Lair of the Cryptmother Ch. 8 [Dark Fantasy][Body Horror][Light Gore][Noncon][Breeding][Preg]

**”Five Guys: Berserkers & Flies”**

A drop of water splashed onto Althea’s cheek. “Huh?” her voice croaked, hoarse from a medley of screaming, dehydration, and worm-laden kisses. She licked her lips, but grimaced at the sour taste. Judging by the cool puddle gathered on the floor beneath her cheek, and the sopping wet green robes clinging to her young, pregnant body, the priestess had been lying unconscious for quite a while. “Where am I now?” she groaned softly and slowly blinked. Darkness. In the nearly nonexistent light, Althea made out the rough surface of unworked stone near her. A wall? And two others. The light seemed to be coming from beneath a heavy wooden door at the opposite end of her small, 15-foot square cell. As if alerted to her awakening, the ripening wretch stirred in her inflated womb. She felt the thing slosh about with a playful energy, as if expressing its giddy enjoyment at the poor girl’s baleful predicament. “Ungh–Stop fussing already,” Althea sought to put it out of her mind, but she discovered that was impossible when she tried to sit up. Despite no longer feeling full of undead ogre cum, Althea’s belly had noticeably grown. By now she looked to be near full-term with twins.

Its ponderous bulk weighed heavy; like a fat, squirming bag of eels pinned atop her stomach. Her hand shakily reached toward the apex of her taut dome of flesh. To her dismay, Althea’s fingers found that the hard knot of her new outie belly button remained. Around the bump she felt two small dots and traced her fingers around another seven skull-shaped markings. Time was growing short. Althea’s tentacled offspring pressed its appendages outward, bulging the girl’s already taut tummy against her fingers, longing for its mother’s touch. Her slender, filth-stained digit slid down the underside slope of her tummy and warily touched her womanhood. It had a dull, throbbing ache, and she could feel her nether lips parted in a permanent gape. Althea slipped those wandering fingers into the open chasm of her pussy and felt the thick, sludgy remnants of her ogre consort’s discharge. She brought the sticky residue to her nose and gagged. There was no denying the horrors she endured. The brutal breeding was more than a mere nightmare. And yet at the mere thought of the ogre’s putrid, tumorous cock, Althea felt her pulsing nethers twitch with sinful urges.

“I need to escape…” she said softly, but that’s when a new scent caught her attention. After the revolting sensory overload of the rotten ogre’s pungent musk, this sickly stank was far less displeasing. It stank of pork gone bad, and seemed to be wafting from somewhere near the door. Althea struggled onto all fours, a position she felt safer than standing, considering her feeble condition and the darkness of the room and its slime-slick floor. Ignoring the humiliating, livestock-like stance, she crawled toward the door silhouetted in dim light, and what appeared to be a serving bowl nearby. With each shift of her ichor-stained legs, Althea felt her thighs bump the underside of her burdensome belly. She wagered that if it were any bigger it would’ve dragged on the floor.

But all that jostling drew her attention to the wobbling gravity of her breasts. No doubt about it, they also felt bigger. After getting a bit closer to the door, Althea took one of her tits into her hand and wobbled the soft flesh, gauging its heft. They must have easily doubled in size. By the goddess, her hand barely contained its mass. That’s when she felt something wet dribble between her knuckles and down the back of her hand. Althea gingerly brought it to her lips and had a taste. “Ugh! What?!” she gagged. The thick, creamy fluid tasted like breast milk… but wrong… tainted, as if it had spoiled before even leaving her bosom. Could this have been another sign of the cult’s corruption wracking her body? She let the breast flop back down atop the shelf of her domed tummy.

Althea plopped down onto her rump in front of the bowl. She couldn’t see them, but the sound of loud flies buzzed and flit around the bowl’s contents. She recognized the small crusted pastry that lay inside. It was another of the cult’s meat pies, but this one smelled as though it had long since expired; though the flies didn’t seem to mind. That’s when a deep growl rumbled through her stomach. Althea thought back. The last time she had eaten was breakfast the morning before she arrived at the Black Crab Inn.

