Beast in the Storm

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Upon the horizon dark brows of the storm furrowed, flecked with flashes of lightning too distant to hear. Where I lay, the wind was still, the sky clear, the sea calm. I tugged absently at my bonds, rough rope drawn taught and cut into the skin of my ankles and wrists. Against my bare back the weathered stone was warm and gritty with a hollow for my head padded with sand. Head to toe I itched and ached. My bowels flared with fever, and pain while my bloated stomach was heavy and uncomfortable. The defiling had been an ordeal beyond my darkest dreams.

I’d dreamed of this day of course; the night terrors of youth and the nausea and cold sweats of a young adult. I’d never truly believed I would be chosen, but I had known since the earliest days it might be my fate. I’d never believed, I'd never been cautious. The Gods were fair they said, but…

As I lay pretending to sleep, I listened to my parents speak. “The boats have come back empty yet again,” Father said to Mother in a hushed tone, “The Gods must be appeased.”

“She might not be chosen,” Mother pleaded loudly, but her voice held no hope.

There was a rustle of fabric, then a soft, “Hush dearest.” Mother made a sound, half moan half cry. They began to make love as I lay there, the wet smack of flesh on flesh failed to drown the sounds of their weeping. I bit my pillow and muffled my own cries. “We’ll do better this time, raise our next daughter right,” He continued a while later.

I was a failure. Their failure. They knew it, the whole village knew it, the whole island knew it. They were right, I would be chosen. The mysteries were kept from me, but the haunted expressions and dark looks were honest. I’d never been disobedient or disrespectful. I’d never caused any trouble really, I just… I just couldn’t help myself! I couldn't.

An elder had caught me on my hands and knees behind our land. It was a private place, tucked between kennel and shed, a perfect place to seek relief or release. He had come to seek out father's shovel and found me instead. He’d found me, on hands and knees, with our prized hunting dog on top. I tried to get free when I heard him coming. The tap of his walking stick had marked his long journey from the road. I’d received a bloody and painful bite at the back of my neck, and gouges from dewclaws at my hips. I couldn’t have pulled his knot free in any case.

His tap-tapping approached while the hound snarled and spent himself within. I wept and moaned, not unlike my own impassioned mother writhing now, honestly. I gave up my struggle as the beast’s seed bathed my depths and surrendered to my own inevitable peak. He witnessed my climax, witnessed my throws of pleasure under inhuman thrusts. The memory of his gleeful, excited, and yet scornful gaze left me eager now to remember it. My fingers danced against my wet folds as I tried in vain as always to mimic their passion.

The next day not a single man or woman of our island did not know. I was not punished, though the look in my mother’s eyes was enough to make death seem like a pleasant alternative. That day had been nearly a year ago. No one forgot, no one forgave, but the sensation had died down and faded. I was… I was not exactly ostracized, nor isolated by my actions. I was simply disregarded, dismissed, and ignored. My voice was unheard, my friendships dissolved, and I was left in uncomfortable peace.

Loneliness had been the worst of it until now. I spent more time in the kennel, and did not bother with secrecy. Mother and Father gave me knowing looks of pity and disgust but never intruded or said a word. I would have been wedded in the spring to one of the neighbor boys I am certain, but no longer. All that I had were the hounds for companionship and pleasure.

Now though as we approached the peak of summer, the fishing boats were empty. Our island was small, rocky, and not well suited for farming or hunting. There was some game, and we grew a number of hardy vegetables and berries, but four fifths of our meals were fish. The seas were still, the winds had calmed, and the great schools had swam beyond the reach of our fisher folk.

This was not a new occurrence. Once or twice a generation our Gods would grow angry and deny us. We would begin to starve, panic would set in, and our people would return to the core of our beliefs. It was wise of the Gods—I had reasoned then—to crack the whip and keep us in line. Now, now I silently cursed them for my fate.

I listened to Father’s trembling groan as he spent himself inside Mother. They kissed audibly, fabric rustled again, and I heard him step outside to piss. Mother wept for a while longer, then blew her nose, rustled back into bed, and sighed. When he returned, he told her, “We’ll do better this time.” His words were a knife to my gut.

