Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Story codes: Fantasy erotic, Female, Male Creature, Dark, Humiliation,
Beast

   I would love to hear from readers whether you liked or disliked this
story.  I am always open to criticisms as well as praise.  Also, I'm sure
there are a few typos etc in here, as I wrote it in one sitting without
editing.  If you spot any, let me know and I'll fix them.
/~Alexander_Mort/
Preface: How This Odd Story Began
I would like to make it clear that I didn't write this story for my own
gratification.  It all started back in 2009-2010.  I had become friends
with a woman online and we got onto discussing sexual fantasies/fetishes.
She sent me a link to a very short animated video of a woman suspended by
her wrists from a horizontal pole.  A great ogre was thrusting into her
from behind and with each forward thrust her belly distended.  This, my
friend told me was the most erotic part for her.  She wanted to be

"filled".

   I didn't know quite what to make of it, but it was her fantasy.  I had
fantasies of my own, which I'd discussed with her which were perhaps a
little more "vanilla" than hers, yet were still extremely personal and I'd
trusted her with mine.

   We agreed to write stories for each other.  I didn't know how I was
going to tackle this one.  I'd written dark/strange stuff before for
another friend about six years before and it had certainly been a huge
turn-on for that woman.  Her reaction made it all worthwhile, even though I
was rather disturbed by the subject matter, and that was far worse than
what I was being asked to write now.

   I suddenly realised that this was an opportunity to write something in a
completely different style to anything I'd written before.  I had an idea
to write in third person, present tense, narrated - a little bit like a
radio dramatisation, but not a script.  I loved the idea of another voice
narrating the descriptions and other voices doing the dialogue.  I don't
think I was entirely successful in this endeavour, but I think it opens
well.  The narration gets a little lost when the sex begins.  Well, now
that I've written my own review... I apologise for that.  It's hard not to
be one's own critic and even harder not to appear pretentious; so I'll shut
up and let you read it for yourself.

   If you would like to hear more of this story, please contact me with
your thoughts on the first chapter.  I'd recommend doing that with all
authors when you enjoy their work.  Writing is a solitary thing to do and
it's hard to know when it's been worthwhile or not.  Feedback is so useful.
But sadly, many people simply take what they want and move along without a
backward glance... Not you though; I can tell.

   The Master Of Her Secret Desires
One: Grunkel
Acre upon acre of graves, tombs, crypts, sepulchres, mausoleums and
vaults; curling thorns and vines, strangling, clawing.  Death lives here;
the reminders of the fallen, forgotten in timeless apathy.  No one tends

the overgrown, stunted gardens.  Even the sun has forsaken this place.

   Inside one of the crumbling crypts is a tomb.  Brittle creepers crawl
across the cold stone.  On top a woman lies prostrate; her thick, wavy
chestnut hair cascades about her head; her skin is pale and translucent in
the half-light.  Gradually her eyes open.  Her pupils, fully dilated cover
the iris.  She pulls herself gradually up onto her elbows.

   Where am I?

   Lost.  Lost to perpetual twilight.

   How did I get here?

   An erotic dream; an image, a scene.  Sleeping, perhaps.

   She looks down at herself.

   Her body is hourglass shaped.  Her head is topped with thick tresses of
chestnut and auburn; her lips are full and dark; her brown eyes, questing.
She wears a silvery silken gown.

   A surprise.

   This isn't mine.  I was wearing...  a t-shirt and jeans.

   She feels no fear.  Something familiar moves deep within the confines of
her chest; an excitement, a swelling.  A slithering of sensual memory moves
into her stomach.

   A beast.  An ogre.  A monstrous creature of her lust.

   `I do know this place.' She speaks aloud for the first time.  Her words
echo off the dead walls.  No voice has been heard here before.

   She stands.  Her large nipples push against the filmy material of her
gown.  Her feet are bare.  She balances carefully, feeling the grit and
earth against her souls.  She walks on tiptoe.  An iron gate creeks in
submission as she pushes it.  She looks out and surveys the landscape.

