Tecpatl
Forum Resident
- Joined
- Jan 3, 2011
- Messages
- 501
- Location
- USA
I‘ve been working with AI to develop some pictures for a story based on an old English folk song which may preserve memories of a harvest sacrifice. Of course I never met a human sacrifice I didn’t like, so here’s the results. I’m not able to get the AI to produce exactly what I want, or as bloody as I want, but hope these will be enough to help your own imagination.
Every Fall the Druid priest went around to the farms and villages to choose a young man handsome and strong to be the Barleycorn at the Harvest Festival. He had to be in his eighteenth or nineteenth year, which meant he had never been to the sacred field for the dance of the reaping which was only open to those twenty and above. Being chosen was of course a great honor, and all Alwyn knew about it was that the one chosen went to the festival and never returned. He remembered two years ago when Oli had been chosen from their village. Alwyn had been attracted to Oli and he still sometimes jerked off thinking what had happened to him. Of course most of the boys thought that the one chosen was sacrificed to the god of the grain, and Alwyn imagined Oli going bravely to his death.
Now Alwyn followed the Druid to the festival for its first day, the day of the reaping. Along the way he told Alwyn the story of John Barleycorn, singing it as an ancient song. The song told how when John Barleycorn was full grown he was cut down for the barely cakes and beer, that he was eaten and drunk to give men pleasure and then planted in the field to grow again. Of course this confirmed what the boys in his village expected and Alwyn knew now that he would not survive the day. There was cold fear in the put of his stomach, but there was also heat in his loins as he imagined himself being able to go to death bravely to give life to the fields like Oli had.
The Druid took him to a hut on the edge of the sacred field where he prepared Alwyn for the dance. He removed Alwyn’s clothes and bathed him, using a bulb to force water up his rectum until he was clean inside and out. The Druid told Alwyn this was so he would not foul himself during the dance. The only thing he told Alwyn about what he was to do was that he should stay standing in the center of the field as long as he could. The more strength he showed, the stronger his offering. He never told Alwyn he was to die, but Alwyn accepted that that was what awaited him in the field. The last thing the Druid did was to put a crown of ripe barley stalks on Alwyn’s head and a skirt of dried barley leaves around his waist.
Alwyn had heard the sound of a crowd gathering during his preparations, and as the Druid led him out of the hut he saw that the young men of the towns and villages had gathered, carrying scythes and pitchforks. Fear gripped Alwyn at the realization of how he was going to die, but he tried to force it away, telling himself to stand bravely. He saw two of the young men from his village, but they wouldn’t look him in the eye. As the Druid led Alwyn to the center of the field the young men began to gather in a circle, holding their sharpened tools. The Druid walked away, leaving Alwyn to stand alone. He took in a deep breath as he took in the strong young men around him, dressed only in their breeches. Their muscular arms and chests started to turn Alwyn on as he realized that they would use their strength to overpower him.
A low thrumming began from a stringed instrument one of the band of Druids played, and the note was taken up by the young men around him. The head Druid had said nothing to Alwyn about singing so he stayed silent. The Druids’ now picked up a rhythm and the circle of young men began to sway in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Their feet began to move side to side, stamping their bare feet on the bare earth. The dance of the reaping had begun and Alwyn was sure deep down inside that he would not live to see the end of it.
The Druids began the song of John Barleycorn and one of the young men twirled in place swinging his scythe above his head. Others of the young men twirled and leapt in place as the song continued until it got to the line about John Barleycorn must die. All of a sudden one of the young men broke free and ran at Alwyn, who had just enough time to brace himself for a blow. The blow ended up being light, a scratch on his shoulder from the young man’s scythe. The Druids had soon finished the song and as they did it was as if the tension was building in the circle of young men, straining to do something.
