Fantasy Gods of Lust, Lords of Desire Vol 1

[put_in]

Gods of Lust
Lords of Desire

Vol I

Scroll 1​

The passage narrowed around me like a stone throat, dimly lit and oppressive in its silence. Years of habitation had worn the walls smooth, with crude markings like ancient scars cutting through the surface. Here in the hidden Martian refuge, even air seemed heavy with the weight of dread. My footsteps echoed as I walked, a lone figure tracing a path through history and fear. Outside, the barren landscape loomed, unforgiving and vast beneath the shadow of the twin kings' iron rule. Banners and crude effigies whispered their dominance even in these subterranean halls. I moved with quiet purpose, my presence scarcely noted by the clusters of quiet, fearful citizens huddled in the dark corners. They were refugees of a world he understood and yet did not, bound by chains he could never fully know. The pervasive dread marked every facet of life on Mars, and my careful observations captured the stark contrast between my own privileged upbringing and the oppression that surrounded me.



I paused at an intersection, where the corridors split like the branches of some gnarled, underground tree. The choice of direction mattered little; every path led deeper into the recesses of their desperate world. I thought of the Martian landscape above, stretching endlessly with its harsh and unforgiving embrace. It was a realm of red dust and barren rock, where the sun hung like an unblinking eye in a sky that never changed. Those who ventured to the surface returned with hollow looks and whispers of a desolation that mirrored the solitude in their hearts. I knew that emptiness, though his own had been softened by the trappings of status. The disparity between my experience and that of the huddled citizens was as vast as the planet itself, a chasm I both resented and relied upon.



Banners bearing the stern visages of Morg and Molled hung in the narrow spaces, their frayed edges flapping like the wings of caged birds. The twin kings' presence was inescapable, manifest even in crude effigies that marked their dominion over every facet of life. Here in the supposed safety of the refuge, they were never truly absent. My eyes lingered on a particularly stark rendering, where the kings stood side by side, their features hard and unforgiving. It was a reminder that no corner of Mars escaped their reach. They were the architects of this subterranean existence, and their iron rule was felt in every breath drawn by those who dared to seek shelter from their reign.



As I resumed his careful progress, I passed clusters of Martian citizens, their faces half-hidden in the shadows. They huddled together in small, silent groups, their eyes cast downward and their voices little more than hushed murmurs. Fear clung to them like a second skin, shaping their every movement and word. It was a fear I recognized but could not fully share, an understanding tempered by the privilege that had always set him apart. His presence went largely unnoticed, a testament to the quiet way he moved through the world. To them, I was another shadow, perhaps less substantial than most, a figure that neither threatened nor comforted.



"Another raid?" A woman's voice, tense and brittle, drifted through the darkness.



"They say the kings want more," a man replied, his tone resigned and weary. "Always more."



I absorbed these fragments of conversation with the same attention he gave to the markings on the walls. They spoke of a reality both foreign and intimate, a world where survival was the only certainty and even that came at a terrible price. I felt the weight of my observations pressing down on me, a burden I carried with both reluctance and resolve.



My inner thoughts circled back to my place in this tangled web of power and oppression. Was I merely a witness to the unfolding drama, or something more? The questions haunted him like the echoes of his footsteps in the narrow halls. I wondered at my role, the son of Shavni, born to a position that afforded him access and isolation in equal measure. I had seen so much, and understood so little, and yet I could not shake the feeling that my path was inextricably linked to those around me.



I recalled the early days of my life, a time when the shadows held no menace and the corridors were places of adventure rather than confinement. The memories seemed distant, almost belonging to someone else, a stranger who bore my name but not my knowledge. Privilege had been my constant companion, a shield against the harsh truths of the world outside my mother's sphere of influence. Now, as I walked through the Martian refuge, the echoes of that upbringing clashed with the stark reality I observed. My careful eyes took in every detail, each one a piece of the intricate puzzle that formed their collective existence.



The passage seemed to tighten around mr, a physical manifestation of the tension that thrummed beneath the surface of life on Mars. I moved with a deliberate precision, aware of being both observer and observed in this hidden realm. The stone walls loomed like the unyielding faces of Morg and Molled, ever-present and unrelenting in their control. My thoughts remained as measured as his pace, a quiet reflection on the fear and resilience that defined the lives around him. Each step brought me deeper into the labyrinth, where the weight of what I saw and felt threatened to close in like the walls themselves.

Scroll 2​

She was all curves and suggestion beneath the thin fabric, her silhouette cutting through the dimly lit chamber like a blade. The Martian saw only the promise of flesh and oblivion, his hunger and lust clouding everything else. He moved towards her with a single-mindedness that bordered on desperation, driven by a desire he no longer tried to hide. Shavni's lips curled into a knowing smile, a subtle invitation that masked a deadly secret. She led him into a dance of skin and need, where each movement was a precise stroke in a painting of debauchery and power. As their union deepened in its fervent physicality, I remained at a discreet distance, my eyes fixed on the unfolding events. I watched with an intensity that captured every detail, a witness to the savage demonstration of desire and dominance. When Shavni's hidden vaginal teeth emerged, the man's screams tore through the chamber, raw and brutal. It was a graphic, unflinching act of castration, and as he fell into a grim fate as the kings' newest conscript, I stood transfixed between horror and reluctant awe.



The man moved with blind determination, each step a declaration of his intentions. Shavni's presence filled the room, the embodiment of both promise and peril. Her voluptuous figure seemed to anticipate his every thought, drawing him closer with an irresistible magnetism. She turned slightly as he approached, the movement as graceful as it was deliberate. For a moment, time stretched thin around them, the anticipation almost tangible in the flickering light.



"Do you know what you risk?" Her voice was a soft challenge, as much invitation as warning.



"For this?" he replied, eyes fixed on the curve of her body. "Everything."



