The Depth of Faith

The Depth of Faith

Darkness settled over the snow clad forest. Winter birds trailed off in their lyrical worship of the wan sun. My carriage continued up the road toward the high mountain pass as storm clouds gathered in the distance. I stared hard at them, I bent my will against them, I cast scorn upon their threat; I would reach my new home no matter what the universe aligned against me!

Unbidden musings drifted into my thoughts: Who was I who dared command the storm? What foolish creature was I to assail the high mountains in the early days of winter? I shook my head in rejection of these doubts that came forward in sinister and alien whispers. I was the Princess! I was to be Queen! My future was touched by the gods, divinely fated! I cursed in the old tongue; which put both men and horse at unease. The echo of my words, inaudible yet felt, returned to me unanswered. Fate it seemed, was holding it’s breath.

Higher into the pass we climbed, beyond the trees. The storm drew ever closer, no matter how I bent my will upon it, no matter what words I spoke to demand it’s obedience. My men, sworn to my service, were on edge and unhappy. I over heard my footman atop the coach as he muttered a prayer for my soul. The flanking soldiers on horseback cast their gaze away, so as not to witness my—in their minds—profanity. Fools and peasants, worshipers of the three faced God; they were incapable of even learning old tongue. Only my handmaids, arrayed about carriage with me, were at ease with my actions.

At last my will began to take form, at last the storm clouds began to slow; boiling rapids the clouds had been, now they flowed like molasses and bubbled up into great pillows that flattened against my thoughts. It was a sensation indescribable in the common tongue, influences and senses not possessed by lesser men. At the very least, I could suggest that my soul was held forward like a wall against the course of the wind, but it would not be accurate. The pressure that built within, was not an outward sensation, it was as if I had enveloped the storm and contained it in my heart. It was not the magic of the ancients long past, the divine gods that had walked the earth could have dissolved the storm with barely a thought. I did my best.

An hour passed as we climbed, as sweat beaded on my skin, as I burned calories faster than a messenger’s stallion. Sweet honey wine passed my lips, raised forth by a maid. I drank without taking my thoughts away from the... not nearly distant enough storm. We would make it, we only needed to pass the high valley and the mountains themselves would shield us from the worst of it. I could feel elation growing as my will bent reality and assured our success!

CRACK. The sound of both front wheels breaking at once was loud enough to jar me from my concentration. The carriage lurched forward and dropped. Another series of cracks followed as the frame splintered under it’s own weight when it hit the snowy stone below. One of the men screamed while horses bellowed. The wind began to howl and the soft, barely audible flutter of snowflakes caressed the stilled carriage.

“No!” I cried aloud, dismayed.

Neither door budged when I pressed against them. The front window was too small to fit through. The protection the carriage had provided was now a trap. I could hear the storm growing, pent up by my actions it had gone from dangerous to monstrous. Outside there were shouts and orders, but strangely the voices were growing more and more distant, as if they were lost. I peeked through the fore window to see my manservant, slumped over before it. His face was visible and his eyes were open, but sightless. Beyond him was nothing but white, I couldn’t even find the shade of the forest near by. I bellowed for the men to return, but so faint they were now, so indistinct; they could not have followed my voice back.

“Princess Faith—the door, can you…” a Maid begged, her words unfinished and dangling in the muffled sound of the storm.

My hands were trembling, my core chilled, it was only the rush of adrenal that kept me going. “Y-yes,” I stammered as the darkness crept in around the edges of my vision. “More of that honeyed wine and…” Her face fell, barely visible in gray twilight. She held the broken bottle up, or what was left of it; the neck in her grasp and a horrible gash across her palm. “Oh...” was all I managed to utter before tunnel closed.

-

Your destiny is lost, your life is forfeit, your future has gone to another wiser and stronger. The words echoed through my dreams. I saw war, famine, disease, and death. Not the avatars of the three faced God, but the forces of nature as they spilled across the land. You could have prevented this fate, perhaps, but now it’s machinations belong in the hands of another more suited. The words were in the old tongue, powerful and bone wrenching. But you are not yet lost, another fate may befall you... should you choose... should you welcome it.

-

I woke to whimpers, sobs, and the bite of winter’s chill upon my bare stomach and thighs. The whimpers were mine, drawn from my parched throat and cracked lips as cold, hard scales scraped between my icy thighs. I could make no sense of the sensation, nothing in my experience matched. Chill, slippery moisture gathered between my folds, then ran in an icy rivulet down my frostbitten rump into the snow. Why was I naked in the snow? I was so numb I could hardly feel the penetration when it began, just a faint pressure, then ache.

My addled thoughts drifted between confusing extremes as the rhythmic and moist splats continued. It took me a shamefully long time to connect the sounds with the faint sensation between my legs, or the pain I felt in my lower belly. It at last clicked, like a key in a rusted lock at last turning free.

My eyes opened, but could see nothing but dark blurs. My hands rose… or tried to, halted by the rough hempen rope that held them fast above my head. The pressure against my spine and the feel of the metal and wood under my half numbed fingers told me upon what I lay, bound; a cartwheel. I had been rescued, only to be bound naked in the chill of winter, and raped in the snow.

Above me came the muffled panting of a man in full rut. His hands were clasped tight on the outer rim of the wheel as his pelvis slammed against mine in desperate need. The smell of him was sour and oily, with a hint of rancid fat and night soil. The feel of him—was nothing like I’d ever experienced. Scales, scales upon his thighs, upon his pelvis, upon his pubic mound. Worse, the feel of his spire inside of me, like a cold gelatin desert covered in a thickened cream or caramel. Yet I knew it was not, I knew it so deeply in the pit of my stomach that I felt my gorge rise. Sloppy and only half erect, his phallus sucked out with a slurp and pushed in again like an ooze. My once virgins depths, violated by something inhuman, something fetid and evil!

The words from my dream came back to me then, as I swallowed bile back down. The sour burn in my throat was nothing compared to the soul wrenching realization in my heart. Another fate, should I choose it, should I welcome it. This? I cried within, full of horror and scorn. What fate is this!? Within my aching depths the semi-flaccid phallus twitched, swelled like a skin filling with water, then erupted. The erupted was messy, noisy, flatulent even. Sputtered bubbles popped and gushed noisome splatters across my pelvis, thighs, rear, and stomach. Most of his copious, and chill release however poured into my womb like a chilled desert—and clung.

He pulled free at last and my world expanded. I could hear the choked gagging of one of my Maids as some one filled her mouth. Another screamed while a raspy voice laughed and spoke a foul word of debasement in the old tongue, “Her filthy passage devours me! Her bowels hunger!” More laughter followed and another Maid screamed as her rapist penetrated the tight ring of her anus. It would be my turn soon, for I could feel the movement of another horror as he climbed upon my wheel.

I gathered my will, pulled as much of the world into my heart as I could and began to twist. It wouldn’t take much, a few simple words and a release; the monsters would be torn limb from limb and we would be free. But you are not yet lost, another fate may befall you. The words echoed again through my thoughts, distracting me for a moment. No, I couldn’t surrender to this! Not this!

The moment was lost however for the monster instead clutched my head and mashed his filth soaked, horizontal slit into my mouth. His tail tucked down and curled about my throat, squeezed, and his words came at a halting whisper, in broken common, “You teeth me, you no teeth.” His meaning was crystal clear as his vent swelled, parted, then practically exploded outward in a spray of filthy urine and semi-erect cloacal flesh.

Should you welcome it… I shuddered and—welcomed him into my mouth, with lips curled over teeth and jaw parted wide. My throat filled with his mess, cheeks ballooned as he emptied on to my face. I welcomed him, I welcomed it by swallowing. I was not one to spit in the face of fate, I would not endanger my Maids simply because I was too good to accept my… my future. I swallowed, gagged, swallowed, retched, swallowed—and began to suckle upon my captor. I chose... chose to accept my fate, for their sakes, for my own. With his phallus down my throat and his mess in my gut, I surrendered into the darkness of suffocation.

-

Obedience, surrender, and adaption. The voice came to me again. I was desperate to breathe, I dreamed I was trapped below the ice, doomed to die. These three things will see you through; these three things are your anchors. The words were incongruent to my surroundings, who was speaking? How were they speaking underwater? Fail to obey, oblivion awaits. Who was I supposed to obey? Fail to yield, you will break. What was I supposed to yield to? Fail to adapt, you will surely perish. The water… Was my fate that of a fish? I resisted the impulse, fought with my dream and my own instincts until… My mouth opened and I inhaled the icy depths.

-

I jerked upright from the wagon wheel, arms pulled back, knees still tied open, ankles bound to a spoke. I pulled away with mouth gaped wide in an attempt to bring air to my starved lungs. My throat was full of… something. My mouth was clogged with… that same something. My sinuses packed solid with more of that… something. In desperation I turned my head and heaved. Brown mucous flowed freely up my sore throat as lungs cleared. I burped, foul and horrific. My bloated stomach seized and more slippery brown and white sludge was expelled onto the trampled snow.

At last a single breath of air filled me—and was followed by uncontrollable coughs and more vomiting. It was some time before I gathered my wits again. My body was hard used in more ways than I could count; for starters, I’d burned up every last dram of bloodsugar in my attempt to halt the storm. My muscles would be cramped, my mind would be fogged, and my mood would be terribly imbalanced for days to come. Worse were however was the deep seared burn between my legs, in both passages. I’d been a carefully cultivated virgin up until now, the stupid patriarchal necessity had kept me so up until my wedding day… which should have been only weeks away. That was fate was lost, not that I had ever put much stock in virginity. Then there was my mouth, throat, and lungs. How I had survived I could not imagine, but I yet breathed the foul fumes of my rapist’s lust.