   The feeling of anticipation grows.  Her eyes widen and she unconsciously
touches her belly.  The butterflies flutter within her; a serpent slithers
and a wolf calls for a mate.

   `Where are you?' She calls, softly at first.  `I know you're there.  I
can feel you.  Where are you?'

   Her need is building.  Her senses crying out in anticipation and
impatience.

   A voice: Deep like a chasm; powerful as the raging ocean.  `I am the
morbid master of your desire.  I will call for you at my convenience.  You
may wander my halls and corridors; explore my kingdom.  Food and wine are
laid out in the dining hall.  You will be attended to by my servants by and
by.  I feel your hunger.  It will be satisfied; but not all at once.  Let
my servants attend your immediate needs.'

   She sighs.  Presently she wanders forward, disappointment etched across
her forehead; her lips a pout.  She walks across a wasteland of earth and
stone.  She shivers, wrapping her arms around her full breasts; her darkly
painted, tapered fingernails gripping her shoulders.  Her cascading hair
whips back as a sudden gust of wind howls in her ears.

   `Betsey...' A course, tinny voice.

   `Who's that?  Who's there?'

   `The Master sent me to guide you to the hall.'

   She turns, trying to locate the voice.  There he is; a small, skinny
creature in gay clothing; a large knotted, veiny protuberance falling from
his doublet almost dragging on the ground.  His eyes appear as those of a
cat with vertical pupils, but with glowing aquamarine irises.  On his chest
are three rows of round breasts, pushing against his tight shirt, buttons
straining.

   `I am Grunkel, third servant to the Master.  Please follow.'

   He drops onto all fours as he begins to lead her away.  A short tail
waves gently above his hindquarters.  He glances back; a grin on his
swarthy, hairless face.

   She begins to follow.  Her breasts bob against the silk of her gown; her
nipples chasing shadows up and down.  A dark area between her legs appears
with each footstep.  His grin widens and leads her away.

   The dinning hall is a vast cavern hewn from solid granite.  The walls
are smoke-stained and dark.  Great torches hang in rusty brackets; their
distances irregular.  A great glass chandelier hangs over the centre of the
room.  Cobwebs hang from its dusty tiers like nicotine stained net
curtains. The room is almost completely bare, except for a huge table with
one chair at the end.

   Grunkel leaps onto the great mahogany table and turns towards Betsey.

   `The great dining hall,' he says with a flourish.  `Sit.'

   One chair stands at the far end.  On the table in front of it is a
pitted, pewter plate piled with fruit; bright red apples, ripe green pears,
bananas and grapes.  There are two more plates; one contains sweet meats
and another cheeses.  A glass decanter of crimson wine catches the
flickering flames and appears to dance.  There are two glasses.

   Her hope rises.  Perhaps he intends to join me here.

   Grunkel hops from the table and stands behind the chair indicating for
Betsey to sit.  She obeys.  He pours some wine into one of the glasses and
offers it to her.

   She accepts.

   She sips.

   The wine is at room temperature, which is somewhere between chilly and
cool.  The taste is rich, deep.  She makes a small satisfied sound and the
creature fills the glass.  Hope is dashed.

   Grunkel pours wine into the other glass and drains it.  `The Master
keeps an excellent cellar,' he says with a greedy laugh.  His eyes are once
more on her body; crawling over her, feeding, exposing.

   He sits on the table once more, opposite her.  His penis jumps slightly
and bangs against the mahogany as he continues to ogle her body.  Her
nipples pressed hard against the silk betraying her and her eyes are
inevitably drawn to the casually bouncing penis in front of her.  The grin
returns.

   `You are quite lovely, my dear.'

   `Thank you,' she replies half covering her breasts with an arm.

   `You have such exquisite desires.  Your hidden secrets are exposed in
this place.  Here you have no need to feel ashamed.  All things are
possible.  Your heart's desires are our nourishment.' She is suddenly
embarrassed, her carefully guarded secrets uncovered.  She is ashamed.