His words were ragged with need, his desire stripping him bare long before his clothes could. Shavni let them hang in the air for a heartbeat, then reached for him with hands that promised more than comfort. She pulled him into a searing embrace, their bodies meeting with a fervor that echoed in the chamber like a battle cry.



My position in the shadows afforded him a view unobscured by emotion, his thoughtful eyes capturing the scene in vivid detail. The Martian's hands roamed her body with frantic worship, each touch driven by an urgency that bordered on frantic. Shavni's responses were more measured, each movement a calculated part of her strategy. Her moans were soft and precise, timed to fan the flames of his desire without letting them burn out of control.



I watched as they moved together, a blur of skin and sweat that grew more frenzied with every passing moment. The man's face was a mask of raw need, while Shavni maintained a knowing composure that spoke of her dominance. Their union was a primal dance, a titjob, a blowjob, an explicit, unrestrained celebration of the flesh that I observed with conflicted interest. I felt both removed from and drawn into the intensity of their encounter, my own inner turmoil reflected in the fervent tableau before me.

(...a blur of skin and sweat that grew more frenzied with every passing moment. The man's face was a mask of raw need...)​

The pace quickened, their bodies a tangle of limbs and lust. Shavni's grip on the man tightened, a subtle shift that hinted at the power dynamics lurking beneath their apparent abandon. Her true nature began to emerge, each gasp and cry more about control than release. I sensed the impending change, the inevitability of the turn that was about to take place. My breath caught in anticipation, the chamber narrowing around his vision until all I saw was the moment of transition.



Without warning, the Martian's expression shifted from ecstasy to shock, a grimace that twisted his features into something almost unrecognizable. Shavni's hidden teeth sprang forth with brutal efficiency, the sudden act of castration leaving him writhing and screaming on the ground. The sound was raw and piercing, a jagged tear through the fabric of their previous union. I flinched at the intensity, yet could not tear my gaze away. Blood pooled around the man's twitching form, each drop a testament to the violent reassertion of control.



The chamber was chaos, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the echo of the man's continued screams. He thrashed in agony, hands pressed to his groin in a futile attempt to stop the torrent of pain and loss. Shavni stood over him, her expression unreadable, a figure of ruthless beauty in the midst of carnage. The man’s once-desperate lust had become a grotesque parody of itself, transforming him from lover to victim in an unblinking instant.



"Get him to the kings," Shavni said, her voice as sharp and commanding as the teeth that had taken him. "He's of no use to me now."



A group of subordinates, previously unseen, moved to carry out her orders. They dragged the Martian's limp, bleeding form from the chamber, his moans fading into the distance as they hauled him to his grim fate as another conscript in Morg and Molled's army. It was a testament to the brutality of their world, a stark reminder of what desire could cost in a place where power ruled all.



I remained, my eyes following the scene to its conclusion with an unblinking intensity. He had seen many things in his young life, but few as raw and unflinching as this. My thoughts churned in the aftermath, swirling with the complexity of what I had witnessed. Power, desire, dominance, and submission—each was a thread in the fabric of their existence, and I was left to wonder how tightly they bound me to the world I both observed and inhabited.



The chamber grew still once more, the echoes of the encounter lingering in my mind long after the screams had faded. I turned these impressions over with the same care he gave to everything I observed, a quiet figure caught in the relentless currents of a brutal and unyielding world.

 

[put_in]

Scroll 3​

The chamber awaited in silence, its dark walls like beasts crouched around the scene, corners flickering with shadows cast by dying candles. She stood at the center, gazing into the rough stone as if to will herself away. Then they arrived, the twin monarchs—tall, merciless, bearing Dokur’s Phallus like an obsidian nightmare. They descended upon her with the swiftness of a predator’s lunge, teeth bared in ravenous hunger, taking turns as the others watched. Her body arched under the torment of their conquest, those keen barbs a reminder of pain's marriage to desire, of power’s demand for submission. She moved like a puppet of their lustful sorcery, limbs and lips spelling out surrender. Wet sounds of fucking echoed through the space, shrill cries breaking against the granite as the world became a torrent of thrashing limbs and gleaming skin. Vaginal teeth awaited like prisoners denied parole, and the artifact ravaged her without fear of her most lethal secret. Shavni, demon slut and Megadeath’s whore, surrendered beneath the merciless advances of Mars’ two rulers, her body claimed and reclaimed until nothing remained except the shuddering release of seed and screams.



Her legs were long and glistening, shadows pooling in the spaces where her body arched from the stone. When they came upon her, there was nothing in their world but Shavni, the little slave queen, waiting to be filled. Morg pressed the blunt, vicious head of the artifact deep into her, Megadeath’s whore, each thrust a sudden cruelty that quickened her breath. He relished in the strength that stole through his arms, seizing her as she contorted beneath the twin force of his cock and Dokur’s Phallus. She could feel him bursting, brutal as a storm, a towering figure reduced to raw release. Molled stood close, face hardened with hunger and impatience, eyes fixed on Shavni’s spreading cunt, unblinking in their violent desire. “She won’t break,” Molled spat as Morg drew back, making way, their shadows colliding like frenzied beasts on the walls around them. “I will not let her,” Morg returned, breath and lust still heavy on the air. The Phallus pulsed with Shavni’s wetness, its cruel edges gleaming in the firelight.



Her moans chased after them like lost children, while they left no inch of her unexplored. Molled brought his power to bear on Shavni with a frenzy that shamed even Morg’s brutal abandon. “Look at me, whore!” he commanded, his hands upon her, pulling her as if she were no more than a loose thread to be yanked free. Her voice rose in answer, while the menacing Phallus filled her until all else seemed hollow. Its glinting barbs and wicked curve meant to break lesser women, yet she—demon slut of the underworld—rode through its torment with twisted pleasure. “Yes, king,” she gasped, a slave girl shaped and consumed by his merciless attentions. Her limbs found new arcs beneath his relentless power, his unyielding thrusts answering the cries that Morg had only begun. She gave her gaze to Molled as he demanded, daring him to finish the work his brother started.