Around me firelight flickered and cast distorted monsters upon the cavern wall. I was close to the entrance, but it had been piled so high with snow that there was only a faint gap of darkness through which the smoke evacuated. Someone had kept it clear, for there were numerous scrapes and gouges showing their handy work. I could hear soft snoring and quiet sobs, the occasional sputter and sizzle of some savory beast over the fire. Even in my wretched state, the odor was appetizing.

“Quite a delicious catch, that trap was genius!” A rough voice announced in the old tongue with a pleased sigh.

Another added, “A pity about the suffocated one, oh what foolishness. Athak shall be punished dearly.”

“Forgiveness elder, I sought only what the others took freely!” a sniveling voice responded, muffled but comprehensible.

The first snorted, spat, and replied, “Others who knew when to halt. Colcareth shall awaken soon and decide your fate.” The second settled into soft whimpers and sniffles.

At first I wondered if they referred to myself, but none could have overlooked my violent awakening. That meant—one of my trusted maids had died. A mixture of rage, fear, and mourning answered that thought. The four of them, so eager to visit new lands with me. They had volunteered with such abject joy—only to meet this horrendous fate. The voice’s words came to me again, oblivion, perish; was that not such a terrible thing in the face of this fate? What could this fate be, in any case, but a future of servitude, suffering, and debasement. The simple thought of tasting another male, or feeling him find pleasure in my humiliation! A shiver rippled through to my chilled flesh and sickness to my gut. Sweat beaded on my skin and evaporated, my mouth watered with nausea. My breath caught in my throat as it clenched shut against the imagined cloaca smothering it. Once more I was drowning in the icy sea, a sea of sewage and semen.

I broke free of my self inflicted terror with a scream followed by another round of gut wrenching coughs. I felt unwell, feverish perhaps, for even on the side of me that faced the fire, the radiance licked across me like ice. Nothing was right anymore, nothing made sense.

“Check on the slaves,” I overheard. A barked order as potent and impulsive as one of my spells. There was magic in that one, magic of such intensity that even his speaking voice compelled.

Two rose from the spitting fire, one approached me. He was silhouetted against the ceiling, a ragged shape enveloped in a shapeless heap of cloth, hide, and bits of armor. Only as he turned his head to look aside did I see his reptilian muzzle in profile. I’d known they were not human, no human dared converse in the old tongue as freely. I was not prepared for the effect his visage would have on me, for I’d seen his likeness—or something similar—in the ancient illuminations passed down from the ages past. Dragon blood was the only answer, dragon blood so potent and clean of contaminant that his very countenance sent my heart into worshipful patters.

From as early as I could remember I had stared down into the beautiful artwork of my forefathers. I had laid in the sun and gazed up at the majestic tapestries depicting their like. I had fantasized myself upon dragon back as the ancients had, of seeing the world from above. And, to my heart’s shame, I had dreamed of the ancient tales, of princesses stolen like prized jewels and piles of gold, imprisoned under the watchful eyes of a dragon, of a near god. I had dreamed it, and in my heart of hearts, yearned to offer myself to the beast in the depths of passion. Size of course had never entered my thoughts, the logistics of such an act were well beyond the ken of a twelve year old maiden. Now that I had lost my innocence to a beast of legend, I knew the truth.

Timid and ashamed, I dragged my tongue across my lips. A filthy crust broke and crumbled down my cheeks, a tangled clump of filthy mucous below my nose clung to my tastebuds. I shuddered as the sour musky flavor burst anew in my senses. It was different now, now that I knew the source, that I knew the breeding and lineage of my captors. I was in the presence of divinity. Obey, yield, adapt; I would.

Aloud I spoke, though my voice was a hoarse whisper, “Thank you.” I hadn’t even thought to speak the words in common. The force of my voice washed over him, stunned him. My thanks, heartfelt and true; for you could not lie in the old tongue, had left the draconic angel speechless.

The elder, who had not taken the full force of my gratitude, barked, “What was said? Speak clearly Peklaki!”

Peklaki, the angel above me, jerked in response, and replied with a mixture of confusion and surprise, “I was not the speaker, elder Tchitak, it twas the slave. Her words were of gratitude!”

I said no more, but the dozen others burst into a chorus of voices, too many to comprehend. The powerful words they spoke, broke upon each other like a choppy sea, drowning me in their urgency and intensity. My thoughts were disrupted, my emotions churned to mush, and my body writhed under the onslaught. A single voice at a time was hard enough to bare, but all of them at once left me wracked with conflict and exhaustion. Adapt, the voice echoed in my thoughts, a single clear tone, a light house in a stormy sea. I didn’t know how.

When at last the turmoil settled, it was the elder who stood above me and spoke, “You are of the elder blood, thin as it is. Who are you?” The question was a command, and my body responded of it’s own volition before my thoughts could comprehend the phrase.

“Princess Faith Corothalian, destined… Once destined to serve as Queen to Crown Prince Elandi Burcai.” The words left my lips in a rush, harsh and desperate in their obedience. Only after they were spoken did I understand the contents of his compulsion. I felt like a humiliated puppet on a string, yet the worshipful attraction remained. I added of my own accord, voice hushed, “now of service to you, glorious one.” The words were expressed with awe, affection, and earnest desire. The effect they had on the divine above me was astonishing.

He jerked back as if slapped. His pupils dilated to black pools with me reflected in them. His loins jerked and the crotch of his shapeless clothing bulged and soaked through. His voice came out strained and not exactly pleased, “You will refrain from such speech in the future. It is shameful to affect your betters so!” Though he spoke the words, a claw had lowered to his groin to rearrange his erection and open his cloths to empty the mess. It landed directly on my thigh; a slippery, cold, and reeking puddle of mucous and piss.

I was torn between revulsion and worship, if it came from him, it was to be loved. All knew the ancients were gods, to be worshiped and loved beyond all others. Even the scions of the gods, lesser creatures themselves such as these, were proxies for the divine. I liked my lips again and asked in a voice as powerless as I could make it, “May this slave cleanse and worship you?” I was a princess, yet I was nothing before the divine.

Even without power, the effect was intense. His spire—two hand spans of droopy, sticky flesh—jerked up hard and splattered wetness across me. I could not see well in the shadow of his body, but what I could see of him suggested intense desire and conflicting urges. At last, he dropped to a knee with a rather rude yet wordless snarl, and laid hands upon my bound wrists. “You vow to obey and serve?” He asked it of me, without compulsion.

I shivered as if thrown into the icy waters of my dreams, of my home. To vow such a thing was to sell your soul. Obedience the voice echoed, my mouth followed the word, I explored the feel of it upon my lips, the taste of it upon my tongue. I stared up into my captor’s eyes, the scions of the ancients, thought to have been lost for ten thousand years. Aloud I spoke, voice clear and unwavering, “I vow to serve and obey the ancient divine, and their scions upon this world.” The words spoken, I fell limp and exhausted as the world around me wrenched and shifted into a new paradigm. Deep in my soul and the depths of my bowels, I felt a change, just a slight change. It was as if an intangible hook had been laced through my gut and was tugged. My sore vulva clenched and a muddy flow gushed free upon the snow below.

The divine above me quivered under the onslaught of my voice, but he did not chide me. His hands deftly undid the knot and freed my wrists, knees and ankles followed. Freed, I sat up, with his kind assistance, and reached back to touch my frozen rear. Frostbite for sure, but with a bit of care and a trio of words, I brought the flesh back from the brink. It would be bruised, and possibly scarred, but at least it would remain relatively intact. My act though shocked everyone present.

Peklaki approached, cautious and slow, his words chosen carefully, “You are trained to wield the words as a magi?”

I shrugged my shoulders in response while pressing myself between the stunned elder’s thighs. The horrid stench of his stained clothes was enough to make me gag, but I persisted none the less, to clean him. I scrubbed his scaled thighs and slit with hands, then clumps of snow, soaking up and washing off the erupted mess. He stood still, eyes upon me as if unsure whether I could be trusted even after the vow. His clothes were another matter, and though I wiped them clean as best I could, they were soaked through. I urged him to disrobe and scrubbed each stained sash and panel with snow until they were thoroughly soaked and mostly clean.

It was only when I rose to drape them near the fire that I saw what was turning upon the spit. The delightful scents wafting from the sizzling flesh changed from mouth wateringly delicious, to mouth watering nauseous in the literal blink of an eye. Amelia, poor Amelia, not even sixteen yet, the youngest of my maids. A greenwood branch had been skewered through her from bowel to mouth and her torso had been eviscerated to remove the organs; most of which were simmering in a pot at her side. Welcome tears obscured my vision but the memory was seared in place. Athak had drowned her in his lust, and the rest had decided to eat her remains.

I felt sick at heart, tortured. My mind returned to the enveloping cloaca drowning me, too. It could just have easily, and should have been me upon that spit. My throat clenched, my mouth gaped, I veritably felt the wood between my teeth and wanted to scream “But I’m not dead yet!” as it was thrust through me. The suffocation as I clawed at my throat and inhaled the basting of semen and waste. Fire licked at me, burned my knuckles… only then did the vision fade as the pain in my hands broke through. I’d fallen forward and thrust my hands into the coals, I’d reached for poor lost Amelia, as if I could bring her back. That was something not even the ancient gods could do. One life, only one life; to use or waste.

