In The Realm Of Gods And Kings

{Tags =Sexual, tentacles, necrophilia, mass groping, drugs/alcohol, snuff, hard vore}

 

CONTEXT

>[22:37] Bunnytator: Okay, so. Zia, the girl in this RP, was what one would call a yuppie and just finished college. A yuppie big into charity. So she goes to South America with her yuppie friends to have lots of fun and help the power people and GUUUUUUURL power. So, she arrives. They spend a few days helping the people, getting to know the land. Eventually, they set up camp outside of this remote village where everyone is poor and there's dogs errywhere, starving and emaciated. The villagers are polite and quiet but try not to look at the foreigners, try not to think about the foreigners and are constantly whispering prayers of deliverance. Every house has little bird houses and little church and other figurines hanging from them. SUPER FUCKING CREEPY. So, after their first day in this village, that night...Everyone experiences nightmares. Horrific, terrible nightmares. One guy imagined himself being eaten by cows, the other peeled off of his skin off with a single razor blade and Zia, well...She pictured worms slithering around in her insides, controlling her and growing through her and just BEING THERE.

 

[22:40] Bunnytator: So, next day. Everyone's on edge. The villagers are aggressive and rude now, insistent the foreigners just hurry up and do their thing. People are noticing a few dog tracks through the ents the yuppies have set up. That night...Zia has another dream. Its herself, watching herself from the third person. Her eyes as red as her head, skin pale and ass naked, covered in sacred oils, tattoos and paints, jewellery hanging from her limbs. In teh dream, the fungus is still growing under her skin, bulging against her ritually scarred and adorned body.. She dances to the drum with the fire and the smoke. Eventually, through the dance, it starts looking like she's part dancing, part fucking something. At the end, it just looks like she's having sex with something...And then Zia's view cuts to the invisible thing that she's worshipping, pleasuring, fucking and dancing for. And it eats her skull.

 

[22:43] Bunnytator: NEXT DAY. Everyone at camp had more nightmares. There's like, weird foot prints in camp, not dog and not human. They're losing their shit, 6 friends heading off in the vans to alert the rest of the group, four remaining because they're stupid/driven/don't want to run away. Plus, they got shotguns. Zia is in the latter group and, realises one of her friends has disappeared. Not telling the others because they'd probably go full psycho and descend into the village with shot guns, Zia sneaks into the village. She's there alone. No villagers in sight? What? It's a tiny village. She finally meets a dog. Mangy little thing. Tells it to go away. Instead, it stands up.

 

[22:45] Bunnytator: Now, its hard for me to convey how I described this because it was a long post, but basically, imagine a dog...Forced into a human shape. Its paws ripping apart to form human feet and hands, its back snapping and reforming. Its looking REALLY freakish and emaciated. It says, in a dog voice (check youtube) "Maaaaaark <3" which is the name of her missing friend. However, Zia had already mentioned his name so now, she's thinking its Mark when the dog's just being a parrot. So, dog steps close to her, she lets it and it takes a chunk out of her arm.

 

[22:45] Bunnytator: BAM

 

[22:45] Bunnytator: She uses a rock to crack its skull open, it falls on top of her, pinning...And then a villager comes along and before she can do anything, knocks her the fuck out.

 

 

[04:07] Mactator: When Zia awoke...She was somewhere different. Somewhere underground. In her gaze, multiple figures seemed to be stood around her, touching here. Another blink though and she saw no figures; just the furtherest regions of her vision being blacked out. A brief flicker and the figures appeared again before her, molesting her body. It would feel...Extraordinary. In both meanings of the term. "-God her tits-" /I aM PreSenT sOMEwhAt I waTCH aNd SeE yoUr TreAtMenT A rARe priVIleGE. We CANnOt tAl/ "Yeah, lips so red...Her hair is some-" /ITs VOicE AND PROph/ "God...so tight, she mu-" /TOo SmaLL TO See My GlOry; ITs GLOry-/ "Her ass isn't too bad eith-" /IBI SLaVe anD oBEy the Idea-

 

It went back and forth like this, her mind fading from surreality to the madness and misery of real life. A voice booming in her head, like fingers in her brain. Telling her how fortunate she was and the glory of it and the Ibi and so on. Every word was a violation. From what she could see from the living world though...She was being violated in more ways then one.