(...pulling her as if she were no more than a loose thread to be yanked free...)​

Shavni, slut of Mars and silent threat, knew each flicker of pain would end in bliss. Her traitorous body knew, despite Uneb’s treacherous revelation, she was the one to set the trap, to keep the promise of the vaginal teeth in hiding. Her voice danced on the thin thread between a scream and a moan, pulling all her fractured edges taut. Morg pushed against his brother’s conquest, hands on the lewd expanse of Shavni’s spreading thighs, forcing her open to each brutal advance. “She will break,” Morg promised, fierce in the way he pulled her onto the terrible head of Dokur’s Phallus. “Not until she has us both,” Molled countered, pouring himself into her without care or fear. Morg met him, took Shavni’s open cunt as if it were the rightful spoil of his labor, tearing what little was left to shred.

She lost herself, between the savage strokes, and with it all sense of time and place. “Break her,” Molled grunted, the words a demand and plea in one. Vaginal teeth remained at bay, hungry but unheeded as Morg buried his brother in Shavni’s cunt, filled her from both ends, crammed her cunt and anus with flesh and metal and spiked cruelty. Molled’s eyes burned into hers until they closed against the world. “Yes,” she cried out, hips thrust high and wet into their combined rage. There was only the spreading, shuddering release of seed, cum pouring into every aching space of her while Molled filled and emptied in fierce bursts. He gasped, took his last forceful thrust, then sank beside her in disbelief of the lust his brother had not left her. Her flesh was their prize, their taking without limit.



When Morg emptied himself at last, Shavni felt nothing, and everything. The promise of the teeth remained, the memory of their terror locked inside her along with the cocks that refused her release. Then they withdrew and left her there, collapsed in wet heat, skin gleaming in sweat and cum. Their force was echoed by shadows in the candlelight, a violence even the cold stone would not forget. She laid beneath the guttering flames, body writhe and exposed, each breath in concert with their savage conquest. She did not break. She did not break. She did not break.

Scroll 4​

Shavni moved like a wraith from one chamber to the next, slipping through shadow and silence. Her limbs felt strange to her, as if they had grown longer and looser in the heat of the encounter, as if she must relearn how they fit together. Only when she reached the dim, secret alcove did the muscles begin to remember their cunning. Groto, priest and schemer, stood waiting with eyes as ancient as the walls around him, calm in the wake of the storm that battered her into submission and rage. Her gaze met his, the fury still bright behind it, and for a long moment there was only the crackle of flames and the shared knowledge of what had been endured and planned. She wiped at her brow, at the scattered remains of cum and sweat, and finally broke the silence. “The seed is planted,” she said. The trace of a smile ghosted Groto’s lips, but his words were careful as he spoke: “You risk much for your ambition.” “I risk what I must,” Shavni answered, more breath than voice. “And you must as well, to summon Megadeath.”



Their world was soft with whispers, flames casting sly shadows over walls crowded with Martian symbols. The intimacy of the alcove pulled them close, nearer than Dokur’s Phallus had pulled her to the line between ecstasy and death. “A living seed may yet split its pod,” Groto replied, those ancient eyes upon her, reading the signs of pain and power on her skin. Shavni watched him with molten defiance, taking control of each breath as if it were the pulse of war. She could still feel Morg and Molled stretching in her depths, leaving their hot, raw chaos to mark her. She could still feel the sting of surrender, of Megadeath’s whore and demon slut broken open for a brutal reign. “I hold my pod together,” she said, each word thick and dripping with promise.

Her hand, trembling with exhaustion and thrill, moved to her mouth to catch a drop of sweat, a trace of kingly release. Her body shivered, grasping at air instead of flesh, feeling empty and bright and ready. Groto stood as solid and untouched as the stone that circled them, but the eagerness in his voice showed his hand as a conspirator. “Their seed, their force,” he said, half mused and half directed. “Both are needed for your plan to take root.” Shavni gave him a scornful nod, reclaiming her breath and poise. “Then your faith was well placed. It grows, and my ambition with it.” “You have done much, endured much,” Groto allowed, each word unfolding like prophecy. “But to overthrow kings is to court oblivion.” “It is to claim power,” she returned, calm despite her raw, flushed skin.



He watched her with a steady silence, his mind dancing beneath the surface of an unfathomable calm. It was an eternity, or the blink of an eye, before he broke that silence with a single nod. “They will not release their hold lightly.” It was Shavni’s turn to wait, to let the torches speak their language of shadow and smoke, to let the depths that were the envy of her soul make promises and plead. Groto filled the space with quiet waiting, with a wordless anticipation. She held his gaze, fierce and unblinking, until he was forced to speak. “Are you prepared?” he asked, like a high priest ready to bless or banish. “I am,” she answered, her voice the equal of his patience, a sinner’s whisper, a rebel’s song.



They came together in their need for overthrow, in the rebellion that only two outsiders could fully know. Shavni moved closer, brought her breath and body nearer the ancient being than even she dared go. “If you doubt my resolve, you have forgotten what it is to burn with desire,” she told him, no longer more breath than voice. “It will be done,” Groto assured her, leaning into the urgency of their plan. “I will invoke Megadeath. The Phallus of Dokur is a great power.” She heard the catch in his voice as he spoke the words, the unmeasured cadence of excitement where control had been. “Its equal will be summoned. You will have what you need to end the kings’ hold.”



Her gaze was fire and ice, passion and calculation, youth and wisdom. “It must be,” she said. “And soon.” “And soon,” he echoed, with the finality of prayer. The heat from the burning torches and from her skin, from the words they whispered, filled the chamber with its promise. His steady gaze found its reflection in her storming eyes, in the turbulence she embraced. “You are right to risk,” he said. The trace of a smile played her lips. “Of course.” He let her own certainty end the matter. “Then I will go. This time, I will not go empty.” Her words remained long after her body left the chamber: promises, plans, echoes of an ambition so reckless and so necessary, only the slave queen herself could own them.