The wind picked up, a gentle and cool breeze from the ocean. The still sea began to swell and break with a gentle hiss upon the rocky shore. I watched my oncoming fate. Those dark clouds grew darker and higher as they approached. The faint rumble of distant lightning finally heard. Above me the sun shone bright and cheerful, it warmed my naked skin, and burned. Everything itched and I squirmed, but it did nothing to help. How could they have done this to me? I’d never done anything to them! Never hurt anyone. So what if I lay down with dogs? So what if I’d sullied myself? So what if no man would now touch me… well that wasn’t quite true, now was it? So what if no man would marry me!

Someone approached from beyond my sight, slow plodding steps. I strained to lift my head out of the hollow but couldn’t quite see. He stopped behind me. I listened to the scrape of his boots on the stone as he climbed and flinched with each sound. “Father,” I said when at last I could see him, I spoke with severely chapped lips and a desert dry voice.

“Hello little one,” he said as he sat down next to me. I could see the weariness in the drawn lines of his face. He had aged in the two weeks since I’d been chosen. “Your Mother bid me come, she… she couldn’t…”

“I understand,” I told him, and I did. I wanted to be angry, but I felt only hollow and broken inside.

He looked at me at last and said, “You are thirsty, you must be.” I was, but… but I refused to say it. He nodded, understanding and pity in his gaze. “The storm will be here soon, I told your mother that, but she insisted. Said it was my duty as your Father.” The laugh that followed was scornful and wretched. “I never came to you in the square, nor in the midden.”

I spoke at last, for his words were meant as a kindness, but I felt bitter. “Then you fail in your duty to our Gods, and in your duty as a Father.” my lip cracked and a trickle of blood rolled down my chin.

He looked like I’d struck him and his face darkened like the storm. “You brought this upon yourself, you know this. I did not do this to you.” He rose onto his knees aside me and began to undo his leathers. “But you are right, your Mother is right.”

I felt horrible, for what I’d said, how I’d hurt him, and what I’d goaded him into. “F-father,” I began to say, but he cut me off with a slice of his hand through the air. I closed my lips, silenced. He had his duty. His leathers opened and feel to the stone around his knees. I stared up at his bared loins, the tangled thatch of his curly black pubic hair, and the pale worm like flesh of his penis so unlike the hounds I’d loved. Before this, I’d never witnessed a man in lust, I’d never understood the difference. Before my eyes his flesh swelled and the foreskin slid back on its own to reveal the wet, glistening purple head.

He scrambled down the stone and over me. I closed my eyes and turned my head away. His fingers spread my burning folds apart, raw and red. He entered me with one thrust. It hurt, oh Gods of wind and sea, did it hurt. Still fresh scabs tore, blood welled and dripped. My entrance had been chafed raw, then… then worse. No man had penetrated me in a week, yet the wounds had not healed but had instead inflamed.

Above me my own Father knelt, grunting in dutiful passion. Thrust after thrust, he reopened my wounds and used me. It took him longer, far longer than it had with Mother. The thunder grew closer, the sun began to dim. I did not look, I did not want to see what expression he wore; lust or disgust I couldn’t imagine which would have been worse. Then at last he climaxed. His moan was an unwelcome sound, honest and degrading. Worse was when he fell to all fours above me and laid a hand to my bare, sunburned breast. It was a loving caress, thoughtless. He jerked his hand away a moment later as he came back to himself.

“You have done your duty, Father,” I told him stiffly.

“No, not entirely,” he replied, sorrowful. I opened my eyes at last to gaze into his. There was a weird mix of emotions written upon his face. Slowly, he pulled himself free of me, penis limp. Semen drooled onto the stone, mingled with blood. “You still thirst, your Mother, she insisted.”

I was thirsty, I’d been trussed up upon this stone since midnight without a drop to drink. I wanted to refuse him, desperately wanted to say no. With self hatred and utter disgust, I admitted, “yes Father, I am. I thank you—and thank mother for me?”

He nodded, severe and solemn, “I will.” Then he stood unsteadily above me and took his limp phallus in hand. His fingers became slicked with blood and ejaculate, but his aim was careful. It took him a moment, he stood there as we stared into each others eyes. I felt myself shrink under his gaze, I became something less than his daughter, something less than the bitch that had spread her folds for beasts.