 

 [04:19] : Her attempts at moving, of stopping what was happening were sluggish and ill-fated. Every jerking movement of her limbs was halted by bindings holding them to something she couldn't quite suss out. Her body was not alone in its disorientation as her mind struggled under the influence of whatever had been done to her, distantly aware that this was wrong but too immersed in addled ecstasy to do anything but drunkenly roll her head and periodically buck her hips. The ominous voice that kept interrupting simultaneously terrified and enraptured her. Everything about it screamed of danger, of peril, of soul-threatening lethality. But it demanded to be heard and her violated mind listened, fully exposed to its message.

 

[04:23] Mactator: Time passed...

 

[04:29] Mactator: Her eyes were clear again but her mind...Well. She was still heady from the drugs. The tunnel she was in seemed darker now. Like a crypt. The slabs that lined it seemed suspiciously consistent and ominously Spartan. Her clothes were sticky, from sweat and...Other fluids and the air was hot, stale and mouldy. It was dark, with barely enough light to see a head but she could make out a single figure up ahead. It was huge; at least over 6'6'' with shoulders like a bull and wrists as thick as small tree trunks. In its hand seemed to be a pick of some sort and the loud -BANG- noises coming from the figure seemed to suggest that he (If it was male. It looked human, but...} was mining...Something.

 

It hadn't noticed the lone redhead yet and instead, seemed to be off in a world of its own.

 

 [04:38] : Rising cautiously from where she lay and cradling her mangled arm to her torso, she took a quick assessment of herself. Felt between her legs, front and back, and was relieved to not find any signs that she'd been fucked at the very least. But the sense of filth was inescapable and she couldn't stop thinking about showering. Of the luxury of hot running water. They'd stripped away her clothing, leaving only her black lace bra and hip-hugging panties, which were in some disarray. Straightening the garments out and trying not think about what had happened, she lurched up the tunnel as cautiously as she could, trying to get a better look at the figure. Probably one of her captors. Probably going to hurt her if he finds out she's up and moving. But there's nowhere else to go.

 

[04:51] Mactator: The crunch of bare feet on earth caused the figure to pause. He then got off his knees and turned to her. He was quite the sight.

 

He looked carved from marble. Massive muscles ripped across the cage of his abs and across his chest were tattooed the words "En el lugar de mi padre, estoy solo". He wore plain trousers, like the type a vineyard worker or a peasant would wear and his feet were shod in leather boots. From there though, things became a bit...Odd. He wore a tanned leather jacket but one th-/HuMAN SkiN/. Across his back and through the jacket seemed to be...Weaved something. It was hard to tell in the dark. His head though, was what really made the picture. it helped explain why his shoulders were so big. Instead of a human head, there was a metal helmet of a bull. Branching horns of dark iron came the mask which gave no hint of what lay within. Even the eyes seemed to be pure metal, yet he was looking right at her.

 

In his left hand was a well worn shaft of wood, capped with a hammer head that would look comical if in the paws of another man. With this man, this minotaur...It took on a much more deadly appearance. Especially due to the odd colour.

 

[04:58] Mactator: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kfkUUkEGtc&feature=player_detailpage#t=117 Might fit the mood

 

[05:02] : The woman froze in her tracks, head still swimming, as the figure turned to face her. So much for that course of action. Lamenting her idiotic selflessness in entering the village alone, Zia carefully began to edge away, back the way she'd come. The dog had taught her everything she needed to know about trust and naivety. Speaking as carefully as she could in Spanish, with the modifications to the dialect she'd noted in the previous days, she addressed him. "Where am I? Who are you?" Not really expecting an answer so much as acting on the impulses of the tattered remains of her civilized mind.

 

The silence hanging in the still, fetid air between them was stifling. The man was huge and simply being in his presence made her feel as if she were about to die at any moment. The uncanny appearance of the metal helmet did little to help, it's inhumanity both extremely unsettling and oppressively threatening.

 

[05:11] Mactator: The bull-headed man paused as she spoke...He first made some odd hand signs, making lots and lots of different shapes. After getting no reaction then, he held two fingers up and mimicked walking down stairs. Judging from how long he was doing it she was deep, deep down. To answer her question about his identity, he rapped a knuckle against his head, causing the metal to -RING-. Unlike the dogs, he moved with an almost animal grace but he showed no signs of attack her. Looking at her horns though, she might notice the red and rust at either tip.

