chapter 1 - the party, the morning after.

Halloween has always been my favorite festival. The costumes, the permission to act out, to be a completely different person. This year I was all about the Romans. The Bacchanalia, the excesses of the late Empire, reading enviously of the Emperor Vitellius, whose blasphemous eating of even the sacrificial meat and cakes angered the Gods. As I read, wide eyed in my room, dreaming of a world where every carnal desire could be indulged, I knew what role I was going to live into this year.

A loose fitting toga tied around my corpulent body, a wreath of olive leaves, and a pair of sandals. I relish the way my heavy breasts swing free under the white fabric, liberated from their usual prison of a DDD cup. The sensual feeling of my oiled thighs rubbing against each other as I walk draws my attention to my thick bush, perfumed tonight with olive oil, my body feeling more alive, more hungry, more fertile than ever before.

The door is open when I arrive at the party, the noise of revelry loud and raucous. I walk in, placing my tray of roast chicken, grapes, fruit, and bread on the table with a bottle of red wine. The night is a blur, wine, food, laughter, innuendo, dancing, the sensation of hands clasping me close. I'm naked, first spinning, gyrating, singing while a group of people clap and cheer, then kissing. The feeling of many hands on my naked oiled breasts and belly, then on my thighs as I writhe with pleasure on the table, food scattered around me. Faces laughing, encouraging me as someone pours more wine into my mouth, the red liquid spilling from the sides of my mouth as I feel the aching pressure of a cock against my hungry pussy.

"Yes!" I cry out, surrendering to my animal needs, letting hands feed me delicacies, mouths suck and kiss my nipple, then first one, then another, then another man fucks me, the hunger in my loins only growing. I loose track of my climaxes, relishing the attention as I hear a classicist friend incongruently reading in latin, something that sounds like a chant, an incantation, an invitation to the spirits.

And then everything is dark.

The morning light is gentle, as if filtered through heavy curtains. My bed is soft against my still naked body, and I roll over, noticing several things at once. I smell of sex, as I breathe deep the memories of the night before flood back, and I flush with embarrassment at my decadence. My body feels soiled, the fluids and smears of the night still staining my thighs and belly, some kind of chocolate sauce streaked on one breast. I smile, then frown, feeling something tug on my wrist and neck.

Some prankster has dressed me in a pain of thin golden handcuffs, linked by a golden chain to a metal collar around my neck. The chain is long enough for my hands to reach my face, but not long enough to reach my breasts. "Not funny." I mutter as I sit up awkwardly, looking around the room. It is sparsely furnished, with the bed, and a large table that I notice is stacked with an enormous amount of food. Bread, cheese, fruit, roast meats, cakes, trifles, bottles of wine - an astounding selection. I shake the sleep from my head as I head a light knock on the door.

She's slender and beautiful, dressed in a simple white shift, her blonde hair in a long plait down her back. She enters the room, a large metal jug in one hand, a bowl with a sponge and bottle of oil in the other.

"Who are you?" I ask, a little confused.

She smiles kindly. "It's hard for me to explain in a way that will make sense for you, but be calm, I'm here to prepare you."

"Seriously." I reply. "The party is over. We can stop with the Roman sacrifice thing."

She smiles again. "You don't understand? A doorway was opened, the nether was invited to accept you as a willing offering. You consented to be our sacrifice, our sacred feast. I am here to cleanse you, and to help fatten you."