…Sophie awoke slowly, as if surfacing from great depth. It was dark. She could hear muffled voices nearby, speaking a language she did not understand. She felt very weak, but surprisingly clear-headed, not something she’d expect after a night in the club… the night in the club… suddenly she did feel a little dizzy.
She tried to turn over, but a sharp tug at her wrist forced her back. She was handcuffed to the bed. Both wrists. She wanted to cry out, to call for help, but fought the urge: who knows who might hear her.
Sophie felt at her handcuffs. They did not feel like regular police handcuffs – not that she had any experience wearing those – but they were clearly heavier, chains much more massive. What was the word… she could not remember and that bothered her more, absurdly, than the fact that she was alone, chained to a strange bed in the dark and surrounded by people speaking no language she could recognize.
What happened at the club? She struggled to remember. She went there with Phoebe, but Phoebe split, leaving her alone. She had a couple shots of tequila. A nice man, looking vaguely Middle Eastern but not quite, danced with her. She remembered his hands on her waist, remembered how he looked at her… he seemed to really like her body, unlike a few others at that place who assumed she’d be easy just because she was big. The way he was watching her wide round hips… she was ready to go home with him. Did he put something in her drink? He really didn’t have to… she would have done whatever he told her, let him do whatever he wanted, just to feel his hands on more than just her waist…
Wrong. So wrong. What was she doing, thinking of sex in this situation? Shifting her hips! Honestly.
She was wearing some kind of a long white nightdress she did not remember owning. Someone brought her here and undressed her and put this on her, and cuffed her to the bed… oh come on, what was that word? But more importantly, what were these people going to do to her?
She was pretty sure she hasn’t been raped while she was out – nothing hurt, and… frankly, she blushed to admit it to herself, she couldn’t imagine feeling this inexplicably horny if she had been with a man recently. And she was inexplicably horny. She squeezed her plump thighs firmly together, but it only served to tease her.
A door squeaked and Sophie tried to sit upright, but her chains prevented her. She half-rose, her breathing heavy with fear, and frantically looked around.
Two men entered the room: one of them was the guy from the club, the other was unfamiliar to her, big and scary-looking, with a long beard and a big belly. They stopped at either side of the bed, looking down on her. The big one said something in the unfamiliar language she heard before, and the handsome one replied in the same language. It sounded like an agreement.
“Who are you?” Sophie demanded. “Where am I? What did you just say?”
“We are the servants,” the handsome man said in his slightly accented English, and the bearded one added, “we are the orphans.”
They leaned down simultaneously and detached Sophie’s chains from the bed, pulling on them, making the plump young woman get up. They started walking on either side of her and Sophie did not want them to drag her. There was no way she could overpower her captors: both were about a foot taller than her, and the bearded man definitely outweighed her, too. So she walked with them obediently. Maybe it was a mistake…
As they led her through the dimly lit house, Sophie looked at the men pleadingly, helplessly, her lower lip trembling.
“Please let me go. I will say nothing to anybody. You haven’t yet raped…” Her cheeks flushed unbearably hot when she realized what her “yet” implied, and there was a traitorous warmth in between her legs in response to this realization. Oh fuck, this was not her…
“You haven’t raped me,” she continued, almost without a stumble, “so this is all still a misunderstanding. I will not press charges… Just let me…” She stumbled there, flustered, suddenly unsure what it was they were supposed to let her. The big man’s hand brushed casually against her stiff nipple as he adjusted her thin gown, and even as Sophie bit her lip she could not contain a moan.
“Let me go, please…” she whimpered softly, not convincing even herself that she wanted to go. What was happening to her? Captive, kidnapped, taken God knows where in chains and handcuffs, casually groped by a stranger, and she could not think of anything other than whether the two men would take turns and whether the handsome guy from the club could be the first inside her.
The big man stopped. His hand darted under Sophie’s soft rounded belly and pressed in between her legs, his fingers pushing, probing. The plump woman could not help but part her legs slightly, letting the stranger’s hand press against her crotch, feeling her moisture seep through the fabric of her gown. She whimpered and winced, feeling her cheeks burning and her heart starting to beat faster.
“You think we’re going to rape you,” he growled, “take you and spread you open, and plunge in and out of you, stretching you, filling you, turning you inside out…”
“He is speaking to me as if he were speaking to my pussy” she thought even as she moaned yes. She did not mind being the voice of her pussy right now.
