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Okay, so maybe I had one more in me!


Tradition for tradition’s sake – that’s how some anthropologists described the trend of continuing or even reviving old folk-festivals which had long-since been stripped of any real meaning in the industrial era. Perhaps when people lived in mostly agricultural societies and their lives revolved around the changes of the seasons, such ceremonies and celebrations had had a real meaning but now, it seemed, people just continued them because that’s the way things had always been or, in some cases revived old festivals or created new ones inspired by the most throw-away of comments in a historical writing or the flimsiest evidence of archaeology. The more generous observer would claim it was an attempt to find roots and identity in an increasingly impersonal world whereas the more cynical would say it was an attempt by more rural communities to generate some tourist revenue for their towns and villages. The latter was almost certainly the case in Summertown!

Summertown was a small coastal village in the north of England. Once, like most coastal villages, everyone had been involved in some way in the business of fishing but these days the only fishing boats left were preserved antiques to appeal to tourists. These days, most of the working-age residents commuted to surrounding larger towns or cities. There was a pub, of course, and a small guest house along with a newsagent and small convenience store but otherwise very little to do. There was only one school, for children aged 4-11. Those old enough for secondary school had to catch a bus over to the next town. A few people had made a decent profit by buying houses from families tired of living somewhere so inconveniently small and renting them out as holiday lets to urban folk looking to “get away from it all.”

There was an interesting historical feature, however, apparently unique to Summertown that those with a vested interest in the tourist trade sought to promote. There had been some fairly academic books written about it, short articles in popular history magazines and even a documentary by a well-known presenter with a fondness for archaeology but, given the changing laws and cultural norms over recent years, the Summertown Village Council had decided it was time to do a little more than broadcast the village’s strange history and planned a festival where history would be brought to life!

As expected, when the plans were announced there was a great deal of media interest, including some of the foreign press. There were those who condemned the plans, of course, either on the grounds that it was a sacrilegious practice that had no place in modern, still ostensibly Christian Britain or it showed deep disrespect to the ancestors of Summertown for whom it had been a deeply sacred annual ritual, believed to secure the village’s future and prosperity for another year, and to parody such a ritual, as the detractors saw it, stripped of the fundamental belief behind it, was a grave insult. Most, however, were intrigued and excited by the prospect and, several months ahead of the celebration, all the holiday cottages were booked out as well as all the inns, guest-houses and hotels within an hour’s drive. The owners of local farms happily rented out their unused fields to families and individuals looking for somewhere to pitch their tent or park a caravan.

At the top of the cliff, just outside the village, was a fairly large green which, as well as being a haven for wildlife and popular with bird and insect spotters, offered spectacular views across the sea. Right at the cliff edge was the historical curiosity around which the well-publicised festival was to be based.

It was a large, flat piece of rock, sandstone or lime, about seven foot long by four foot wide. Quite impressive in itself but what made it intriguing was the network of penny-sized holes along its surface which seemed to all connect up to a single “tunnel”, no wider than a fist, which emerged out the end which sat directly at the edge of the cliff. It had been demonstrated that water or any other liquid poured across the surface would run down the holes and pour out the end of the tunnel like a drain pipe in the rain. About a foot from the other end was a groove – a sharp-sided, inverted triangle running the full width to a depth of about four inches. At the four corners were little “bridges” - carved out tunnels which ran below the surface and re-emerged about an inch away, leaving a hole through which you could slide your finger. It looked like somewhere hooks could be attached should anyone wish to life the stone with a crane and yet there was nobody who doubted the strange stone and its presumably man-given properties were ancient.

Next to it lay a similarly sized stone, far planer than the first and only approximately one foot thick whereas the first was around three feet high. What was notable about it, however, was the iron rings fixed very securely at one end, one in either corner. Over the years there had been many origins and uses suggested for the stones, ranging from the fairly sensible to the outlandishly silly, but from the 1990s onwards, the scholarly consensus had been that it was a sacrificial altar. The belief of archaeologists was that a victim would be laid on the first stone and possibly tied down using ropes passed through the hooks while the second stone, which had presumably at one time rested permanently on top of its larger neighbour, would be positions above, resting in the groove and being held up by ropes threaded through the iron rings. The ropes would then be released or cut and the stone would fall, crushing the victim. The blood, released at high pressure from the body, would be forced down the holes and out through the pipe where it would pour down the cliff into the sea, presumably as a thank you to the sea for its bounty of fish which sustained the community.