As the song finished the drumming got louder and another young man broke free, his scythe whirling in the air. Alwyn braced himself as the blade sliced open a cut in his chest. The young men roared their approval as the blood welled up in the cut and drops dripped down Alwyn’s chest. Another young man came at him from behind, cutting open a slice high on his back, almost knocking Alwyn off balance since he didn’t see it coming. Several more cut into his torso, each time bringing on cheers that seemed to grow more and more bloodthirsty. One sliced into Alwyn’s thigh, causing him to go down on one knee, but he fought through the pain, struggling to stand again quickly, his chest heaving in air, which brought a wild cheer from the circle. Just then he caught sight of one of the young men from his own village run towards him. Alwyn saw lust in his eyes along with the desire for blood. He felt his cock harden at the sight as he braced himself for the scythe just as it bit deep into his chest between two ribs. He felt it scrape on the ribs as it was drawn across his chest and out again as the young man ran by, howling his delight as the circle of young men cheered wildly. Alwyn’s body rocked at the blow but he stayed standing, looking at the lust on the young men’s faces. They were turned on by the blows being inflicted on Alwyn’s strong body, lusting after the desire to bring him down, to make him weak. Alwyn started to feel that lust, burning in him along with the pain, his cock growing and peaking through the barley leaveshe wore at his waist. One of the young men pointed and they all saw his hardening cock, howling in pleasure. Alwyn raised his arms above his head and howled with them, turning full circle so they could all see.
Just then three of them ran at Alwyn at once, one driving the point of his scythe into Alwyn’s belly, tearing out muscle as it came free. The other two sliced into Alwyn’s upraised arms, spraying his blood over his own face. His body was bloody now, deep wounds in many places bleeding their life out of him. His chest was heaving at the effort it took to stay on his feet, but still he held his arms in the air, exposing his full torso to the sharp blades.
His body was a mass of pain now, but he felt the lust of the young men burning in his own belly, in his own straining cock. The only other thought that came to him was to keep standing, letting his blood drip into the bare earth. But his body was weakening as he lost blood. And his mind began to cloud and grow dizzy. A wave of pure lust and pleasure washed over him for a moment that seemed like an hour in which he almost passed out. But he caught himself before he fell and opened his eyes. He was looking into the eyes of a beautiful golden young man who had his hand around Alwyn’s cock, using the blood from Alwyn’s wounds as lubricant as he stroked and stroked, smiling at Alwyn while the low hum of the circle of young men vibrated in his belly. It was as if he heard the young man telling him that it was good, that he had done what had been asked of him, that it was time to let go, to let it end. Alwyn’s head swam again and he went down on one knee, then fell to his side in the dirt.
The golden young man stayed with him, stroking his cock gently, the only gentle touch Alwyn had had since the dance began. He heard a guttural growl from the circle as his body hit the ground, as he turned onto his back, as he tried to stretch out like he was on a bed. He saw a face coming toward him as the circle drew in close. It was the young man from his own village stroking his own cock. Then he thrust his other hand into the wound he had made between Alwyn’s ribs, pulling it open and thrusting his straining cock into hole. It made a new pain as he felt the pressure of the cock against his muscles and lungs. In and out, in and out. But the golden one kept stroking Alwyn’s cock, finding the same rhythm, matching pleasure to the pain. Another young man came forward, then another. They found deep wounds in Alwyn and thrust their hard cocks into them. Others came forward, making shallow wounds deeper by tearing at them with their finger nails, until Alwyn was surrounded by young men, their cocks finding pleasure in sinking themselves into his bloody flesh. Then the first to start, the young man from his village started to pump his cock faster into Alwyn’s ribs. The golden one stroking Alwyn matched the pace, until at last the young man thrust his cock into Alwyn as far as it would go, his crotch and belly tight against Alwyn’s side as he spurted his hot cum into the wound. Alwyn came at the same time, his wounded flesh shuddering at the pleasure that seized every part of his body, making his wounds sing with the pleasure that ran through his cock, from tip deep into the roots, making his body arch, one last time. His cum sprayed up over his belly and chest, mixing with his blood. The other young men came as well, one by one spurting their loads into Alwyn’s wounds.
The guttural growl of the young men crowded around Alwyn now became a low throated roar. As the young men taken their pleasure with Alwyn’s body finished, it was like the rest wanted something more, something even darker than what they had done to him. One howled and this time it was the howl of madness. Others took it up as they stood around. One of them took his scythe and raised it high over his head, bringing it down with a thud into Alwyn’s chest. He moved it around until it caught under the breastbone. Then he put his foot against Alwyn’s side, leaned back and pulled as hard as he could, again and again. Alwyn felt ribs and bones cracking within, separating and grinding, until the sharp broken edges of bone tore through the flesh from the inside, pulling the left side of Alwyn’s rib cage open. Another young man had reached inside Alwyn and grasped the right side of his ribs, pulling that side of the rib cage open. Alwyn looked down at his own exposed organs as every last bit of the pleasure that had come with his orgasm washed away in searing pain, worse than anything before. He could only focus on one thought, hurry, kill me now, end this.
