Vessel of the Demon God by Madelene Martin

I dara
couldn't help but flinch as the knife touched her skin of her arm. The cold
steel paused for a moment, then gently scraped at her skin, shaving her soft,
sparse hair away. The priestess wielding the knife gave her a disapproving
look, scowling at her, and bent back to her task.
    They finished shaving under her
arms, and then the senior priestess knelt before her. Idara blushed furiously
as the woman inspected her sex. The woman prodded Idara to open her legs, then
pressed the blade against her skin again and began to carefully, almost
reverently, shave the curly dark hair from Idara's mound.
    "To be sure you are pure, we
must remove all the hair on your body." She said, as though Idara might
have forgotten.
    A thought occurred to Idara.
"Do you have to shave my head?" She blurted out, and immediately felt
ridiculous. It was a stupid concern, considering she would be dead in a few
hours.
    The priestess scowled again and
shook her head. "No." She said. "Keep still."
    Thankfully, after Idara had been
shaved, a young acolyte took over. She brought in two small bowls, and knelt
before Idara. The girl began to smooth fragrant oil over Idara's bare legs,
rubbing her strong hands up over her thighs and massaging the oil into her
buttocks.
    "You are so blessed to be
chosen for this honor," the acolyte sighed rapturously.
    Idara closed her eyes, ignoring
the girl as she continued to babble.
    Of course, it was true. She had
lay awake all night telling herself that very thing. She was the sacrifice that
would bring peace to the land; the chosen one of her generation. When their
demon-god Ashak-ves struck down their oppressive enemies, the people would
remember her as the sacrifice that made him hear their cries.
    She wanted to end her peoples'
suffering. She wanted to fulfill her destiny. Still, she was afraid, and
ashamed of herself for it. She fervently wished this part was over. She had
spent so long steeling herself for this moment, and the seemingly endless
preparations were making it torturous.
    Nonetheless, she stood with her
arms obediently outstretched as the acolyte anointed her entire body. The girl
smoothed her hands expertly over Idara's back, then moved to the front and
rubbed oil into her chest.
    She massaged her full round
breasts, paying special attention the the nipples – oiling and teasing them
with her fingertips until Idara felt them harden under her touch. Then she used
the other bowl, touching her fingers gently to Idara's nether lips and
anointing them with a honey-scented oil.
    After every inch of Idara's body
was done, the girl directed her to climb the dais and stand before the altar.
Her job complete, the acolyte picked up her bowls and left.
    Idara shivered. The temple was
open to the night air, the roof over the altar open so that the sun would shine
through it when the dawn came. The cool breeze brushed over her naked skin. She
closed her eyes again and inhaled deeply, willing herself to relax.
    In a matter of minutes, robed
priestesses of all ranks and ages began to arrive. They talked excitedly and
gathered in groups. Some came before Idara, to look at her and hold their hands
before her, offering prayers and encouragement. None could touch her, lest they
make her impure.
    Idara was trembling. She could
see the moon peeking through the open stone of the ceiling. It was almost time.
    The High Priestess – an ancient
woman Idara had seen only once or twice in her life – approached the dais. She
faced the gathered women and they all fell silent, waiting.
    The
Priestess spread her bony arms skyward, her reedy voice cutting through the
silence as she prayed aloud.
    Idara barely listened to the words. She stood still, feeling the gaze
of myriad eyes on her naked body, and the crushing sense of her own impending
doom. She would be left here alone until morning, when the god would appear
with the first rays of the sun, and take her blood as his tribute.
    "Ashak-ves, accept this blood sacrifice, and