These theories had been all but proven by the archaeological dig in 2023 which discovered smashed bone fragments of people and animals, but mostly of children, both around the stone and at the bottom of the cliff. An unexpected bonus came when the remains of a fire pit were found and, close by, deposits of bones from human children, showing signs of having been cooked, cut open for the marrow and chewed, mixed in with fish bones. The archaeologists concluded that, possibly alongside the sacrifice or possibly at other times, the villagers would eat a stew made from at least one child and lots of fish, presumably to honour the symbiotic relationship they had with the sea.

Although the archaeologists had been able to offer no firm information about what time of year this celebration would take place, the Village Council had decided to opt for May 1st for their recreation so that they could incorporate other popular folk customs like a May Pole and Morris Dancing to pad the day out a little.

The question of catering for the even had come up. Certainly a local girl would be chosen for the sacrifice and it seemed appropriate to recreate the accompanying fish-and-girl stew but, with the hundreds of tourists expected to attend, just how many girls were they willing to make use of in this way? So small was the village that to feed everyone in attendance on local girl-meat would essentially mean sacrificing an entire generation of girls and young women, an idea which made very little sense both financially and for the future of the community. On top of that, they were reliant on girls giving up their lives and bodies voluntarily and, the more that were needed, the more challenging it would be to fulfil the requirement. Eventually it was settled that, in addition to the sacrifice herself, the village would provide six girls to be eaten – four in the stew and two, by popular demand, as medieval-style spit-roast. It was decided that the stew girls would be from the younger end of the eligible spectrum as their meat was sweeter and their bodies better suited to boiling than to oven-cooking or spit-roasting so cooking them that way would not feel like too much of a waste.

To keep the masses fed, it was agreed that outside caterers would be invited, for a small fee, to set up in around the edge of the field so they did not spoil the rustic ambiance. There would be burger-vans, hog-roasts and various other portable establishments, many of whom would bring their own live girls or pre-prepared girl-meat to sell while others would rely on more conventional meat sources. There were also a few offering vegetarian and vegan options, despite the cultural shift which seemed to have occurred whereby all but the most strict vegetarians, or those who followed the diet for health rather then ideological reasons, were willing to eat human meat. Most, if asked, would explain that girls slaughtered for their meat had a choice in the matter whereas animals did not and therefore it was not a moral equivalent.

The next stage was to find their volunteers! Of course all the families in the village were in on the plans and many had discussed the idea with their daughters at home but, in order to get the girls really excited about putting themselves forward, school field-trips were organised to the cliff-top site and members of the Council were invited to give an assembly to the whole school about the planned event, making it sound like the most exciting and important thing they would ever experience and ensuring that many itched to be a part of it.

First to be picked was Sophie, the girl would would be crushed and her blood poured into the sea as a sacrifice. She was super-excited. At 12 years old, she had yet to start developing as much as some of her friends and was probably too skinny to make a particularly good meal but she was a very pretty girl with nice little bumps on her chest that she was eager to show off and long, light-brown hair that she liked to wear in twin braids. In honour of being chosen for the role of May Queen, she was allowed to help pick the meat girls from the rest of the volunteers.

Of course, as she had promised, she put in a good word for her little sister, 10yo Emma, who was far chubbier than her sister and wore her dark hair in a shoulder-length bob, was sure to make a delicious roast piggy. She was chosen along with Sophie’s best friend Catherine who, despite being the same age as Sophie, looked at least two years older. She had dirty-blonde hair, a meatlily athletic figure that was developing nicely, a cute round bottom and small but nicely-formed breasts over which she was often complimented. Sophie knew she would look amazing on the spit, turning a delicious golden brown!

