The Sabbat [ritualistic] [feral] [gentle Fdom] [fluent dynamics] [Huntress] [cunnilingus] [lactation] [mutual orgasm]

The headdress felt heavier than expected as I stepped from the changing hut. Bronze mask, double moons on my forehead, gossamer veil brushing my collarbone—but beneath the ceremony, I was already thinking of him. Him. My partner. My fingers trembled as I adjusted the mask, and not from the weight of headdress.

This was my first Sabbat as her. The priestess. The vessel. Not the maiden I'd been, not the mother I'd become, but the Huntress. The one who runs. The one who claims. My mentor pressed the vial of sacred oil into my palm. "Choose wisely tonight," she'd said. "The Goddess will be with you, but you still choose who receives Her."

I understood now. I was more than myself, yet somehow more of myself. Leader and servant. Lover and predator.

The others were dancing when I emerged, beer bottles in hand, radio songs I half-recognized. But I didn't scan the crowd for friends. I found him immediately: My lover, bare-chested by the bonfire, already wearing his antlers, already watching for me. We'd been lovers first. Then partners. Even Mistress and her servant. But we had been always gentle and human. Tonight the rules changed. Tonight I would hunt him, and if I caught him, I would tear him open in ways our bed never allowed. If I failed, if he reached the Maypole first, he could choose any willing woman beneath the full moon.

He would choose me. I knew he would. But I needed him to run.

The drums started their heartbeat as I stepped to the central fire. I nodded at the singers; they faded, guitars softening to rhythm. The crowd formed their circle, faces I knew turning solemn in the shifting light.

From my veil, I found my lover’s eyes. Held them. What we leap toward, we claim.

My handmaiden approached. I let her remove the veil. And then, deliberately, I cupped her cheek and kissed her, tasting the sweet mead on her lips. A public blessing. The crowd murmured approval. "I know what you've prayed for," I whispered, and took her flask.

The viscous liquid felt heavy on my tongue. I held it, it would be given to the fire I was about to serve.

I centered myself, feeling the energy go through me like warm honey in my veins, feeling my body preparing me.

I breathed fire, spraying the liquid from my mouth. The torches roared. The circle erupted.

"Make your wishes!" I commanded, but my voice had dropped, become Her voice, layered with something ancient.

They came forward. I watched this time. Not as distant priestess, but as participant. A woman on crutches whispered her prayer to a firewalker, who then walked barefoot through the embers to carry that wish into flame. I watched lovers jump hand-in-hand, and others that burned papers in the flames, letting go of whatever they needed to part with. We prayed for prosperity. For health. For a good harvest. For love. I circled the fire in my robe quietly, thinking of my own wishes by the fire. Of the people I wanted to protect. Of the ones who protected me. And I thought of the hunt. Like a pendulum my thoughts came back to him. My lover. The stag.

By then the crowd parted. There he was. Looking at me almost smugly, his antlers singling him out as my prey. His bare upper body showed me he was ready. I lost my robe, revealing a white sports bra and a skirt that did not cover my knees. The attire of the huntress, ready to pursue. The drums stopped.

I smiled and mouthed: Run.

He turned and bolted. For three seconds I let him go into distance, further into the meadow. Give him a moment, I thought. Let the weight of his own muscles tire him out. When the moment felt right, I kicked after him.

This was the test. If he reached the Maypole first, the old law gave him the choice. Not just of me, but of any willing woman here. The thought should have stressed me or make me insecure. Instead, as my feet found their rhythm, I realized I wanted him to almost win. I wanted him to earn this as much as I wanted to earn him. I wanted him choosing me with certainty that he had been chosen, too. The predator will choose her prey, and she will grant him the freedom to be hers.

I could see it in his shoulders when he glanced back. He was running full-out, not holding back, not surrendering. Good. Make me earn you, sweet one.