Aloud I repeated, “it should have been me…”

A clawed hand touched my shoulder and a quiet voice of power informed me, “Fate is not for you or I to decide. Sleep princess, your wounds are deep and need time to heal.” His command echoed through my soul, the compulsion irresistible and welcome. The hook in my bowels twisted, the voice of the ancient gods echoed, yield.

Once more I whispered, “Thank you,” and fell back into his strong arms as velvet softness enveloped my thoughts and dimmed my vision. My final thoughts were of the others, what would be done with the other maids who had followed me to their unwelcome destiny.

-

I awoke from a dreamless sleep into luxurious comfort. For the briefest of moments I believed I was back home in my own overstuffed bed curled about one of the dogs. That notion was rapidly shelved was the aforementioned “dog” parted my legs and settled himself between. For the second time in my life, I found myself awoken by an aroused male taking out his urges within my flesh. I had no thought to resist or complain, and raised my hips in response as his dry-scaled vent rasped over my nether lips.

The bed I laid upon though was not the remembered pillow of down, but a pile of rough spun cloth over a tattered bale of wool or cotton. The room itself I was in, was rough hewn stone with reliefs carved into the walls as if by a great claw, in a pictographic language. The fireplace off to my right was embedded in that wall, with a newly bricked over chimney laid over an ancient stone flue. I could find other modern additions to ancient work, the entire place was a mishmash of old and new. Some pieces, such as a set of silver dinnerware, were from a neighboring kingdom I recognized.

Before me I witnessed a strange creature quite unlike the misshapen and over-clothed forms from before. He was black scaled and glistened in the firelight like polished marble. He was muscular, but thinly built, his stature more like that of a child than a full grown man. His countenance was that of a dragon’s, writ small and lacking the majestic wings of his progenitor race. He was also quite bipedal, with strong legs and much thinner arms, he would never comfortably move on all fours. Only now did I realize how much smaller they were than even I. Upon my back, bound to the wagon wheel I’d seen them as great dragon kin written of in the illuminations.

“You are Kobolds,” I stated aloud as he worked himself back and forth between my thighs. He was knelt on the bed, calves tucked under my legs and ankles hooked around. Between us, his groin and tail dragged back and forth against my pubic mound. His own began to swell from the pressure and friction, the midnight-blue, fleshy interior emerged like a slowly cracked smile. Carefully I rose, and sat before him, across my lap, it made his grinding more difficult, but I didn’t feel as exposed as I had on my back.

His muzzle, which had been pointed directly at my stomach, rose to meet my gaze, “Yes. We are first amongst Colcareth’s nest to awaken and prepare for his coming.” I reached down while he spoke, and pressed my fingers into his moist cleft. Hard scales gave before me and exposed firm and silky flesh, along with a trickle of milky brown over my fingers. He made a trilling sound as his back arched, neck curved, and muzzle pointed toward the ceiling. Once the shuddered impulse passed, he told me, “I am Peklaki. You have been given into my care to prepare you for Colcareth.”

“I… I remember,” I informed him, then asked, “are you all so intensely… eager?”

He glanced away toward the fireplace with his lower lip caught between sharp black teeth. When he turned back to speak, his voice was vulnerable and quiet, “Our women have not yet awoken. I have been awake for twenty three years without… without comfort.” I was struck mute, barely eighteen as I was, I could hardly imagine such a long time without companionship. I’d slept in the same bed with my girlfriends from childhood, even to this day my maids never left my side.

Sudden memory struck me, “Amelia!” I gasped as I saw her once more turning over the fire, once pale skin cracked and golden as her plump flesh oozed and sputtered.

“Hush!” the Kobold demanded, and my soul complied. My throat clenched, voice and breath caught. My fingers between his legs stilled stiff, embedded to the second knuckle. The memory vanished from consciousness, though remained lurking. “I understand the memory to be traumatic, Princess, but you must overcome.” He was pleading with me more than anything else, even as his hips rolled faster and faster against me, masturbated against my rigid fingers.

I shook my head firmly in an attempt to clear the mixture of fear and confused obedience from it. His compulsion was powerful, almost as much as the elder’s had been, but I had trained well against my mother from before I could even remember. I broke through the mental cobwebs and jammed three fingers up, inside of him. He yipped aloud and arched again. Within, I could feel his pulsating flesh engorge as mucous ran freely down my wrist, cool and sticky.

“Why did you eat her?” I asked with an attempt at keeping the accusation from my voice.

He lowered his head once more and pressed his cool muzzle into my throat. Sharp teeth sank down and held, but his words came clearly still, “It was either us, or the wolves who would have fed upon her meat. It was the only way we could honor her loss.” His words did little to soothe the pain I felt at Amelia’s loss. I’d known and shared my bed with her since I was six, she was as much a part of my life as my own parents.

Into my palm his phallus spilled. I gazed down at it; the midnight flesh glistened, the flared wing like head spread open, and the ribbed shaft swelled with his arousal. It was soft, slippery smooth, and the foul smell of him both appealed and disgusted. Aside from the continuous drizzle of tacky mucous, there was no expulsion of waste. I asked, “you don’t always make a mess?”

He snorted a laugh, a spray of wet dampened my shoulder. “We were too eager last night. I properly voided myself this morning before coming to your bed. Think as you will of us, but we don’t enjoy wallowing in our own waste. Though—there is some entertainment value in making others do so.” His words were offered with a dark chuckle as he rolled his pelvis into my grip. “Now slave, open yourself to me, I wish to enjoy you once again.”

So, I thought, he was one of them who used me last night. I had no idea what that information earned me, but it seemed somehow valuable or important. The command in his voice though had my back to the bed before I’d finished the thought. A moment later I guided his phallus into my raw passage. I was dry, and though his own wetness made up for it, it hurt to feel my labia spread open, and was a scorched agony within my overly abused passage.

My body shook with pain as teeth clenched and my hands pulled away to fist in the pile of rags below. His teeth gouged the fleshy joint of neck and shoulder, as his breaths gust hard and fast into the mattress under me. His cold flesh pulsed and swelled inside as more and more emerged, alive with life, but the consistency of tepid mud and amphibian skin. A flash of a giant frog burrowing into my womb came to my mind and sent a new shudder of revulsion through me. I managed to shake the imagery off with an intense stare at his toned form. Cords of muscle bunched under his scaled hide, as handsome as any man I might have desired at court. His thrusts were insistent and eager, but paced slow enough, and controlled enough as to suggest patience.

As his lust grew—in all applicable definitions of the word—my pain faded to a dull ache. Each deep stroke pushed more of his slippery mucous into my passage and stimulated the raw skin until it lost the edge of it’s sensation. I wondered with dread, if all my future experiences would be so uncomfortable, but I had my doubts.

It was amidst these musings that he barked at me between eager pants, “Cease your lifeless apathy! You are no corpse, your heart yet beats and your flesh is young and resilient.”

It was no order, simple observation and urging, but I knew next to nothing of the act of procreation other than the grossest of basics. Were we even procreating? I knew the ancients sired blood into my ancestors, but that was spoken of with the awe of majesty and wonder. Not this bestial rutting and splatters of reeking filth. At last I asked him, “What do you want from me? I ache so deeply and have no experience. Until last night, I was a virgin on my way to my wedding bed! It was my husband’s duty to teach me.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and released my flesh from his jaw. Blood glistened like ruby beads on his teeth and lips; I had barely even felt the pricks within the vast realm of sensation. “I understand the lack of desire and experience on your part,” he admitted as he stared into my pale gray eyes. I could see them reflected back at me in his black pools. “Do not resist me, open your will to my will.” That, was a command, though not one immediately obeyed. It was however one I understood, one familiar to me from childhood.

I began to question, but stilled the words before they reached my lips. Obey, yield, adapt, danced through my thoughts. I obeyed, my will yielded, and I let him in. It was a wrenching of reality, a vortex of potent will, far stronger than something I could have ever accomplished on my own. His was brute strength while mine was subtlety. I knew not what he did though, for his will was bent upon things beyond my experience, things beyond the experience of anyone I’d ever met. The torsion of reality wrecked havoc upon my flesh. He sent eddies through my mind, and tore the brain matter apart and purposely reassembled. My stomach churned, and the hook pulled, and the twists of fate rebuilt that which was damaged and that which had never before been used.

The invasion faded with a sigh of release for us both. He laid upon me, spent, and grinning. “You restrain yourself well Princess,” he told by way of a compliment.

I just asked him, “what did you do?” my voice hushed as my nerves hummed.

“I sundered the worst of your mental impediments, stimulated hormonal flows who’s currents were too weak, and repaired much of the night prior’s infliction upon your flesh. We were not kind to you or your slaves, were we?”

I didn’t have to answer that. The truth was plain. I did question however, “Mental impediments? What do you mean?” By way of answer, he thrust once again. His engorged spire with swollen ribs and wide flared head raked across my inner walls and sent ripples of sensation I’d never before dreamed of through my soul. My body arched, an involuntary response. My hips rose to meet him, to crush him into my depths. I howled, howled like a mating cat, like a stallion in rut, like a senseless beast and felt no shame for it. When he had stilled again and when his hands took my gyrating hips and pinned them long enough for me to regain sense, I understood. “Oh...” was all I could say, and then kissed him with a desperation and longing I had never before let myself feel.

