When Marinne awoke, she blinked her eyes slowly, finding it just as dark with them open as when they were closed. Shaking her addled head, she blinked again, running the lids back and forth over her eyes. She tried to reach her fingers up to rub them, but found that she couldn't budge. She thought her eyeballs were still there, but still she chewed her lip with worry. Unbidden, the memories of the narrow, wrinkled, joyless face of the local priest appeared to her mind's eye in the dark, full of stern warnings of what would happen if she didn't behave as a virtuous noble maiden ought. Deep inside she had always suspected the priest of being bloated with lies inside his scrawny frame, though she never would have dared speak such doubts so out loud. Shaken as she was now, though, she could easily believe that she'd been struck blind by supernatural wrath for her thoughts towards Lar.
Lar, where was he? She thought she'd seen him horribly torn apart... that was only a nightmare, wasn't it? Lar couldn't be dead! She was merely nervous about their plans to escape her arranged marriage so that they could be together, she reassured herself. The bad rumors about the path they were taking were just due to bandits or some wild animal. Lar would never fall to a mere scoundrel or one of nature's creatures!
So she comforted herself, but the 'nightmare' haunted her. So vivid.... she shook her head.
Attempting to move again, she realized that her arms and legs were chained tightly down. Struggling, she felt for the first time how hard the surface she was lying on was... it seemed like cold stone rather than her comfortable bed at home. Pulling at the chains, she winced, her eyes, unseeing, rolling back as she tried desperately to free herself. She was beginning to realize that not only weren't there any blankets on her, there was no stroke of cloth on her skin at all when she moved. Her back was a mess of pain; it was like the time she had run off in merriment and become ensnared in one of the thorny rose bushes of her father's estate, but worse.
It's still a nightmare, I'll wake up soon... she told herself.
Struggling was no use. Finally falling still again, eyes flicking wildly about in the darkness, Marinne realized for the first time that all was not quiet.
"Hee hee hee..."
The sound that met her ears was a totally unexpected one. Female voices, and they were giggling. Something about that churned Marinne's stomach, perhaps even more than the awful beast's growls would have. She shuddered; if her stomach weren't so empty she might have vomited. This was no place for such a sound to have any business, was her first thought.
"Hee hee hee..."
No... that first thought was wrong, she decided. The giggling itself felt wrong, even if it were somewhere else. Perhaps it was just her revulsion at the situation she'd found herself in; the fact remained that the sound made her ill. She listened, not wanting to hear, but it had fallen silent once more.
Marinne wasn't sure which was worse.
She waited, long slow breaths her only anchor to this dark-shrouded world.
"Rrrh..."
The sound that followed seemed to fit the situation so much better than the prior one that Marinne almost wasn't frightened of it. But when she heard it again, she once again felt her stomach knotting. Too much like the growls that had accompanied that vision of Lar being torn up before her eyes.
Wake up... wake up wake up WAKE UP! she demanded of herself, struggling in the chains once more. No waking came; the shackles still held her inescapably tight.
"Rrrrrrh... hee hee heee..."
She could hear both sounds then. Only one giggler, and one growler. The other gigglers she'd heard were silent.
"Hee hee hee... rrrrrh, rarrgh... slurp, slurp..."
Wet sounds, growling and that infernal giggling. Marinne listened to the play of sounds, unable to do much else. She couldn't see, couldn't move more than a few inches, dared not cry out.
"Oooh... heehee..."
The female voice was cooing, a mad mindless sound that could've been amusement or maybe pleasure if it didn't sound so soulless.
"Rrrrrrrh... rarrrrgh..."
The growler was making other sounds that Marinne couldn't identify, but which made her feel sick with disgust and dread. Hadn't she heard something like that in her 'nightmare?' There was something she couldn't remember, but that was the way with dreams, and she probably didn't wish to remember anyway. Still, it nagged at her.
"Oooh... heehee... rrrrrgh... slop, slurp, heeheehee..."
Marinne's plush lips were frowning in the darkness; the longer she listened, the more sickened she became. Something foul was going on where those sounds were, she could just feel it. Thinking on them touched places it shouldn't, thoughts of things she'd wished to do with Lar, but she could tell there was something horribly different with those sounds. What in the world were those two doing?
"Hee hee hee... RRRRAAAGH... eeee.... eeeee!"
The growling grew stronger, and with it the sounds of its partner became more manic. Marinne couldn't tell anymore if the voice was laughing or crying, but that soulless mad quality of the voice remained.
"Eeee... RRRGH... *CRACK!*"
Marinne's chest heaved, shudders running down her spine at the new sound. The audible sound of something breaking where the noises were coming from made her stomach churn, her pupils, grown wide in the inky blackness, shrinking once again as saliva bubbled at the corner of her mouth. She wasn't sure what was going on there in the next room, but she knew it was something she wanted no part of, something that reminded her altogether too much of what had happened to Lar, the thing she could not yet admit to herself.