 

[put_in]

Should I continue the story?

 

[spritemathews]

Super

 

[put_in]

Scroll 5​

I stood in the vast, dimly lit hall on Mars, my pulse pounding as I watched Morg and Molled stride forward to address the assembled Martians. Morg’s voice cut through the oppressive silence with measured, unyielding commands—each word dripping with hidden threats—and Molled’s erratic pacing and violent outbursts punctuated his unpredictable nature, making my skin crawl with a mix of fear and perverse fascination. All the while, my eyes remained fixed on Shavni—our infamous demon slut, Megadeath's whore—bound in a pillory at the center, her rigid form betraying a subtle tension that promised both exquisite torment and brutal domination. I couldn’t help but feel repulsed and aroused by her presence, a living symbol of obscene power, while the crowd around me watched with bated breath, their collective gaze a twisted blend of terror and lust that foreshadowed the savage display about to unfold. In that final heartbeat before chaos erupted, I clenched my fists and drew a shuddering breath, the tense silence marking the end of this fragile moment of anticipation.



“Subjects of Mars,” Morg declared, his words echoing with cold authority. “Behold your punishment. Behold your queen.” He gestured to Shavni, her restrained form a spectacle of grotesque beauty. The atmosphere around me thickened with anticipation, a suffocating miasma of sweat and greed that mingled with the harsh scent of torches burning above. Morg’s sharp features stood out against the dim backdrop, his tall figure casting a shadow that seemed to engulf even the furthest reaches of the hall. I watched him with a mix of awe and dread, feeling the weight of his presence in every fiber of my being. The fear he instilled was absolute, yet his voice carried a dark allure that left me wanting to hear more, even as I longed to shut it out.



“Weakness,” Morg continued, his tone as unyielding as iron, “will not be tolerated.” His gaze swept across the crowd, freezing the breath in my lungs. I felt exposed, though I knew I was just one among many in this assembly. Even from the farthest reaches of the hall, his stare seemed to single me out, demanding submission with a terrifying certainty. Around me, Martians cowered and shifted, their collective tension a silent testament to Morg’s ruthless grip on power. Yet beneath their terror, I sensed a darker desire stirring, a hunger that mirrored my own and bound us all in a twisted anticipation of the cruelty about to unfold.



Molled’s voice crashed into Morg’s measured declarations with the force of a collapsing star. “Suffer!” he roared, his scowl a mask of fury as he brandished his massive fist toward Shavni. The pillory trembled with the impact, yet her form remained rigid, betraying nothing of what was to come. Molled’s hulking figure radiated a raw, violent energy that made the ground feel unsteady beneath my feet. He paced like a caged predator, his armored body gleaming with every erratic movement. Each unpredictable outburst sent a shiver through me, both thrilling and terrifying in its ferocity. I watched him with wide eyes, feeling a sick fascination with his brutal display of dominance. He was power and chaos incarnate, a living threat that both repulsed and mesmerized me.



I turned my gaze back to Shavni. Her body, taut with anticipation, was the axis on which this entire dark world spun. She was Megadeath’s whore, offered up for the Martians' pleasure and torment. My mind raced with the implications of her position—a slave queen, bound and exposed, the focus of every twisted desire in the room. She stood as a symbol of obscene power and submission, her predicament both horrifying and irresistible. Despite my revulsion, I couldn’t look away. My pulse quickened with each shuddering breath she took, and I wondered if the others could see me tremble, if they knew I was as captivated by her as they were.

The crowd’s breath seemed to catch in unison, a thousand gasps stifled by the magnitude of the scene before us. The air hung heavy with anticipation, charged with the tension of an approaching storm. Martian nobility and slaves alike pressed closer, their eyes locked on Shavni with a greedy mixture of terror and lust. I watched them with a distant detachment, my own arousal mingling with disgust at our collective depravity. Even in my state of suspense, I felt like an outsider, a careful observer drowning in a sea of raw, unrestrained emotion. The display we awaited promised to strip away every layer of decorum and pretense, leaving us bare and exposed to its savage truth.



Morg’s voice sliced through the tension again, pulling me back into the moment. “Your queen will learn her place.” His words were a dark promise, reverberating with a certainty that left no room for doubt. I felt the weight of those words settle on me like a physical force, pressing against the hollow space in my chest where fear and excitement danced in a forbidden embrace. I clenched my fists, willing myself to breathe, to remain composed in the face of this overpowering spectacle. The dread of what was to come gnawed at me, yet beneath it lay a dangerous thrill, a forbidden curiosity that refused to be silenced.



“Let her bleed!” Molled bellowed, his sudden outburst echoing through the chamber and stirring a frenzy in the crowd. Shavni remained silent, a study in rigid defiance, yet I thought I saw her fingers twitch, a small gesture that hinted at the exquisite torment awaiting her. My own skin tingled with anticipation as I imagined the full extent of her ordeal. She was more than just a woman in chains; she was the embodiment of all we feared and craved, a mirror reflecting our darkest desires. Her suffering would be our spectacle, and I was both sickened and compelled by the part I knew I would play as witness to her degradation.



As Morg and Molled took their positions, I could feel the air shift, an almost imperceptible quiver that ran through the assembled Martians like an electric charge. We stood on the precipice of chaos, our collective breath held in a desperate bid to delay the inevitable. I drew my eyes back to Shavni, her stillness more damning than any scream, and found myself trembling with a mix of loathing and anticipation. The moment before me felt fragile, a delicate shell about to shatter under the weight of its own tension. With a shuddering breath, I braced myself for the brutal display to begin, knowing it would change everything.