I gained. The wet grass, the moonlight, my trained breath versus his longer stride. The crowd fell behind, their shouts becoming texture, not noise. We were alone in the hunt now, predator and prey, and for a short moment I felt the truth of it: The old law worked in both directions. If I were unsatisfied, if his run was lazy, if his fear wasn't real, I could turn back. Choose another. The Goddess didn't demand him; She demanded worthiness.

But his run was perfect. His determination was art.

I pounced. My hand raked down his back, as it was custom. Five lines by my nails, deep, claiming. And we crashed together into the grass. He hissed, back arching into the pain, and I felt the rush of my success burn through me.

"Got you," I breathed against his ear. Mask and headdress laid behind me, fallen as I pounced. It was good. It was my own voice, and my own excitement as I was still panting, feeling the heaviness of my curves now as the sports bra felt suddenly too tight for me.

 

Still panting, I pulled him into a hug. I reached around him, then I started to soothe the scratches on his back with hot kisses. I tasted his skin.
My stag moaned softly. When he turned around, I could see the hunger in his blue eyes. His hands found my shoulders and pulled me in for a kiss. “Goddess…” He breathed against my mouth.  “Huntress. My Lady.” Sweet adoration as his tongue found mine, tasting me, licking my lower lip. My prey wanted to savour this. My prey wanted to worship his huntress.

I let myself fall back into the soft, cool grass that caressed my hot body. My legs opened for him, revealing my bare womanhood to his hungry gaze. I needed him. I needed all of him, and I needed to feel him.
“Feast.” I commanded in a breathy voice. My stag obeyed. He took off his antlers to move more freely. “Goddess, yes.” He breathed, then he was upon me. One hand on my stomach held me down while the other gripped onto the soft skin of my thigh. And his face buried between my quivering thighs. Before his mouth touched me, I heard him inhale deeply.
“Your scent…” He hummed darkly. “Intoxicating. So good.” He breathed in the call of my flesh. I was dripping wet already, craving the attention of my prey while I laid down in front of him. Everything reacted; I was wet, and my nipples tightened and full. This moment was meant to be.
His tongue found the soft petals of my labia, and he dove in. In the privacy of the darkness and the magic of the moonlight he feasted on me. I felt his lips nip gently on my clit, he sucked on that pearl until my hips bucked. I moaned.
“Hmm… Yes. My stag. Ah… More. Eat me.”
I didn’t need to tell him. He lapped at my clit like a man starving. My juices wet his beard and he drank me up. My hips pushed back, meeting his lips and his tongue. With one hand I clawed into the back of his head as his hand pushed onto my stomach. He was so good for me.
“Yes…” I said again. “My stag… Ah…” More little words escaped me. Moans. Praise. Need. His tongue pressed between my parted labia, then he sucked on my swollen clit again. The hand from my thigh wandered to my center, teasing me, making my hips buck. My voice became higher, more urgent.
I felt the pressure inside of me as I tensed, and tensed, and my thighs locked him in until he breathed nothing but me, kissed nothing but me, lapped at me, again and again and with a high-pitched little cry I came.
And I came hard. And he held onto my trembling thighs, licking and humming against my most sacred place until my high-pitched cries turned to moans and finally a giggle.

“Ah…”
My whole body shivered as I kept him between my thighs, panting. Afterglow and need. I sat up, skirt ridden up to my waist my swollen pussy was exposed to his gaze. My hands found the zipper at the front of my sports bra. The running was over; I didn’t need it anymore.
“Look at me.” I whispered as I pulled the zipper of the bra down. I took my time with it. Showed him the wet spots where my body produced another kind of essence for him to taste. When the fabric parted, I teased him, letting him see my full cleavage without revealing my nipples yet.