But the young men could not hear Alwyn’s thought, and if they could they wouldn’t have cared. One of them was using the point of his scythe to open Alwyn’s belly, from the base ofhis broken chest to his cock. Another had the cock in his mouth, chewing and tearing. Once the belly was open another young man thrust his pitchfork into the intestines, bringing up a great pile of torn innards and gore. He flung it high into the air, and it spattered down onto the men, who were cutting at Alwyn’s arms and legs. One had gotten a foot loose and was licking and gnawing on it. Another had Alwyn’s right hand and had it stroking his own cock and balls. Still Alwyn could see and feel this. Waves of pain would center in a limb that was being cut or a bone that was being pulled out of his torso, because they had left his heart and lungs intact. Finally one of the young men who had claimed Alwyn’s head by putting the blade of his scythe around Alwyn’s neck saw his moving eyes and realized he was still alive. He took pity and began to cut through the throat. Jus at that time another thrust his hands into the open chest and began to pull out the heart and liver. That was when Alwyn, with a shudder of pain that ran through every muscle still attached, slipped at last into darkness. What was left of him by then was little more than lumps of raw meat and shards of bone on the bare and bloody dirt. The Druids, who continued keeping time with their drums, noted to themselves with appreciation that Alwyn had held out with his life far longer than any other offering they had made.
But the dance was not done. Those of the young men who could not get their hands onto or into what was left of the carcass started stomping on pieces of flesh and gore, pounding them into the earth, churning it up into bloody mud. They kept time with the drums as the rhythm got wilder, breaking pieces of bone into smaller shards, pounding them into the mud. The limbs were soon all but gone into the earth and they started on the torso, stomping in the squishy organs of the belly, breaking down the ribs of the chest. The young man who had cut off the head tossed it into the center and a competition began over who could get it to crack, to break open, to spill the brain, to fragment the skull.The dance went on until the torso and the head were a pile of mush, until the mush was a stain of blood, until the earth was smooth, until the dancers were exhausted, until there was nothing recognizable left of the young man who had worn the Barleycorn crown.
The young men walked off the field toward the place in the woods where they had set up camp. There was a stream to wash off the blood and gore which coated their bodies and stained their clothes. All would be clean for the second day of the festival, when the elders, the women and children would arrive. Some from a certain village might wonder what had happened to their Alwyn. The older men would know. But none would speak his name again. He was nothing now. Nothing more than the earth and the rain that gave rise to the grain.
Every Fall the Druid priest went around to the farms and villages to choose a young man handsome and strong to be the Barleycorn at the Harvest Festival. He had to be in his eighteenth or nineteenth year, which meant he had never been to the sacred field for the dance of the reaping which was only open to those twenty and above. Being chosen was of course a great honor, and all Alwyn knew about it was that the one chosen went to the festival and never returned. He remembered two years ago when Oli had been chosen from their village. Alwyn had been attracted to Oli and he still sometimes jerked off thinking what had happened to him. Of course most of the boys thought that the one chosen was sacrificed to the god of the grain, and Alwyn imagined Oli going bravely to his death.
Now Alwyn followed the Druid to the festival for its first day, the day of the reaping. Along the way he told Alwyn the story of John Barleycorn, singing it as an ancient song. The song told how when John Barleycorn was full grown he was cut down for the barely cakes and beer, that he was eaten and drunk to give men pleasure and then planted in the field to grow again. Of course this confirmed what the boys in his village expected and Alwyn knew now that he would not survive the day. There was cold fear in the put of his stomach, but there was also heat in his loins as he imagined himself being able to go to death bravely to give life to the fields like Oli had.
The Druid took him to a hut on the edge of the sacred field where he prepared Alwyn for the dance. He removed Alwyn’s clothes and bathed him, using a bulb to force water up his rectum until he was clean inside and out. The Druid told Alwyn this was so he would not foul himself during the dance. The only thing he told Alwyn about what he was to do was that he should stay standing in the center of the field as long as he could. The more strength he showed, the stronger his offering. He never told Alwyn he was to die, but Alwyn accepted that that was what awaited him in the field. The last thing the Druid did was to put a crown of ripe barley stalks on Alwyn’s head and a skirt of dried barley leaves around his waist.