The four girls from the pot were picked from among the younger girls, the youngest of which had just turned six and the oldest was barely 18 months older than her. All four were just adorably cute with pretty, soft, prepubescent bodies and a mixture of hair colours and styles.

All seven of the girls destined to die by the end of the May Festival had been short-listed as much for their photogenic prettiness as how good it seemed they would taste, although that had of course been a significant factor in the final outcome!

Preparations began in earnest, with the second stone with its iron rings being hoisted onto the first and practice runs carried out of raising it up with ropes and settling it into the groove before allowing it to fall. The men of the village knew that there would be no second chances or do-overs on the day, in front of the world’s press, and were determined to get it right.

A new fire-pit was constructed, large enough to accommodate two spits and a large cooking pot. The spits were a simple enough construction but the pot, in order to look authentic and fit the theme of the event, had been specially ordered from a company specialising in re-enactment supplies and museum replicas. It was large and black, looking very much like the stereotypical witches cauldron, and would hang over the burning coals by chain from a wrought-iron tripod.

A colourful Maypole was erected a safe distance from the cliff edge, television producers visited the site to plan their broadcasts, extra rubbish bins and portaloos were shipped in to deal with the numbers expected, semi-permanent signs explaining the history of the site and ritual were set up and soon, with a few days yet to go before the big day, everything was ready!

Finally, after what had seemed like a lifetime of planning, the day of the May Festival arrived!


Mmm. Can't wait!


A short second installment - time is not my friend this afternoon!


The day had finally come! Knowing how excited both their daughters were, Sophie and Emma’s parents had agreed between themselves to crush half a sleeping pill into their icecream the night before in the hope that they would be well-rested for their big day. It seemed to have worked and both girls were asleep on the sofa before 8pm, slumped over each other and the Disney movie on the Blu-Ray playing to itself, unwatched.

Both girls, who had always had something of a naturist streak since they were toddlers, had refused to wear clothes all day. This made them a little easier to put to bed after Sophie’s dad had carried her up the stairs and her mum had carried her little sister, Emma.

“It’s been a few years since we needed to do this!” Sophie’s dad chuckled to his wife as they both fought to slip pyjamas onto their floppy-limbed daughters.

“At least they’re asleep!” their mum reminded him, “It was always much easier to wait until they tired themselves out than to try to force them into their jammies when they’d rather run around in the all-together!” They laughed together but both felt a little pang of sadness, knowing that this was really the last act of parental care they would perform for their daughters.

What sadness there was in anticipation of the plans for the following day, however, was massively overwhelmed by a sense of pride. Both their girls were going to have starring roles in an internationally-televised event and Sophie was likely to be famous long after they were both dead as the first girl in centuries to be publicly sacrificed in Britain! School children around the world would learn her name, her photo would appear in text books and history books for as long as their civilisation lasted. By dying, she would achieve a form of immortality most could only dream of! While she may not have such a starring role as her sister, Emma would also be a significant part of the momentous day and would likely be included in lots of the footage and photographs, both professional and amateur, that would be taken that day!

Once the girls were safely tucked up in bed, their parents decided to get an early night themselves to rest up before what was likely to be a very long and emotional day and, as Sophie’s mum joked, to start working on their replacements!

The next morning, the family pulled into their designated parking spot, a perk of having donated their two daughters to the festivities, and went to look for the organiser. While the parents were dressed for comfort in smart-causual outfits befitting the occasion, the Sophie and Emma were dressed in matching white spaghetti-strapped sun-dresses and white slip-on sandals that had been provided for them by the Council’s Festival Planning Committee. Neither wore anything underneath the ever-so-nearly see-through dresses.

Sophie began looking around at the caterers and other market-stall vendors who were starting to set up. She saw all manner of hand-made jewellery and other craft items being put on display and resolved to go take a proper look before her big moment came. She couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that there would be no point in buying anything new as she would only get to own it for a matter of minutes but at least it would be fun to look. Emma, on the other hand, was looking out for her fellow meat-girls and wondering hopefully if she was the first to arrive.