   Grunkel laughs.  `There is no shame here.  No one can see you.  Your
other life is far away.'

   He rises onto all fours and slowly crawls towards her.  His penis hangs
just above the table, waving slightly from side to side.  She sips the
wine, nervously; her mouth suddenly dry.  Her heart beats loudly within the
cage of her ribs.  Her eyes are wide.  Grunkel pushes the plates aside with
a casual hand.  He is right in front of her now.  His aquamarine eyes are
glowing.  His tongue slips between his lips, pink and wet.  He sits down on
the edge of the table.  His penis hangs down in front of her.  It moves
gently from side to side with each breath.  Her own breath catches.

   `Pass me your glass, Betsey.'

   Betsey obeys.

   Grunkel snaps the top button from his shirt and exposes two of his
conical breasts.  He puts her glass beneath one of them and grips the
breast firmly.  Three golden drops drip from the nipple into her wine.  He
hands it back.

   `Drink.'

   She hesitates.

   `It's just something to relax you, my dear.'

   `You mean a drug?' She is appalled.

   `No.  It is a gift from the Master.  It was no accident that I was to
greet you and bring you here.  It will not remove or obstruct your own
will. It will merely relax any tension you may have and heighten your
sensations.  Your consciousness will remain unchanged.'

   `I'm fine, thank you.'

   `A pity,' he says lowering the glass.  `It is the Master's wish.'

   `Then it is not my will,' she answers quickly.  `You said my will would
not be obstructed and yet you wish me to go against it even now.'

   `You misunderstand, my dear.  You are here in this place because you
have certain desires.' He draws the last word out with relish.  `The Master
needs to feel that you are fully aware of what you truly want as a matter
of fact and reality.  If it is merely a dream, a fantasy, you do not need
us.  You may dream and imagine whatever you wish.  But, if you wish to
experience the things you desire, you must give in completely to those
desires without resistance.  There must be no doubt in your mind.  Do you
understand, Betsey?'

   `Yes.  Blue pill, red pill,' she answers.

   She takes the glass from him and looks at the contents.  The wine
appears the same colour as before.  She smells it.  It smells the same.

   She looks levelly at Grunkel.  His smile is still there but there is a
hint of anxiety.

   She moves the glass to her lips.

   The creature blinks.

   The glass tilts.

   A rivulet of crimson runs along the glass and stops against her dark
upper lip.  Her tongue licks at it.

   Grunkel watches now, unblinking.

   The glass tips further.

   She swallows.

   Her eyes widen; her pupils narrow.

   A slow smile crosses her lips.

   The empty glass stands back on the table.

   Grunkel lets out a long held breath.

   Betsey leans forward, eyes fixed on his.  She reaches her hand down to
his penis, still hanging between them.  Her hand can barely encompass its
girth.  The skin gives a little under her grip.  Her hand tightens
slightly; her eyes continue to stare into his.

   `And what comes out of this?' She laughs and pulls him towards her.

   He leers at her, but doesn't answer.

   The temperature rises about her.  Her heart quickens at the fire in his
eyes.  Time seems to stand still.  The room seems to recede away into
darkness.  Only she remains with Grunkel's throbbing member in her hand;
his glowing aquamarine eyes drawing her in.  Her desire quickens and her
hand begins to move up and down the knotted shaft.  The serpent in her
belly slithers once more.  She leans forward, parting her dark full lips.
Grunkel stands, stepping onto her lap, forcing his penis into her mouth. 
She feels the veins as it slips in deeper.  Her tongue pushes against the
moistening tip.

   Suddenly he grips her hair and thrusts deep into her throat.  She
doesn't gap or wretch.  That reflex seems to have gone.  She begins to
slide her lips up and down the long shaft, her eyes closed.  His body is
against her face, small yet strong.  He thrusts again and she feels him
once more against her throat.  He grunts and his thin fingers grip her hair
tighter.  She feels exquisite pain in her scalp.  A moan escapes her lips.