His loins twitched, head flared, and a splatter of semen bubbled free onto my stomach before the golden flow burst forth. I closed my eyes just as it landed upon my face, then opened my mouth. Parched lips and tongue burned at first as they were wetted. The taste hit me first, my throat clenched and stomach recoiled but it was empty. Then the sting of my cracked lips became a burning as my mouth filled. Droplets splattered from breasts to forehead, hot, then cool and soothing against my sunburn. Even with stomach in rebellion, I swallowed and closed my mouth. Father’s piss ran down my cheeks, pooled in the hollows of my eyes and dampened my hair. The sand below my head absorbed it, then filled until my head rest in a puddle of piss.

His bladder emptied, the flow became a trickle that trailed from face to throat to breasts then belly and at last, my groin. “Thank you Father,” I told him, voice soft and sweet as it had ever been, “You can go now… I… I love you, and Mother, never forget that.”

I tried to open my eyes, but his piss filled my vision and burned fiercely. I shut them again shook my head to toss the fluid aside, but when I tried again I still could not see. He stood for a moment in silence, the only sign of his presence the muffling of the waves and the slow drip of urine upon my thigh. Then he shook his member a few times with a splatter, dropped to his knees again, wiped his hands dry upon my skin, and retied his leathers.

I thought he might leave without another word, but when he stood again, he spoke, “I love you too little one. I wish I could have done something to…” he trailed off and sighed, “Good bye my daughter. You will be mourned.” His boots scuffed as he scrambled his way down from where I was bound. I listened to him go without word, only the occasional wracking sob and the welling of tears.

They came for me at midnight. Our Chief and his men entered my bedchambers and took my arms and legs in hand. They feared I would run, with good reason I supposed, but it was no consolation as my blankets were tossed aside. I struggled, but I was but a waif of a girl and they were arms-men. I cried out for help, for Mother and Father. They did not respond, they did not come. The seer did.

He was an older man, gray and balding on top. He was a kindly sort, or so I had felt until… until my inclinations had been revealed. His gaze now was one of raw hatred, scorn, and disgust. “Strip her,” he snapped.

The Chief nodded his head, but added, “Gently, do not damage her clothes or you will pay her parents for their replacement. Then bind her.”

I continued to struggle, but my futile gesture was ignored and I soon stopped and hung limp. My gown was taken from me, then so too were my underclothes. I’d never been naked before anyone but my parents, the hounds, and in the end our neighbor. My face was flushed and humiliation tormented me. It would only get worse however.

They carried me from my home, dangling between four men. My ankles and wrists were bound together and the ropes looped over a branch. I was carried away then, swinging and bouncing, all the way to the village. People lined the roads, watching in the dark. I did not cry or struggle now, my shame too complete. Every person who watched, knew what I had done, knew why I had been chosen. I was the least valuable woman on the island, the least worthy of life. I tried not to see their expressions, avoided meeting their eyes, and trembled with quiet hopeless tears.

In the square they dumped me and took the branch away. A ritual was completed, but I paid it no mind. Words of power were spoken, oaths and honors. I was too miserable to look up, too ashamed. I tried to cover myself, but it was futile. I was naked, torches were lit, and everyone who wished, could look upon my pathetic form. I only knew the service was complete when a man grabbed the rope binding my wrists and dragged me to my knees. I was dragged to the pillory then untied so I could be put into place. It was closed upon my neck and wrists, then locked.

I’d seen others bound thus, held for public punishment and humiliation. None before had been naked however. My legs were pulled open, a low stool was thrust under my belly, and then my knees were lashed to either side of the framework. I was exposed, helpless, and nearly immobile. Obviously I was no virgin, fornicating with the hounds had seen to that, and my vagina gaped open.

“Look at her!” someone exclaimed, the potter’s wife I think, “She could fit your whole fist.” There was laughter, and then someone tried. My entrance wasn’t so loose as all that, the dogs would penetrate, then swell and did not fall out. So that fist pressed against my passage and did not enter. More laughter followed, more humiliating comments, and the man simply punched.

I screamed and my body recoiled but had no where to go. His fist struck my pelvic bone, bounced, landed, and my passage stretched then tore. He sank half way up his forearm into me. Blood trickled free to the cobble stones below followed by the contents of my bladder. Insult to injury, humiliations stacked, I pissed myself from pain, shock, and fear before the eyes of the entire village. They mocked me for it.

