Erotic 03: Chainsaw Erotica

It was after a bloody battle, and Gorefather was whining down. Chunks of meat were fragmented in the chain, blood caked the metal casing. Kharn caught her breath, a satisfied grin on her lips. It was a good slaughter. Many corpses lay strewn in pieces around her. The smell of death was heavy in the air, an aphrodisiac for the blood god's loyal servant.

Faust gifted her well, Kharn thought as her warp tainted eyes fell upon the horrific chainaxe. Gorefather, a name to be trusted, feared, and respected. This prize must be treasured, and cherished, as well as maintained. With no clean water near, all she had was her tongue, a shameful fact she lived with each and every day of the year.

The chainaxe was completely still. No need to be tempting fate in chopping her tongue in half. It slithered, like a snake, out from her mouth, and proceeded over to the cruel weapon. It dragged across the metal casing, her taste buds detecting iron as well as metal. Using her saliva, she cleaned, freed, the metal of the blood of many, many people.

The taste was sweet to her. An after sex cigarette for the afterglow of wanton destruction. Coating her tongue in a new layer of saliva, she started on the chunks of meat, plucking them out of the individual teeth and chewing them. Waste not, want not, as her father taught her. He would be proud. Kharn did this for every bit of meat, from small to medium, and revved Gorefather to ascertain if it was working correctly. It was. Smiling sweets, she kissed the axe like a lover would, and left the war torn officio; in search of further prey.