Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Hobbyist SalemBurnsFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 2 Weeks
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 2 Deviations 1 Comment 74 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Mature content
Processing Error :iconsalemburns:SalemBurns 1 0
Mature content
Death of a Drowess :iconsalemburns:SalemBurns 1 0


Dilemma by Covert-Operations Dilemma :iconcovert-operations:Covert-Operations 169 14 Ant Food by vore-fan-comics
Mature content
Ant Food :iconvore-fan-comics:vore-fan-comics 71 6
The Undercairns - Hell To Pay... by Niceshoez
Mature content
The Undercairns - Hell To Pay... :iconniceshoez:Niceshoez 22 10
Dinner for Two p12 by stvkar
Mature content
Dinner for Two p12 :iconstvkar:stvkar 308 1
He-Man Vore: Eaten By An Ugly Giant Fish! Page 2 by zetaxinn He-Man Vore: Eaten By An Ugly Giant Fish! Page 2 :iconzetaxinn:zetaxinn 366 10 page 40 by yacermino
Mature content
page 40 :iconyacermino:yacermino 125 84
page 39 by yacermino page 39 :iconyacermino:yacermino 74 25



Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

or, enter your birth date.*



Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
  There were many drawbacks to living in a town dedicated to cannibalism and the sale of young women as food, but Kim had never experienced any of them. She knew of the livestock of course, young foreigners who came in a steady stream from unknown places, but they were just a fact of life. No doubt they were well compensated for their sacrifice, and killed ethically and responsibly by the town butchers. In return payment was sent to their families, helping underprivileged families across the globe; and helping her own little town to grow and prosper. Nothing wrong with that! As the daughter of the mayor she was kept well clear of the operations, and well clear of anyone not in the towns upper crust. A happy and pampered child, she had developed into a spectacular and pampered young woman. Slim, well proportioned and rarely seen without a winning smile and the finest clothing and jewelry in town, the pretty brunette was in the process of transitioning from the care of her wealthy father and into the care of her wealthy fiancé. He was himself an incredibly good looking young man, if a bit boring at times.

 Life was good for Kim. She had little to do but shop for clothes, work on her tan and enjoy the company of her friends. Her father was rich, her fiancé was rich, she was beautiful and young and had a very fast car.  Growing up mostly alone, isolated from her towns work and constantly reassured as to it's moral integrity had it's effects on the young woman, however. Since she was young she had imagined being one of those courageous women who had to make that final sacrifice for the good of their communities, and as she had grown older the potent mix of danger and martyrdom had worked themselves firmly into her fantasy life. Not that she wanted to be such a volunteer, of course! Her family was very well off, thank you. But the fantasy of being that courageous young woman, sacrificing all, with one last night her last chance for pleasure... it never failed to put some heat through her body.

 Several times she had slipped into the facility after dark, crouched in the lobby and imagining she was one of the women dropped off for processing.  A few might trickle in during the night, dropped off before the main morning delivery. Curious as she was, she had always fled when they arrived. She didn't want any of the workers to see her there, they'd be sure to report it to her father. Explaining that wouldn't be easy. She had, however, explained the fantasy to her fiancé. Whatever he thought of it's origins, the sex was great and he had plenty of experience tying a woman up. Though they had only played at home, as the man in charge of running the meat packing plant, he was also in an ideal position to give her fantasy a sheen of reality. Tonight was the night for a bit of fun.

 The plan for the night was simplicity itself – even the earliest drop offs at the facility wouldn't arrive until close to 4am tonight. The night shift left at midnight, and only her husband to-be would be keeping watch between the two. She would arrive shortly after midnight, and get the full treatment. Bound, gagged, left on the floor for processing; a hero giving herself for the greater good, with one night left to enjoy the body she was soon to sacrifice; and nothing but a night watchman there to satisfy her. Nothing could be hotter! Of course, once they were finished she could shrug off the fantasy and go home to bed... something the 4am drop off couldn't tell themselves. No point dwelling on them, it would just distract from the fantasy. She could hardly sit still all day, waiting for midnight... role play was great, but the real surroundings would make it ten times better. She could feel it through her entire body, the anticipation. The day dragged into the night, but eventually the appointed hour came.