Scroll 6​

I watched from the shadows on a raised platform as Morg and Molled revealed Dokur’s Phallus, that spiked, gleaming fuck-stick charged with a sinister energy, and began their macabre performance before our stunned audience. Morg methodically thrust with a cold, calculated precision, while Molled followed with rough, sudden movements that forced Shavni—a bound, screaming cunt—into a rhythm of unbearable pain and forbidden pleasure, her involuntary cries slicing through the hall. Every brutal impact, every metallic clatter against her flesh and every guttural moan from her twisted lips signaled not just relentless violence but a feral, explicit display of power that made my stomach churn and my mind race with both dread and arousal. In that moment, as I witnessed the kings forcefully bang her body, the explicit symphony of raw domination and debased desire left me trembling, caught between the shock of seeing such explicit, twisted brutality and the whispered promises of rebellion echoing among the horrified Martians. As the final, brutal clang of metal faded into suffocating silence, I stepped back, my eyes fixed on the lifeless arrest of the display—a definitive end that ushered in the next, uncertain chapter of our dark reality.



I had not imagined Dokur’s Phallus could exist, yet there it was: a vile instrument of our gods’ obscene will. It glowed with a pulsing malevolence, each of its wicked spikes ready to tear flesh from defiant spirit. I struggled to look away but failed, the magnetic draw of its awful power greater than my resolve. Even in the shadows, I felt its presence hum through the air, vibrating with the promise of exquisite cruelty. Morg and Molled handled it with reverent authority, their roles as brutal arbiters of our fate never clearer than in that moment. I knew, with gut-wrenching certainty, that every scream it tore from Shavni would be an offering, every moment of her degradation a savage testament to their control.



Morg took the phallus first, his movements deliberate and calm, the embodiment of relentless efficiency. “She will break,” he intoned, and I felt the weight of his words shiver through me, an icy confirmation of the inevitable. He thrust with a slow, rhythmic precision that pierced Shavni’s taut form and drew from her a high, keening wail. She was a screaming cunt, and he worked her with methodical care, each cold penetration calculated to maximize both pain and submission. The metallic clatter of the stick echoed through the chamber, a chilling counterpoint to her ragged cries. I watched, transfixed, as her suffering unfolded with terrible beauty—a debased spectacle that both horrified and mesmerized me. My breaths came fast and shallow, my arousal a shameful burn beneath the sick dread of witnessing such raw, explicit power.



As Morg continued his ruthless work, Shavni’s moans grew more guttural, each tortured sound a signal of her breaking. I saw the twisted pleasure mingling with agony on her lips, a perverse testament to the exquisite torment she endured. She was the bound plaything of the kings, her body used to assert their unyielding dominance over all of us. Every brutal thrust stripped away another layer of defiance, leaving her bare and exposed to our collective depravity. I thought I would be sick, but the overwhelming urge to see more overpowered even my disgust.



Then Molled joined, his sudden movements contrasting sharply with Morg’s cold precision. He was raw force unleashed, his violence more unpredictable and savage with every thrust. Shavni’s cries turned into ragged screams, her body wrenched into a new, unbearable rhythm. I felt the impact of each thrust like a punch to my own gut, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the awful spectacle. Her chains rattled in discordant harmony with the clang of metal against flesh, each note a stark reminder of the brutality that gripped our world. My mind raced, caught between the visceral horror of what I saw and the dark allure that seeped into my thoughts. I wondered how many felt as I did, unable to reconcile the mix of disgust and arousal that consumed me.

“Bleed!” Molled shouted, his face contorted with vicious glee. I could see the fear etched on the faces of those around me, mirroring my own and binding us together in our futile resistance against the kings’ obscene display. Shavni’s screams were frantic, her voice hoarse from the strain of matching their relentless rhythm. With each thrust, the lines between pain and pleasure blurred, until even the Martian nobles closest to the platform could no longer pretend they were separate. I watched their shifting expressions, their horror slowly giving way to something darker, an acceptance of the raw truth laid bare before us.



The violence continued, an endless barrage that shook the walls and left Shavni’s body slick with sweat and despair. Her involuntary responses were as explicit as the thrusts themselves, each spasm a testament to the brutal dance forced upon her. She was an object, a slut caught in the most obscene web, and I was both horrified by her degradation and fascinated by the terrible beauty of her use. I watched her writhe and felt myself twist along with her, each brutal impact sending a shiver of conflicted emotion through my entire being.



The other Martians stood as transfixed as I was, their initial shock turning into a quieter, more resigned horror. Whispers of rebellion seemed to wither in the face of such raw, undeniable power. The kings had reminded us all of our place, and I saw the dark truth of it reflected in every averted gaze and every lust-filled stare. Yet even in our collective shame, I sensed an undercurrent of resistance—a dangerous hope that refused to die, though it lay buried beneath the oppressive weight of the display.



As the brutal clang of metal faded, so too did the kings’ savage performance. Shavni’s screams ebbed into an eerie silence, her form hanging limp and lifeless. I took a step back, feeling the weight of what I had witnessed settle over me like a suffocating shroud. Every fiber of my being was alive with the memory of her degradation, every corner of my mind consumed by the implications of the act. I knew I had seen more than just a display of twisted domination—I had seen a challenge, an obscene declaration of the future we faced.



In that moment of suspended reality, the Martians around me began to stir, their shock giving way to murmured conversations and exchanged glances. We were forever changed by what we had seen, our dark truths exposed with every thrust of Dokur’s spiked phallus. As the kings withdrew, I remained in the shadows, my eyes locked on the silent aftermath. I knew we would never be the same, yet I clung to the dangerous hope that the next chapter of our reality, however uncertain, would not leave us so helpless in its wake.

 

[put_in]

Scroll 7​

I stood hidden in the shadows, the only safe place in the cavernous hall where Groto delivered his cryptic prophecy. He moved like a spectral marionette beneath the eerie lights, his gaunt silhouette casting crooked shadows. Each chilling word, uttered in an ancient Martian tongue, landed like a stone on the breathless crowd. “Doom’s Day awakens in the red dust,” he said, the booming voice and slow sweep of his hands a chilling mockery of authority. Faces showed fear and reluctant hope as they hung on his every word. Silence so thick it threatened to suffocate us all pressed against my ears as my heart pounded and I caught every furtive glance exchanged between him and Shavni.