He sat up, looking at me hungrily. “Please.” He groaned, holding onto my thigh urgently. “Please, my huntress. Show me.”
With one hand I kept the merciless fabric in place, while my other hand found his. I guided him toward my chest, letting him feel the sweat-slick skin, letting his fingers dive into the cleft between my breasts. Then I let go, letting the bra fall open and slipping out of it completely. My stag groaned in appreciation. I could tell he wanted to dive in again, worshipping more of my body with his mouth, appreciating every part of my being, the nurturing softness and the predator. And I would let him, but I needed him to do it on my terms.
I pushed him onto his back and was on top of him in the blink of an eye.
“You will feast on me more. But you have to feed me, too.”
I undid the button of his shorts. His cock was already bulging the fabric, and when I pulled it down, he was hard and perfect for me.
“Look at you,” I said, stroking his full length with my fist. “So hard. So needy.”
He looked up at me with absolute confidence. A gift of the hunt. He knew how much I desired him; there was not a single doubt left.
“All for you, my huntress. It’s yours.” He said proudly.
“Exactly.” I stroked him harder, and brought his swollen cock head to my labia, coating him in my essence again.
I swayed my hips and teased him with my wet entrance. “Mine to take. Mine to use.”
His hips bucked, not trying to demand entry, but showing excitement. I felt his hands on my hips, feeling the softness of my curves.
“Yes.” He said with a growl in his voice. “Yours. Your cock. Only yours.”

I positioned myself on top of him, nudging his hard cock with my pussy. Then I lowered my hips and took him into my tight heat. His grip on me turned almost painful. He hissed, feeling me grip onto him with my inner walls. The stretch of his girth was delicious. He opened me, and I took what was mine, welcoming every inch of him until I felt he bottomed out inside of me.
My fingernails clawed into his chest, not deliberately marking him this time, but simply needing to feel him.
“You are such a good stag.” I praised him now, grinding onto him in slow motions while I closed my eyes. “You made it count. You made me earn it… Ah… So good for me.” Praise fell from my lips again as I rode him. My words spurred him on, made him thrust more strongly.
When I pulled him closer and pressed my boobs against him, he understood the assignment immediately.
“Do it.” I urged him. “Feed from me as you feed me.”

“My huntress.” He held onto me and his open mouth found my nipple. One hand caressed the other breast while he latched on my nipple, teasing and licking at first, then sucking in earnest until I saw his jaw moving in a slow rhythm as I let down. He drank from me, drank *me*. My body reacted instantly. My wetness reached a new height and dripped onto his thighs.
My stag squeezed my boob gently, massaging it, coaxing more of my milk out of me. It trickled down my underboob and onto his upper body.
“Drink me.” I moaned as I rode him slowly. He latched onto my other nipple, and didn’t need to coax anymore, my body was feeding him eagerly now. This day was meant to be. Full moon. Fertile. Ready to feed and be fed.
I felt him throb inside of me, and I was sure my inner walls must have been pulsing around him.
He breathed reverent words against my milky nipples. “I will drink all of you.” He promised. “Every last drop, I will worship your body, every curve, will feel all your softness, your strength, your need, your grace. Just let me serve you.” His words were accentuated by deliberate thrusts that hit my deepest core.
I felt like I was floating. We both were, letting the magic of this moment carry us through it. His moans became louder now, and I also felt it. The urge. The call. I wanted more. Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him closer and let myself fall back.
When I felt the cool grass on my bare back again, I spread my legs for him without breaking our sacred connection.
“Fill me.” I said. “Deep inside. Give me what I deserve.”

His expression was almost pleading. But his resolve was unmatched. He pulled my legs up and pushed down on me.
“YES!” I screamed as he folded me. I let go, let my head fall back and gave myself to his powerful thrusts. Then my words turned into moans.
Skin clapped against skin. Hands on my ankles. This was not about us anymore, this was not about power dynamics or rituals. This was the most primal part of being alive. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Harder.

Deeper.

My ankles were pushed next to my head. A roar that came from both our mouths as we came. And our essences combined, filling my deepest part and trickling out of me. We both shattered. He collapsed forward, and I think he was crying. Maybe I was crying, too, and didn’t care. His arms came around me, holding pieces of me I didn’t know needed breaking. We stayed locked together, breathing, his softening cock still nestled inside me, his mouth pressing kisses to my shoulder.

“My love,” he whispered.

I kissed his chest, right over his heart. “My stag.”

We didn’t rise until the sky turned gray with dawn.