"*CRACK*! Shlurp... grind... ahhhh, ahahahahah, hahahahahahahahahahahaha..."
The sick female laughter was back, reaching a manic pace. What the hell was going on? Marinne forgot about her prior failure to escape and began to writhe in her shackles like a tormented animal, desperate to get away from the nightmare symphony in the next room. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, her body jerking spastically in fear as cold sweat glossed her skin. Unable to take more, she fainted once again, the deeper blackness embracing her as she welcomed the respite it offered.
Vargralar looked down at himself, his coarse black fur splattered with rapidly cooling stains that gleamed red in his necromantic vision, the mess thick on his claws and hands up nearly to the elbows. His eyes, like a pair of coals in the darkness, gazed through the gloom, seeing as no man but one who had paid such a price as he had could see. Shredded bits of female body lay strewn about the chamber, limbs ripped off and thrown into the corners, the head resting at his feet, making noise no longer. His body ached, the pain of his thirst not masked even by the pleasure that lingered in him as his cock relaxed back into softness, the stains there mingled with a trace of his black, dead semen.
It wasn't that it hadn't been satisfying... disposing of one of his toys when it was time for them to be replaced gave Vargralar orgasms almost as intense as those he experienced when first claiming one of the innocent. But he needed live blood, rich, warm, vibrant blood; without its nourishment his metamorphosed corpse—kept animate only by the power of his dark magic—would wither and mummify until he could no longer move, helplessly waiting for a bit of life to drip onto him.
He had no intention of letting that happen, but he could still feel the pain of that need, aching in his veins. The young man's lifeblood had gone far toward filling him up, but it was the girl's that he really wanted. He couldn't kill her in one feeding, oh no, that would be a egregious waste. She was to be savored... lingered upon.
Stepping into the room where she was chained, he leaned over her, eyes gleaming. His hot breath, metallic with the scent of blood, flowed lightly over her bruised breasts as he enjoyed her scent. The little nobless was out cold once again, but Vargralar sensed that she'd come to in a little while. Letting his black maw drop open, he extended his crimson tongue to lick her flesh, trailing from the top edge of her pubic mound all the way to the curve of her clavicle, swirling in her shallow navel for a moment as it passed her abdomen. There was the faintest hint of that delicious flavor of her in the salt of her sweat, and he smacked his lips after his tongue withdrew back into hiding.
Space had been made for her. Now it was time for the next phase of preparations. Licking his lips once more, he crossed through the other archway of the room, descending a spiraling stair deeper into his catacombs to fetch up the things he would require.
When Marinne once more came to, her mind was still reeling, and she had to discover all over again how she was helplessly bound, her wrists and ankles sore and bruised now from her earlier attempts at escape.
Her body hurt. She'd been too afraid to think of that when she'd listened in on the gruesome sounds earlier, noticing only the pain of her back against the stone on which she lay, but now it hit her keenly. She felt like she'd fallen and bruised herself, except that the pain was mostly in the bit of softness of her little breasts instead of on a knee or elbow. Her rear hurt too, she realized with a tinge of shame. Sighing, she gazed blankly into the darkness, no secrets of her surroundings offered to her by the pitch darkness. She was too exhausted to respond with terror now, burnt out and feeling only pain and misery.
"Lar..." she whimpered, "Save me, Lar!"
The catacombs were quiet in response.
She began to weep openly, wishing her blind eyes could see, the darkness pressing in on her from all directions, as if it would drown her aching body in its embrace of oblivion.
When the wish for sight was granted, it wasn't as she'd hoped it would be. A pair of eyes gleaming like smoldering coals gazed down at her from the dark; eyes full of malice and sadistic intent. Shuddering, she wished she could escape, not bothering to struggle this time, her chafed wrists and ankles protesting. She merely lay, trembling like a hare cornered before a wolf, tears welling in her doe eyes once again.
A leathery hand began to caress her body, the palms rimmed with a bit of coarse hair that irritated her soft, pampered skin. Horrid breath puffed hotly across her cheek, her eyes screwing shut with revulsion.
"We'll have so much fun together, little one."
Marinne felt that she was dreaming once again; the voice felt like it came from within her rather than through her ears, and it bore such cold malevolence in it that she began to seize with panic once again. She wanted no part of any "fun" offered by that voice!
"Would you like to see me, little one?" coaxed the voice.
Marinne didn't answer at first, feeling as if the voice would know in the same way it spoke to her, but only silent, stifling waiting greeted her.
"Yes, I mean no... no." she whimpered in a shuddering voice. She wanted to see; she didn't want to see the source of that grotesque voice.
"No?" the voice wasn't angry or surprised, but kept its cruel edge.
"No... Lar, where is Lar?"
"He is not here."