The man removed his fist, punched a few more times, then wiped blood onto the small of my back and pulled his leathers aside. He was the first to rape me, by fist and by phallus. He was not the last. One by one the men and occasional woman of my village took their turn with me. Some simply touched me, others spit, a few used my bowels to dump their lust into, others my vulva, and many found pleasure in my mouth. Some were gentle, others timid, but more were brutal and violent. My labia, my lips, and my anus were bruised and torn by dawn.

That first day was the worst. No one passed by without comment or degrading humiliation. Even the children threw rocks or poked me with sticks. The sun was bright and walked its way across my bared body, burning calves, thighs, genitals, back, and shoulders. By sunset I was dehydrated, trembling, exhausted, and mentally broken. As sun set, the men returned from the fields and sea and my rape continued.

Men are nothing like dogs. Men are cruel, callous, and spiteful. A dog is happy to see you, fearful, or territorial—but always honest. Men lie with smiles and kind words, an offer of food, a piece of bread… only as I bit down did I taste the rotting fish. He laughed as I heaved and vomited a my belly free of semen. I never fought, never bit, never struggled. I never even spoke unless addressed directly and even then more often my response was silence, but it did no good.

The Seer came to me at midnight of that second night and raised my chin. My split lips bled upon his fingers, saliva and sperm drooled. I felt like a storm raged within me, yet the surface of my vital sea was calm and exhausted. I did not at first even fix my gaze upon him, could not focus, could not look beyond the violent misery within.

“You endure well,” he spoke without mercy, “Into you we spend our worse natures. You will be the vessel of all our evil, and God will come to claim you, and we will be purified of taint. You were the worst of us, the most vile, the most evil. But… but you will do great good in this service.”

I blubbered something incomprehensible, but his words were not for me. Others had stopped to listen, heads nodded. Another voice proclaimed, “Give her our pain!” Others took up the idea with gusto. A branch penetrated my vagina and they twisted it, pulled it free, then shoved it in again. I sobbed aloud as my walls were scratched and gouged. The Seer grinned at me, then parted his robes to expose his erection and pressed it to my lips. I wanted to bite, but I did not not. I… I was a vile creature, the worst of them, he was right, but I would not disrespect the Gods.

With a timid humiliation, I began to suckle upon his penis even as others tormented me. He was our Seer, he knew the minds of Gods, and I had offended them. A rock was pressed between my sticky cheeks, against my swollen sphincter. Muscles clenched weakly, but it was pushed inside. Another followed, then another. My bowels ached as the small cobbles filled me and my stomach bulged. I buried my face in the Seer’s pubic hair and wept. He tasted of sweat, salt, urine, and a musk I had only just begun to recognize.

My stomach clenched and a stone clattered to the ground, expelled. Another took it’s place and was rejected a moment later. The Seer groaned and nearly tore the hair from my head as he mashed my face into him. Against the back of my throat, he loosed himself. I’d lost my disgust of the taste already, but the slippery, cloying texture left me revolted, yet I swallowed. When I didn’t swallow, they slapped me. I was a vessel to contain their evil, it was meant to stay inside. I would not disgrace the Seer.

He pulled free, wiped himself dry with my filthy, matted hair, then adjusted his robes and left without another word. Behind me, the game continued. They found bigger rocks, sharper edges, rocks that would stay put when pushed inside. I sobbed quietly and endured. No sleep came that night, nor the next. By the fourth day I was in a state of semi-consciousness, hyper aware of every noise touch and tease. The fourth night I could not remember, nor the fifth, only a dull sense of terror remained. That, and the heavy, bloated sensation of stones clacking together in my colon and lower intestine with every thrust of a rapist.

Wind buffeted me with sand and sea spray. My gut ached though no matter how hard I tried, I could not expel the stones lodged within. Father’s seed had dried upon my labia to a gummy crust, but now began to loosen as moisture settled upon my skin. My sex opened, swollen and hot. The fever within was an ache that throbbed with each beat of my heart. The cooler air felt like ice as it was driven towards me before the storm.

Thunder rolled and light flashed in the sky, but no rain drops had fallen yet. There was a tension in the air, a sensation of pressure that matched the pressure within my body. I tried to hold the evil in, to contain all the defiling my island had given to me to hold. It was no good. I did my best, and was pitied for my failure. I wet myself in the village square, vomited up the seed of my people, and drooled their rape down my thighs, but I tried. The fever within was the evil trying to get out, I knew it, even as I pissed myself again.