Derek was a small, rodent-like man with large glasses who always seemed to be very busy. There was a common joke in the village that nobody had ever seen him without a clipboard in his hand and it was speculated whether or not it may in fact simply be a form of biological growth! He smiled and waved with his free hand when he saw the guest of honour and her family approaching.

“Lovely to see you!” he remarked in his usual friendly but harassed-sounding way. Some of the television cameras have arrived already and are getting set up. I know they want to interview Sophie ahead of the… umm…”

“It’s okay!” Sophie giggled, “You can say ‘Sacrifice’! It’s not like I don’t know what’s going to happen!”

“Okay yes,” Derek continued to look a little flustered, but then nobody who knew him could ever remember him looking otherwise, “before the sacrifice. I think there’s a photographer around somewhere too looking to get some pictures. I think he’ll want to photograph the meat-girls too once the others arrive.” Sophie bit her lip excitedly, already imagining how she would pose for the photographer.

“The stones are set up ready,” Derek continued, “it should be fine to stand near them or sit on the lower one if that’s what the press need from you but please do try not to touch the ropes. They’re as secure as they can be but we don’t want any risk of the stone falling before it’s supposed to. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. Anyone who’s not supposed to be, that it.” he muttered, having realised the apparent idiocy of his words.

“Is this Sophie?” A tall, smiling lady in a tie-dyed dress with blonde dreadlocks came over carrying what looked like garlands of flowers over her arm.

“This is she!” Derek confirmed. Sophie, Emma and their parents all smiled at the newcomer and exchanged “Hi”s and “How are you?”s.

“I have these for you, and the meat-girls!” she explained and straightened her arm to give them a better look. What had seemed to be garlands of flowers were actual circlets made from local wild-flowers – flower crowns! She placed the largest and most elaborate on Sophie’s head. “Fit for a Queen!” she beamed. “One for you too!” She placed one on Emma’s head. “See? It matches the flowers on the dress!” Although the dresses were mostly plain white, around the neckline was a discrete, lacy pattern of small flowers and leafs. The woman held out a pocket mirror for the girls to see how they looked. Both very much liked what they saw.

“Ah!” Derek interrupted, “It looks like the photographer is here. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to make your own introductions, I have to go and check on the PA system!”


Your writing is improving with every story. Can't wait for the next part!


Thank you! I was a bit rusty - these stories are getting me back into the rhythm :) Glad you're enjoying :D


Excellent! Please continue!


Thank you - I shall :-D


I can hardly wait for Sophie's last moment. Will she be brave? Or will she change her mind under the stone? Will she cry? Will her mother soothe her nerves? Don't leave me in doubt!


Sorry, didn't get much time for writing today - should be able to finish it tomorrow 'though :D


More to come later!


“Can we have you up on the rock, perhaps?” the photographer asked. Sophie scrambled up as she had done so many times before, even before she knew it would be where she would be ending her days. The second rock, secured above by ropes, loomed ominously and, for the first time, Sophie felt a little nervous.

As directed by the photographer, Sophie bent her knee and leant back, looking out to the sea. She then turned to smile at the camera.

“This feels a bit silly!” she commented, frowning.

“What does?” asked the photographer, a little puzzled.

“Having photos in this dress!” Sophie explained. “I know it’s pretty and everything but I’m not going to be wearing it when I get squished!” She stood up, taking care to stand away from the upstanding rock so she did not bump her head, pulled the dress off over her head then threw it to her mother before adjusting the flower crown back on her head. “There!” she put her hands on her hips and struck a model pose, “This is much more realistic!”

“I was going to suggest one or two like this later, just before… you know.” the photographer explained.

“Before I get squished, right!” Sophie found she liked the sound of the word and also enjoyed how uncomfortable talking frankly about what was going to happen to her seemed to make the adults. Why come up with the idea in the first place, she wondered, if you were going to be so embarrassed about it when the time came!

She repeated the poses she had already done in the dress then a few more, including laying on her back with her arms folded behind her head as if she were simply sunbathing.

“Thanks.” The photographer smiled, flicking through the photos on the back of his camera to check that he had all the shots he needed. “I’ll want to do some group shots later for the opening ceremony – we’ll need at least one where you’ve all got your dresses on!” Sophie giggled. “And the ritual itself, of course. But for now, I think that’s all I need!”