By the goddess… that felt like ages ago. She had experienced so much horror and suffering on her journey. Even with great effort, she could not remember the faces of Fabian and Lorna… All that remained was the image of the poor dwarven woman bloated to grotesque proportions by the wretched black fungus. “Is that to be my fate? What exactly does this cult need with me? Why am I still alive? Why must I endure all of this torment?” Althea’s mind reeled, but her stomach shattered the emotional spiral. Before anything else, she would need to eat to keep up her strength–to escape. The priestess knew that if she allowed herself to fall into despair, she would never see the light of day again.

“I can’t eat that… it’s wrong–it’s people, for Helestria’s sake!” she hissed, balling her fists atop her thighs. Or at least the part of her thighs not covered by her tremendous broodbelly. That’s when she felt something warm and wet drizzle down the curve of her tumescent middle. The priestess glanced down. Her milk was coming in, and with great resolve. Mother’s milk contained a great deal of nourishment… but she had already tasted it, and it bore a foul tainted flavor. She feared what effects it would have on her health. Though how much worse could it be than a pie made of rotten human flesh? Althea’s grime-smudged brows furrowed in conflict, and her belly gave another defiant growl.

Unfortunately, her internal debate would not see its end, as the sound of footsteps and voices approached. Hissed whispers and devious cackles were followed by the jangling of iron keys, and the door swung open, bathing the room in torchlight. Althea’s eyes had to adjust, but when she saw who had come to her cell, her heart sank into depths yet unseen.

Althea blinked hard into the torchlight. Through her blurry vision, she discerned five figures of varying height and size. They all seemed to be humanoid in stature, but their robes and the sudden blinding light left her momentarily dazed. The tallest of the three, who must have stood over six and a half feet tall, lowered his hood. With her focus returning, Althea scowled at his blatant corruption. He had a stocky build, not unlike the ogre–though thankfully not nearly as big–, but it was his head that left a sour lump in the girl’s stomach. A ring of oozing pustules wreathed his bald scalp like a diadem of disease. Streams of bile and pus ran down every side of his head in brackish rivulets.

“Looks like she’s finally awake,” he chuckled and split his yellow smile into a lewd grin. He folded his arms and silently nodded toward her. Two of the other men strode into the meager cell and immediately grabbed both of her arms, keeping her from scuttling away.

“Let me go, you monsters!” Althea thrashed in their grip, but that’s when one of the men put his other hand on her shoulder. It felt like the ogre, and when she looked, she saw his right arm was hideously disproportionate to the rest of his average body. Thick cords of muscle strained beneath red, stretched skin; numerous bony protrusions pierced out of the strained flesh like skeletal spikes. And by the looks of it, the hand sported six fingers. Demonic magic, no doubt.

“Easy, Ivan, we don’t want to break her,” the big man said to his muscly-armed accomplice. Ivan, still holding Althea still with his meaty grip, offered a gurgling chuckle in reply. She watched a bubble of bile pop between his dark, crusted lips before joining the many stains in his befouled beard. The big man turned to the other hooded cultist holding Althea and added, “I know your were looking forward to filling her up, Izaac, but you heard the boss. Edgar and I have top priority for desecration duty.” The brutish man in charge pointed at one of the other men beside him when saying the name Edgar. Desecration? That didn’t sound good. Althea craned her neck up to get a better look at the man called Izaac, and she gasped.

He also bore clear signs of corruption. Beneath his hood, one of his eyes appeared normal, but the other… the other was red, faceted, and bulged out of the socket, thrice the size of the other. It looked like the eye of a common housefly. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Izaac had no jaw. It was simply gone, as if torn off of his face. And instead of a tongue, it appeared that a floppy, hairy fly proboscis dangled out of his gaping maw. The sucker at the end of the tube flexed and twitched with excitement.

“What do you want with me?” Althea cried out, tears once again welling in her eyes. “Please! I-I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” Althea wriggled in their grasp again, but the panic sent her domed belly into a tantrum. The pale, grime-coated flesh stretched and strained, and Althea threw her head back in anguish, teeth clenched as she began hyperventilating. Then, as quickly as it began, the sensation stopped. And a new one took hold. Nausea returned with a vengeance, and Althea whipped her head forward just in time to vomit up a puddle of the black ichor and a half-dozen of those wretched, waxy worms.