My urine arched into the air, and splattered on the stone below. It felt cold against my swollen, burning sex. Father had given me his evil, and quenched my thirst, but now I had given it away again to the island. I just hoped I was close enough that the evil would wash away with the storm, and leave my people cleansed.

The first heavy drop of rain struck me upon the right breast, then another upon the heavy uneven swell of my stomach. My sunburned and rash itching skin was instantly soothed. I sighed, leaned my head back into the wet sand, and welcomed my fate. Soon now the storm would hit, the Gods would come, and I would be taken. I could not imagine what would be done with me, where would they store the evil I held? Would they break me open like a clay pot and pour me into the depths of the sea? Perhaps seal me up and tuck me upon a shelf in the underworld, to endure and contain until the end of time.

I did not know what I hoped for, release assuredly, but that I suspected was not on the table. Oblivion might have been preferred to everlasting torment, but only if the evil was also obliterated. I tried not to think of it, any of it, but dark troubling thoughts tormented me nonetheless, even as the rain began to wash the waste from my body and soothe the fever in my blood. Rivulets of water and stink washed down the stone and began to join with the sea, cleansing me—outside at least.

My mind was a confused and tormented mess when the pillory was at last unlatched in the morning of the seventh day. Every touch left me trembling, every sharp sound and I whimpered. They carried my limp, broken form from the square. I paid no attention to where we went, could think of nothing but escape, yet had not the will to do so.

When they laid me gently to the ground, I expected hard stone and instead felt something squish under my sun seared back. The stones in my gut rolled and scraped uncomfortably as my position changed, then settled anew. I looked up at last, and saw the fence above my head, and my captors. A pit had been dug and I placed in it’s bottom with head propped up upon a slope. My ankles were affixed to stakes driven into the ground at the bottom, then my arms were lashed to the fence.

The stench of the place and the fence told me where I was, the midden outside of town. I shuddered in revulsion and humiliation. A piece of trash, discarded, that’s what I was. I knew the truth of it too, ever since my activities had been discovered, I had become less and less in the eyes of my people. Now…

My thoughts were interrupted as one of the men began to piss. I hadn’t paid him or any of the others attention. They were all undoing their clothes. Hot waste rained down on me, soaked into my skin, and ran into the mud under my back. This wasn’t just a midden, they had dug an outhouse! I lost control of myself. Limbs thrashed and my body squirmed, but the bindings held. It only managed to squish me deeper into the muck.

They shook themselves dry and splattered me with foul droplets. I burned with hatred and disgust. The stench of it made my eyes water, the feel of it made my skin crawl, the shame of it left me hollow inside. They were but the first. The sun crawled toward noon and the trench I laid in began to fill. My skin itched, my torn, scraped, and chaffed flesh stung and burned. There was always someone coming or going.

Men would lean on the fence, grab their dicks, and aim for my face. It seemed like a game to them, cruel and amusing. My eyes burned, my sinuses ached, and the bitter waste saturated my tastebuds even through closed lips. The women would hang their rears over the edge of the fence and splatter wherever they may. Muddy rivulets would run into the trench, splatters would land upon my face, neck, and breasts.

By nightfall, a filthy mud had covered my legs and most of my waist, torso up to my breasts. My stone filled gut swelled above, but that was no consolation. My skin crawled, insects and maggots writhed around me in the muck. The midden was rife with disgusting creatures, and each seemed drawn to my helpless body. Sometime after the moon rose, my screaming began and didn’t stop until I blacked out. It started when a rat began to chew on my ear, and though I scared it away, the insects did not leave.

Waves crashed, loud and powerful. The stone upon which I was bound, was an island in the violent sea. The tide had come in with the swell of the storm surge. I was in danger of drowning, but only the largest waves had washed over my head and not taken my life.

I was clean, as clean as I could have been. Washed by rain, rinsed by sea water, and scoured by wind. My raw, burning flesh was numbed now by cold and vibration. The thunder that rolled was an endless cascade. The light show left me half blinded with streaks across my vision, only interrupted by the rare moment of utter darkness.