The taste of blood was welcome, earthy copper and salt. His mouth tasted of smoke and mead. His tongue, a forked appendage narrower and longer than my own, took claim of my mouth in such a way that my vulva clamped and the hook in my gut felt as if it would rip me in two. His claws claimed my face, laced in my hair, and held me steady as his hips once more began their steady claiming. I was his, I was his and I loved that fact more than anything else I’d ever imagined. Oh yes I’d longed to be queen, to be in control of my own fate. I loved the flattery and feigned respect of those who wished for my favor. I even worshiped the ancient ones with a fervor that shamed any priest of the three faced God. Nothing came close to how I felt in this moment, nothing touched the pure simple truth of my love, desire, and—dare I admit it—lust I felt for the Kobold atop me.

Less than a dozen thrusts later, each more incredible and tensioned than the last, my body took on a mind of it’s own. I shook, clenched, bucked and rolled under him, desperate and satiated all at once. I’d never felt something so amazing, or so devastating. That first orgasm rolled on and on like summer thunder as the storm clouds grew and the light changed. The tension upon my nerves was unbearable and made me squirm with helpless desire for it to end—and never stop. Then, it did. My climax was a force of nature, a hurricane and earthquake in one. I bucked so hard, it threw him out of me entirely and took him far too long to find his way back in. He kept me there, upon the other side of my climax, until he too reached his release and erupted a messy gush into my newly awakened depths. Muscles rippled and squirmed, bubbles of air sputtered into me and were belched back out. Globs of tangled seminal fluid clung to my inner walls, and a constant stream of sticky mucous bathed my lap.

It was over then and I laid helpless, too intensely overstimulated to even contemplate a move. He continued to caress and tease, a talon here, a kiss there, and of course the occasional thrust of his manhood. It was something he did out of obvious amusement and raw joy, but it kept me on edge and produced numerous physiological and verbal responses. I felt like an instrument in father’s court, played for laughs, but felt no shame of it if he was happy. His ejaculation continued for the longest of times. The fire burned low before at last his spent phallus began to retreat.

I asked him then, as he slowly rose from our bed, “Why do you enjoy making others bathe in your waste?” His prior words were stuck in my thoughts, and for some reason I hadn’t even attempted to keep the question within. Lack of impediments I supposed. I rubbed my thighs together, squishy and slippery. It felt pleasant, in fact, I found I truly enjoyed the sensation. Thighs, cleft, even cheeks slipped easily against one another with a lumpy glaze of his fluids between.

He stopped and stared down at me; naked, messy, and squirming upon the bed. Those eyes trailed over my brown stained stomach, thighs, and even the speckles upon my breasts and throat. Then he met my face and within it I saw something I’d not witnessed before, a brutality and cruelty that made my gut ice over. He spoke with exactness, “There are many reasons, slave, why one might wish to expel waste upon another. The drive of my desire is to inflict upon the recipient their fate in the world and imprint upon them their true value from my perspective.” His claw lowered to my cheek, talon tips prickled at skin. My chin was lifted, lips parted, and my tongue caressed. “You are nothing but a hole waiting to be filled, child. A pot to plant a flower in, a womb to plant a child in, or a pit into which I expel my water. Nothing more.”

The hook twisted, my heart fluttered, tears sprang to my eyes and overflowed down my cheeks and into his palm. I saw myself in his eyes, an animal to abuse, a toy to break, a thing of no intrinsic value but that purpose which it is put to. I saw myself and an involuntary shudder rolled through my stomach as my ejaculate stained vaginal passage clenched upon the smallest yet unmistakable orgasms. I mouthed the words, unable to speak them aloud, yet he understood, “Fill me.” Yet he did not. I watched him turn away and abandon me to my confused tears and pleasure.

I curled in around my twisted gut and the dull ache of his use, still so intensely present. My fingers for the first time quested down, between my sticky thighs and began to play. Over and over in my head I listened to his words. A pot to plant a flower in. I came, violently upon my fingertips. A womb to plant a child in. my heart fluttered with desire and womb clenched with longing. A pit in to which I expel my water. Nothing more. I let go then, just to feel it, to feel the shame. Warm urine splashed between my fingers and soaked into the bedding below. No shame arose, only a deeper yearning for use. I brought those soaked fingers to my lips, smelled the bitter piss mingled with brown ropes of semen. I licked them clean with a shudder of another tiny orgasm. I was happy.

-

Your fate is sealed, your path is destined, your mind is owned. The voice told me as I knelt in the bottom of a pit. Above me my father was laughing as he made water. The laughter wasn’t directed at me, a simple joke I could not hear, his gaze directed elsewhere. You will sacrifice everything until there is nothing left, to serve your true Master. My father’s hot urine splattered off my brow as puddle of brown stained mucous welled around my knees, deeper and deeper. Within the mess was life, it squirmed and writhed between toes, knees, and into my gaping chasm of a womb. He will awaken with a desire such as to shatter the mountains themselves and boil the sea. He will come to you, and you will satisfy him. Tendrils of pale white, like boneless dead fingers, probed at my every hole, clawed through my skin, tore past my navel to curl in my viscera, and plucked the eyes from my skull. They pulled at me, contorted me, curled into my flesh and around my bones. My stomach churned as the hook wound tighter, as the pale tendril penetrated deeper. “What are these?” I asked of the pale limbs. A putrid stream of effluence poured in from a thousand slave pits, the leavings of dragons and their kin spent upon human women. Your soul, The voice told me. I could hear the women screaming as their masters destroyed them. I began to swallow the stream.

-

Katia writhed in utter horror under the careful ministrations of the Magi circle. Twelve Kobolds stood about her and the ancient stone altar, freshly affixed with steel shackles. She was naked in a puddle of blood and semen, her body painted in the mess. Carefully I wiped her stained brow and slicked her hair back away from her eyes, “Hush love, hush, it will be over soon,” I told her. She trusted me, she loved me, she had been with me nearly as long as Amlia. I had touched, kissed, and held every inch of her body more times than I could possibly count while growing up.

She let out a sobbed cry, a mournful and gut wrenching, “Why?” her eyes were full of hurt and betrayal, like a puppy kicked by a master it loved. I stroked her sticky jaw and brushed a smear over her lips. I had done the same motion before, many times as I stained her plump lips with a berry before kissing her. I kissed her now by way of response. How could I explain how beautiful she was now, taut with agony and horror, drenched in excrement and wracked by shame.

There was a sick rapid fire crack of bones as they broke under flesh. Her ribs showed red and white through her pale skin. Her pelvis split in more places than I could count and her left femur tore free of it’s joint. Katia stared up at me in fevered shock. Blood poured from a thousand places inside and out. Her inner organs had been pulped. I turned to glare at the one who had broken under the strain, not Katia, no, but the kobold off to my left. The entire circle had collapsed in exhaustion and none noticed my attention before it was too late.

One of the scaled creatures I had mistakenly worshiped, he had broken the circle before the spell was complete. Another few seconds, perhaps a minute, and Katia’s ordeal would have been finished. The Kobold was finished too. As quick as lightning I gathered reality into my heart and burrowed into his. It was a needle fine strike, nothing he could have easily prevented even had he not been so spent. His heart gave a feeble lurch in his chest, and ruptured. He was dead even as the question passed his lips, “Why?” The same question Katia had asked.

I looked down at my beloved maid, into her confused and terrified eyes. I kissed her stained lips one last time and told her, “because I must.” She didn’t understand, god didn’t speak to her. The light faded at last from her eyes, she had found peace, her fate satisfied at last.

The other Magi at last noticed my actions and rushed to the fallen kobold’s side. There was nothing to be done however, not even a Magi could bring life back to a quiescent mind. I felt their fury, a palpable wave of rage emanating with each whispered word. Their voices had no impact upon me now, not for many years. I stood, stretched, and cast my gaze about the altar chamber. “At next dawn we begin again. Jaina will be fated.” My orders committed to their hearts as god’s law upon the land, I departed. Kobolds lived only to serve, to fulfill the orders of those stronger than they. It was in the ancient blood, written in their very genome. I could attempt to order a human to do my bidding, but the words would not have the same impact.

I passed through the warm halls of the mountain, once drab and filthy, now beautiful, decorated, and clean. My doing, all of it my doing. Kobolds needed leadership, needed someone to guide their actions. I gave a smile to a young boy as he swept and sent a wrenching pulse through him. He fell to his knees in shock as his phallus spilled from him, along with the contents of his cloaca, and that of his inner gonads. He spent himself upon the stone he had been cleaning, on hands and knees, with unhappy, plaintive yips and mewls. I caressed the small of his back, then continued on to my own chambers as he attempted to recover from my kindness.

The door opened, the door closed, and I fell to my knees and crawled the rest of the way across the room. Peklaki was waiting at the dinner table, a mug of mead in one hand, his dining knife in the other. He was already quite drunk and quite happy about it. “Hole!” he bellowed at me,”Over here, quick, I-hic-I have uh… I have been drinking since dawn!”

I hurried my way under the table where he sat. A slippery brown stain spread from his chair onto the floor, a vile stench wafted from it that made my toes curl, gut heave, and my loins clench. I nuzzled my way in between those slippery thighs and under his plump belly. Above, he downed the last dregs, a gurgle followed in his prodigious gut, then he belched wetly. Before my eyes his excrement crusted vent bulged as he clenched and the contents of his stomach shifted. I latched on, eager mouth easily able to enveloped the entirety of his plump pubic mound.