 It was hard to catch her breath as she arrived at the factory, 12:10am. She'd jogged part of the way, but she knew there was more to her heavy breathing than that. The last of the guards had left, and now was the moment. She placed her hands behind her back, imagining they were bound behind her as she walked towards the door. Most the women would be bound and blindfolded well before their arrival, but she couldn't really travel that way. She shrugged her coat open, her only garment, and felt the chill on her nipples. Most the woman would be nude at this point, too. Opening her eyes every few feet to catch her bearings, she walked towards the entrance eyes closed, imagining herself bound and blinded, shivering in the cold. She heard the door open and marched in through the door, head high as she formed the image of her characters courage in her mind. Stepping in, she felt the hands of her fiancé take her, sliding her coat free. She moaned slightly as his hands pulled her own back, wrapping them tightly in cord. She kept her eyes closed as the blindfold descended, then whimpered as he pushed her to the ground – too gently, maybe, but close enough. Her hands were tied to a post, above her head, and she shook her ass seductively as they were pulled tight. She pulled at the ropes, enjoying their lack of give, shivering in anticipation.

 The ring of a phone cut through her haze of anticipation, and her fiancé's voice receding as he answered, annoying her beyond reason. It wasn't his fault he was just himself and not a strange guard, but she didn't want to be reminded. She sighed and settled back into the fantasy, trying to ignore the chattering moving in and out of earshot. Soon enough she heard footsteps coming back, and she arched her body, the better to entice a lonely guard. “Sorry Hon, I have to run to B site for a minute.” He hurriedly said, then slipped by with a flap of his coat “We'll finish soon, no worries babe!” he called out behind him as he shut the door, locking it behind him.

 Hon! Babe! Apologies! Leave it to Bruce to fuck up a perfectly good fantasy. “How Long?” She tried to call out, but her muffled cry indicated nothing but annoyance, and that to an empty room. Pouting fiercely she tried to sit, but found her arms awkwardly over her head, Standing, she yanked at the ropes, finding them just as tight as before. Well. Likely as not, any woman bound and left here would have to wait for a bit before they encountered their last chance at a seduction. Maybe she could use this to recover the thrill. She yanked again at the ropes, letting out a frustrated groan. The boob could have untied her first! It was a fantasy, not an endurance test. There's such a thing as too much realism. Try as she might, arousal was getting more and more distant.  He hadn't even given a proper time. Groaning in frustration, she tried to settle against the post as best she could, her body arched with her arms above her head. She had to wiggle her fingers to keep them from going numb.

  B site wasn't far away. Maybe fifteen minutes down the hill, maybe less. What could be taking so long? She idly began trying to work her hands free of the rope, but she was tied tight. What if somebody found her here? The thought gave her a jolt of pleasure, but actually having to explain this to ANYONE was not something she wanted to deal with. She grunted in the gag, saliva starting to run down her mouth. Not sexy... not like this. She was starting to get really, really pissed here.  She struggled harder, but whatever else Bruce may fail at, bondage was not among them.  She settled back again, preparing her finest glare for to meet Bruce on his return.

 His return didn't happen before her glare died out. His return didn't happen as her glare turned to worry, or as her worry turned into a sudden and entirely useless frenzy of activity aimed at getting loose. It kept not happening, long after she tired herself out. She had no way of telling the time, but it had been too long. Maybe FAR too long. What was going on? She chewed her lip, a nervous habit and one she had deployed enough already tonight to feel the swelling beneath her teeth. Nothing she did loosened any of her bonds at all, and her gag was soaked; she had to twist awkwardly to try and wipe her mouth with her upper arm. She wasn't worried, exactly, but she wasn't NOT worried either. Who would find her? No matter what she thought of herself, she wasn't a noble minded volunteer ready to serve her country, and there was no chance anyone would mistake her for one. But explaining how she ended up like this... it seemed funny earlier tonight, but it didn't seem funny now. Bruce needed to come back!

 He wasn't coming back. She was starting to become worried for him – the hill was steep. What if he had rushed? But what she kept coming back to was herself, being stuck here and found. Maybe even by her father. She stretched nervously, trying to keep her limbs from falling asleep. What time was it? It felt like it had been hours. Maybe it had. She let out a frustrated groan, half heartedly  trying again to pull herself free.