I endured, what else could I do? I might have tried to inhale the ocean when it washed over me, but though I had suffered, I yet did not have the will to die. The Gods would come, that would be the end of it. I would be taken from this land and my fate would be sealed for good or ill. I swallowed rain water and sea water alike, helpless to escape the mouthfuls. My belly churned and ached, my bladder swelled, I pissed into the sea over and over. A cleansing I reasoned, a washing inside and out, and let it happen.

Lightning struck the cliff to my right. An old withered evergreen blazed with fire barely visible in the afterimage. The thunder that shook me, left my bones aching and nerves buzzing. My bowels clenched harder than ever, and at last the stones clattered free into the churning ocean. Over and over my bowels clenched and expelled, until I felt like there was nothing left. A hundred, perhaps more, that sick game they had played was over and left me incredibly hollow.

Sea water washed into my gaping bowel and vaginal passage, then washed out again. Over and over as the waves washed my lower half, I filled and emptied. Was this the plan of Gods? Was I to be cleansed by the sea, the evil washed from me? It was a relief, live or die, I would not at least be sealed into a seed of evil for all eternity.

As the next briny wave washed over my head, I drank deep. I gulped mouthful after mouthful until my stomach bloated and ached. Sand and seaweed came with, possibly worse, but I didn’t care. The storm wore on and I endured my cleansing. I drank, I emptied, I worshiped, I lost my sense of self.

There was a sudden calm, I did not notice it when it began, but eventually the silence penetrated my confused thoughts. I was shivering like a leaf, my body ached and limbs cramped, but I was alive. I opened my eyes to gaze up into blue morning sky. The wall of clouds rolled past just above my head like a sheer cliff. Lightning flashed within, and thunder was still audible, but not nearly so close.

I thought at first it was over, but then I looked out to sea and saw that the cliff of clouds extended in all directions. I lay within the eye of the storm, the midway point. I knew I could not endure the second half. A serene depression settled in upon me. Hopeless, yet calm with acceptance. I closed my eyes again and enjoyed the feel of sunlight upon scoured skin. I even began to warm and the shivering faded, but the headache I’d barely noticed, pounded behind my eyes. I was also beginning to feel extremely thirsty, even as my bladder continued a near constant flow urine and stomach remained bloated with water.

I heard a splash, a large one, not unlike a massive wave breaking upon shore, yet singular. I opened my eyes and looked out to sea, but instead met the vast gaze of God. My lips parted, my throat worked, but no sound came forth. I clenched my thighs and managed to stop the flow of urine. I felt shame roll through my heart, humiliation unlike anything before the eyes of my kin.

The God stepped forth, huge limbs larger than trees rose from the water and came down upon the pebbly beach, then dragged his huge body forward. I’d never seen anything like it, though sailors had told me unbelievable tales of sea dragons. His angular, smooth head glistened a wet blue-green like the sea. His eyes, bright and gold shined like polished metal, and fixed upon me. A large, forked tongue protruded in my direction, black as soot, yet glistening in the sun.

He licked the stone below me, trailed up and up until that tongue, thick as my thigh, came to rest against my parted sex. I trembled violently, terrified and joyous, ashamed and excited. My sex burned hot with fever, and his tongue felt as cold as ice, colder than the sea water. It soothed, even moreso when that forked tip slipped its way into my gaping passage and pressed against my scarred depths. Helplessly, I moaned. My hips rose and thighs spread wide as possible against my bonds.

He licked out across my bloated stomach and up, between my breasts. A trail of saliva clung to my scoured skin and tingled faintly. His tongue retreated after brushing my chin and vanished into his wide, serpentine mouth. I stared up into that massive face, large enough to swallow me whole, and a part of me longed for it. The evil would be destroyed in the depths of the God’s stomach. My shame would be obliterated along with me.

A smile appeared, joyous and welcoming. I spoke for the first time in what felt like a century and found my voice raspy yet calm, “God of the sea, great one, I beg of you… Take me and cleanse me and this land of evil.” I did not outright ask him to devour me, but I anticipated the parting of his lips and the return of that dark probing tongue.

Instead, his head drew back and eyes widened. He looked almost startled, perhaps most sacrifices did not survive the storm before he arrived. His tongue did return, it flicked out, in, then out again in a long arc and licked the wet stone once more, tracing the path to my sex once more. My stomach clenched hard as he touched my aching flesh, and to my utter shame and horror, I lost control of my bladder.