"Lar... Lar, where are you?" Marinne whimpered, ignoring the presence of the voice.
"He is not here."
"WHERE IS HE?"
"He is not here."
Marinne wanted to throw a tantrum, heaving against the shackles until it hurt. The stark, evasive denial of the dark voice maddened her until her normally gentle nature could not stand it; she was beginning to come unwound here in the dark with only weird noises and eldritch voices for company.
"Calm down." said the voice in her mind, devoid of any comforting quality.
"I WANT MY LAR!" shrieked the bound girl, writhing madly in the bonds that held her, her wrist beginning to bleed a bit as she jerked it against the shackle that held it.
She felt her arm grabbed, and something wet and hot pressed to her bleeding wrist.
*slurp, slurp*
Blood, oh blood, that glorious ambrosia... thought Vargralar as he licked the Marinne's wrist, unable to contain himself. She tasted so good, it sent shudders up his spine.
"Eeeep! What are you doing?" protested the girl.
"You taste so good..." the voice echoed slimily in her mind, causing her to writhe away from the licking tongue as much as the bonds on her allowed.
"Nooooo!" she wailed in anguish. That thing... the image throbbed in her mind again... that thing, drinking... drinking Lar's...
"Noooooooooo!" she shrieked again, her head whipping from side to side, disrupting her hair from its resting place on the rock in the vigor of her motions.
There was a clink of metal, and Marinne realized that her limbs had been unchained. She struggled, still maddened by the increasing pressure of torments upon her, but wherever she tried to run, it seemed the coarse-haired figure was blocking her with a rough hand or its whole body. What was that disgusting thing? She wondered, but didn't dare to ask to see him as he'd offered. Vargralar's lips continued to slurp her wrist until all trace of bleeding had stopped, then his strong hands gripped her upper arms, holding her facing him in the darkness, her eyes seeing only the malicious crimson of his, his seeing the intricate network of veins beneath the flesh of her warm body, the warmth of life illuminating her to his sight.
"Mmrrrrrr..." came the feral growl, sounding like some depraved animal, not like the voice that slithered through Marinne's mind when Vargralar "spoke" to her, but equally nauseating to the girl.
Something rough and hairy touched her nether lips, making her gasp. "No!"
The thing didn't withdraw, instead pushing more firmly, spreading out to cover her labia completely. Marinne felt something touch her lips as well, the fiend kissing her with his twisted mouth, a feeling wholly different from the few fleeting, wary kisses she'd experienced with Lar. It was as if her lips would be devoured, explored and defiled utterly by the thing's wet, hot mouth. The stale metallic taste of blood lingered on the fang-studded gum-line, the flavor not consciously identifiable to Marinne, but something she instinctively wished to recoil from.
The disfigured paw began to caress Marinne's nether lips, the little mound barely having any hair, but none the less, he began to rub some peculiar-smelling cream on the skin, the fine hairs coming away to leave the girl's cunt silky bald when he rubbed the salve away with an old cloth.
"D...don't touch there!" whimpered Marinne in a flustered voice, "That belongs only to Lar!"
"He is not here."
That maddening answer coming yet again from the voice in her head sent her over the edge. Struggling, she punched Vargralar with her dainty fist, survival instincts winning out over the training she was given to be a delicate porcelain nobless.
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! LET ME GO!" the girl shrieked, pummeling the monster's thick, hairy hide to no effect whatsoever.
After a moment, a huge paw, neither a human hand nor a beast's foot, struck the girl, open-palmed, in the center of her still-bruised chest, knocking her onto her back, cold stone floor meeting her skin, scraping it, the surface slightly damp.
"You'll learn to love me, but mine is a dark thirst." hissed the insidious voice in the mind's ear of the girl.
"I love only Lar." said the girl defiantly.
"He is not here." the tone was almost amused this time.
Marinne, for her part, was not amused at all, heaving herself back up with a furious shriek wholly unbefitting to her genteel upbringing, little hands pummeling again, until again her body was thrown to the floor.
"Know this. I am stronger than your man and stronger still than you. You do not stand a chance against me, even beneath the moon, less chance indeed when you fight blind."
The girl didn't answer, still huffing with rage, but held down by the steely hand of the monster.
The other hand touched her nether lips again, and the little nobless went livid in the darkness. There was no escape, even her rage unable to maintain itself too long in her abused body, her bruises and the pretty pucker of her asshole sore and crying out for rest after the initial rush of adrenaline had passed.
Feeling the girl's defeat, Vargralar began to rub, stroking and grinding a wicked finger against the girl's virgin slit, his eyes reading the pulse of every artery and vein beneath her skin, almost able to see the streaming of sweet blood to and from the bright core of her heart if he focused that vision hard enough.