Alwyn had heard the sound of a crowd gathering during his preparations, and as the Druid led him out of the hut he saw that the young men of the towns and villages had gathered, carrying scythes and pitchforks. Fear gripped Alwyn at the realization of how he was going to die, but he tried to force it away, telling himself to stand bravely. He saw two of the young men from his village, but they wouldn’t look him in the eye. As the Druid led Alwyn to the center of the field the young men began to gather in a circle, holding their sharpened tools. The Druid walked away, leaving Alwyn to stand alone. He took in a deep breath as he took in the strong young men around him, dressed only in their breeches. Their muscular arms and chests started to turn Alwyn on as he realized that they would use their strength to overpower him.
A low thrumming began from a stringed instrument one of the band of Druids played, and the note was taken up by the young men around him. The head Druid had said nothing to Alwyn about singing so he stayed silent. The Druids’ now picked up a rhythm and the circle of young men began to sway in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Their feet began to move side to side, stamping their bare feet on the bare earth. The dance of the reaping had begun and Alwyn was sure deep down inside that he would not live to see the end of it.
The Druids began the song of John Barleycorn and one of the young men twirled in place swinging his scythe above his head. Others of the young men twirled and leapt in place as the song continued until it got to the line about John Barleycorn must die. All of a sudden one of the young men broke free and ran at Alwyn, who had just enough time to brace himself for a blow. The blow ended up being light, a scratch on his shoulder from the young man’s scythe. The Druids had soon finished the song and as they did it was as if the tension was building in the circle of young men, straining to do something.
As the song finished the drumming got louder and another young man broke free, his scythe whirling in the air. Alwyn braced himself as the blade sliced open a cut in his chest. The young men roared their approval as the blood welled up in the cut and drops dripped down Alwyn’s chest. Another young man came at him from behind, cutting open a slice high on his back, almost knocking Alwyn off balance since he didn’t see it coming. Several more cut into his torso, each time bringing on cheers that seemed to grow more and more bloodthirsty. One sliced into Alwyn’s thigh, causing him to go down on one knee, but he fought through the pain, struggling to stand again quickly, his chest heaving in air, which brought a wild cheer from the circle. Just then he caught sight of one of the young men from his own village run towards him. Alwyn saw lust in his eyes along with the desire for blood. He felt his cock harden at the sight as he braced himself for the scythe just as it bit deep into his chest between two ribs. He felt it scrape on the ribs as it was drawn across his chest and out again as the young man ran by, howling his delight as the circle of young men cheered wildly. Alwyn’s body rocked at the blow but he stayed standing, looking at the lust on the young men’s faces. They were turned on by the blows being inflicted on Alwyn’s strong body, lusting after the desire to bring him down, to make him weak. Alwyn started to feel that lust, burning in him along with the pain, his cock growing and peaking through the barley leaveshe wore at his waist. One of the young men pointed and they all saw his hardening cock, howling in pleasure. Alwyn raised his arms above his head and howled with them, turning full circle so they could all see.
Just then three of them ran at Alwyn at once, one driving the point of his scythe into Alwyn’s belly, tearing out muscle as it came free. The other two sliced into Alwyn’s upraised arms, spraying his blood over his own face. His body was bloody now, deep wounds in many places bleeding their life out of him. His chest was heaving at the effort it took to stay on his feet, but still he held his arms in the air, exposing his full torso to the sharp blades.
His body was a mass of pain now, but he felt the lust of the young men burning in his own belly, in his own straining cock. The only other thought that came to him was to keep standing, letting his blood drip into the bare earth. But his body was weakening as he lost blood. And his mind began to cloud and grow dizzy. A wave of pure lust and pleasure washed over him for a moment that seemed like an hour in which he almost passed out. But he caught himself before he fell and opened his eyes. He was looking into the eyes of a beautiful golden young man who had his hand around Alwyn’s cock, using the blood from Alwyn’s wounds as lubricant as he stroked and stroked, smiling at Alwyn while the low hum of the circle of young men vibrated in his belly. It was as if he heard the young man telling him that it was good, that he had done what had been asked of him, that it was time to let go, to let it end. Alwyn’s head swam again and he went down on one knee, then fell to his side in the dirt.
