In Service to the Beast King [18+]

Prologue

Prologue

The valley of the land sloped like a woman’s waist, rising into two full hillocks that several generations, still to this day, call The Tits. To prevent the younger generation from further degrading their own lands, the elders planted beautiful flowers there in hopes of garnering respect. Unfortunately, the kaleidoscope of flowers took the shape of a delicate, slightly lopsided brassiere.  If ever children played games, they’d run to those hillocks exclaiming, “Last one to The Tits is The Beast!”

The Beast was the shape that the boulders took, resembling a terrible raw gray monster with a maw full of sharp teeth and deep dark caves for eyes. This mountain was far away, but the image was recognizable. There were countless stories told about The Beast where thunderstorms would bring the creature to life and it would rampage until at last a woman, dressed in the delicate light of dawn, would calm it once more.

Young girls born in The Tits, or more respectably called The Valley, were honored. Several generations ago, before The Valley was called The Tits, sons were preferred. Too often, young wives under pressure to conceive sons would woefully discard their female infants as a sacrifice to The Beast (it has always been known as such) in hopes of finally delivering a male child. Many unfortunate women would have to repeat the ritual several heartbreaking times before the prayer was answered.

Soon, the prayer was answered too well. There were no eligible women for virile young men to copulate and this began an internal war with women becoming treasured spoils. One brave mother spoke during a council meeting, beseeching the violence to cease. She had, herself, thrown away two beautiful babies in order to conceive her three sons, two of which have died beneath the blade of their own brother in order to claim one frightened wisp of a bride.

One voice of reason became two, two became four, and they multiplied in wise sorrowful voices until the angry wayward men stopped to listen to their mothers. They were so few in number, these small abused women, but they demanded a stop to the treatment of their gender. 

New rules joined the list of offenses that had never been there before.

No Kidnapping: A person has full autonomy of their body and is not an object to be stolen.

No Assault: A person is not a draft horse to be violently bullied to do biddings or to kowtow.

No Rape: A person may choose to not copulate and no force shall be taken against them for such decisions.

These simple rules were met with resistance but the mothers did not back down. They held firmly to the few daughters they had and scolded their sons. It took some time for society at large to ease up on their expectations of women, to allow girl children to fully blossom longer than three minutes outside of the safety of a mother’s womb.

Celebrations began at labor, a warm circle of support for frightened young women at the start of motherhood. Each child was cherished and soon, girl children were saved, beloved. Each girl was in and of herself, a wondrous gift. Both genders were lovingly welcomed into the world, but because of recent events, girl children were especially praised as if to compensate for past failings. This history was taught, passed down through generations. The treatment of girl children and women became commonplace. They were revered.

There was another place where women were revered but mostly out of fear. The place beyond The Beast was a thick forest of wilderness. Wild boars bred there, and made frightening sounds late at night that traveled through the slopes of the open valley. The thickets of trees were often so dark that they choked the grass and flowers below, each trunk becoming greedy, thicker and reaching higher toward the sun. The people of The Valley did not venture into this Black Forest beyond The Beast often, those that have rarely return to tell their curdling tales.

Never did anyone from the Black Forest visit The Valley.