Lara's eyes were glued to the whitish goo. While it seemed very thick and viscous at first glance, she could make out a tiny layer of oily liquid on top of the paste, and that disgusted her even more. Her hand started to shake; the torches' reflection on the gelatinous substance flickered. Lara brought the chalice to her lips slowly, fighting her nausea, thinking wildly about a way to escape from that disgusting ceremony. The cup stopped at roughly an inch from her mouth: she could not bring herself to let her lips touch the filthy sperm.
The leader of the small group walked up to her. Lara feigned not to notice it and did her best to keep a straight face. He crouched behind her. Once again, he told her to drink. As he spoke, he slipped the dagger under her right arm and under her boob, pushing it up with the dull side of the blade. He then talked some more, not loud enough for the other men to hear, but Lara knew only a few of the words he said: she clenched her teeth, not knowing if he was making a compliment about her rack or if his words were a veiled threat. After that he walked back to where he first stood, leaving Lara with the painful choice to quaff half a pint of semen or risk... some other kind of punishment.
To try and calm herself, Lara closed her eyes and let her mind wander. She began to think about anything, about herself. She became aware of her body. She felt the cold stone on which she was kneeling. Her feet were starting to get dumb, though they were still warm, in her hiking boots... A soft, cold gust of air tickled her thighs. Her shorts kept the chill breeze from reaching the most sensible parts of her body, but it reminded Lara how little of her was covered by clothes... Her stomach was firm and warm, moving slowly as she breathed... She felt her long ponytail running down her spine... Her breasts were heavy, warm at the touch despite the cool air that hardened her nipples... She couldn't help to feel both love and hatred for that part of her body: love, for the pleasure they brought her when she or a few other selected 'friends' touched them. Hatred, for times when her endowment turn her into nothing more than a sex toy... like that day.
Lara opened her eyes. She could think clearly again. She was on her knees, half-naked; four men holding daggers were nearby. She didn't know if their weapons were more than ornaments, but she wasn't eager to find out either. She had no way to escape. She had to drink.
Her eyes fell again on the viscous brew. She had to, she really had no choice. "Come on Lara, she said to herself. You've drunk and eaten much more disgusting things in your life. In times of need, for your survival... and there is no knowing if you'll survive if you don't do it. So come on already!" And before her will fade, she brought the cup to her lips and let the sperm flow into her mouth. She staggered when it splattered her tongue. A tear of disgust moistened her left eye as she swallowed a first mouthfull; the greasy and salty taste was strong, too strong. Her hands started shaking as more semen slipped through her lips. For a second, her teeth clenched with a squishing sound, foolishly trying to bring the flow to a stop, but she forced herself to keep drinking. She gagged as a second mouthfull slid down her throat, and felt as if she were about to collapse when more of the sticky cum bathed her teeth. She gagged once more and her head started spinning; her fingers lost their grasp on the chalice and it fell on her tits, splashing them with semen before hitting the rock with a dull sound. She put her hands on the ground and spit, gasping for fresh air. She had failed. She felt sick. And the men voices raised in anger. |