It was then that the door opened, and she looked up hopefully, a relieved sigh almost escaping her lips before she froze. It was not Bruce. It was two men, and each was accompanied by a woman. One was being propelled into the room by the man pushing her shoulders, her eyes wild and she went over the threshold and he shoved her harder, sending her sprawling. The other girl was being dragged in, and gagged or no she was screaming. The woman on the floor whimpered, trying to get her feet under her. Kim sat frozen, staring at them. They did not look like she had imagined. They did not have their head held high.

 The one being dragged proved easier. Once she was dragged to the nearest post she was tied down no problem, however much noise she made. The one on the floor curled into a ball and refused to budge though, fighting every step of the way. In the end they kicked her, more than once, and in the end they got her tied and on a post. Then they turned, and left. It had seemed like a long time, but it couldn't have taken more than a few seconds. They hadn't even looked at her. “How am I supposed to seduce them?” she thought to herself, letting out a small laugh. The whole situation was...insane. She looked between the two women. They looked frightened. They had the dusky skin and black hair of all the woman she had seen come in here from afar. The one was still moaning and sobbing. Her gag was soaked too. Something was wrong.

 She looked down at herself, then back at them. Frightened, gagged, tied, and tan. She blinked, trying to keep her cool. They looked like her. She looked like them. Except, she thought with relief, they are blindfolded, and I'm not. Plus, she didn't think any of the foreign girls had blue eyes. She just had to meet the eyes of anyone else who came in. It had to work. But she wasn't sure she believed that, because she couldn't stop shaking, and she could feel her eyeliner running down her cheeks. If they were here, that was a 4am drop off. In an hour, a crew would come to start processing the early drop offs. Processing did not mean hot sex. Processing meant butchering. She wasn't sure where along that thought process she started to thrash and scream...but it was somewhere in there.

 It wasn't helping. She had to calm down. She tried her breathing exercises, feeling the racing of her heart. She looked over the other woman. The louder one was sobbing softly. The other wasn't moving. “I'm worth more than either of them” scrawled across her brain in lights, random knowledge of the town trade harassing her. She had to be ready when the day crew came in. She had to let them know who she was.

 It was about twenty minutes later when the door opened. Two men came in, gave a brief glance over the merchandise, then began tying to closest woman, the quiet one. She fought for a moment, then cried out and stopped. Kim thought her ribs might have been broken earlier. That would damage the meat. They were not looking around, but she was staring holes into them, her eyes wide. They had to see her eyes. They tied to first woman's wrists to a hanging chain, then moved on. Next was the louder woman, she began screaming at their touch. They pulled her free and retied her in moments – they were professionals, these two. The woman was maybe a professional screamer, because she didn't stop.

 They moved to Kim, and she began to try to talk to them through the gag, her eyes darting between their faces. The other girls hadn't tried talking, maybe it would get their attention. One untied her wrists from the post, the other pulled her to her feet in one motion. They were not looking! Her talking turned to pleas, as she tried to dig her foot onto the grate for leverage. They pulled her free without a moments hesitation. One looked into her eyes and she felt hope burst within her, but his gaze was as hard and uninterested as a fish. She began screaming then, fighting with all her strength. They were used to it. In moments, she was third in line, and the chains began pulling forward. Inexorably, they led the three woman deeper into the plant, and the screaming began anew as they passed the first door and saw the slaughterhouse floor.

 It's not that it was a horror show. It was clean, pristine, no heads piled in corners. But Kim knew exactly what was about to happen, and so apparently did the other women. Who were they? Where had they come from, if not as volunteers? It suddenly seemed very late to be asking these questions. The two men surrounded the first woman, tying her legs to a platform, wrenching her arms up and bending her over to fit her head into a circular collar keeping her precisely positioned. The machines would need that, Kim realized. The woman ahead of her began screaming anew as the process was repeated on her, thrashing desperately. Kim was washed over with a sense of the foolishness of her fantasies, the unreality of it. How had she believed them? Her father, her fiancé? It was madness. She was moved forward on the conveyer, and they began tying her. Deep thoughts were lost in desperation as she began to scream her fathers name, her own name, her eyes wide with terror and wider still with the hope the blue would rescue her. The other man looked at her with a grin, his eyes catching hers. For the second time, she felt hope swell up as she again shouted her fathers name, blue eyes wide.