Groto stood beneath shifting lights that cast an otherworldly glow across the hall. His skeletal figure loomed with haunting grace, fingers stretching like pale spiders from voluminous sleeves. His robes danced with cryptic symbols, a language known only to those steeped in the mysteries of Mars. He turned the great space into his stage, every movement slow, deliberate, each a silent command that held the gathered masses in thrall. As I watched, hidden from sight, I marveled at his theatrical mastery, how he seemed both ancient and eternal, a conjurer of destiny and dread. My pulse quickened, knowing the gravity of his words, the dark path he set before us all.



I took in the crowd, their faces as much a spectacle as Groto’s performance. Desperation and belief warred in their eyes, a motley assembly of humans and Martian hybrids who pressed together beneath the vaulted ceiling. Every shuffling step, each rustle of ragged cloth, fell still as Groto's voice rose again. The air was electric, expectant, thick with a cocktail of hope and terror. I felt their tension creep into my skin, saw it etched in their wide, pleading eyes. How they strained to catch every word, every gesture, as if salvation and doom rested on the slender thread of Groto’s prophecy.



“Doom's Day awakens in the red dust,” Groto intoned again, his words an incantation of inevitability. He spread his arms wide, a blackened mockery of a savior, his hands sweeping slowly toward the darkened recesses of the hall. Shadows flickered across his gaunt face, lending it a spectral and inhuman quality. He paused, letting the enormity of his pronouncement settle like a death knell on the ears of those below. His eyes, dark and unreadable, scanned the room with a piercing intelligence that knew all the secrets, all the fears. My breath caught as he continued to speak, layering his prophecy with promises of cosmic upheaval and transformation.



From my hiding place, I watched every glance, every subtle shift. Shavni stood regal and composed, her face a mask of attentive submission. But I knew her too well; I saw the moments when her gaze locked with Groto's, an exchange of understanding and hidden intent. She played the role of a loyal believer to perfection, a picture of queenly beauty draped in a web of conspiracy. I wondered at the depth of her ambitions, her cunning in the face of Groto’s apparent dominion. Did they share a vision, or was each merely a player in the other’s grand design? The air was too charged, too pregnant with meaning, for their alliance to be mere show.

I could barely keep pace with my own thoughts, heart pounding like a trapped bird, my position both vantage and prison. I watched the theatrical pronouncement unfold, felt the relentless pressure of Groto's booming words and the crowd's unbearable silence. It was as though the very walls of the hall leaned in, listening, judging, waiting. I was an intruder in this world of mystical certainty, a quiet observer to a spectacle of destiny and deceit.



Groto’s prophecy took on an increasingly ominous tone, the language twisting through doom and despair, promises of reckoning and rebirth. "The breath of life withers," he chanted, "the seed of Mars burns bright." His voice wrapped the room in a smothering cocoon of fatalism. I saw the crowd teetering on the edge of hope and despair, some faces falling into shadows of fear, others uplifted by a fanatic glow. I felt their emotions bleed into my own, the tension ratcheting tighter, the pressure mounting. It was a performance both brutal and mesmerizing, and I was caught in its vise.



Even as I observed, the air pressed heavier against me, a dense cloak of unease. My role as observer felt tenuous, my presence an accident of birth and circumstance. I watched from the sidelines of a world spiraling toward its fate, knowing I belonged yet knowing I didn’t. My mind raced with the possibilities, the outcomes, the roles each of us might play in the unfolding prophecy. I couldn’t look away; I didn’t dare breathe.



Groto wound down his pronouncement, his voice weaving the final threads of fear and hope into a tapestry of submission. The crowd’s breath was collective and ragged, a low murmur rising like the exhalation of souls given both death and life. “This world ends as it began,” Groto finished, “in silence and in blood.” His authority was complete, the fear he wielded absolute. My heart thundered as I took it all in, feeling the gravity of the moment press against my chest like an iron weight. I was both witness and victim to the gathering's madness.



Shavni moved with elegance even here, her attention fixed on Groto, her loyalty seemingly unbreakable. But I knew better. I saw the narrowing of her eyes, the briefest hints of something dangerous and cunning beneath the surface. She played her part, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was two steps ahead of everyone else, her mind working feverishly behind the mask of faith. The union of Groto’s prophecy and Shavni’s ambition set the air ablaze with tension, a slow-burning fuse lit by dark promises and forbidden alliances.



The hall began to empty, a tide of anxious believers drifting toward the exits, their murmurs growing as they processed what they had heard. I stayed in the shadows, unwilling to move, my mind awhirl with the implications of what I’d seen. Groto’s words rang in my ears, Shavni’s unreadable glances etched into my thoughts. The sense of impending doom, of futures as yet unwritten, settled into my bones like a sickness. I was both terrified and transfixed, my place in this unfolding drama uncertain and vital.



I watched until the last of the crowd dispersed, the hall empty but for its lingering echoes of prophecy and fear. My heart pounded with a desperation I could scarcely understand. What was my role in this dance of power and doom? What would I choose to be: mere witness, or something more? These questions cut through me, leaving me breathless and alone in the shadowed hall.

Scroll 8​

From my hiding place, I watched Groto lead Shavni away from the public forum and into the private chamber. A flickering, unnatural glow lit Dokur’s massive idol, its stone surface an eruption of forbidden symbols. They didn’t hesitate. Shavni was bare as Groto’s relentless hands moved against her sensuous, deliberate body. Her eyes locked onto his with feral hunger. I could barely move as I witnessed the raw interplay of power and desire. They engaged in every act, a physical and erotic battle, until their combined cries rang off the walls and their bodies collapsed.