Sophie hopped down off the rock and went to her parents and sister who were waiting patiently for her.

“Can I go look around for a bit?” she asked, glancing eagerly around at the stalls that were by that time mostly set up.

“I think some of the other meat girls are starting to arrive.” Her mum pointed out two little girls, one with straight blonde hair and the other with wavy light-brown hair wearing the same dresses that Sophie and Emma had been given, “So I think Margaret who’s supervising the cooking is going to need to have a word with them but there’s no reason why you can’t go off for a little bit if you want to. Just don’t wander too far and listen out in case we call you. Derek said the opening ceremony is in about an hour and a half.”

“Do I have to wear my dress?” Sophie wheedled, wrinkling her nose as the garment was held out to her. “Everyone’s going to see me naked in a couple of hours anyway so what’s the big deal? Plus it’s not like I’d be the only one!” She pointed off towards the food vans where more than one naked meat girl was stood waiting to be prepped.

“Fine!” Her mum chuckled, rolling up the dress and stuffing it into her bag. “But you do need to wear it later for the opening ceremony at least!”

“I know, I know!” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Thanks mum!” She skipped off happily to check out the hand-made jewellery a kindly-looking older lady was setting out. The lady even let her try on a couple of bracelets, even though she knew she would not be buying anything. Sophie was about to move on to check out the next stall when she heard a cheerful voice calling to her.

“Hey, Sophie! Nice tits!” She turned to see her best friend Catherine waving to her and running her way, also stark naked. Sophie ran to meet her friend and they hugged excitedly before stepping back to appraise each other’s naked bodies.

“No wonder you didn’t get picked for the spit!” Catherine teased. “The only meat on you is in your butt and that’s not going to go too far between all these people!”

“Well there’d be no point trying to drop a stone on you!” Sophie retorted, “It would just bounce off these airbags of yours!” She reached forward and gave her friend’s small but nicely formed boobies a playful honk. The naked pair stood giggling together for a few moment. Sophie noticed that, while Catherine normally sported a small tuft of dark hair between her legs, she was now all shaved clean, ready for the spit. She only had a little pale peach-fuzz herself but, since she was not going to be eaten, it had not been necessary to remove it.

“Was that hard to do?” She pointed at Catherine’s smooth, deliciously meaty vulva. “I’ve often wondered!”

“Mum did it for me.” Catherine explained. “She did my arms and legs too!” She held out her hairless forearms for inspection. “After all,” she grinned, “nobody wants to get hair in their food, do they?” They both giggled again.

Sophie ran a slightly distracted hand over her own small, pointy breast then down across her slim torso. She would feel her ribs just below the surface and imagined the crunching sound they would make when the stone crushed them. She wondered if she’d be able to hear it. The thought gave her a cold shiver which was equal parts fear and excitement.

“So did you come naked?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah, we both did.” replied Catherine, referring to her little sister Amelia who was one of the four destined for the fish-and-girl stew. “Didn’t seem a lot of point in being dressed if we’re going to be cooked in an hour!”

“Totally!” Sophie agreed. “We have to wear them for the stupid opening ceremony ‘though!”

“I know!” Catherine groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh well, I guess I’d better be getting over to the cooking area. I hear the photographer wants to take some pictures.”

“He just wants pictures of your naked bootie to sell to all the boys at school!” Sophie teased, guessing that there would be an element of truth in that. Newspapers and magazines that printed pictures of pretty young girls in the nude always sold pretty well. Cooking and eating girls had been legal her whole life so she could not remember things being any different but she’d been told that cookery books used to not be very popular, mostly only bought by old ladies or given as wedding presents to new couples, but since they started including girl recipes and featuring photos of every stage of preparation they had become one of the most popular genres with the best-selling ones devoted entirely to recipes featuring girls and young women, despite the fact that at least half of those who bought them wouldn’t even know how to switch on an oven!

“Better make sure I give him some good shots, then!” Catherine turned and wiggled her perky round bottom at her friend, giggling, before running back to join her fellow meat-girls.