“Ooh, zhe iz a lively one, Andre. I can’t wait to zee her zquirm,” Edgar spoke with a distinct buzz to his voice, playfully nudging his elbow into the big one’s ribs. Andre, crowned in nauseating pustules, frowned and jammed his own elbow hard into Edgar’s side, the heavy blow shoving him back and knocking off his hood. Edgar’s face seemed to be the least corrupted of the lot of them, but he had a constant swarm of flies circling his head and crawling in and out of his robes. Althea’s eyes dropped, and she saw one maggot after another fall out of his pant leg.

“Shut up, Edgar.” Andre rolled his shoulder and stepped toward Althea. Towering over the prostrated girl, he took a knee and clutched her chin between his fat fingers. “If you’re too stupid to figure out why we’re here, girlie, then you really are only good for breeding stock,” the big man laughed. His hot breath washed over her face, reeking of rotting teeth.

When Althea’s stomach let out a rumbling gurgle from her unsated hunger, Andre snapped his fingers. “Felix,” he barked, and the last of the men approached his side. Andre barely had to look up at the man, even on one knee, he was so tall. Though it didn’t help that this cultist stood with a stooped posture. Judging by his robes, he even had a distinct hunchback.

“Yes, Andre?” Felix lowered his own hood voluntarily, and Althea beheld a face and bald head covered in thick, coarse fly hairs. When he stood idly, he even wrung his hands like a housefly cleaning its forelegs.

“I know we were supposed to wait until tonight, but why don’t you go fetch the elixir. I think it’s time we help this breeding bitch fulfill her purpose,” Andre said with a gleeful leer. His fat hand scooped up one of her breasts. Despite the swelling and milk, they still looked small in his broad palm. “You’re going to birth the heir of Nihilipox, little priestess,” Andre spoke in a low, ominous tone. “Aren’t you excited to be a mother? Isn’t that the dream for you maidens of Helestria?” he let out a dark laugh. Felix turned his back to leave the room, and that’s when Althea saw the holes torn in the back of his robe. Atop his hunched back, she saw more of the thick fly hairs, but it also looked like his back was covered in some kind of hard, black carapace. And from the hunch hung two vestigial fly wings, like a diaphanous cloak of pestilence.

What elixir was he talking about? Was she to suffer another ritual? Or worse? Althea’s mind reeled, but again she was interrupted by wicked stirrings in her bloated womb.

The hunched, winged cultist departed, leaving the heavily-pregnant priestess with the remaining four. Andre, still holding her breast like a bag of gold coins, gave it a small squeeze. Althea winced and a spurt of the thick, spoiled milk jet across the top of her taut, grimy belly. Though vomiting up the slurry of ichor and worms eased her nausea some, Althea still suffered a terrible headache, and her body felt heavy and sluggish due to her burdensome, imminent motherhood. She licked her lips with thirst, and this elicited a chuckle from Edgar.

“Zhe lookz thirzty,” the fly-covered man sneered as he plucked his waterskin from his belt. Immediately, Althea’s eyes lit up. How long had it been since she last quenched her thirst. Even with the foul taste of her own milk tainting her tongue, her lips remained chapped and dry. “Do you need a zwig, my zweet?” he waggled his brows, causing a maggot to fall from his scalp like slimy dandruff. Andre glanced between the two of them with an expression of amused curiosity. Althea loathed these cruel men, but her bodily needs superceded her sense of dignity, at least in this moment. She gave Edgar a reluctant nod, he approached the prone, pregnant priestess. But when he uncorked the waterskin, he simply turned it upside down and let it pour out onto the filthy floor of the prison cell, wasting every drop. Despite her desperate dehydration, Althea still mustered a tear in the corner of her ocean blue eye. “Oh pleaze,” he mused, “Felixz will be back zoon with plenty to zate your thirzt.”

Althea’s attention snapped back to Andre. The burly man crowned with oozing sores rested his heavy hand atop her prominent dome of flesh. Her arms were free, but she knew better than to fight back. Even were she not so grotesquely pregnant, she would stand no chance against this many opponents. And without the grace of Helestria’s light, Althea’s heart only sunk further into despair. And so she endured the brute’s touch. “Oh, yes. You’re coming along nicely,” he murmured. “Who knew you would take to the ritual so well? The master certainly didn’t expect such a success.” Despite his gloating, Andre seemed particularly talkative among the members of this mysterious death cult. The small ember of hope in Althea’s heart flickered brightly. Perhaps, through him, the priestess might learn the wicked cabal’s intentions.