Just in time, too. His bowels released against my tongue and splattered down the back of my throat. I drank rapidly with eager swallows of his cold, acrid urine and stray clots of semen. My heart swelled with love as my gut churned and bloated with his leavings. There were no words to explain the rapture I endured under him, nor the emotions that bound me to the unwholesome act. Any other, I would have killed on the spot for the very thought, but to drink from his font of sewage was the one true joy I suffered. Tears rained down my face, my stomach rebelled with discontent, disgust and nausea warred in my maw, I clung all that much harder and drank all that much deeper of his draught.

When he was at last empty, I coaxed him to erection and spent the next hour suffering with bloated nauseating gut and sore jaw. I worshiped my divine one in every way I knew how, even going so far as to sink my will into his flesh and send him on his way to utter ecstasy. Complete and satisfied, I lifted him from his chair and carried him like a child, with pelvis still in the midst of gyration and phallus erect with empty orgasm.

His eyes were sightless, though they stared up at me. His body was unmated, yet he was trapped within the bliss of climax. His mind remained whole, but was fixated upon the feedback of his own pleasure. I put him there, and there he would remain until I released him in the morning. My duties however, were yet incomplete. The messy table, I cleared, cleaned, and re-set. The stain of excrement upon the floor below, I washed clean by tongue alone. The previous night’s bedding I washed by hand in the large bath, then hung to dry as I sank into the warm and filthy water myself.

This was my life, I wallowed in filth for my master, I served as hole for his every need, and I gave him the ecstatic escape from reality that he needed. The cooks fed him, but other than that, I took care of his every need and served at his every whim… at least, while I remained within our chambers. Beyond the doors, no one dared even look at me side ways. I doubted he ever even left the room anymore in any case.

Out of the tub I crawled and across the floor to the bed. Upon it, he continued to writhe in blind sexual rapture. Gently I settled myself down upon his pumping hips and guided his engorged spire into my sex. The well of his gonads had already drained down my throat, but the font of mucous continued to sputter and belch from his vent and up the length of his seminal duct. I settled upon him, curled up around him, and rode his violent lust into dreamland.

My dreams as usual were filled with the voice, horrific torments, and depraved acts. The only constant was the pulse of pleasure that washed over me from the throb of my Master’s phallus. It followed me into my dreams, and kept me centered on the one true path my faith demanded. Without it, I might have drifted into a dream state of debauchery from which nothing could have awoken me. It was his words who taught me, the voice in my dreams. He showed me the dangers that lurked in fantasy, and told me how to bind myself to reality. So I dreamed every night and rode my lover’s spire until it was time to arise.

I came to with the chime of four, too soon by anyone’s count, and I awoke with a climax upon his still erect cock. I spent a luxurious hour pleasuring myself with Peklaki’s mindless rapture before at last awakening him from his mental coil. He came free of it with a screech of mortal ecstasy from the depths of his very soul. Below me, his hips bucked hard enough to throw me aside and he scrambled atop, over my flat stomach.

I gazed up into him, his eyes were wild with confusion and lust. “It is me, Master, your hole,” I told him calmly. “Do you wish to plant within me today?” More than once he had placed random objects inside of me, to return to him at day’s end. I’d spent forty hours once with a pebble under my tongue. Another time, he’d lodged a heel of bread in my vagina until it had turned to rotted mush and slopped free.

Today was more traditional. As his mind calmed, he climbed to his feet and stood over the bed and I. His sore genitals hung limp and his fat belly bloated while he himself looked somewhat dehydrated. He stepped over to straddle me, his parched vent and limp cock dangled over my chest. I smiled up at him, heart swollen with love. Then he sighed and loosed the contents of his cloaca, a thick, slippery mess of foul brown mucous and urine. It ran down his limp shaft at first, just a sloppy trickle, then with a flatulent sputter his vent gaped and the rest came cascading out. As I knew he liked, I stroked my bathed chest and rubbed his putrid waste into my skin from throat to pelvis. It itched as it dried, skin tightened under the crusted smears. It was as familiar to me now as dresses and petticoats had once been.

“Thank you Master for your need, Hole will bare your mark proudly before everyone she meets,” I said. Ritualistic and honor filled as my words were, I meant them earnestly.

“Of course you will, a disgusting waste of flesh such as your self can only take pride while wearing the filth of their betters. Now get out, you are not wanted here,” he replied with honest disgust and scorn. I squirmed in depraved lust under his disapproval, below me the bed squelched, soaked through. I would have to eat the straw soon, six days of waste had accumulated and we couldn’t have it collecting maggots or rotting!

“Are you sure there is nothing more you need from your Hole, Master?” I asked as I rolled onto the floor. By way of response, he kicked me from behind, between the legs. I sobbed as my face hit the floor, vulva bruised and thigh gashed. He kicked a second time, hard enough to lift my knees off the floor and land me on my belly. A third time, between my parted and splayed legs, labia split under his assault and blood splattered wetly across the floor. “T-thank y-you Master…” I sobbed out, and waited a moment, in case he wasn’t done. When I heard the jug of mead slosh as he poured it, I crawled my way out of the room.

In the hall, it took me some time to place myself in the correct mindset. I yearned to turn around and return to him, to beg for more. But that was Hole, and Hole only existed in that one room. Out here, out here I was Princess Faith of Corotha, destined bride of Colcareth, fated to bare him a thousand children. With careful steps as blood ran down my thighs, I made my way to Jaina’s chamber. The door opened at my word, the complicated lock gave way easily. Within I found the huddled form of my beloved Maid. Her blond hair had been torn out in patches, each of her front teeth had been carefully removed, and her entire body was stained with Kobold cum, blood, and scabbed patches.

“P-Princess?” she asked in astonishment as I stood before her. It had been a number of years since she had last seen me, at the voice’s insistence of course. My heart ached at her state, she had always been the strong one, always fought back against the bullies and abusers. Now she was a broken wreck covered in rashes and filth.

“I’m here beloved,” I told her as tears began to fall. She stumbled forward, into my arms and we clung to one another for the longest of times. I ran my fingers over her matted hair, I raised her chin up to kiss her as I had so many times before. I could taste foreign ejaculate upon her lips, and some one’s waste. My heart swelled with joy and love. “It is time for destiny,” I told her at a whisper. She began to sub in relief.

Into the halls I lead her, not a Kobold in sight. Each step, she trembled, her body so frail and wracked with pain. Yet as abused and broken as she was, she kept up with me, out of desperation or love I could not say. I lead her directly to the altar chamber, still as yet empty. A dozen doors lead from it, one for each Magi, but none would enter until I called.

The altar had been cleaned, not even an odor clung to it. Polished stone etched with ancient pictographs, nothing more. There I stopped and helped her sit, she looked so tired, so worn. “Thank you Princess,” she told me with a harsh voice that had once been as beautiful and lyrical as a song bird. I imagined her screaming until her voice tore, a lusty clench and trickle of arousal followed.

“Rest Jaina, just rest. You will have much to endure soon,” I explained honestly and knelt between her trembling thighs. “You have suffered much through these long years, beloved. Just a little more, have faith.” I laid my cheek to her inner thigh. The stench of her was appalling, so pungent it made my eyes water. I inhaled deeply with slow, steady breaths. Her hand came to rest on top my head and fingers curled in my relatively clean hair, clean enough to comb through without much difficulty.

After some time, she told me, “Princess, I can continue. We should hurry, please, this place frightens me.”

“As well it should,” I told her, then rose to my feet. Instead of helping her up, I pressed at the center of her chest until she collapsed against the altar upon her back. “Poor Katia died here yesterday. I punished the incompetent filth. Only you and Diama are left now, I can’t… I can’t lose anymore of you.”

“P-princess? What are you… what do you mean? Katia died yesterday? Here?” She struggled, but her frail form hadn’t the strength to resist my well toned body, nor the will I enveloped her in. A quick bark welcomed the Magi in, they carried the chains and shackles between them and as I held my beloved down, they affixed her in position. Her arms spread to either side above her head, pinned helpless, her knees drawn tight to either side of her chest, and her filth stained vulva exposed and open.

I stood at her head and caressed her filthy cheek, “Oh Jaina, beloved Jaina… if this works you will be the most beautiful thing ever envisioned.” I kissed her sweat stained brow and called to the acolytes, “Now, your body must be trained and purified,” I explained, “it must learn it’s purpose before it is eased into it. Your mind, I’m afraid will take more work, not the act of a day but of decades I suspect. Do not fear, beloved, I will remain with you and care for you always.”

She screamed as the first of the acolytes penetrated her exposed sex. It was a raw gash of scars, scabs, and encrusted filth. Within minutes as the acolyte’s mucous softened her passage, it began to gape open as flaccid and limp as a wet skirt. She would learn, I would teach her. The first acolyte finished and the second began, then the third, and so on. Seven hundred kobolds awaited their turn within my beloved’s body. By sixty, her passage was a torn and bleeding gap. By lunch time she could only stammer confused words and whimpers, she didn’t know where or who she was.

Night came at last and the final acolyte had finished. My friend was gone and in her place was a pulverized lump of flesh, contorted by the ongoing spell. Her vaginal passage was an open source, it festered with magical energies, twisted and contorted before my eyes. Every so often I had to push her uterus back into place as it slipped from her ruined passage, or slip a loop of intestine back in. It was going well, far better than poor Katia. Already her pelvis had softened and reformed twice, each time double the prior girth. Her whole body was distorted and hideous, little left of her once beautiful and lithe form. Her legs had been absorbed but for vestigial toes on either side of her massive pubic mound. Her arms had shrunk, rib cage grown, flesh distorted and molded like clay by an unhappy child. There was only the beauty of utility left to her, her destined purpose!

