Nala had been in preparation for the opening. For two weeks, the child had been in the sacred women's hut, attended by her mother, aunts and older sisters. She had been instructed and held in a deep trance by the High Priestess. Nala had drunk the bitter elixir, then lay and watched as bright ants started to crawl over first the roof, then the walls, then the floor, and then, finally, her naked body as she lay tied, spread to four stakes driven into the hard, cool clay floor. She had watched with interest, not fear, as the glowing red and blue insects had approached, then climbed over her from all directions, hundreds of tiny points of light, crossing her small frame, her flat chest, climbing along her legs, all converging on her clean, preteen, sex. Then they had entered her, moving inside her passage, filling her child womb. And then had come the Priestess, her old lined face with brilliant blue eyes, watching from between her legs, gently spreading the little girl lips, opening her for the creatures. Then, just as the child was being filled by the lightening bugs, the Priestess leaned forward and, placing her mouth on the child's sex, gently pulled the ants from her. The child lay, writhing as the octogenarian's tongue played along her, pulling at her, her body flowing with repeated, and unfamiliar, orgasms. Then, just as the last of the ants were leaving the child, the old woman had lashed out with the stick she held in her mouth, plunging into the child, tearing the thin membrane. A warm orange darkness enveloped the child, the pain left her, a green bubble rising from between her legs, floating to the ceiling then disappearing. The warmth covered her and she fell asleep.

When she awoke, the effects of the drug had completely worn off. Again she was tied, but this time she was across the alter in the village commons. Around her were all the members of the tribe, dressed in colorful robes, dancing and chanting to drums. But, immediately around her were eight men, each wearing nothing but a large ornate mask. All of them were stroking their tools, they stood out like a circle of lances above the child. She looked up, the man directly above her head had an enormous dick, it waved above her forehead, occasionally the pendulous testicles would brush the top of her head. She knew, even though she could not see his face, that this was her uncle, her mother's brother. She looked down and, standing between her legs, his cock suspended above her mons, was her father. She knew it was he, but he could not see his face for the fearsome mask. She knew that around her were her uncles and older brothers. The youngest one being just fourteen with just a small patch of dark curls at the base of his penis.

The men are chanting, the village is chanting, as the men each work up their sperm, stroking their cocks in unison to the music and chanting, a crescendo starting to build as an undercurrent to the singing. The child's father pours out a flask of oil over the child's mons, it is warm and comfortable. The women of the village start a high calling, a rapid singing as he lowers the head and gently pushes it against his daughter's slit. She feels as she is opened and her father's penis, the tool which had first given her life, enters her, moving deep. The feeling of pure ecstasy filled the girl as he moved in and out of her. Her uncle's cock brushed her forehead and she looked up, taking him into her mouth, feeling him push against her tongue and throat. He also thrusts with the music, sliding in and out of her in unison with her father. The din of the chant fills her ears, fills her soul.

A warm tingling starts in her sex, she is acutely aware of her father sliding in and out of her. Her uncles cock moves comfortably in and out of her mouth, occasionally pushing into her throat. The beat is getting faster, the warmth is spreading. She can taste the saltiness of her uncle's pre- cum. Her father is now pushing deep into his child, pushing his cockhead against her cervix. Her uncle is pushing harder into her mouth, her jaw is sore. The music hits a loud explosive note as her pus and her mouth are flooded with sperm. Her father and his brother-in-law fill her with seed as the other six men's white goo sprays across her shoulders, chest, stomach and hips. Splashes of sperm cross the child's naked body as she bucks and shakes with the waves of her own orgasm. She looses consciousness as the last of the men's sperm dribbles onto the child, is pushed into her child womb or she swallows the final drops.

When she awakes she is alone, the lashing have been cut, she is covered with the white crusts of dried semen. The village square is empty but, from the low sounds of laughs and groans from nearby huts, she knows that many more children will be conceived that evening. She will go alone to the river and, met there by the Priestess and the next youngest girl in the village, she will be ritually bathed, dressed in a white robe, then led to the hut of her future husband's family. There to live another five years before, at the age of 13, she and her husband will build their own hut. That night, the next youngest girl in the village, her friend Carnica, will go to stay in the Priestess' hut.