blood can run!"
He did, pulling it up slowly, and he watched raptly as blood spilled out over her nipple. She pulled his head down and he licked and sucked at her nipple for quite a while. At last she gently pushed him away. "I need more," she told him, "and everyone should have a turn!"
"How about me?" someone beside her asked. "I can really hurt you with this!"
Joan looked around. He was holding a long but very slim-bladed sword. She smiled, reached down at touched it. "Oh, it's beautiful," she breathed. "Just beautiful!" She looked back up at the man's face. "I want it," she told him, her green eyes bright and wide. "I really want it, I want you to run me through with it!"
Hearing that, Matt came to her quickly. The man with the sword, seeing him coming, waited. "Honey, if he runs you through it'll kill you," Matt warned. "Not right this second, but it will. Now's the time; make sure you're prepared to go through with this, all the way. Are you sure? Are you sure you want it, are you sure you want him to run you through?"
She shuddered. "I have never been so sure of anything in my life!" she declared. "Do it! Do it to me now!"
After kissing her, Matt lifted the blade, held it level, and moved it until the tip touched her belly, about an inch below her navel, and pressed it in a little. When he released it, the other man held it precisely in position, dimpling her belly. "All right," Matt said. "Do it, whenever."
"Now!" Joan urged.
The man took a single step forward, bending his arm as he came. Then he began pushing with the sword, and, with an audible tearing sound, the razorlike blade sank right into Joan's naked belly.
"OH!" she cried. "Ahhhh! Uh!" Her body trembled; blood and watery fluids ran out over the sword's blade. The man pushed harder and the sword sank deeper; angling it to the left a little, he pushed on, and a moment later the bloody blade emerged from her lower back. Her eyes very wide, her body jerked forward; she would have doubled over it except for the hands holding her. The man holding it continued, stopping only when the guards touched her skin. Then he pulled it back a little, balancing it in her, and released it.
Virtually all of the spectators were nude now, and a number of the women had taken a man's penis into their mouths. About an equal number of men had slipped their members into a partner's vagina; it all seemed very indiscriminate, as there were as many threesomes developing as couples. Raising her head, Joan watched them, her now sleepy-looking green eyes moving from one to the next.
With a sudden movement, Matt yanked the sword out of her. She shuddered; the flow of her blood increased dramatically, pouring from her torn abdomen. Reaching down, she held her hand over it, but the blood now ran freely between her fingers. "Somebody stab me," she murmured. "Please, quick, somebody stab me again!"
A man standing behind her leaned his head over her shoulder; she turned her head and looked at him. "I will, Joan," he told her, showing her a short double-edged knife with a wooden handle.
She leaned her head toward his, kissed him, and he plunged the dagger into her right breast. Fresh blood spurted; she winced but she kept kissing him and he ground the blade into her, working it around, mashing her breast flat against her ribs.
She trembled, but in a low and slurred voice asked for more. A man stepped up in front of her promptly and stabbed her in the stomach with a small, slim knife. Her body twitched violently; new blood trickled from the new wound. Another man, holding an identical knife, stepped up behind her. Reaching around, he pierced her between the ribs with it; like the first man, he withdrew it quickly.
She again turned her head, looking toward this man. It seemed the pain was leaving her; smiling lazily, she gestured toward a third man. He grinned back at her, stabbed her in the breast, and held the knife in her flesh for a moment. She glanced down at it; he whipped it out, and a spurt of new blood followed.
Her strength failed her; the men still held her, but she sagged into their arms. Another man, a fourth, knelt behind her and sank his blade into her lower back, alongside her spine.
Her body arched back, her legs stretching out hard, her toes quivering. Four new men were on her in an instant, clustering around her. In another second, two of them had buried their small knives in her breasts, near her nipples. The third stabbed her in the stomach again, while the fourth pierced her groin, just below the upper edge of her pubic hair.
She moaned, sighed, and squirmed weakly. The four men ripped their knives out and drove them in again and again, until each one had stabbed her four times. By now she was covered with her own blood; she was hanging in the grip of the men supporting her, her body trembling and jerking, her eyes open and staring. The crowd pressed closer, watching her intently, several people dipping their fingers in her blood.
Then Matt pushed his way through the crowd. Lifting her head, he smiled at her. In his hand was a rather large, long-bladed knife. "Time to finish it, sweetheart," he said. She couldn't speak; she just nodded. He kissed her, stabbed her gently in her breast once more, then raised his knife to her throat. While his lips remained on hers he pushed it in leisurely; blood shot out, soaking both of them, but he kept pushing until the blade emerged from the back of her neck. When he took his mouth away, she was dead.