Cyra's Cyclopes Read Online Free Page B

disciple should was that,
while she had put a wreath on her head, the fawn skin and thyrsus
Teha tried to give her were ignored. The older woman hadn’t been
happy about it and she’d felt her staring daggers into her ever
since. Ignoring the anger was easy because it was the first time
she’d been able to take in all aspects of the annual festival with
a clear view and it was entrancing in a terrifying way.
    Normally she’d be too much a part of
the action to notice how raw and horrific the activity actually
was.
    The first thing she tuned into was
the variety of sounds emanating from the celebrants. Pipes,
cymbals, and drums offered nothing of musical value and when
screeching, screaming, and sounds of mass fucking were added, it
became almost ugly. None of it resembled the beautiful musical
outpourings of devotion she’d always thought they were. Maybe she’d
focused more on the instruments being played because the horror of
what people were doing and having done to them was what shocked her
most.
    Satyrs, centaurs, and other seleni,
drunken followers, were laughing maniacally and having sex with
whomever they could get a hold of. Multiple partners or between two
people, it was being played out before her, with all the grunts,
moans, and screams that went along with the act, but none of the
joy she attached to being with her Cyclopes.
    Some participants seemed to enjoy
the physical attention, others sounded like they didn’t want any
part of it, and then there were a few that were obviously being
forced. Those bothered her the most, but she didn’t know what to do
about it. Running into the middle of a group of people madly
fucking in order to rescue someone who possibly didn’t want to be
there may turn anger on her and she knew what happened in such
cases.
    While a major part of the annual
celebration, the most disturbing aspect was the sacrifices that
took place off to the side. They were supposed to be animals,
although she knew there’d been actual humans torn apart and eaten
by maddened devotees.
    The more Cyra saw happening, the
closer she came to understanding why the sect leaders worked hard
to keep secret how the serious disciples worshipped Dionysus. He
was much more than the god of wine. While many people focused on
the wine and theater aspects, he had strong connections to both
life and death. Powerful and well supported, he was an immortal
that shouldn’t ever be crossed.
    Hopefully her leaving the ranks of
his followers wouldn’t upset him that much. Her decision to move on
had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her discovery
that there was an actual place in society waiting for her to live.
It wasn’t much, but she wanted to love and be loved, to have a
home, and to be needed for what she had to offer. With everything
she sought, found, and the decision to move forward made, she was
eager to get started in fulfilling her destiny.
    As she looked around the clearing,
her gaze stopped on a drunken man who lay across one of the longer
stones and held his ass cheeks spread open for a centaur to take
him with his large rod. Kneeling beside them was a satyr who had a
woman’s legs dangling over his shoulders and his mouth on her
pussy.
    Both couples appeared content with
their choice of partners and sounded like they were enjoying
themselves. There was something beautiful about their passions that
had her sliding a hand over her breast and played with the hardened
tip while watching the lovers. She liked sex, particularly with her
three Cyclopes, and was missing them. They could read her needs so
well. She had never been left wanting, except for the words. She
wanted the words of love from them.
    The centaur wrapped his hand around
some locks of his partner’s long brown hair and used it to lift the
man’s head up off the stone. He picked up the pace of his fucking,
pounding his long thin length in and out of the screaming man’s
ass. After a quick look, she could see on the