The well stopped going, by midnight. It was all wrong, the change had drifted away from the ideal form into the truly grotesque. More and more of her inner organs spilled out as a number of new orifices developed across her entire body. Each were shaped like her vulva, but in the wrong place and with no vagina beyond, only open body cavity. If this continued, she would likely fall to pieces! I halted the chanting with a word and and an upraised hand. She shuddered and burbled her pitiful cries atop the altar, as we conferred. Occasionally she spoke, but her words were gibberish, meaningless noise, but the emotion behind them was obvious.

In the end, it was decided, “I see no way to recover from this state without utter structural collapse. She must be put down.” So said the elder Magi.

I snarled in rejection, “No! I will not lose another. Close her vaginal gaps and send her back to her chamber! She is not to be harmed!” to punctuate my demands, I crossed the room back to the altar and took my beloved’s face in my hands. Her skull was soft and pliable under my grasp, so I was gentle. Her misaligned eyes were wild, but within them I saw her, and she saw me. I didn’t understand the fear she held for me, but the recognition was enough, “I love you Jaina, You will be cared for.”

Words bubbled up from a half collapsed throat, words too terrible to dwell on. She told me… no---demanded, “Kbp-kill mpee!”

I rejected that notion with a shake of my head, “No, you are overwrought, it has been a stressful day. Tomorrow everything will be brighter, You’ll see!” I believed it, I had faith in the voice, and our wonderful destiny! She would be forgiven for her doubt, she didn’t have the voice after all.

-

My friend, she died in the night. Jaina was no more. I refused to think on it, refused to face it. I woke Master and endured his affectionate scorn, and the contents of his over-full bowels. Then as I was preparing to depart, he told me, “Destroy your filthy cunt,” and pointed toward the fireplace with it’s burning brands, “shove one of those logs in.”

I stared at him as if I couldn’t believe the words he spoke. Destroy my vagina? Did he not know, my entire existence depended upon it’s fertility? Did he not know I was destined to bare Colcareth’s brood? I whispered a prayer to the voice, begged for guidance. He had only ever come to me in my dreams, only while I slept, but this was important! I prayed as I stared, open mouthed and incredulous at Master. The voice spoke then, spoke in clear tones like great bells that shook my bones. He has grown fat, lazy, and impudent. Destroy him.

Aloud I whispered, “Yes my fate, yes!” with my head upturned to stare at the ceiling.

“Who are you talking to?” Peklaki asked, “Obey me!”

Slowly I turned toward the fire and reached in. My hand burned as fingers closed over a brand and withdrew the half consumed log, covered in glowing coals. Then I turned toward him, and approached, “You… you want me to put t his inside? Destroy?” I asked, my voice higher pitched than normal, eyes wide. Oh destiny, it hurt, my finger tips were charred already and my palm blistered, but I held on.

“Yes! Yes! Now do it! Destroy!” he replied with a laugh, then downed a mouth full of mead, half of it slopped over his messy chest scales.

My other hand rose, almost it might seem of it’s own volition. I do not recall commanding it to rise, but it rose and caught my Master by the throat mid swallow. His eyes bulged and tongue splayed out. Short arms reached for me, desperate, but my reach surpassed his. I slammed him bodily to the floor and knelt, each knee to a thigh on either side of his filthy cloaca. Then, with a wide, pleased smile, I thrust the still burning log against his passage. He screeched and cursed me, but his words held no power as choked as they were under my fist. He would never again hold power over me, he had lost the right!

Before my eyes I watched flesh split and tear, I watched scales blacken and crack, I heard the hiss and sizzle of his mucous linings boil away. I forced the entire log into him, quenched the heat in his bowels and ruptured through into his body cavity. He didn’t stop screaming until his charred entrance at last closed over the end of the log, and I pulled my hand free. He only stopped, because I’d collapsed his lungs and ruptured his heart. Still yet, though, his eyes gazed upon me with confusion and fear. “You do not deserve to touch me Master, the true Master will have me soon!” My sex clenched at the words, a splatter of lubricant washed free across the floor as… as I climaxed.

It took me a few hours to clear away the ruined flesh and regrow fresh. My hand was numb and pink, but at least it somewhat worked. I doubted I’d ever hold a pen again, but I never would need a pen again once Colcareth woke. That was all that mattered, I had to be prepared for him, for he would awaken soon, too soon I feared.

I was late however, and when I arrived in the chamber, I found my last maid, Celina, already atop the altar, and already well through a dozen acolytes. Her vaginal passage had prolapsed, a swollen pink sheath soaked in brown semen that extended nearly a foot from her passage. Her gut was distended and misshapen, though that could easily have been the spell. In fact, I realized that the flavor of the spell had changed, though I was not adept enough to understand exactly how. I sat and watched, they did not need me now it seemed, which I was entirely pleased about. I would be unable to help when it was my turn after all!

It was an incredible sight to behold, I witnessed the destruction of my loved one with lust I could never have imagined before discovering my true fate. Kobolds themselves were not particularly large, though strong enough to serve, and long enough to reach. In large number however, her flesh was pulped and abraded, until a slop of foamy semen and blood spread between her thighs. That prolapse eventually split and regrew, wider, wider yet, longer, deeper. That was all the did, they rebuilt her ruined vulva and vaginal passage into the perfect sheath.

The spell changed some hours later as I lazed there, masturbating to her broken voiced screams. Her hips now, rebuilt and rebuilt again, only her hips. They spread, deepened, softened, solidified, over and over again until her pubic mound rose like a volcano over the altar, prolapsed flesh like lava. The spell changed again and more of her was grown and distended. Her belly bulged as if pregnant, flattened as a gush of filthy semen escaped between her legs, then swelled again. She absorbed most of the fluids raped into her, absorbed into the swollen mass of her flesh, to become more of her. Her legs too began to draw up as the bones were dissolved and flesh sucked dry.

It was a controlled change, very exact, and committed to by stages. By the end of the line of acolytes, she looked more like a fleshy potato with only a trunk for a mouth, no eyes, and a singular orifice, a cloaca, at the other end, wide enough to climb inside. The chant ended and I approached, both appalled and aroused by the sight of that sloppy, gaped entrance. It hung loose, her lips swollen like overripe fruit of immense scale and parted around a semi-prolapsed passage of limp muscle and sloppy mucous lining. A trickle of waste, mostly semen, oozed from her onto the altar, but most had been absorbed into her grotesque flesh.

“Beautiful,” I proclaimed and leaned into kiss her sticky folds. There was a faint sound, like a cry, but muffled within the trunk of a face. I yearned to be the dragon that bred her full of eggs, yearned to deflower her as only such a beast could… I shook my head to reject those thoughts, as it was my place to be bred, not to breed. “Is it stable?” I inquired.

The elder Magi shook his head, “Unknown, but we think so. She is yet quite weak, will need to feed and recover. I fear we were too fast---perhaps a number of days with periods of rest between. We must hurry however, Colcareth stirs, I feel him in my heart, his call is too great to ignore. The hunters gather a feast for him, and when the feast is complete, he shall descend to the breeding chamber with a desperate need.”

Quietly, as my own desperate need clenched and slicked, I asked him, “Will you take me to see the breeding chamber?” His eyes lit at the prospect and with a nod he lead me down. We abandoned the sack of flesh that had once been Celina for others to care for. Part of me hoped she died, for I did not want to share my beloved Master’s breeding fury with any other.

The room was a wide circle, more pit than anything else. There were channels carved in it to allow fluids to flow away towards a drainage area, and a series of holes in the wall encircled the entire chamber. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it seemed somehow less. “Eggs will be laid regularly, and we will collect them to bring to the incubation room. The floor is designed to stay dry, even if it sees regular use. The slaves are fed through the external chutes once they are locked down. Unruly slaves can be imprisoned with their heads stocked on the other side of the wall and force fed while their dangerous extremities, such as legs and tails can be removed on this side. Not, of course, that you would need such things! However, any number of dragonesses were housed here through the millenia, bred until their bodies collapsed and their minds broke!” I shivered with desire, I could see it in my thoughts, the screams and roars of a dragoness desperate to escape, legs broken and ripped free, vulnerable cleft used bloody, head… I stared at the holes that dotted the wall regularly… Head trapped on the other side, forcefed.

I made my way to one of those holes. The wall was made of something metal, though pitted and aged. I rapped on it, the heft and solidity of it made my heart flutter and stomach clench with confused emotion. It was like a collar, a worn, thick collar. I poked my head through it, large enough for a dragon’s head, but on the other side was a lock mechanism that could be resized to fit any neck. Below it, on that far side, was a channel of sewage, the reek incredible, eye watering! I almost vomited on the spot as it hit me. A second later I realized, I would be fed that, for the rest of my life! My knees shook and a rivulet of lust ran down my filthy thigh.

“That… that is a sewer,” I told the elder.

“From all of the mountain’s septic system, yes. It is sterilized before recycling through the breeder slaves, but it is far easier to manage both systems as one than two dedicated methods! Quite ingenious I’m sure you would agree,” he explained, with a crafty little glimmer in his eye.

My gut churned and mouth watered with nausea. I fell to my knees as the depth of this depraved system overcame me and shoved my numb fingers between my sloppy folds. “Yes,” I managed to say, choked through a tight clenched throat and a mouth full of saliva. I stroked, hard and fast before the Kobold, my eyes stared through him, into the distance as my hard little clit was crushed back and forth. I saw something other than him, something from elsewhere, elsewhen.