“What do you mean?” Althea sniffled, turning her head away from the man’s hand on her belly. His rough palm slid lower, now cupping the underside of her protruding dome. His thumb ran a circle around her outie navel, pausing over each skull of her cursed mark. Lower still, tracing his fat fingers back and forth across the warm flesh of her mons. Andre laughed.

“Did you think you were our first attempt? Ha! Not even close. We tried this same ritual a dozen times before we found the right girl,” the stocky cultist explained before rising to his feet. He loomed over her like a wall of a man. The collar and front of his robe parted some now, and she could make out familiar patches of the vile, black mold growing in spots on his chest and neck. Almost like a grisly leopard hide. Althea swore she saw some of the patches emit tiny puffs of black spores.

“W-What happened to the other girls?” Althea asked, unconsciously bringing her knees tighter together. Even as she asked, she felt her unborn offspring flip over inside her stretched womb. This sent another wave of dizzying nausea to her head, but it passed. Considering this was the longest she had gone without being raped by one of these monsters, her spawn was surprisingly more active than it had been during any of the ordeals. Was it nearing its birth? Regardless, Althea knew she was running out of time. She would have to play along until she found an opening.

“They were immediately zombified, little more than mindless husks. Or should I say mindless vessels,” Andre bore his yellow smile and plucked a wriggling worm from Edgar’s shoulder, holding it out toward the swollen priestess. “We always need more crawlers, so now they’re little more than womb cauldrons for maggots.” A hacking cough echoed from somewhere in the hallway, and a moment later hunchbacked Felix came into view bearing a tarnished, bronze goblet. “Ah, you’re back. Took you long enough,” Andre snorted before tossing the maggot into his mouth. He chewed it methodically and swallowed.

Her sister priestesses had been reduced to undead brood vessels? The horror of such a terrible fate shook Althea to the core, but she had little time to process the thought as Andre fully shed his robes. Althea’s eyes darted all over the man’s broad frame. Those cursed spots of black mold were everywhere. His chest, neck, back, arms… all over, like an inverted starry sky. Then he began untying the waistcord of his ragged trousers. Althea’s eyes darted between Andre’s pants and the newly-arrived goblet. What did they have in store now? Though the contents of the goblet remained a mystery, she could see a faint green glow illuminating the underside of Felix’s hairy chin. Before she could scramble deeper into the cell, she felt the huge, muscled hand of Ivan wrap around the back of her skull. The sheer size of it made it look like he was cradling a baby’s head. Althea’s panicked blue eyes shot between the grizzled brute holding her hair, and the spotted wall of a man disrobing in front of her.

“Bear witness to one of the many blessing of Nihilipox, girl,” Andre tore off his ragged pants and threw them aside. Althea simply gawked in horrified confusion. His cock was… wrong. Was it even a cock at all anymore? The density of the black mold condensed around his groin like a black, fungal carpet. There was no sign of a dick at all, just a pair of swollen, mold-covered testes. But when nothing happened, Andre looked down at his crotch and scowled. “Hmph. Guess I need some inspiration. Izaac, why don’t you have yourself a drink, mm?” Andre nodded his blistered head toward Althea, his eyes locked onto her modest, leaky chest. With great zeal, the jawless, bug-eyed man crouched in front of Althea and let his proboscis flop against her collarbone. She tried to squirm, but Ivan’s firm grip held her fast. She found herself unable to escape as the awkward, fleshy suction cup probed around her chest. It felt like a warm, sticky, rubbery pancake. After a moment it finally reached one of her nipples.

Like a fly to honey, Izaac let out a gurgling buzz of glee and furiously latched his proboscis onto her puffy, darkened nip. What was once an awkward suction now tripled. By Helestria, how did it hurt and feel good at the same time? The fleshy tube squeezed and tugged, but it needed little effort. A deluge of foul, spoiled milk erupted from the font of Althea’s breast, its excess dribbling down from the perimeter of Izaac’s sucker before cascading over her gravid, filth-stained belly. This caused another sloshing shuffle from the monster growing inside. Althea cursed the strange sensations pooling in her loins. Fully invested in the disgusting dairy delight, Izaac gripped the base of her modestly engorged bosom in both hands and began kneading the flesh. She was a priestess of Helestria, now reduced to a milk cow for these deformed and debaucherous madmen. Between her fast and shallow breaths, Althea glimpsed a disturbing transformation.