Sophie browsed the stalls alone for a little longer before wandering over to check out the meat-girls being photographed. When she arrived, the photographer was having Catherine and Emma, both naked now, pose with the spits that would very soon be pushed through them. When he had enough shots of the older girls, he had the four little ones, also all naked, surround one side of the pot and peep in excitedly, their cute little bottoms towards the camera. It was a fun picture that reminded Sophie of the vintage soap adverts she had seen for sale in gift shops, printed on metal sheets. Finally he took a set with all the meat girls together, the four little ones in front and the older ones behind, all facing the camera and waving or blowing kisses. Seeing Sophie stood there, he asked her to join in a few of the group shots and, very soon it seemed, it was time to prepare for the opening ceremony.


The final chapter of this story - please enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think!


The opening ceremony was tedious to sit through – the normal speeches thanking the organisers and those participating, self-congratulatory observations about how much press attention the event was receiving and how it was sure to put their little village firmly on the map. Sophie zoned out for at least half of it. As, she suspected, had most of the other girls.

Somewhat reluctantly, all seven had put their dresses back on along with the flower crowns and were now sat on a raised platform behind a lectern where the Mayor was currently droning on about the importance of history and of preserving local heritage. There was a smattering of laughter from the locals when Derek’s clipboard was singled out for particular thanks but, as locals made up roughly only ten percent of those in attendance, the joke did not land as well as the Mayor had clearly expected it to.

Sophie was sat in the middle, on a throne-like chair to denote her position as “May Queen”. Either side of her, on smaller chairs, sat her sister and best friend, her “handmaidens” destined for the spit. The four little girls sat along the front of the stage, two either side of the lectern.

The Mayor declared the May Festival open and that was when things started to get a little more interesting. First of all, the younger local girls, aged 8-11, performed a traditionally pretty Maypole dance to jaunty music, dressed in faux “olde worlde” costumes that belonged more in a fairy tale than any recognisable period of history – red skirts and black corset-tops over white blouses. The kind of Maypole dance that may be seen in any school fair or village fete with the pretty little girls dancing around each other and forming intricate spider-webs with the colourful ribbons.

This was followed, however, by a far more striking performance from the 12-15 year old dance group. Using the Maypole again but this time to a darker, more earthy and rhythmic tune, the twelve girls danced completely naked. This was clearly an attempt to recreate the earlier, more pagan rite from which the modern Maypole dance had evolved. Once all the ribbons were tightly wound around the central shaft, the girls took up lit torches from around the edge of the marked out dancing circle and set the pole alight. The flames leapt upwards like a beacon as the naked girls knelt and swayed in time to the last of the music. This second performance was met with rapturous applause and nobody was in any doubt that every moment had been captured by the many television and press cameras. As the applause subsided and the pole continued to burn, Sophie stepped forward to perform her first, well-rehearsed, official duty.

“First of all,” she spoke into the microphone on the lectern, smiling at the crowd, “thank you for doing me the great honour of allowing me to serve you as May Queen.” She paused for the patter of polite applause. “As Queen,” she continued, “one of my most important duties is to keep my people fed and, as such, I gift to you my two handmaidens.” Emma and Catherine stepped forward to stand either side of her before dropping their dresses and standing naked in front of the assembled masses. A quick glance at their chests was enough to tell Sophie that they were every bit as excited as she was – she could feel her own hard nipples brushing against the almost-sheer fabric of her dress and it was almost driving her crazy. She hugged her sister first, then her best friend before the two girls stepped down from the stage, joined hands and walked the short distance to the cooking area where an assortment of older ladies were waiting to get them oiled up before mounting them on the spits.

“Our village,” Sophie continued her speech, hoping that she could remember it all in her nervousness and excitement, “has always had a very close relationship with the sea. And as such, the other dish I offer you today reflects that union.” The four little girls hopped off the stage, quickly stripped off their dresses and stood naked and giggling. The four of them joined hands and walked to the pot. “Let us go and observe the preparations!” Sophie instructed before stepping down off the platform herself and following them.