 

Where she was was quite small. All around her lay coffins. Coffins piled upon coffins; most cracked open with a few cockroaches and other creatures skittering around. The tunnel was small and the roof low, so the man completely dominated the only exit. Next to him was also a pile of bodies; multiple of those...dog things having been piled atop one another. It was impossible to tell how many of them there were; he'd smashed them so flat they were like paper. Furry, lumpy paper. It would be funny if the smell of shit, piss and blood and the goo of offal leant the scene a grim reality.

 

[05:29] : Despite his unexpected cooperation and receptiveness to her questioning, she still wasn't buying that he wasn't a threat. Maybe she could convince him they were on the same side somehow? She extended a hand to the pile of canine corpses, then gestured to her arm. "One bit me. I killed it with a rock." The only way out was past him. There had to be some way to convince him to let her pass. "I need to find my friends, tell them it's not safe. I think the dogs might attack them soon."

 

By now she'd taken a few careful steps towards the giant of a man, striving to keep her posture demure and nonthreatening. Attempting to focus her blurry eyes on his jacket to make out what he'd woven through his jacket. Could she run past him if necessary? Maybe slip past him before he could scoop her up and crush her?

 

[05:37] Mactator: There was a skeleton. A skeleton had been worked into the...material of his jacket. Draped over him, as if giving him a huge. The skull lay on his left shoulder, the left arm at the left bottom corner. The right rested on his right shoulder. The bull turned to her, noticing her gaze. He made some more signs at her before dropping the hammer and seizing her by the throat. There was as much fight as an adult man picking up a children's doll. He slapped her bitten arm then before holding her over his head by the throat, his left arm curling into a ham-sized fist.

 

The slap seemed to pulse in her arm. It hurt...It felt like something was happening to her arm...Like he was trying to show her something had become wrong with it but she couldn't see what because of the poor lighting, her own drugged state and of course the 6'9'' + behemoth holding her, dangling her like a doll.

 

[05:47] : So much for being wary of strangers. She kicked her legs weakly in his grasp, head spinning with the sudden elevation and lack of oxygen to her already crippled mind. His treatment reminded her of a farmer plucking up a chicken for the slaughter and the mental imagery fueled her resistance, left hand grasping at his inhumanly thick wrist as her right balled into a fist and pounded at his arm. Choking, coughing, face gradually changing color. Weak and defenseless. The minotaur was an overpowering opponent. She began to embrace the possibility of death.

[05:52] Mactator: His fist came forward then, smashing through her stomach and out the other side, punching out her spine. He then let go of her throat, letting her flop around his arm before dropping here to the ground. His boot came up high and smashed down on her face. The last thing Zia ever saw was hard leather. The last thing she ever heard was a demented yell which, through his helmet, sounded like the roar of a bull.

 

 [05:54] Mactator: /Good. We can talk easier now. Wake up./

 

[05:59] Mactator: Its dark. Its not just dark. There's literally nothing in front of her. She can still hear the demented screams of the bull...The feeling of his hammer smashing her to paste, just like the dog things. The sound of her wet flesh being pulped to absolutely nothing. She can feel it even now before it slowly di-/You're dead. Of course you can feel what your body does. I mean, its normal right? Well...At least we can play together a bit, hmmm?/

 

Zia, when she awoke, would find herself feeling drugged. Again. Now however, her arms and legs are impregnated in the wall behind her which seems to be made of a mix of her own dead body and the dead bodies of the dog things. The smell is horrific but there's nothing else here. Just her, the wall and nothing...Something began to push free of the wall then, like an over-squeezed spot. A dead, rotting hand, pieced together from the mummified corpses, the splatted dog fur and her own pristine flesh. It slid to her naked breast, squeezing it, as more and more arms began to wriggle free of the wall.

 

 [06:11] : The woman wasted little time after waking before screaming, the shock of her violent death fresh in her mind. It shouldn't be possible. She knew that. There shouldn't even be a body to scream with. Yet here she was, limbs trapped in a wall of putrid flesh, suspended in limbo. Possibly hell. The consequence of the life she'd lived, of whatever wrongs she'd committed to deserve such a fate. With the stench of rot and decay filling her nostrils and corrupting every gut-wrenching cry of terror and anguish, she almost didn't notice the hand. Not until it closed around her breast and dug its fingers in, the sensation of its rotting flesh on her impossibly living skin repulsive. She began to thrash, pulling with all her might to free herself even as additional limbs sprouted behind and around her.