It seemed Andre found his inspiration. As he watched Izaac suckle at Althea’s tit, a portion of his black mold groin began sprouting a familiar mushroom stalk. Though this one was thicker than those she had seen with Lorna and Fabian. If anything it looked like… a cock. Althea’s stomach dropped. The tenebrous, fungal shaft looked spongy and fuzzy, though it held firm and rigid. With each swaying movement a miasma of black powder fell from its length. By Helestria, what was he going to do with that wretched thing?!

“That’s better. As I was saying–bear witness to the blessing of Nihilipox,” Andre said with a sneer. He stepped closer and snapped his fingers. When Izaac failed to detach himself from his gluttonous indulgence, Andre grabbed him by the back of the neck and ripped him away. The sharp tug on Althea’s teat made her yelp, but she found a brief moment of relief as the feverish suckling was beginning to numb her nipple. “Open wide, priestess, and accept our lord’s blessing.” Althea simply sat dumbstruck at the thick, moldcock that stood firm in front of her face. When she failed to obey, Andre snapped his fingers again, and Ivan pulled down on the back of her head, tilting her face up and causing the girl to involuntarily open her mouth. In that brief opening, Andre thrusted his hips forward and plunged his pungent prick between her chapped lips.

“Mmglph!” Althea gagged. By the goddess, it was so dry! The rough texture of his inhuman cock scraped her parched throat, and she could feel a powdery layer clinging to the insides of her cheeks and the top of her tongue like baking flour. To her surprise, it was not the worst thing she had tasted so far, though that only led her to worry that she was growing desensitized to the horrors she faced. But there was hardly any time to think as Andre pulled his dick out halfway and jammed it even further into her throat. “Ngmph!” The sawing motion continued for a few short minutes as the other men offered little more than wicked laughter. Finally his pace reached a new height before he buried his fungal dick all the way to the hilt. The patchwork of fuzzy black mold on the man’s crotch ticked Althea’s nose as her face was pressed into his groin. But what came next was not a torrent of seed, or a splattering of worms. Oh no, Althea was to suffer a new torment.

“Ngh, that’s it you little bitch. Take it all!” Andre let out a guttural growl as his mushroom cock plumped up inside her mouth before erupting a cloud of dry powder directly down her esophagus. It caked her throat even worse than the surface of his cock had, and everywhere it touched left a warm, tickling itch in its wake. “Ahhh, yeah. Take all my spores,” Andre grunted. Spent, he at last pulled his thick, spongy cock from her mouth. At the same time, Ivan released the back of her head and she was free to fall forward onto her hands and knees, gasping and coughing. Althea thought her throat was dry before, but now she literally could not breath. Each inhale seared her insides as if she had swallowed hot coals. Thoughts could not form in her mind, and her head spun. Was this it? Was she going to die here?

And only then did hunched, fly-wing Felix approach with the tarnished goblet. On one knee he offered the cup to her in a mockery of a wedding proposal. Even moments ago Althea would have denied them the satisfaction of her willingly accepting the unknown elixir, but with each raspy breath her will dissolved. The priestess of Helestria accepted the goblet and its ominous, bubbling green contents. It was a liquid and that was good enough for her. Anything to clear the putrid spores from her throat. Without even taking a moment to pray to her goddess, Althea brought the drink to her lips and guzzled it all down without spilling a drop. Incredible! Perhaps it was the recent sequence of traumatizing horrors, but this was arguably the best drink she ever tasted. It was cool, refreshing, and sweet. Not a hint of putrescence or corruption. The pain in her throat was gone, and the elixir had even washed away the taste of her rotten milk.

“Zhe didn’t hezitate at all. What a zweet, dutiful girl,” Edgar smirked as a fly crawled across his face and into one ear. Andre took a step back, leaving only strong-armed Ivan beside her. A tingling sensation ran throughout Althea’s whole body, but something deep within the girl’s core told her not to fear it. And for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of radiant light returned to Althea’s heart. Her trembling, blue eyes stared at the palm of her hand, and the priestess watched a small glow form in her grasp. Some way, somehow, her divine power had been restored. Did Helestria finally hear her pleas? Had she somehow regained the favor of her sacred goddess?

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kbwy7j/lair_of_the_cryptmother_ch_8_dark_fantasybody