Urine sprayed free onto the surface of God’s tongue. I cried out in horror as I defiled him. He did not recoil, his tongue slithered inside again, even as my piss cascaded over his lips and dripped onto the stone. I watched in confusion and fear. He licked out again, then in, tasted my folds, flicked the fork of his tongue through the stream, then lapped across my bloated stomach spreading my own watery urine into my skin.

Then, as my confusion continued to grow, he raised his head and trod forward, out of the sea. He was large, incredibly large, but eventually he positioned himself over me. I stared up into his wet belly scales, confused, then disturbed. Before my eyes a quartet of plates bulged outward, spread open, and black flesh was exposed. That flesh swelled and spread to form a gap, the gap distended from the aft side and left me staring up into a cavern.

Deep within the God I heard a gurgle, a gurgle not unlike my own tormented bowels only as vast as the ocean itself. With wide eyes and open mouth, I stared in stunned silence until his slit bulged once more, forward, and a blast of cloudy yellow-brown urine sprayed straight into my face. I didn’t even close my eyes immediately, too shocked. At last, the burning of the cold waste forced my eyes shut, but my mouth remained open. I swallowed, instinct driven into me by the prior two weeks. My mouth filled, I swallowed, it filled again.

The entire stone was covered within seconds. God’s bladder was larger than a house and full. Cuts, scrapes, rashes, and blisters began to itch, then the itch became a fierce burning. My eyes were on fire, my nose and sinuses were seared, and my mouth ached. The taste that overwhelmed me was more bitter than lye and more sour than vinegar. Behind those flavors was a musk, a musk so similar yet so different to the smell of a hound’s ejaculate or even the taste of a man’s seed. I swallowed.

When the flow slowed I opened my eyes again. A thick, fleshy erection had grown from that slit, black as soot, glistening wet, and continuing to release onto my lower half. His hips lowered even as his erection reached out further. His tip nestled between my waste soaked thighs and pressed into my inflamed sex. His penis was as wide as my calf and twice the length of my body, yet he pressed into me, while still pissing, and flooded my sex, then uterus with his pungent musk.

I began to understand then. It was a faint, confused thought that lingered at the back of my mind as he pressed himself inside. My entrance tore again, a soft wet pop sound, and a bloom of distant pain. He was not God. He had come to relieve himself of evil into me, to purify himself in my foul vessel. I closed my burning eyes and relaxed. God would come, in time, but for now I had more to serve. I began to weep. He began to thrust.

I’d never witnessed an avalanche myself, though I’d heard tales of them from distant lands. Huge hills that came crashing down on you, an inevitability that could not be stopped nor avoided. I understood now, deeply. His body came down, vast as the sea. His member pushed in, soft and flexible, yet far too unimaginably large. Something broke inside of me, something vital. There wasn’t much pain, but there was a disturbing wrongness, a feeling of looseness as muscles tried to clench, and failed to grip. My stomach bulged upwards, higher than even when filled with stones. Then he withdrew.

I screamed then as his member was pulled free. The release of his urine blasted from my torn depths with a wash of blood. My vaginal walls fell outward onto the slick, waste soaked stone, detached and prolapsed. He thrust again, and forced the broken flesh back inside of me. He wasn’t urinating anymore, but he filled me no less. Most of his length plowed into me, curled and squished around inside. His engorged slit kissed my knees and calves, then he bucked upwards once in an attempt to penetrate even more.

It did not work. My body was dragged upward, my right ankle was ripped free of it’s bonds, the left held. I looked up to see my stomach, distended to the limit and blood soaked sex gaping around the base of his phallus. I expected him to pull out and thrust again, like any of the other men of the village. He did not. He pushed down, hard, crushed me into the stone, then bellowed. It was a droning thunderous sound that shook bones and made my head ache.

His hips jerked up as his stomach sucked in, then his flesh throbbed before my eyes. He began to withdraw even before the swelling wave had completed it’s transit. He was half out of me before the cold sticky flood gushed free into my body cavity. One singular ejaculation. Short, powerful, and filling. He withdrew, yet left me still full with tangled tough ropes of fertile sperm.