-

I screamed and thrashed as the marshals held me down. I could do nothing against their brute strength and my magic had been stripped from me when I fell. I snapped and tore at the ground anyway, desperate for perhaps one of them to slip and kill me accidentally. My hope was for naught however. They held me down long enough to curl the wires about my wingbases and then… white hot pain blinded me, I knew nothing else but the taste of defeat as my wing joints split and the wire was sawed slowly between. Nothing had ever felt so devastatingly horrible!

My vision cleared far too soon, soon enough to watch the imps play with my discarded wings. They gave no thought for me as I suffered, only for their game as they shredded that which had given me freedom. Next came my tail. Bent hard and up against my back, the wire was placed under and sawed. This was harder going it seemed, for it took them what felt like a century to slice all the way through. I felt my tail go numb long before they were finished, as they slashed the spinal column, but the grind and scrape continued for eons. One of the marshals ate it before my eyes, while his cruel eyes danced with laughter.

Someone grasped me by the leg and pulled, pulled hard enough to rip my hip bone out of my pelvis with a crunch of torn tendons and thunk of bone on bone. Then the wire was applied again to seperate my leg. This was even worse. When both were finished, I was left a ruined sheath of flesh with no hope. I wept bitter tears as they dragged me forward, toward a dark pit in the wall. There were other bodies around me, some alive, some not, some still struggled, others were docile and plump with eggs. They forced my head forward, and I did not resist, did not care any longer… not until the stench of the sewer reached my muzzle, but by then it was far far too late.

Down came the slat over my neck, sized perfectly to crush without blocking breath or blood. IT hurt, god did it hurt as they locked it in place. Worse was when they forced the mouth of the funnel between my teeth, not for any pain, but for the continuous sluggish flow of… filth. I vomited up, but that only added to the mess in my maw. I spat, but more continued in, I breathed through my nose, but that only filled my sinuses such a stench that my eyes watered and nose burned! I refused to drink, but some day, some day I knew I would.

I was there for only an hour, bound helpless, an hour to heal and adapt to my imprisonment in the darkness, in the fetid stink of filth and depravity. Then, I felt someone approach from outside, then felt the thick, slippery girth of a male in full rut. His rape was almost pleasant compared to the brutalities I endured, I even… I even to my shame felt a tiny bit of pleasure, enough to distract, enough to let my guard down, enough for the sewage to flow down my throat into my gut. When he was done, I laid there and wept, drooled from both ends, soiled myself out of spite, and accepted, with resignation, my cruel fate. I already knew he had sired an egg within, I could feel hormones prepare my womb for it’s growth.

-

I fell face first into the ridged ground as an incredibly powerful orgasm rushed through my body. I was confused, had I imagined that dragoness’ fate so close to my own? I shook my head and rubbed my bruised forehead, then sat up with a disoriented look around. I was still in the breeding pit, still in front of that collar. I could feel the pain that had soaked into the metal, it radiated misery like heat from a furnace.

Above me the elder stared down quizzically and asked, “Are you well?”

I nodded and I caught my breath as my hips continued to spasm amidst the aftermath of incredible and surprising pleasure. “Y-yes, I was… I was granted a vision. I saw through the eyes of a great dragoness as she was… as she was… as took her place in the pit.”

“Ahh,” he sighed in pleasure, “Such a gift, you are truly blessed.”

“I… I think I need to start to bloom now, I need to be ready for him!” I looked back to the hole, my fate, and writhed inwardly with a twisted maelstrom of lust, fear, desire, worship, and self hatred. I crawled forward on my hands and knees into the collar again, into the agony steeped metal. It seemed a solid, impenetrable presence against my numb fingers, but my flesh crawled and gut clenched with terror. Gently, oh so gently, I laid myself down upon that collar, breasts against pitted wolfram, and laid my head down into the channel of sewage. “M-Mate me!” I begged, as if he were the great dragon, as if he was my Master.

I was yet infertile to him, though there was questions of whether a dragon might sire upon my unchanged flesh. But I wanted to feel it, wanted him inside of me, just a taste of what was to come. I opened my mouth wide and drank of the flow. Sweet, bitter, salty, sour; every sense was caressed as my gut heaved. I inhaled, my nose burned just as the dragoness’ had, my eyes watered. I reached in to cup the filth and spread it across my face and throat, down my mashed breasts. Behind me I felt claws grip my plump rear and pull my cheeks open. His tapered kite shaped spire licked across my damp and swollen cleft, then entered me.

I burbled a moan in the stream and pressed back against him. It was so beautiful, that feel, that depravity. This… this was my fate for the rest of my life. I began once more to masturbate with a hand soaked in sewage, and in a matter of minutes, before the kobold had spent himself, I came a half a dozen times, waves broke on the shore of my heat, each one more powerful than the last. I knew, I knew when Colcareth claimed me, I would lose my mind entirely, I would be subsumed into his desire. So I wanted to know it now, while I was still me!

-

I was chained down, they insisted no matter how well behaved I promised to be. I was chained, my knees spread wide, my groin exposed. My heart thudded a thousand times a minute and lust crawled in a great river from my cleft down between the cheeks of my ass. My breath came in great, desperate gulps, so fast that I felt light headed. Then they began to mate me. It was wonderful as always; the Magi began first, eldest to youngest. Full, unemptied cloacae pressed against my exposed folds, a horizontal kiss I craved so deeply. I pressed back, just as I felt my first lover kiss my entrance.

His cloaca bulged, already swollen with filth and lust. His lips parted, and a deluge of waste poured in and over me. I shuddered in self hatred, disgust, and desire. A bubble of gas spluttered against my entrance as his phallus emerged, the pointed tip easily entered my sloppy vulva. His lust was quick to rise, and his thrusts hard, fast, and purposeful. He climaxed messily within me only minutes after he had started. Then it was on to the next. Another full bowel unloaded into my filth stained passage, another spire to satisfy itself inside. The third claimed my tight anus, a rush of pain and shock. One by one the Magi defiled me upon the altar.

It began then, I could feel their shit, piss, and semen in a vast pool around my butt, clumps of squishy mess in my vagina, and my anus burned with their abuse. Then came the other pain as they reached into me, through my soul, and began to twist. Reality bent to their will, I bent to reality, then broke. Helpless, I screamed as flesh contorted to their whims, the agony nothing like I’d ever felt, even the dragoness’ torment of losing her limbs was nothing to the feel of your very makeup being rewritten cell by cell, of your bones disintegrating, of your flesh ripping itself apart and putting itself back together over and over.

And then the acolytes were there. Sore already from the twelve, they continued to rape me with intense lust and duty. My labia felt raw, my entrance began to bleed as skin wore through. My skin itched where filth soaked into it, and bruises formed where their hands lay and their angular pelvises thrust. Spires flared and spat against my cervix, butted into it, bruised it, battered it. My skin stretched and scraped, ripped and tore. I begged them aloud, “P-please, stop, wait, g-give me a-a moment of rest!” but they did not listen. My hips writhed in agony as my pelvic bone was broken, repaired, and broken again. My stomach swelled as skin bruised, blood flooded empty spaces, healed, and was re-bruised. I begged, screamed, thrashed and sobbed. I felt like I should have died a thousand times over and lost count of the number who had entered me somewhere around eighty.

My vaginal passage ruptured at last with a sloppy gush, the stench of coppery blood filled the air intermixed with the foul stink of kobold semen, piss, and shit. The next to enter me, shat directly into my vulva and flooded my body cavity with his sewage. My anus hung open, prolapsed and drooling. My uterus had distended, detached, and protruded between each thrust, cervix like a bulls eye aimed for and frequently struck. Even that, too, gave way in the end as the tight knot of flesh and cartilage tore and my uterus was opened to their filth and pleasure.

I had no sense of self, the concept of proprioception vanished as my burning nerves were twisted into the mass of my new flesh, then twisted again. It felt like my leg was inverted, shoved through my chest and out my collar bone. My arms felt like they were lodged in my stomach, my stomach felt like it was above me instead of below, and I felt like I was standing even though I was laying upon my back! I knew I was changed, for I could no longer see over my stomach and spot the kobold who emptied in me. My breasts had melted into my bloated gut, my ribs had liquified. I was dizy, confused, and the pain just never stopped.

I felt the moment when the thin patch of skin between anus and vagina tore. It was a sick, loose feeling, as my uterus fell into my colon with a splash. The rape never stopped. I felt the moment my bladder ruptured and urethra split. Pelvic bone had been dissolved at that moment, and the thrust that did it, stabbed through my urethra, into my bladder, then through that into my uterus… a mash of destroyed flesh that solidified again, wrong, then melted and reformed, melted and reformed, each time more painful, like a pyre in my gut. I forgot my purpose, I forgot my fate, I forgot my desires. All I knew was animal desperation, the need to escape. I would have gnawed my own leg off, had it remained, but I lacked even the muscles to lift my head.

Then there was peace, silence, and stillness. No rape followed, no horror, no torture. I tried to rise, but there was no capability to move. I tried to call out, but my voice was a feculent sputter of noise. I tried to look around, but could see nothing beyond the wrinkled folds of flesh that housed my eyes. I sobbed out wordlessly, and was ignored. Then, with the cessation of magic, my mind quelled enough for unconsciousness to overcome.

I woke again after what felt like a blink, bare seconds, at the feel of someone penetrating. I had rested though, for I felt stronger and calmer. But that calm vanished as the spells began, as my abused passage was torn again, as it pushed deeper and deeper into my bloated abdomen. I kept no track of the experience, other than a blur of suffering and self hatred for the part I had played in my own destruction.

