Hilde could not comprehend what the sight meant. From nearly every home crawled, walked, or stumbled the village women. All of them had a detached look to them. Their eyes were lidded and unfocused; their mouths slack as if locked in a soundless moan. They walked drunkenly towards where they had heard the sounds of pleasure emanate from, driven from their hovels at last by their need left unsatisfied by the abandonment of their monstrous lovers.
Neither Hilde nor Meera understood this, but they welcomed more to their tryst. The once lovers separated without a second thought and welcomed the other women into their arms where they fell to pleasuring each other. The others who missed this either joined the girls, or went for the bucket, still resting on the well, as if drawn by a wonderful scent. Like the addicts they were they picked up the bucket and slurped at the mujaberry tainted well water. They drank, and as they tasted the sweet water the bucket was easily taken from their shaking hands as renewed arousal raced through them. Soon, an orgy of the women had formed about the well, with more coming each minute, drawn by the irresistible need for pleasure and the sweet tonic which provided it.
Like nymphs beneath garland trees they fell among each other, drunk on desire and tainted water continually being drawn from the well, slaves to their own pleasures. The two hunters who might have saved them were at the very epicentre of the undulating, moaning crowd, their thirsts slaked and seeking to satisfy other urges with each other and anyone within arm’s reach. Mindless pleasure seeking and all too drugged to know it.
Comments