   `Take off the gown,' he orders.

   She pushes the chair back and he stands back on the table.  She lets the
silk fall to the floor without thought or question.  Grunkel leaps to the
chair and grabs at one fat breast, kneading it between his fingers.  Betsey
throws her head back.  Her long tresses fall down her exposed back.  He
pinches her right nipple hard and twists it.  She gasps.  His sharp teeth
are on it and she feels the skin pinch.  He sucks at it, still gripping it
hard.  Sharp pain is mixed with intense pleasure.  His other hand reaches
down between her legs and covers her sex.

   He smiles and slips one long finger between her labia, down to the
entrance to her womanhood and her wetness.  His finger traces an
agonisingly slow path up again, lubricating her pouting, engorged lips
until it finally reaches her clitoris.  She lets out a long breathy moan.
His wiry finger begins to move in faster, circular movements; his long
fingernails giving her an almost electric spark.

   Time passes...  How many climaxes, she can not remember.

   Three?  Four?  A thousand?

   She is not satiated yet.

   I want more.  I want that big knotted cock deep inside me.  Grunkel,
smiling mischievously, moves away from her.  He licks his lips and his eyes
flare.

   `Stand,' he says, simply.

   She obeys.

   He pushes her against the table until her bottom hits the wooden edge.
He reaches out, gropes one full breast, and unceremoniously pushes her
until she is lying against the hard wood.  Her long dark hair cascades
across the table top, wet with perspiration and spilt wine.

   Grunkel pulls the chair between her ripe thighs and mounts it.  He grips
her hips; fingernails rake skin.  His small but powerful hips thrust
forward; his knotted penis opens her up and slides in; her labia are
stretched by his gnarled shaft almost to breaking point.

   She gasps and turns her head.  She bites her lips.

   Metallic taste.  Blood.

   Something unexpected is happening inside her.  Her split lip is
forgotten and she looks down her body.  Grunkel's penis is growing inside
her.  She can feel her vagina distend; her labia are spread like crushed
rose against her vulva.  She notices without alarm that her stomach is
swollen like an elongated balloon.

   `Oh God!'

   He begins to pump into her.  She can not believe she isn't torn to
pieces; but somehow her body is accepting him, devouring him.  A smile
slips across her lips like moonlight touching a midnight lake, before being
hidden once more by cloud.  His glands push against her cervix and the
swelling of his shaft continues.

   Her head falls back against the table once more, damp hair sticks to her
shimmering face.  Her eyes close.

   Then she feels it.  It happens like water flooding from a broken damn.
His seed flows like a tidal wave, filling her uterus.  Her stomach swells
more; her skin tight, veined like a woman in the very final stages of
pregnancy.  Her fingernails grip the dull wooden table top as his semen
pours into her.  Then when her body can accommodate no more, it begins to
flow out of her in spurts, soaking his belly and running down her wide open
legs to the stone floor.  Her stomach begins to deflate, settling back to
its original size, as Grunkel seems to wither and sinks onto the floor.

   Betsey gradually sits up and looks down at the strange creature that has
just burst inside her sitting on the floor in a pool of his own seed.  His
features are drawn and his eyes appear sunken with exhaustion.

   He looks up at her and speaks slowly, as though the effort was almost
too much.  `Lady, you have passed the first test.  Attendants will be with
you presently.  I will not see you again.

   Goodbye, Lady Betsey.'

   Slowly, with much effort he raises himself from the stone, dripping.  He
gives her a low bow and walks on all fours to the far side of the room,
opens a door and disappears.  Betsey picks up her gown and dresses.

   Part Two: Ablusions...

   A pair of tentacled female creatures bathe and massage Betsey ready for
her next encounter on her way to meeting the Master.

   If there is sufficient interest in this story...

   All material Copyright (C) Alexander Mort 2012, all rights reserved.  Do
not use without written consent from the author