There was another period of rest, then another wash of rape and torture as my flesh grew and contorted to extreme volume. I could feel my own weight, I felt like I was upside down but I hadn’t moved since I was affixed to the altar. I feared though, that my neck would be crushed and skull flattened… I hoped. It never came to be. Soon the rapes felt almost pleasant, the tough hide grown within my passage could endure far greater than what a kobold was capable of. Soon my sense of touch, taste, and smell were heightened, until even a breath of air across my bloated body felt like an intimate caress. Soon… soon I would meet my Master, and soon I would be stuffed full of eggs!

That lusty part of myself, the part that had been twisted to his desire, had recovered in the night. I recalled a dream, though not the details, only that his voice had drowned out every thought but desire. Between my folds the kobolds wasted themselves and evacuated, raped and defiled. I burbled happily and clenched my vaginal muscles hard enough to crush the poor fellow who was mid climax. I could hear him scream, and I giggled a bubbly sound in response. The next was more timid, but I managed to crush him too, and felt his spire rip in two between my tight folds. His screams made me even happier.

When the day finally came to a close, when the spells halted, I knew it was complete. I could feel the churn of hormones, just as the dragoness had, I could feel my own fertility grow and pulse like a hunger I could not satiate alone. The kobolds were not enough to satisfy it, though I tasted their fertile potential, they were not long enough to reach my womb.

Then I was moving, my confused body swayed and bounced, though I could see nothing and hear little more. I felt air pass over me, felt stone scrape and bump, claws grip and shift. I was carried into place. Though I could not see, could not touch, I felt the radiance of agony and existential dread radiate ahead of me. The collar, I felt it like a living thing waiting to sink it’s teeth into my flesh. They pressed me securely into the metal orifice, and my head barely fit. They pushed, squeezed, and smeared filth to lubricate my way in. Then at last, There was a sticky slop as my head landed in the sewage and I was lain into my final home. My throne, I decided, this… this was the throne from which I would birth a million kings and conquer the world!

Down came the bar and pinched shut on my barely discernible neck. There was sudden, horrible clarity. It hurt, oh how it hurt! Not just the pain of the bar, though that left me could barely breathe, barely think as the blood squeaked through the tight confines. I heard the bolt slide home and seal my fate, I heard the laughter of the kobolds as they trotted away. Suddenly I was alone, suddenly I was of no interest to them, no concern. They had treated me like their queen, and now… now I had nothing for them. I inhaled and shuddered in disgust, my face was dragged in the filthy channel as the current increased then slowed. My hyper-focused senses absorbed the filthy reek, the gagging sweet-sour-bitter flavor, and the clumpy mucous laden texture. Had I—only a few days ago—truly drank of this filth?

I didn’t understand what was wrong anymore, or right. I had craved this, wanted this with every fiber of my being! Where had that desire gone? Why had my newfound depravity deserted me?! I mewled pathetically, a throaty burble of a cry that reached no farther than the sewer. My body, what had I done to my beautiful body? What had I done to my beloved maids? I wailed again as I mourned their deaths. Celina… did Celina still live? But no, the state she had been in last I saw, she would have begged for death just as… I shuddered with abject self hatred for what I had done. Where was the voice? Where was the excited assurance I’d felt only minutes before?

I tried to reach out, but found where my magic had been, only emptiness. That emptiness was the collar I realized, it left me more than helpless. I still felt the utter devastation radiating from it, the sense of loss so deep and terrible that I could only weep. How many thousands had spent the entirety of their lives confined here? How many thousands had died, imprisoned with their faces bathed in piss and feces and their wombs about to burst with eggs? I wailed one last time before the will to even do that fled, drained from me into the wolfram prison.

I tried not to think of time, tried not to dwell on it’s pass. But time has a way of being very apparent and available when you have nothing to occupy yourself with. I had less than nothing, a negative of nothing. I had things I desperately did not want to focus on. The flow of filth over my face, for instance, or the agony of the stock bar as it crushed my neck, or the chill feel of the filth as it drooled from my gaped cloaca into the breeding pit. I felt dirty, so dirty. Had I truly enjoyed this? How could that have been feasible? And as I ignored these sensations, I was faced only with time, each second an eon, each minute agony.

Time passed, for that was all it could do. I felt sun on my back, then cold, more sun, then cold again. I would have tried to starve myself, but I had no ability to even close my mouth let alone block the flood of filth that poured in. I was an open passage, the path of least resistance. I would never starve so long as monsters used the facilities above.

I was confused and unhappy, deeply unhappy, but there was nothing to do about it but simply be. My imagination was wild and disorderly, trapped in the dark and filthy place I was. I was singularity, a pin point intensity of sufferance and disgust. From me radiated hatred toward all those who had put me here. No voice came to my dreams, no pleasure reached me where I resided, no physical contact even rose me from my self inflicted misery. The hatred that grew me in, for myself, could have swallowed the sun had I been but free to speak the old tongue or free to reach the magic I once held. That hatred turned on itself, I deserved this fate, this total and complete destruction of self! I deserved to scream myself sick, scream until the last breath passed my distorted maw.

Some weeks passed, or perhaps a thousand years, I could not tell. The time that spanned between before, and later, was such an uncountable vastness of vileness that I cared not to dwell. I can only express that, it was some unendurable time that I by happenstance, had no choice but to endure. But it came to an end. The end that came, was that of a bellow, a roar like which I had never heard. There was a thunderous crash of monstrous feet on stone, and then something, someone touched me. Cold scale and sharp claw closed on my plump sheath of a body, the claw entirely encircled my… well you couldn’t even call it a waist! He gripped me, he held me, and then he raped me.

This is not a word to take lightly, though I had been raped by the kobolds numerous times, even raped one or two myself. It was just joyful play truly, a game really! No, he raped me. I bubbled a scream into the filth as his wide head speared through my filth soaked passage, more cloaca than vagina at this point. Sensitivity had been altered, as I stated before, but I had not been prepared for the violation I felt as my own body turned into an inferno of lust and disgust.

His phallus was a spear the likes of which I could not have imagined. Ridges of scales and lumps, knots, and twists of tissue stretched, scraped, and tore at my insides, insides which burned like the sun, burned worse than the flame brand had in Master’s cloaca. I was on fire, I was thrown into instant climax, and I was sent to the depths of hellish agony only suggested by the three faced god. I screamed, I screamed until my throat tore itself, I screamed until there was nothing left of me but noise, pain, and a deep seated need to die. My depth clenched, helpless to prevent it, my womb gaped open as heat filled it, my labia swelled like a bitch’s lust, my walls drooled lubricant to ease his entry. That was just his first thrust.

My shame was complete as I thrust back against him, as I blubbered in bliss and agony under him. Each thrust broke me, left me a ruin of a woman. Each thrust sent me to heaven, hell, and the sewer. I tasted again the depraved lust that had driven me all these years. I craved him, craved him like the moth craves the flame and the babe craves the nipple. I gave away everything I was to him.

My soul wrenched in two, as the rest of me reviled him, as I wished his death along with my own. I felt unclean and defiled as he penetrated me. Kobolds had used me as toilet, spent their nights in my body, but nothing left me so unwholesome as the feel of him inside. I had been made for this, partially by my own hand, and I hated my own creation. I hated the pleasure it gave me, I hated the ache in my womb as fertility draped my insides with engorged lining, and most of all I hated him for doing this to me.

Voice! I screamed in my own mind, as I reached out as hard as I could, you lied to me!

There was a faint, distant chuckle, his voice but as if from another room. Lied to you? No my dear, I am you. We lied to ourselves! And then it was gone and I was left again with the dual bliss and agony of my violent, satisfying rape.

Colcareth used me well and terribly, penetrated to the deepest, most sensitive places I never before experienced, and commited profane acts within me. I came for him with every powerful thrust, thrusts that smashed my plump form against the collar, thrusts that crushed me so hard I should have died. I loved it, I loved him, I hated it, I hated him.

It ended. Twelve thrusts followed by his sticky ejaculatory eruption, that was all. When he pulled free, I was sure there should have been more, something deeper, some sense of magical connection or mental destruction. I should have been consumed by his release, I was sure of it. There was nothing, nothing at all. Semen drooled from my passage and cooled in the chill wind. My bowels churned and evacuated. My womb swelled further as life was ignited, but there was nothing magical there, only a chemical itch and a cramp. I had been sold an empty bill of goods… My faith had been missplaced.

-

A thousand miles away, and a dozen years later, a swarm of dragons fell upon the final remaining realm of man. Women were captured and dragged away, never to be seen again. Men were slain, eaten, defiled with filth and broken upon the yet unfallen battlements. Where had the monsters come from, everyone wanted to know, beasts of myth and legend brought to terrible life.

A thousand miles from that last remnant of humanity, a circle of metal held dozens of twisted monstrosities, magical chimeras that once were human. One, near the door, muttered to herself. She was bloated to the size of two carriages lined up, her shit and cum caked passage gaped as another egg rolled out. Within were a few hundred more in various states of production. If you listened carefully, you might hear her words, barely comprehensible but full of scorn. “Nhhuh, Peklaki, yuh, yuh I wrong. Burn me, burn me. Voice? Voice! Voice… where voice? I burn...” Not a word of sense, just madness. Another egg slopped free with a gush of stale semen and urine. The huge body shook with an involuntary spasm of pleasure and disgust.