I froze in the shadows, my heart a frenzied rhythm, as Shavni responded to Groto’s every touch with a fierce, animal intent. Her body was a weapon of lust, deliberate in its motions, calculating in its abandon. She wrapped herself around him like a serpent, her breath hot against his skin. The world narrowed to the slap of flesh and the growl of Groto’s voice as he whispered of Megadeath’s path. His hands were calloused and commanding, yet Shavni met each movement with deliberate defiance.



The chamber itself felt alive, complicit in their coupling. The idol of Dokur loomed, a silent, stone sentinel, its surface alive with forbidden symbols that glowed with an eerie, flickering light. Their naked bodies seemed to writhe in defiance of its judgment. The air shimmered with heat and sweat and something ancient, a primal energy that pulsed in time with their frenzied rhythm. I stood transfixed, unable to look away as the scene unfolded, the forbidden acts unfolding with a brutal clarity.



Groto’s dominance was apparent in the way he gripped Shavni, his hands rough against her skin. "Our union seals the path to Megadeath," he murmured, his voice thick with lust and conviction. Shavni responded with a moan that was both carnal and triumphant, her eyes locked onto his with a challenge that went beyond the physical. I watched, a captive witness, as they fucked like demons in heat, the air vibrating with their raw, primal need. Their bodies were a battlefield, and the intensity left me breathless.

Groto moved against Shavni with fervor, her deliberate responses like waves crashing over him. I felt the world blur as their movements became more frantic, more explicit, the details seared into my mind. Groto’s breathless comments revealed his belief in the ritual's purpose, but I sensed something more, layers of intent beneath the act itself. The room seemed to pulse with their combined desire, their every motion an invocation, an unholy prayer.



Their cries echoed off the stone walls, filling the chamber with the sound of their brutal, beautiful passion. It was a display of power and surrender, of dominance and compliance. I could barely stand the intensity, my heart a riot in my chest as they climaxed with an abandon that seemed impossible. Even in the height of their shared ecstasy, I sensed an undercurrent, a sense that this was more than just sex, that plans and schemes unfolded beneath the surface of their gasps and cries.



It was more than sex; it was war, a clash of bodies and wills that left nothing untouched. They fucked like enemies and lovers, Groto's face twisting between desire and certainty, Shavni’s eyes alight with something wild and cunning. I watched her take charge, pinning him beneath her, riding him with relentless vigor. Groto responded in kind, their bodies a blur of skin and sweat and aching need. It was an act of defiance as much as desire, a ritual as much as a surrender.



The frenzied pace of their ritual intensified, the chamber alive with their obscene, powerful harmony. I could barely watch, overwhelmed by the force of what I saw. Their stamina seemed limitless, their abandon a raw, bleeding edge. I felt the heat of it sear into my mind, each moment more intense, more desperate, more charged.



Shavni’s reactions were like glimpses into her schemes, each calculated gasp suggesting a deeper plan. Even in the throes of their passion, she seemed to control more than her body, her mind racing ahead, orchestrating more than just the act. The power shifted subtly but unmistakably as Groto succumbed to her. His breath came fast and ragged as he whispered of invoking Megadeath. Shavni rocked against him with renewed ferocity, the air charged with the depth of their forbidden union.



I was shocked by the intensity, the relentless fervor of their coupling. It was an act that seemed to transcend time and space, an unending testament to both their bodies and their will. Shavni played her role with perfection, yet I felt her orchestrating more than just this act, her influence spreading like a shadow, enveloping everything.



As the furious rhythm finally slowed, they shifted seamlessly to a new kind of intimacy, discussing plans with the same intensity as their sex. Groto's words were meticulous and strategic, guiding the path they had just sealed with their bodies. Shavni's responses were layered with both agreement and deeper schemes. Their connection was undeniable, yet I sensed the intrigue that lay beneath, the depths that remained unspoken.







As their bodies finally collapsed, Shavni's eyes narrowed with the confidence of someone who knows they've already won. I watched the way they engaged, the intensity of their bodies and their whispered plans, and saw future conspiracies unfolding. They had fucked with a devotion to power, not just each other, and I couldn't help but wonder if they had sealed more than a path to Megadeath. Uneb saw how deep their alliance ran, yet sensed Shavni’s schemes. The acts ended, but their connection hinted at future conspiracies.



Their voices filled the chamber with echoes, wrapping around me until I could barely breathe. I slipped away, my heart racing with a hundred new questions, each more urgent than the last. My curiosity and turmoil deepened, knowing what I witnessed was critical, knowing it would change everything.

 

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Scroll 9​

I hid in the shadowed hall behind the commanding general’s door, a silent ghost in a soldier’s world. I’d seen her go to work on a man before, but watching my mom strut her demonic stuff never failed to enthrall, to disturb. Her body draped only in a transparent wisp of a cape, she prowled into the chamber. The lamp’s flame sputtered like it knew what was coming. She took him in with one greedy glance, my powerful mother and her disciplined prey. My place was supposed to be elsewhere, and yet I couldn’t look away.



She crossed the room with slow, hypnotic steps, each tap of her foot claiming the ground beneath her. Ornido stood at the ornate window, a military man carved from iron and protocol, utterly unaware that he was about to become a naked general in more ways than one. My mom—the infamous demon slut herself—was about to make short work of him. She had that effect on men, even powerful ones like Ornido. Especially powerful ones like him. The air between them weighed a ton, thick and charged with lust. She glided closer, her voluptuous curves barely hidden beneath the clinging veil that only made her nudity more explicit.



Her hips swung like they had a mind of their own, deliberate and devastating, each step like a silent promise to dismantle his disciplined soul. She knew I was watching, but it never mattered to her. I was the least of her concerns. My heart pounded as she closed the distance, the raw anticipation nearly choking me. This was what she did, how she lived. How we all lived, in her shadow. Her fingers stretched toward Ornido, every movement an erotic spectacle, but he didn’t turn, didn’t flinch, kept staring out the window like he might find an escape out there. His body was not so sure. I saw the tiniest of twitches. My mother and I had front row seats to his unraveling.