 

 [06:23] Mactator: /Ugh, screaming. You always were so insipid and weak; I mean, save the world? Really? By feeding five people who live in shit covered sticks the crusts of bread? Curing them with the scrapings of the apothecary's mortar? Idiotic. And a lie. You just did this to have fun and have an adventure, didn't you? To look like a hero without doing anything. Disgusting. You're vile. I'm happy this is happening to you, you wanton slut. You wanted it earlier with the villagers. Oh yes, back then you were cumming hard and rapid fire./

 

The voice was spiteful, furious even. It hated her. But the hands, oh no. The hands loved her. So warm and soft and ALIVE still. At least compared to them. Three of them played with her bust, pinching her nipples hard and brutally groping her breasts, rolling them between fingers that were flayed and rotten, bony and cancerous. Between her legs, an arm grew and began to expertly play with her...Just like how she played with herself, but rougher. The same 3 quick rubs and one long rub of her clit, but with much more force and more nails. The same teasing of her ass but one finger began three. An arm slid around her throat, pinning her head like a make shift collar while another arm from the side slid some fingers into her mouth. The fingers tasted of rancid honey and the sweetest thing in the world.

 

/You can say you don't like it, but I know better. Go on, lay back, close your eyes and think of the minotaur man who crushed you to paste. He was pretty cute huh? I'd fuck him.

 

[06:45] : No sane person could enjoy this. Nobody could possibly find pleasure in being roughly handled in such a disgusting and degrading way. Knowing this, she resisted. The screams died down as the voice tore into her and became labored pants and gasps. The things it said were harsh and went straight to the core of her being. It would have made her cry in any other situation. But here, in this abyss, she withered. It was at least partially right. Vivid memories of her molestation by the villagers returned to her. Feverish moans as she climaxed again and again, soaking her thighs and ass in her juices. Wounded and kidnapped, she had given in to her lust and relished every moment of it. That was what had happened, right?

 

Now, again, strange hands were all over her body. Forcibly working their fingers into every one of her holes. No matter how much she tried to consciously deny them she could feel the clenching need in her groin, the pulsing urgency of her clit. Any chance she might had had to protest was stolen by the fingers crammed into her mouth and the arm wrapped around her throat.

 

No. No! I didn't ask for this! I'm more than this. I'm not weak. I can get out, I can escape. I can survive.

 

 [07:50] Mactator: . /No you can't. You fucking slut. Look at you, you're eyes are rolling into your head and your hips are bucking! Pathetic. What's worse, you're not just a slut but a dumb one. Who runs into a village they think is full of psychopaths with nothing to protect themselves to find a friend they believe has been tortured by said psychopaths!? Face it, you wanted to be caught. You wanted to be down in the tunnels, getting molested and used and displayed. Oh, sure it wasn't the original plan, but anything for attention, eh? God. The only thing you should be used for is my plaything.

 

More and more things began to slither from the wall. A half rotten head, with the back of the skull broken, clamped on to her right tit and began to like and suck on it. Long, slithering tentacles made of veins, intestines and sinew ripped apart and remade themselves in front of her. Quite soon, it was difficult to see the gorgeous redhead in her bed of dead flesh, like the heart of a rose enfolded by petals of dead meat and obscene truths. Her tits were sucked on, felt up and fucked. Her ass nibbled on, slapped, growth and chewed. And then the bites turned brutal. And bloody. Crunching bone and flesh, eating her alive even as they used and molested and teased and pleasured as much of her as possible.

The third time this happened, it was a tendril slithering down her throat, eating her alive from the inside out and ripping her apart. The 16th time, the head lapping in between her legs before it grew hungry and began to feed, eating its way into her body. The 67th time it happened, the tentacle curled around her throat and fucking her face squeezed too tight as it came, ripping her head off. The 100th time it happened she was simply pulled into the wall after a particularly brutal round of fucking.

As Zia was bounced on two particular fine samples of tentacles, each taking their time in going deep, letting her enjoy every single inch before bouncing her her and pulling back out.

/How? How can you? There's nothing to survive. Nothing to do. Just become my little Pet. My little toy. Give in and become my plaything...Oh, the things I'll do to that body...If you thought this was bad, you have no idea! If you think this is lovely ohhhhh, you have such sights to see!/