Slowly, the grotesque necromancer hauled himself over Marinne's body, mounting her and bringing his bestial cock to bear against her nether lips. The bulbous head stroked back and forth tentatively, teasing before entry.
Sensing it, the little nobless made one more protest. "No! It belongs... I belong to Lar!"
"He is not here." came the reply, the girl already coming to predict it by now, but what she hadn't predicted was the sudden stab of pain as Vargralar rammed himself into her with maximum force just as he sent the words into her head. Soft meat tore around him, the girl's virginity shredded by his entry, further injury from the sheer size and force of him making her scream, now in pain rather than fury.
Vargralar speared in until he struck the ceiling of her cunt, then he immediately pulled back, leaving the girl frightened and confused, the instincts of her body expecting the rape to continue, her mind dreading that the withdrawal would lead to something worse.
The thick, hard shaft was replaced by something slimy and dexterous, gooey slurping sounds becoming apparent as the monster began to lick Marinne's bleeding, freshly-deflowered cunt, tasting her delicious blood, a bestial rumble of pleasure in Vargralar's throat as he gathered up the crimson ambrosia from silky, abused pink flesh. The monster's mouth tickled against her labia, bumping her clit from time to time, making her tense, her little hands clenched under her chin as she covered her bare breasts defensively, weeping soft tears as she mewled in confusion.
The licking continued, and Marinne dared to look down, seeing the only thing in this dark world that she was able to, and instantly wishing she couldn't. A pair of horrible red eyes gazed back up at her, like sullen coals, a bloody red glow devoid of features. The hideous tongue slurped coldly inside her, tasting her from within, withdrawing periodically to draw any bit of fluid into the monster's gullet, trying its utmost not to waste a drop. His saliva, imbued with vampyric ability, sealed the little rips and cuts from which the blood seeped as he finished tasting her, the wicked red eyes lidded with contentment.
She almost thought it was over, but then the monster pulled her onto his lap, his hardened shaft once more pressing into her, the little sheath now slicker from the slimy saliva he'd licked onto her. Once again the head of his cock bumped her cervix, making her wince, then he began to thrust inside her eagerly, panting bloody-scented breath across her face.
"No..." whimpered Marinne again, shaking like a doll in Vargralar's massive paws as he fucked her. The pain she felt in her anus suddenly made sense, she could remember how the monster had speared into her there, and the thought made fresh tears stream from her wide eyes. That... that thing had put part of itself through that shameful dirty hole between her buns? She couldn't understand that, but it brought a hot flush of shame to her cheeks, her body limp with utter humiliation at the realization that she'd been so violated. It almost drew her thoughts away from the taking of her virginity, almost.
Vargralar licked his lips, the hot glow of blood concentrated in the girl's face making him want to bite right into her cheek, but he refrained, not wishing to mar his new little plaything's face too much. Instead, he thrust with steady vigor, savoring the taking of the youthful girl's virginity in the comfort of his lair. He could feel the unlife stirring in his hairy balls, driving him to pump into her faster; the stuff exuded from his shaft when he climaxed couldn't quicken a living womb, but its corrupting influence there in her core would be helpful none the less. That thought drove him to thrust faster, his coarse-haired body chafing Marinne's creamy skin, the hands that rubbed up and down her back aggravating the aching scabs there.
Growling, Vargralar pounded into the girl all the more eagerly, throwing her onto her back and letting the rough stone floor chafe her sore body even more before he rammed into her savagely, hammering against the ceiling of her cunt until it bled and finally opened to him, letting the head of his shaft into her womb in time for him to exude his foul seed, a bestial howl filling the pitch-dark chamber, joining with Marinne's tormented scream. As that howl ended, he plunged his fangs into the girl's neck, drawing a startled yelp from her, her body squirming weakly beneath his as he drank, shuddering in dark bliss as that crimson ambrosia ran over his tongue and down his throat.
As he drank, Marinne felt as if the source of the dark voice in her head had edged that much closer, sidling up to her inside her thoughts and wrapping arms of suggestion around the tormented body of her consciousness. There was no comfort, no kindness there, but she felt as if the presence there were dragging her slowly away, carrying her away with it, until suddenly it was back at its old distance once again, still too close for comfort, but no longer exerting that same pull.
Withdrawing fangs and shaft from Marinne's body, Vargralar took a moment to seal the wounds in her neck lest she bleed out, then lay her back on the slab, shackling her once more into place. Collapsing, pale and breathless, Marinne fell instantly asleep; a sleep from which she would awake soon enough, no matter how much she might have wished it otherwise.
In the darkness, Vargralar caressed her hair, devoid of any real affection, merely a lord proud of his treasure. Licking his lips, he turned to descend back into the deepest bowels of his small, lightless dungeon, making other preparations while the girl slept long days under his spell, the young body given time to recover and be fresh for the next phase of his enjoyment. When Marinne awoke, he would again be there, ready... and thirsty.
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