Her fingertips danced near his arm, a hairsbreadth from sealing his fate. She held them there, an unholy promise. I could see it happening in slow motion. His body began to betray him, his soldier’s bearing softening against the onslaught of her seduction. Ornido kept his back to her, his last, fragile stand. A lost cause. She bore into him with eyes like a pair of dirty secrets, everything in them a challenge he couldn’t hope to resist. His stoic expression started to melt. Was there a man on Mars who could resist my mother? This man wouldn’t be the first.



Her expression glowed with triumph as she made him hers, as inevitable as a conqueror’s march. The general didn’t stand a chance. Megadeath’s whore at work, but right then she seemed more like a goddess. In another heartbeat, her touch would crack the armor of his reserve. She circled him like a wolf with a wounded deer. Ornido turned, slow and heavy, admitting defeat before he’d even opened his mouth. His eyes found hers, already burning with the heat she lit in him, unable to look anywhere else.



The lamp flickered, barely illuminating the thick, breathless air. It was like a fuse ready to blow, the room electric with everything my mother brought to men like him. It was like she fed off their self-control, and I’d watched it happen more times than I cared to count. A raw, unfiltered fuck. That’s what it would be. It was her power. His undoing. I hugged the wall and tried to look away, to run, to unsee it. But I stayed, transfixed.



The general’s ironclad self-discipline shattered like it always did, and my mom’s lecherous grin said she’d known it from the start. His mouth moved, a word I couldn’t hear. A prayer or a curse. I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to win or lose. She danced circles around him, toying, triumphant, sure of herself and of him. I saw his body succumb before he even touched her, saw the collapse of everything he thought he was. In the echo of my mind, a single whisper: Megadeath’s whore in action.



His rigid frame buckled like a soldier surrendering. She didn’t even bother to close the door.

Scroll 10​

I held my breath at the edge of Ornido’s bedchamber, knowing exactly what to expect and still unable to accept it. The door gaped open like it was hungry to devour the scene inside, to devour me. Ornido had dropped his reserve in the other room, and now my mom had him dropping everything else. I watched her throw him down like so many others, and the raw, uncaring light of the planet's moons exposed the nature of the bang she had planned for him. I edged closer, each movement silent and shameful. Her hand hooked his collar, leading him to the large, low bed. I could tell she knew exactly what she wanted. From him. From me.



The room was lavishly decorated with polished stone and tapestries that whispered more than I’d ever dare, but it felt as cold as my mother’s ambition. Crisp, dark sheets waited for her prey. She didn’t wait at all. Her fingers tangled in Ornido’s military uniform, the fabric of his clothes at war with her intentions. I saw his lips move, maybe begging, maybe lost, but already at her mercy. It hadn’t taken long. It never did. I lingered just outside, a captive audience. He thought he was inside, but they were both inside my world.



Pale light fell through an open window, turning them into something stark, raw, and utterly shameless. She thrived on this. So did I. I wondered if Ornido had ever lost control this completely, or if my mom was more of a challenge than he could handle. I wondered if she’d ever worked this fast. I wondered why I kept watching. Her mouth curved into a cruel smile as she guided him toward the bed. Ornido collapsed under her guidance, the general gone and nothing left but a desperate man who'd pay anything for the wild ride she was about to give him.



I crept nearer, not ready to admit how much I needed to see it. She got him onto his back, a triumph that even I was beginning to envy. Her legs spread on either side of him, locking him in like a prisoner with a lifetime sentence, the sheet beneath him already stained from previous casualties. Ornido’s eyes were as wide as his need. His body twitched with raw anticipation. Her naked form hovered over him, a delicious specter he was both hungry for and terrified of. She took her time. She never rushed a job.



Her cunt pressed against his chest, damp, inviting, but only giving him the edge of what he craved. Her thighs wrapped around him, relentless, tight, denying, giving him just enough to keep him hers. He was in deeper than I’d ever been. She looked as powerful as he looked helpless. The air crackled with desire. She was everything. Ornido was nothing but want. And yet she wanted more.

Her lips grazed his ear, setting off shivers I could see from across the room. He was supposed to be the strong one. She didn’t seem to care. Her warm breaths tickled him, each one a masterstroke, a teasing mockery. His chest heaved with the kind of panic I knew well. Her eyes were merciless, demanding the last ounce of what little discipline he had left. Her soft, erotic whispers might have killed a lesser man.



Ornido’s body strained against the bed, every muscle trying to give in. I saw it all. I couldn’t look away. He wanted to release, an explosive cum that he’d never thought possible. He had a lot to learn. I saw his mouth open, a silent, gaping O, as if the thrill of it all was too much. My mom straddled him, as smooth and relentless as the rumors. He looked like he was drowning. Her hips shifted. His mouth turned into a snarl of pleasure. But she was a master of making men wait. It was her special skill.



I watched her drag him to the very edge, poised to send him over the cliff. I watched myself enjoy the sick show. Would he explode with ecstasy, or was she leaving room for desperation? There was always time for both. He was going to pay for it all. She was going to win, the way she always did. I was going to stay and witness, to my shame, to my fascination. She kept him dangling. I kept watching. And I wasn’t sure who’d break first.



Her hips were slick. His need was wet. Her ruthless grin sealed it all as I saw Ornido quiver like he was ready to die. My mother didn’t miss a beat. The sheets didn’t miss a stain. Even the faint smell of piss said that they’d done this dance before. I watched with deep horror, with deeper thrill, as she rocked him with the sheer pleasure of making him wait, of taking it all, of doing it again and again and again. And I wondered when I’d join him.

 

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Should I continue?

 

[put_in]

No comments! I think I'm wasting my time here.