 The man slapped her ass as she began to move forward, letting out a laugh. “This one's momma must have let some honkey in” he called to his partner, and then she was moving away from then both, into the machines. This was all automated she knew, and suddenly this was all much more real. No one was here to see her eyes, or hear her name. This wouldn't stop until... it was over. Unless Bruce rushed in right now and shut it all down. She tried to look over her shoulder. She could see it in her mind clear as day. He is rushing in, he see's what has happened. He races in, he turns it all... her fantasy is interrupted as the first woman began to shriek. Kim felt her eyes fall on her, unwilling. She was partly around the bend, and her screams were already dying into a kind of rattling groan. Whatever had happened, she knew in her core it was terrible. She felt her body begin to lose control, bucking against the ropes and collar. The woman in front just screamed. The track moved forward. She thought of her childhood theme park rides, the track drawing her on to new delights. She screamed again.

 The woman stopped in front of her. Now she had a clear view, not that she wanted it. She saw a blade first, fast and sharp. It was programmed to make two incisions, a simple T shape in the woman's abdomen, from which most of the processes that made the screaming woman a functioning organism fell, whisked away down a chute. Kim felt herself shudder, her horror suddenly beyond screaming. It was fast. She was next. The screaming woman was now just a squirming woman, but she was fighting. Her hands were trying frantically to get loose, to move up. What she was trying to block was clear in another second – another blade (or the same?) flashed out and through the straining woman's neck, letting her head roll free in a spray, and drop into the same chute as her organs.

 Kim was going wild as the track pulled her forward. “It was just a harmless fantasy!!” she tried to scream. She felt every rope on her legs and arms vibrating with her efforts, felt every place they connected. She felt the collar around her neck, tight and strong, as she tried to push or pull free. She felt the mechanism stop as she locked into place, and she felt something in her throat give as her screams rose, then died in a whine. “I'm rich” she thought, a strange talisman. These things don't happen tor rich people. Then the pain tore through her stomach, and her thrashing intensified. This WAS happening. Bruce wasn't here. She couldn't get out, she couldn't stop it. A wrenching feeling, then a hollow feeling filled her belly. “I'm sorry. I didn't know” she thought to the corpses ahead of her.
 It didn't matter she has just seen it happen, she tried just as hard to bring her hands up and block the blade. She felt her head shaking violently, as if telling the machine “No” would effect it's processes. She saw it coming out of the corner of her eye, the blade. She felt a sob hitch in her throat. She felt her legs, muscular and young, pressing to free her, the muscles of her arms, strong as ten men, ready to burst her bonds. She felt alive. She felt as alive as she ever had, and she needed it to continue. Just one more shot, and she could do everything so much better. Every part of her strained, her future before her like a map, emblazoned with silver and gold. She would-

  It hurt. She fell away from her body, and she fell away from her hopes. She fell away from everything, and at the last her thoughts were of the horror she must be tumbling towards, the viscera and heads the pristine factory floor didn't show. So much to learn.

  Bruce was in the hospital for three days, but he woke up on the first, early. The crash hadn't been too bad. He called the factory, asked if they had seen anything unusual. No one had. Maybe she was still alive when he called, but probably she wasn't. He didn't mention her. If she WAS already dead, better her father never know his role in what happened.

Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

or, enter your birth date.*



Please enter a valid date format (mm-dd-yyyy)
Please confirm you have reviewed DeviantArt's Terms of Service below.
* We do not retain your date-of-birth information.
death of a drowess

  Aunkacha slid from her perch in the window with the fluid, precise grace of the spiders her kind so emulate. Her deep black flesh blended into the shadowy room, only the slightests pattern of silver spider silk breaking the outlined of her toned body; for among her people clothing could always be seen to hide some weakness, and she had none. Though hundreds of years old and jaded beyond human imagining, she was still young in drow years, strong and quick. She slid through empty rooms and corridors with silent grace, her slim body taut and wiry, silvery white hair cut to shoulder length for combat efficacy. Among drow her breasts, a size too large for her form, broke the slim perfection of her form - but she had found the trait handy when dealing with the occasional surface adventurers she was sent to hunt. She had never advanced far in the worship of Lolth, but she was as fine a killer as existed among her Church, and her skilles were admired and prized by the preistesses well above her modest rank. Today her target is a male wizard. Barely tolerated at the best of times, he was rumored to have thrown in with the Demon god Orcus. The followers of Lolth could never allow such a heretic to survive.

Seeing a light in the distance, she stroked the whip coiled around her body, taking the handle lightly in her grip. A magical weapon long held by her church, she had earned it long ago and it was as much a part of her as her hands or feet - a steel hard, razor sharp whip that a skilled user  could use to cut through bone, or simply inspire a stubborn orc to pick up the pace in the slave pits. She slid it from around her form, savoring the heft of it in her hand as she steeled herself for the joy of combat. As she slid into view of the room, her smile widened and her stance softened. It was simply a slave, copying scrolls... probably a human. Aunkacha felt the whip slide free of her body as she leaned in the doorway, considering. Silencing this minion was necessary, but easy prey was meant to be savored - and she hated humans. All through her youth the busty drow had been mockingly compared to the overly curvy surface dwellers, and torturing the bumbling creatures was an irrational but delightful bit of payback. Her pink eyes examined the human woman for dangers, but saw nothing worth mentioning. She had the strange pale, pinkish skin of a surface dweller, and her hair was the honey blonde of a surface elf; strangely out of place on the awkward human form. She was a young adult, and wore little more than Aunkacha, though she had many weaknesses for the observer to take in... weak arms, untoned stomach, poor stance, overlarge breasts... Aunkacha felt a twinge of irritation at their similairty to her own.  A human might find her a very fine specimen indeed, but to a Drow she was little more than an awkward shadow of beauty.

The whip lashed out before the human even noticed her presence, wrapping twice around the humans neck and allowing time for little more than a yelp of surprise from her prey. Beheading the human would have been a better tactical choice, but less amusing. The whip tightened as Aunkacha reeled the woman towards her, watching the humans dull brown eyes widen in pain and shock as the whip bit in, cutting off her air. Of course, the razor whip was too sharp to play this out for long, and Aunkacha could already see blood oozing from the double line around the womans neck. The humans hands scrabbled at the whip as it tightened, sinking in and allowing blood to run down her chest and back. Her already widened eyes bulged, her mouth twisted into a silent scream. The terrified woman, lacking any of the sense of even the most foolish drow, surprised the assassin by trying to flee, putting even more strain upon the whip. Before Aunkacha could properly respond, the human had yanked the whip tight and thrown her weight into it, resulting in her head tumbling off as her body stumbled into the table, knocking it inches forward.

Aunkacha hissed and rolled her eyes. Even a pack lizard would have known better than to lean into a cutting weapon. The womans head rolled to her feet, frightened brown eyes locking on Aunkacha's angry pink gaze. Ignoring it, Aunkacha reeled in her whip. The noise of the stumbling body had been little, but she would need to be prepared for any response it may have roused. It was as she crept forward, deeper into the keep, that a voice froze her in place.

"I liked that one." came a voice from the shadows of a doorway, smooth as silk. It was male, and drow, and the loss of surprise irritated the drow assassin. She heard a brief muttered spell, and she rolled rapidly to the left, snapping her whip to the side and arcing it towards the male in one smooth, practiced motion. Expecting a targeted spell to crash into the palce she had been, she was mildly surprised to find he had attempted no clear offensive spell. She put that into the back of her mind, but it wasn't likely to be a problem once the males head was struck from his shoulder. She smiled a tight smile as the whip arced true and clear, set to intersect his neck without a hitch. Then... there was a hitch.

