The high priestess adjusted her purple lacy veil watching her reflection in the silver mirror before her. She had done this for many moons now, but with last year's drought the village was in even more need for the ritual to go well. She stood, her deep purple garments swishing about her as she walked out into the moonlight, out to the clearing where a large stone alter lay. It was about the size and shape of a dining table, carved out of black stone and smoothed by centuries of use. The coven surrounded it, about thirty paces back, close to the bordering trees. They held bright flaming torches and candles, the flickering light absorbed in the blackness of the alter. The priestess stepped into the light of the full moon, casually stepping closer and closer to the alter, all the while stripping her garments with each step. A man stepped forward, the high priest, copying her movements and stripping his garments. They circled the alter, the high priestesses long pitch black hair tickling her thighs, and her skin glowed bronze under the bright moon. The high priest had sun tanned skin, and his muscles gleamed with the ritual oil that had been prepared beforehand. His dark auburn hair had been shorn short, and his beard was trimmed down to a beautiful simple look. A witch stepped forward holding a platter with an elaborate chalice containing a potion of herbs for tonight's ritual. The priest took it, drinking half before handing it to the priestess. She drank deeply, the bitter herbs burning down her throat. The witch then set a dagger made of obsidian on the alter before rejoining the rest of the coven at the tree line. The priestess climbed onto the alter shedding the last garment, a burgundy scarf draped around her shoulders, her breasts now exposed to the frigid air of pre spring. She lay herself down on the frozen stone, goosebumps rising and her chest tightening from the chills that ran through her. The priest climbed from the foot of the alter, climbing onto her ever so slowly. She felt his heat nearer and nearer, and her body ached to become part of that heat. His warm lips brushed her cheek as he was atop of her, and she lifted her slender arms to wrap around his head as he kissed down her neck. He ran his fingers down her chest and stomach, and she felt the energy he drew up, the passion and heat of his touch. He nudged her legs open with his knee, as he kissed her lips. One hand gripped her waist as he passionately kissed her, trailing down her neck again, to her chest where he flicked his tongue over her tit. She arched her back in response, feeling the flow of energy between them as she dug her nails into his shoulder. He bit down lightly, causing a moan from the priestess, before moving down nipping her thighs as he went. He flicked his tongue over her center and she spread her legs wider, allowing him access. He brought his hands down, one positioned under her thigh, the other massaging her. He began using his tongue and fingers at a steady rhythm on her. The priestess arched her back against the cold stone as she felt the warmth rise in her body. She reached an arm up, stretching it back behind her, feeling her muscles clench and move in response to the pleasure. Her back still arched she massaged her perfect, round breasts, as the priests tongue filled her senses. She sat up, and pulled him up and forward to kiss him before pushing him onto his back. She kissed his neck, his beard tickling her face. Her hand wandered down his abdomen, down to his impressive and erect length. She stroked him slowly, watching his muscles quiver. She then straddled him, kissing his warm lips. She teased him a bit before sliding onto him. A cold breeze shifted her hair to become a veil around her, and he shifted it out of the way as it flew about her. She straddled his girthy length inside of her, feeling the rhythm of the energy about them. Letting everything flow as she moved up and down, him responding by grabbing her small waist moving her to the rhythm. They went on until they began reaching a climax. Just as the priest moaned his finale and released his seed, and the priestess felt the energy explode inside of her, she slashed the obsidian blade across his throat, leaving a deep gushing wound. The light left his eyes as he bled out before her. She stood, and reached her arms to the night sky and full moon.
"Let these lands be blessed and fertile for the coming year. Let his blood quench the lands thirst. So mote it be."
She stepped off the alter, two witches rushed forward, a bucket of rose water in hand that they poured over her head, washing the blood spray off of her and dousing her hair. Another witch brought forward her scarf which she wrapped herself in, before walking out of the clearing.