The golden young man stayed with him, stroking his cock gently, the only gentle touch Alwyn had had since the dance began. He heard a guttural growl from the circle as his body hit the ground, as he turned onto his back, as he tried to stretch out like he was on a bed. He saw a face coming toward him as the circle drew in close. It was the young man from his own village stroking his own cock. Then he thrust his other hand into the wound he had made between Alwyn’s ribs, pulling it open and thrusting his straining cock into hole. It made a new pain as he felt the pressure of the cock against his muscles and lungs. In and out, in and out. But the golden one kept stroking Alwyn’s cock, finding the same rhythm, matching pleasure to the pain. Another young man came forward, then another. They found deep wounds in Alwyn and thrust their hard cocks into them. Others came forward, making shallow wounds deeper by tearing at them with their finger nails, until Alwyn was surrounded by young men, their cocks finding pleasure in sinking themselves into his bloody flesh. Then the first to start, the young man from his village started to pump his cock faster into Alwyn’s ribs. The golden one stroking Alwyn matched the pace, until at last the young man thrust his cock into Alwyn as far as it would go, his crotch and belly tight against Alwyn’s side as he spurted his hot cum into the wound. Alwyn came at the same time, his wounded flesh shuddering at the pleasure that seized every part of his body, making his wounds sing with the pleasure that ran through his cock, from tip deep into the roots, making his body arch, one last time. His cum sprayed up over his belly and chest, mixing with his blood. The other young men came as well, one by one spurting their loads into Alwyn’s wounds.
The guttural growl of the young men crowded around Alwyn now became a low throated roar. As the young men taken their pleasure with Alwyn’s body finished, it was like the rest wanted something more, something even darker than what they had done to him. One howled and this time it was the howl of madness. Others took it up as they stood around. One of them took his scythe and raised it high over his head, bringing it down with a thud into Alwyn’s chest. He moved it around until it caught under the breastbone. Then he put his foot against Alwyn’s side, leaned back and pulled as hard as he could, again and again. Alwyn felt ribs and bones cracking within, separating and grinding, until the sharp broken edges of bone tore through the flesh from the inside, pulling the left side of Alwyn’s rib cage open. Another young man had reached inside Alwyn and grasped the right side of his ribs, pulling that side of the rib cage open. Alwyn looked down at his own exposed organs as every last bit of the pleasure that had come with his orgasm washed away in searing pain, worse than anything before. He could only focus on one thought, hurry, kill me now, end this.
But the young men could not hear Alwyn’s thought, and if they could they wouldn’t have cared. One of them was using the point of his scythe to open Alwyn’s belly, from the base ofhis broken chest to his cock. Another had the cock in his mouth, chewing and tearing. Once the belly was open another young man thrust his pitchfork into the intestines, bringing up a great pile of torn innards and gore. He flung it high into the air, and it spattered down onto the men, who were cutting at Alwyn’s arms and legs. One had gotten a foot loose and was licking and gnawing on it. Another had Alwyn’s right hand and had it stroking his own cock and balls. Still Alwyn could see and feel this. Waves of pain would center in a limb that was being cut or a bone that was being pulled out of his torso, because they had left his heart and lungs intact. Finally one of the young men who had claimed Alwyn’s head by putting the blade of his scythe around Alwyn’s neck saw his moving eyes and realized he was still alive. He took pity and began to cut through the throat. Jus at that time another thrust his hands into the open chest and began to pull out the heart and liver. That was when Alwyn, with a shudder of pain that ran through every muscle still attached, slipped at last into darkness. What was left of him by then was little more than lumps of raw meat and shards of bone on the bare and bloody dirt. The Druids, who continued keeping time with their drums, noted to themselves with appreciation that Alwyn had held out with his life far longer than any other offering they had made.
But the dance was not done. Those of the young men who could not get their hands onto or into what was left of the carcass started stomping on pieces of flesh and gore, pounding them into the earth, churning it up into bloody mud. They kept time with the drums as the rhythm got wilder, breaking pieces of bone into smaller shards, pounding them into the mud. The limbs were soon all but gone into the earth and they started on the torso, stomping in the squishy organs of the belly, breaking down the ribs of the chest. The young man who had cut off the head tossed it into the center and a competition began over who could get it to crack, to break open, to spill the brain, to fragment the skull.The dance went on until the torso and the head were a pile of mush, until the mush was a stain of blood, until the earth was smooth, until the dancers were exhausted, until there was nothing recognizable left of the young man who had worn the Barleycorn crown.
The young men walked off the field toward the place in the woods where they had set up camp. There was a stream to wash off the blood and gore which coated their bodies and stained their clothes. All would be clean for the second day of the festival, when the elders, the women and children would arrive. Some from a certain village might wonder what had happened to their Alwyn. The older men would know. But none would speak his name again. He was nothing now. Nothing more than the earth and the rain that gave rise to the grain.