“The potion was good this time,” the bearded man nodded to his fellow, “Thoughts of rape excite her.”
Sophie gasped and tried to shy back, but the man held her tight around her lower body. So she had been drugged. This wasn’t really her.
Then the handsome guy from the club reached for her to double check his fellow’s assessment and she did not care anymore. She just did not want him to stop touching her.
“You are not for us,” the handsome one said as he took his hand away, causing Sophie to whimper in desperate longing. “You are for him.”
“You are the bride of Z’mey,” said the big man, “and tonight is your wedding night.”
With these words he opened the door and brought Sophie out into the heat of the night.
It was dark and clear, and stars shone brightly everywhere Sophie could see. No town lights or highway lights out there. It looked like they were out in the desert.
“Bride of who?” Sophie exclaimed, trying to jerk free of her captors’ grasp, “What do you mean wedding night? I am not marrying anyone!”
The men pulled on her chains, dragging her forward with them. Sophie tried to sit down in the dirt, but her cuffs bit painfully into her wrists and she got up, stumbling, panicking.
“I will do whatever you want,” she panted, “I will suck both your cocks, I will let you stretch me and turn me inside out, but I am not going to marry some cult leader, please! Please!”
Hearing herself offer her body to the two men was both incredibly humiliating and overwhelmingly arousing.
“You are the bride of Z’mey,” the guy from the club repeated as he and his friend dragged the stumbling, struggling plump girl toward some structure dimly visible in the light from the open door of the house.
Close up, the structure resembled nothing as much as a kids’ slide made out of stone, only the slide part was inlaid with round rocks. There were blankets and sheets arranged on the top part, and two metal brackets on both sides of it.
The two men made Sophie lay on the blankets and attached her chains to the brackets. The girl lay there sobbing and squirming. In her mind a gross old man who had two dozen “wives” already was going to have his way with her. She did not want the thought to be exciting. She did not.
The big man pulled down her gown, and took out her big pale pillowy breasts. Sophie gasped and tried to twist away from his hands, but he grabbed two handfuls of her and held the struggling woman in place. The handsome guy hiked up the hem of the gown, baring Sophie’s full, plump, jiggly thighs.
The sensation of two men at once handling her helpless body made Sophie moan and stop struggling. She laid there, her hips shifting slightly back and forth, when the big man started to rub her nipples with some kind of sweet-smelling ointment.
The guy from the club started stroking her legs, also rubbing something into her skin. Long sinuous wavy lines from her ankles to her upper thighs, stopping just short of her pussy. Sophie whimpered and moaned, her hips moving to rub against his hand. She was fine with becoming a cult leader’s wife if that meant she’d get fucked soon. She was just too excited.
Something rustled in the dark, and the men stopped.
“He comes,” the handsome guy whispered, “he comes now. Our lord is coming.”
“Z’mey…” the bearded man hissed, “our lord Z’mey!..”
Sophie lay on her back, breathing heavily, her full, naked legs spread obscenely and invitingly.
She was looking at the space in between her raised knees, waiting for the man to appear, hoping he would not be too repulsive.
The men on either side of her breathed heavily, staring in the same direction.
“He is here!” breathed the handsome guy.
Sophie couldn’t see anyone. She half-rose on her elbows, peering into the darkness, but she couldn’t see anybody or hear any footsteps.
The men’s breathing grew exultant.
“Here is your bride, Z’mey!” they intoned in unison.
There was still nothing, and then Sophie felt something brush against her foot, something cold and dry. And then something barely touched her exposed pussy, a short, cold touch, the briefest lick, and another, and another, and she realized that whatever was down there was not any sort of man.
She screamed in revulsion, and tried to pull back, tried to kick at the thing lapping her pussy, but the guy from the club slapped her thigh painfully, and his bearded companion hissed into her ear.
“My lord Z’mey is venomous, Bride.”
Sophie froze. Fear coursed through her, shaking her, pulling at her insides as she felt the creature take a quick taste of her pussy again. Then the quick darting tongue traversed her clit, and she shuddered in arousal and disgust at the same time. Sophie spread her legs as wide as she could, careful not to provoke the snake.
And the snake was definitely not a normal one. Sophie never heard of any reptiles exhibiting interest in human females the way this one apparently was. She felt a hard, smooth head nudge her clit, then rub against it. In circular motions, too deliberate, too sentient to come from a trained animal.