Much of the crowd had already turned their attention to the cooking area where the two older girls had just finished being oiled and stood glistening in the sun, their soft young bodies looking even more appetising than they had before. The coals beneath the spits were already glowing red and one of the woman was in the process of lighting the fire beneath the suspended cooking pot while the four giggling cuties looked on.

Eventually, the fire began to burn and two of the women lifted the little girls into the pot. Since the fire had only just been lit and the water was only as warm as the late Spring sun had been able to make it, they looked for the moment as if they were simply enjoying a bath! They added to this impression by splashing each other and playing with each other’s hair the way small children in a bath tub often do. Alf, the local fishmonger, brought forward a cool-box filled with choice local fish, all gutted and filleted, and poured them in with the girls. They screwed their noses up at first at the fishy smell but that soon subsided as the fish sank to the bottom. Chopped carrots, swede, potatoes and other root vegetables were added and soon all the ingredients were in, ready to boil. The girls were encouraged to kick their feet around to stir the pot as the water slowly began to boil around them.

Emma was the first to be spitted, waving to the crowd and blowing kisses to her parents before happily mounting the frame which was then tilted forward for give access for the spit. Worried about the thickness of the sharp metal pole, the younger girl had opted to have it inserted via the anus and take the stabiliser in her vagina whereas Catherine had opted for vaginal spitting with the anal stabiliser, believing that it would be the more exciting sensation to experience in her final minutes. Soon, both girls were spitted, mounted and turning over the coals and the water in the cauldron was beginning to steam. Within an hour, all six girls would be cooked and ready to eat but Sophie knew that she would not be around to taste them. It was time for her final and most important duty as May Queen.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” The Mayor was back at the lectern, speaking into the microphone, “If we could all make our way to the Sacred Rock, it is time for the main event of the Festival.” The crowds surged, jostling to get close to the front. Parents pushed their smaller children forward, encouraging them to weave their way between the legs of the adults to assure themselves a good view. Sophie and her parents hung back a little, saying a final farewell first to Catherine and then to Sophie’s little sister Emma who was definitely still alive but turning a bright pink and already giving off the faintest smell of smokey roast pork. Sophie was a little sad that she wouldn’t get to try any of her best friend or sister’s meat but assured them both that she was sure they would be absolutely delicious.

“Make way for the May Queen!” The Mayor called from the podium, his voice echoing around all the speakers. The crowd parted and all the television cameras, not to mention personal cameras and phones, turned to point at Sophie as, with her mum and dad close behind, she walked to the rock. Once beside it, she removed her dress and handed it to her mum then, to the cheers and applause of the eagerly-watching audience, the naked girl climbed onto the hole-dappled rock and lay down as she had been instructed, her head towards to the sea and looking up at the ominously-looming second rock above her.

Sophie did not protest or struggle as two young men slid ropes through the loops in the rock and secured her hands and feet so that she lay spread-eagle under the watching eye of the worlds’ press. Those on the ground looked across and up at her, clamouring for a better view. The Mayor was still at the podium. He looked to see that the young man with the axe was in place, ready to cut the rope that was holding the second rock up.

Looking up at the rock above her that, any minute, would come crashing down on her vulnerable little body and crushing the life, as well as the blood, out of her, Sophie suddenly felt very afraid.

“Mummy?” she called out weakly, turning her head to look for them, “Daddy?”

“We’re here, sweetheart.” She felt her dad take her left hand.

“Right here beside you, and ever so proud of you.” Her mum took her other hand and stroked it soothingly.

“I’m scared.” Sophie admitted in a small voice. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Only for a second,” her dad assured her, stroking her face, “then never, ever again.”

“What happens afterwards?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he spoke gently, the way he had when he’d helped her come to terms with the death of her pet rabbit when she was 4, “but you and your sister are going to find out together. That’s fun, isn’t it?”

Sophie managed a little smile.

“Please clear the area.” A man in a bright yellow hi-vis who was there to observe and ensure that nobody other than those who were supposed to were hurt or injured. “The countdown is about to begin.”