Her smile faltered, confused, as the whip stalled mere inches from his neck. His smile widened, infuriatingly smug. The whip hung, silent and still. Had he stopped time? The spell was unfamilair, but she moved into action directly, smoothly plucking a dagger from her boot and dropping the whip as she made a smooth, leaping charge towards the wizard a few meters away. She considered and rejecting throwing it into his smug face - better to keep her only secondary weapon in hand. As it turned out, this was a mistake. Her first indication of what had gone wrong was when she stumbled and fell to the ground. Aunkacha stumbling was as improbable as a spider becoming entangled in it's own web. Looking down, she saw and felt that in a very real sense, that is exactly what had happened.

The mage had somehow taken control of her whip, and it was wrapped around her legs. Like the foolish human, her own momentum had cut the whip into her legs, and dark blood ran along her darker legs as her hands darted down to try and pry the whip free. Like a snake, the whip struck, wrapping twice around her wrists. Elsewhere she felt it sliding around her body, tangled her up, keeping her arms tight to her body. Sudenly she felt something she had not felt in a very long time...fear. Aunkacha was bound. She had no range of motion to use the blade in her hand, and the whip was wound tightly around her body. Quite long, it seemed to be everywhere. It wound her legs together, it pushed in two firm lines across her breasts, it slid alarmingly around her neck, kept her arms firmly held. She froze, her eyes seeking out the wizard as her mind raced. The spell was likely to run out, if she could keep him talking. "You have me wizard... the priestesses will pay you well for my return."

He shook his head, considering her. His eyes lit on the knife, held tightly in her hands. He smiled down to her, and with a motion of his hand the whip tightened rapidly. Something fell across Aunkachas body. She realized immeditatly that the knife had fallen, that she had been disarmed. It took her a moment more to realize while the knife was gone, it was still firm in her grip. Her hands lay, one across her chest, the other sliding from her and falling to her side. She stared wildly at the hand on  her chest, the white nails standing out against her dark skin. "I need a priestess" she knew immediately. Only magic could repair her ruined body, and it was ruined. Without hands, she could not kill. She felt her breath coming faster, her training barely containing the raising feeling of helplessness. The whip remained coiled tight against her, dimpling lines across her bound body. Her wrists were bleeding, warm blood dripping across her torso.

The mage looked over the bound drow, enjoying he view. "One of your rivals paid me well to remove you from the ranks... let me know what kind of spell I might need. Lloth may hate a heretic, but she hates failure to take an opportunity more. I'm sure your fellow assassin will sit well in her good grace." Aunkacha felt the whip tightened, twinges of pain surfacing across her body like the flashing of luminescnt insects in the depths. "Though I hear Lolth has little time for a failure. Perhaps you should consider coming under the good graces of Orcus?"

Aunkacha felt herself trying to wriggle free in spite of herself - the sheer lack of options was maddening, even as her own motions caused her skin to part in a half dozen locations, warm blood sliding from fresh wounds. Maybe if she could convince this horrible wizard she intended to join his church, she could slay him later for the accolades of the spider godess. She kept her voice level as she spoke, eyes calm and firm on his. "I came here to renounce my church and join you, fool... my sister found out and sought to turn you against me." She was a good liar, long practiced... but any drow was a good lair, and good at detecting them. Even foolish males. Still, it was her only gambit.

"Lolth won't be pleased to hear THAT." The wizard commented with a smile, and then his fingers moved again, and she felt the whip sliding around her, loosening. She kept her face still, her smile of triumph hidden. Soon this creature would have the death he deserved, hands or no. She could always use her legs. She flexed her muscles as the whip loosened, trying to ascertain the damage. The rush of blood from her wrists was worrying; the tight whip had been cutting off some circulation. She would have to move fast. The whip was unwinding hellishly slowly.
She felt a twinge of concern as her nerves mapped the movement of the whip - it wasn't really unwinding. It remained tight around her neck, and her legs had barely had room to flex before the whip was almost as tight as before. Elsewhere the whip was rearanging itself, looping twice around her belly, wrapping loosely around the base of her breasts. "What are you doing?" She hissed. "Free me and I can aid you!" The male drow leaned over, his neck mere feet from her legs. If only she were not bound so, she could kill him in an instant. "You rennounce Lolth? You will betray her in both word and deed?" he said, sounding curious.