This was not a snake. This was some sort of a snake demon these men seemed to worship as a god. Sophie, a smart, modern, educated woman of the XXI century, found herself in the middle of a Robert Howard story, as a sacrifice to something ancient and unspeakable. A damsel in distress with no heroes in sight.
A forceful thrust of a blunt head against her pussy lips made the pretty plump girl stop thinking, cry out and bite her lip as she felt her hips move to meet her serpentine assailant. Sophie felt a hand on her breast, another on her hip. The men were squeezing her soft flesh, unconsciously, driven not by lust but some twisted religious ecstasy.
Z’mey reared his head and struck again. And again. Sophie cried out with each strike, feeling the monster’s head reach a little deeper into her each time. Her hips rolled and bucked, she did not care if she got bitten, she knew what the snake wanted and, to her horror, knew that she wanted the same thing. She moaned with every breath.
“Please!” she implored, “please, please!..”
The head of the snake paused, the blunt snout starting to push itself into the horrified woman’s body. Burrowing into her lush, abundant flesh as if she were a mound of soft earth.
“Aaahh… Aaahh… Aaahh,” Sophie panted, her revulsion at being intimately violated by a demonic animal giving way before her overwhelming hunger, her need to be filled.
Z’mey twisted his head slowly in between Sophie’s pussy lips and the sacrificial beauty howled in frustration. She never in her life wanted anything more. She was in heat.
“Invite him!” The bearded man slapped Sophie across her breasts. “Invite him in, Bride!”
“Come inside me!..” Sophie begged, thankful for the hint, “come, come, oh please come inside me, I need it!”
Only during her longest dry periods had she ever imagined asking anybody to do this.
A powerful flexing of lean reptilian muscles pushed the serpent’s head fully inside Sophie’s plump pussy and the woman gasped, moving her hips and grabbing on to the wrists of the two men whose hands were still groping her body.
Z’mey the serpent godling began to consummate his marriage.
His body was thicker and firmer than any of the admittedly few cocks Sophie ever had inside her. The scales rubbing against all her sensitive spots as the monster started to undulate, his every muscle vibrating, was too much for his pretty victim. Sophie was about to cum.
Z’mey picked up his pace, and oh, was he long. There was no back and forth rhythm of sex, just one merciless endless thrust, stretching Sophie, filling her with what seemed like yards and yards of thrashing snake. She screamed, arching her back and lifting her hips, glimpsing for a moment a long black tail waving obscenely in between her big pale thighs, and collapsed on her blankets, breathing hoarsely.
Sophie did not know how much time had passed, but she was suddenly aware of a man’s hands on her belly, rubbing and caressing it. She never let men touch her belly if she could help it. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up.
Her belly was huge. She had a big, distended, awkwardly pregnant belly, there was no mistaking it for anything else. The handsome man from the club was stroking it with a blissful expression on his face.
“Bride of Z’mey,” said the big man, stroking Sophie’s hair as if soothing a skittish horse, “in three moons you will become the mother of Z’mey. It is a great honor.”
“Our Lord will take human form again,” the other man crooned happily. “Orphans no more!”
“No,” Sophie begged softly, “no, no, this is not happening, God, please no!”
Her chains were detached from the altar, and the men led her back into the house, tears streaming down her pretty face. Behind them, a new day was dawning over a rugged desert plain.
She did not struggle. Even if she somehow escaped or got rescued, what was she going to do? Where was she going to go with her inexplicable instant pregnancy? Planned Parenthood? The church? Animal Control? Would she want to forever be known as a perverted fat girl who got so desperate she stuffed a live snake up her vagina? She did not want to think what Z’mey would show up as on an obstetrician’s monitor. What if he looked like a normal baby?
There was no way out but to stay with the two men until it was time for Z’mey to come out, and then hope for the best.
She let the men lead her back into her bedroom and sat heavily on the bed. The handsome man removed the handcuffs from her wrists – her situation restrained her more securely than manacles could ever do.
Ah, manacles, she thought, absurdly satisfied, that’s the word she was looking for. Manacles.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/109zse9/dance_of_hunger_bbw_nonconsent_kidnapped_drugged
I feel like the bit right at the end really illustrates just how dissociated and shell shocked Sophie is! It’s accurate to how our brains spew out the most random things and connections at a time where it just feels morbidly amusing. Well done!
will you do a part 2?