I long ago lost the track of time. I had some feeling that centuries had passed, I’d witnessed familiar yet unloved faces go from bashful youth to seamed with age. What Bob had done to me, I cannot say, but my memory grew fragmentary and recall slow, yet my body did not wither throughout the long years of my confinement. There was no sun to guide my day, no routine to keep time by, I’d even go days or weeks without food or companionship. All I knew was the rough cut stones of my chamber, the heavy links of my chains, and the oil slicked collar fastened to my neck. There was no light but for the illumination brought by my captors when they came with one vile purpose, to rape.

I was not asleep, yet my eyes were closed when the distant boom reached my ears. I was lost in a sea of broken memories, attempting to piece together a fragment of joy that fit unwell into my life. A dog and a serpent that shared a name and a love for me, yet what that name was, or how two beings could be the same eluded my tenuous grasp.

A pair of four footed steps approached to my door, and a dim red light leaked around the gaps. I left my eyes closed, yet the light was searing even through my lids. The door opened and crashed against the wall with a solid thud. It was too far for my short chain to reach, I’d never touched that door, yet by the sound of it, I would have never opened it anyway.

I at last opened my eyes. Two beings, that was rare, it had been a very long time since two at once came into the menagerie. I belonged to a sexual zoo, a prison of curios gathered from around the galaxy. Bob had sold me off so long ago, with such disregard. He had not even glanced my way as they dragged me off. But my captors, my captors almost never came in pairs, they wished to take their pleasures in privacy and secrecy. I doubted anyone but they knew this place existed. Taboo amongst their society for certain.

Familiar and old, the first face approached visibility. My distorted vision focused on him, but the other remained beyond the range of my deteriorated eyesight. He smiled, I think, his reptilian features never did match one to one with my understanding of human expression. A predatory smile perhaps, but not quite that either. Maybe it wasn’t anything of the like at all, I’d never actually communicated with one of them after all. His sharp yellowed teeth gleamed in the red lamp light, as if to eat me alive as he had devoured my identity and soul throughout his life.

I slid from my warm stone bench to the cold hard floor, onto knees that creaked and popped though the skin and flesh looked as young and tight as a child’s. I knew my place, I possessed no resistance, I had no hope, nor had I an ounce of fear. What was coming was as familiar as it was putrid, but I had endured worse, so much worse. His grand father had desired suffering from me worse than any I had endured. He wished only obedience and perhaps humiliation, though I was never too sure. His eight tentacle limbs rose from mid back, tipped in spades that unfolded to reveal his manipulative digits as well as his sharp talons, four of each in each limb. I had felt the fiery caress of their sharpness more often than I could remember.

He did not however step forward to bring his hind quarters to my face. His long reptilian body remained where it was, his eyes fixed upon mine. I remained there unmoving under his gaze. I would not understand his direction once he gave it, but he had not given direction so I did not attempt to understand. Then his companion stepped into range of my vision, blurred face became clear. Smooth and faintly puffy, soft and pliable. This one was young, perhaps younger than any other I’d witnessed. He had babyfat on his fore legs that made them look like large sausages. His chest was more pear shaped than barrel. Perhaps he just ate too much or exercised too little.

My gaze had moved away from the elder’s lined, wrinkled face to the younger, and my focus grew until I could see between his hind legs. Young or not, he was fully in rut, ready to mate. He was also unquestionably virginal: slit swollen like an overripe fruit, yet his internal flesh had not been exposed. Four generations had passed since a virgin had come to me, I shuddered with the memory and the anticipation of violence. He would possess not an ounce of control, likely already as taught as a piano wire, ready to snap. He would not have been able to clean first either, not that I had tasted a clean vent for decades. More of the same.

I turned about and fell to my hands, ass raised into the air in offering. This I understood, it was time to pass the torch. There would be a few years where father and son would come to me at different times, but in the end the father would go away, too old to mount—or dead—only the son would remain in my life. I relaxed my sex, old well used muscles distended, my folds parted and inner flesh rolled out as a swollen pink doughnut of vaginal tissue not quite prolapsed.

The elder said something, the son approached. His babyfat fore legs crossed the corner of my vision to stand over me, his manipulators draped over my shoulders, around my neck, under my chest and breasts. He drew me up, pressed me against his soft pear shaped body, the fat of his belly hung down, draped over my mid back, cold and smooth. A talon tip pressed to my throat, a single digit stroked around it. Threat and promise. I closed my eyes, accepting, surrendering. He was his great grandfather all over again I supposed, so be it.

His hinds lowered, knees pressed against my hips, then slid around to tuck and hold. A tentacle slid back between my legs and a talon gave my sex a sharp slash. Blood leaked, lubricated, pattered wetly to the floor. I whimpered but little else. It was only a love scratch, just a shallow slash to my inner vulva, it would heal. His swollen slit pressed down and in, nestled between my cheeks, between my folds. I could feel the seam of him, a hard pair of lines nestled within. He relaxed a moment and foul waste drooled from him to pool in my vulva and mingle with blood. It stung against the gash. The sour stench of it tickled my nose and tongue. I grimaced.

He bucked, hard, smashed his pubis into mine. That pair of lines parted, but nothing emerged, not yet. Pelvis bone against pelvic bone, he hammered himself against me, bruised me, smeared me in waste. I did not fight, only remained, almost limp in his powerful grasp. That talon at my throat was threat enough, though I had not needed it for a long long time.