Even as he pulled free, only a slow trickle of his release oozed out. My prolapse fell free again, and a milky rivulet ran down the stone, yet my gut remained hard packed, and pendulous. My breaths were shallow with pain and constraint. My eyes were wide and blank, staring into nothing. Above me, the beast stood up again. Long pale green ropes of semen dangled from his slit, penis already retracted. He clenched, and another milky yellow eruption poured free to spray into my helpless form. Semen tangled in my arms, around my neck, and in my hair.

Slow and ponderous, the monster turned away and began his journey into the sea, his evil spent. I trembled with pain and exhaustion. Thoughts did not return for the longest time, only emotions remained. When they did, it was with a gibbering of words that made no real sense. I spoke to myself and latched onto the occasional verb or noun, but nothing stuck.

Above me the sky grew dark again and the sea rose to lap at my defiled stone. A wave crashed, cold and powerful between my legs. My prolapsed vagina slapped against my thigh then rolled over the stone as the wave retreated. I began to think again, shocked to clarity by the cold upon my feverish body. It wasn’t just in my loins any longer. I realized then, that God was not coming for me, would not cleanse the island. The monster had come to profane it and defile me.

The storm was worse than I remembered, or perhaps my mind was less in control. Waves rushed over my head, wind beat at my body, rain pounded loud and painful. I felt confused, disoriented, and abused. With one leg free, I rose and fell against the stone with each wave, battered into it. Then, sometime into the night, another rope broke as I strained against my left arm. My shoulder dislocated in the process, the pain a singular clarity in a nightmare of confusion.

The other arm broke free at last a short while later, and I found myself flopping back and forth, battered against the beach and the boulder with each crash of surf. Then, at last, I broke free entirely and drifted away. In my minds eye, I saw that monster’s mouth open, the black tongue slither out, and lick across my breasts and cheek. I reached up with my one working arm and caught it.

My fingers closed on a slimy appendage. Not a dream, not a delusion. The tongue curled around my wrist and pulled. I was drawn underwater drawn down into darkness. A flash of lightning showed golden eyes and a dark, open maw. I screamed, bubbles rolled up around my cheeks and neck to tangle in my hair. They tickled, a distant thought fixated on that sensation for a moment before the great jaws closed.

That tongue worked around me, back and forth, pushing me towards the back of his throat. I struggled, thrashed, but it was futile. A mouth was well designed to capture and keep a morsel of food. I knew then what it felt like to be a lump of fish as I ate it. The head tilted back, the confines closed and pressed in on every side, then the tongue rammed against my backside and forced me down.

He swallowed. Muscles crushed the air from my lungs. He swallowed again, my head was jerked forward, my dislocated shoulder ground and scraped. He swallowed. My thighs shut, crushed closed on the tail like prolapse of my vagina. Something popped inside of me, my colon erupted from my gaping sphincter, and the monster’s sperm fountained back up his throat, forced out. He swallowed four more times. Ribs cracked, my pelvis snapped, my shoulder was torn even further out of place, then I fell freely into the cold, slippery depths of his bowels. Above me he continued to swallow. Semen, salt water, and air gushed in.

I lay in a confused, broken heap. I tried to draw breath, but nothing came. I tried to move, but my body screamed in agony. So I lay limp. My lungs ached for breath, my heart raced, and my mind swam. There was nothing I could do. Already I could feel the itch and burn of digestive fluids as they welled up around my naked body. Consciousness began to fade, it was the only blessing. A final gift to end my suffering.

I closed my burning eyes, stopped struggling for breath, and tried—yet failed—to sigh. Lights sparkled behind my eyes and my inner ear told me I was falling, spinning head over head. The world sloshed and shifted, as the beast swam. Then, at last, I knew no more.

Epilogue

The flavor of human urine drifted away on the tide and dispersed in time, though it drew more denizens of the deep in search of tasty land morsels. As they came forth to the coast, they drove the schools of fish up, to hide in the shallow waters on the other end of the island. The next morning after the storm, the fishermen went out. Upon that evening, they returned with hulls low in the water, nets teeming with fish. The Gods had been appeased and evil had been driven from the island once more.

Her Mother and Father gave birth to a beautiful little girl that winter, and they tried oh so very hard to raise the girl right. They even gave the hounds away, so as not to tempt evil to return to their home. No one told the girl of her lost sister, not directly, but they acted very strangely any time she tried to pet a dog or walk the beach.

END

06/28/2020