“One more moment, please.” Sophie’s mum gave the man a pleading look and he nodded, a little irritably. “Here,” she reached into her bag, “I brought this with me just in case you needed it. It should distract you a little at least.” Sophie turned to see what her mum was holding. It was a small, light-pink plastic object, about the size and shape of a bullet from one of her NERF guns but rounded at both ends. Positioning her body to block what she was about to do from the television cameras, Sophie’s mum gave the object in her hand a slight twist in the middle and it began to buzz. Then she leant forward to give her daughter a final kiss and, as she did she, slipped the vibrating device inside the girl, between her widely-spread legs.

Sophie had never felt anything like it before. The tingling sensation spread all through her body. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning as she felt the sensation built.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” Her dad gave her hand a final squeeze and kissed her on the forehead before stepping back. Her mum did likewise and the countdown began. The Mayor began but, with his encouragement, the whole crowd joined joined in, including Sophie’s parents.




Sophie felt as if the countdown were building to something else. She could not help but squirm and buck against the rock beneath her as the vibrator inside her drove her ever closer to climax. She began to wonder if it would be the rock that crushed her or whether her body would simply explode by itself. Surely the sensation she was feeling could not be contained in a slight, 12 year old body?





The man with the axe lifted it above his head, taking careful aim at the rope. Some of the cameras zoomed in close to capture Sophie’s final moments while others panned out, wanting to capture the reaction of the audience.



Sophie could contain herself no longer but threw back her head and cried out in ecstacy.



There was a swish and a thud as the axe was brought down on the rope. For a second, nothing happened. Sophie wondered if the rock would not fall after all, if the whole thing had been some kind of hoax or prank. She was just starting to wonder how she would feel if that was the case when she saw the rock begin to tilt towards her, slowly at first then rapidly gathering momentum. She let out a scream that even she could not have told whether it was of terror or orgasmic delight, or a delirious mix of the two. Either way, only those closest to the altar rock heard as the sound was downed out by the cheer from the crowd.

There was a crunch and a resounding bang as stone hit stone, utterly destroying the body of the naked little girl in between. As the jubilant onlookers watched, a little blood oozed out the sides but, as hoped, a steady red stream began to pump from the opening at the end of the altar, over the side of the cliff and down into the sea below. Everything had gone exactly according to plan.

The younger Maypole dancers came forward, still in their faux-medieval costumes, and laid flowers on top of the stone beneath which Sophie had been crushed. In the morning, when everyone had gone home and any remains of the festival had been cleared away, the top stone would be lifted off with a crane and a pressure-washer used to send Sophie’s pulverised remains down to the sea to join her blood, making the stone clean again for tourists, documentary-makers and anyone else who cared to visit it. But for now, there was feasting, dancing and drinking to be done.

The Festival continued until midnight and Sophie’s final moments were broadcast around the world many times before the night was through. Both the roasted girls and the stew were declared delicious by all who tasted them.

The event was deemed an enormous success by everyone involved and the Village Council unanimously voted that it should become an annual event!


It's simply amazing! The affectionate mom was a great idea at the end.
This is my favourite story.


Thank you :D Very glad you enjoyed!


> Okay, so maybe I had one more in me!

I sincerely hope you are wrong.


I'm sure I'll be able to produce some more - just not at the pace I did last week! Don't worry - you've not heard the last of me!


Truly excellent writing, as always!


Thank you! Your name, by the way, is roughly the sound I imagined Sophie making and the stone destroyed her!


Ha! That may not be entirely coincidental…


I suspected as much ;)


Ingenious method, very good story. I love it.


Thank you! Glad you enjoyed :D


This story kinda remind me real sacrifices
makes me think if people at those times also felt same since sacrifices were sometimes consensual too.

Good story but this time I was constantly distracted by my on fantasies always imagining everything to happen totally diffrent that you are describing LOL

I think Sophie could be doing more speeches and stuff since she is a queen and she should have directed her own sacrifice and cooking of other girls as well tasting them is also expected. :)
But that is just my fantasy


Absolutely nothing wrong with using any of my (or anyone else's) scenarios as a jumping-off point for your own fantasies! I do it all the time :)

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