He pounded into me over and over, hips slapping, wet vent against blood slick vulva. A hammer with no nail, desperate to affix itself to me. He began to lose what little control he had possessed. The talon fell away from my throat, but other grips turned violent, four talons sank into my breast as digits squeezed and milked. Another quartet gripped my shoulder. Blood began to pool on the floor below. I was not afraid, I could lose far more than these few punctures would take.

The thrusts intensified, his whole body bunching and bucking. His flabby belly rolled and caressed my back with each slam. His hips left entirely, hind feet off the floor before landing again straight into my pelvis. I sobbed with each, my body pulverized, my hands and knees scraped bloody, but I did not move far, he dragged me back with each violent thrust, pulling me up to meet his rape.

Then it happened, with a throat tearing scream, and a gut wrenching rip, he slammed down once more and his vent split wide open. His bone filled spear penetrated my depths, the soft flesh cladding did little to disguise the hardness and sharpness. He penetrated me with one single thrust, then throbbed within. That throb expanded him, flesh covered talons rose like fish hooks to catch my insides, to trap him within, to keep me in place. They were not dangerous, so long as I did not fight, the talons would not emerge from the flesh without force, and yet…

He jerked again, as if to slam once more. The barbs caught. He pulled, hard. The talons emerged. I screamed as my vaginal walls and inner chamber were speared. Blood flowed in a constant stream from my tortured passage. Hooks set, he settled, hips stilled. My sobs continued unabated as blood pooled in my chamber and flowed from my sex. He caressed me, tentacles coiled and squeezed while digits stroked and teased. His vent gaped against my sex, enveloped it, and his bowels emptied over my pubic mound in a watery mess. Would he clean himself? Or would he be a mix of his great grandfather and his father? Defecating in me like his father, and ripping me apart like his great grandfather.

Deep within his belly, I could feel the churning organs pulse and virginal reproductive muscles begin to work. His flabby stomach rippled with each inner clench, his barbed phallus twitched and gouged. He uttered something unintelligible to his father, who made a hushing sound that I’d come to recognize as laughter. Then with a sigh of what could only be satisfaction, he voided himself right into my vagina. I felt his liquid waste gush in with a gurgle and sputter. My passage filled, overfilled, and my stomach bloated as he filled me. Then he began to thrust again, he didn’t need to thrust, I didn’t want him to thrust. My screams continued as he slashed and tore my insides apart with his barbs. Those slashes burned fiercely as they filled with his waste.

The hours it took him to reach his first climax, were miserable. The pressure grew within my inner chamber as he filled me, until I couldn’t help it. My throat opened, and out came his watery waste mixed with my blood, and his sticky clots of ejaculate. The chunky filth blasted up the back of my throat, filled my mouth, nose, and sinuses, coated my tongue, then splattered to the floor in front of me.

It ended with a violent slam, my body straight to the floor, his hips flat to my butt. The barbed, hard phallus pressed against the inside of my stomach, just above my navel. Then the clotted, clumpy discharge splattered into me, like little rubbery pebbles, battered against my insides. I closed my eyes, cheek in the vomited mess, and endured as I always endured. This was my place, my purpose, I knew nothing else anymore. Father passed the torch to son, and I would endure another generation.

I vomited again, helplessly, as I was pumped full. More and more of what came up was clotted rubbery tangles of reproductive material. Virgins always were more productive than their elders, something about being pent up I supposed. At last, his barbs laid flat, and he withdrew from my ruined depths. Fluid gushed, clogged with ejaculate, then gushed again from my sex, pooling at both ends as I laid there, limp, on the floor. I had no energy left, no sense of purpose beyond the use I had just been put to. I would be discarded now for another few days, or weeks even.

But it was not to be. The father settled his hinds over my head, and I rolled over obediently to stare up into his wrinkled sheath. His lips were gaped, and a continuous stream of milky waste drooled from the lower cleft, right onto my cheek. I knew my place under him, I knew what he expected, what would end this soonest. I opened my mouth, caught the stream, and raised my head to meet his vent. The wrinkled, scaled flesh filled my mouth, and I began to suckle at it. I took all of him in, sealed his vent within, and drank. He did not make me wait, his depths let go and he used my mouth like a toilet, he always used me like a toilet, one end or another. I was used to it, though I had never learned to enjoy it. I drank his sour filth, shuddered with disgust, and clutched with one hand at my bloated gut.

My legs parted involuntarily as the pressure increased. My propped hand clawed at the wet stone below, then at last with a disturbing shift, my vaginal passage gave way and the pressure was released as a veritable flood between my parted thighs. This was my purpose under him, his living toilet, his abuse victim. I quietly wept as his hard phallus emerged. Just the tip, just a few inches, enough to reach the back of my throat. I began to nurse on him, tongue delved into the creases between his barbs. More waste, more sour filth, more pleasure for him.

Only a few moments passed before my absolutions brought him to the edge, then over. My mouth filled with the bitter-sweet release, clumpy tangled splatters that took great effort to force down my throat, but waste would not be allowed unless it was from the opposite end. I swallowed obediently, nursed on him with worship, and proceeded to clean his vent inside and out when he was done. Simply, fast, disgusting, and humiliating. I laid my head down again, closed my eyes once more, and waited for them to leave. Once alone, I dragged myself back onto my heated stone bench and curled up to sleep and recover, until the next time.

04/25/2021

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