She tested the whip, finding it unyielding. To say such things were dangerous, for Lolth was not a forgiving godess. Yet she would be forgiven, and more, if she could slay this mage. To die now in lolth's good graces was to be a failure, a plaything in an afterlife of despair and fear. To kill a powerful heretic mage would be a redemption worth the risk. She could sit in high standing by The side of the spider godess, slaves and playthings of her own in abundance. Perhaps even more than that, she felt the weight of the years she stands to lose. Centuries of power and delight. She was no mere human, to mourn the loss of a handful of increasingly pallid decades. Her life would spin out across centuries, and she had simply too much to lose now. "I renounce Lolth - as I came her to do. I can do no more bound like a gnomish tinker for sale."

The wizard nodded and stood. "I see. I imagine your spider godess will be pleased to know so." As Aunkacha opened her mouth to speak, the whip tightened rapidly around her neck, cutting off her breath. She glared at the man imperiously, her pink eyes flashing a demand to be released, but she had underestimated the male, as her kind was inclined to do. The whip was suddenly tightening everywhere, and she realized the dangerous predicament she was in immidately. She had not had time to properly devote herself to Orcus, even had she meant to do so. Her afterlife was in the not so tender hands of the godess she had just openly rejected... and she could not breathe. Her eyes flashed in rage and fear as she felt the whip biting in deep, blood running across her body. After a quick struggle, the fear won out. As foolish, as useless as she knew it to be, she felt her body begin to struggle... she bucked and a gash opened along her thigh, deep cuts in her arms and stomach. The tightening whip barely had to work as her body panicked seemingly of it's own accord, a scream of helpless panic dying in her chest, unable to escape her throat. She watched in horror as another motion of the mans hands sent the two loops around her breasts tight, her most hated feature suddenly a treasure she longed for more than any decadant deight she had ever know as they left her body and rolled to either side, nothing but a mass of fat and quivering meat. She stared at lighter gray of her nipple as it sat far from where it had always been, her mind screaming at the impossibility of it's new home on a wizards floor. In moments that was forgotten as the whip began to tighten into her toned stomach, slicing through muscles and innards alike as it rapidly closed. Her legs and arms suddenly began to fall away in sections, slabs of meat cleanly chopped through the bone. "I didn't mean it Goddess!" her mind screamed, the terror of the future as great as the terror of her present. She felt a hand, surprisingly gentle in her hair, and suddenly the wire of the whip was contracting through her neck. Her head was lifted up and away just in time to watch the rest of her body fall to pieces beneath her, the final remants of her torso crumbling into perfectly chopped cubes of drow flesh.

The drow wizard locked eyes with the severed head, the eyes of the broken drowess at last pleading, far past the point of it doing any possible good. He watched her mouth moving frantically, idly wondering what she had to say... and then her dropped her, watching her head roll gently against her severed breast, her silver hair soaking up the brilliant red that showed up nowhere else against her dark skin and black floor. He watched as her mouth shudder to a stop, enjoying the terror that lingered on her face. Her head had stayed alive far longer than a humans would, he noted idly. No doubt further experimentation on the two species was in order. He moved his hand in a gentle swirl, and the gore coated whip coiled itself and slid into his hand. It would be a delightful new toy.


No journal entries yet.



Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
First things first - this is likely to be full of grim and perilous tales, and most often a lady will end up on the wrong end. I that isn't your thing, this isn't your page.

Why, you ask? It's not because I want to be killed, or want to see people killed, or want revenge on cheerleaders. I think in the end it is because death is something huge and terrifying, and to make it a cartoon monster monster is to steal some of it's power. I die a thousand deaths through the eyes of my heroines - a bit sexy, a bit over the top, often where I somehow called it down upon myself. Even as I try to make death something sexy, and cartoonish and "fair"; another part of me wants to see it through, to feel what it must be like for those trapped in these stories, no matter how silly. To die a bit, just for practice. I hope something worthwhile comes from that tension.

I hope to post roughly one story a week, but life comes first. Enjoy, and don't take it too serious!


Add a Comment:
Niceshoez Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2018  Professional General Artist
Thanks for the watch and your awesome Drow story!
SalemBurns Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2018  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! I've never posted a story anywhere, I'm glad to hear someone liked it - especially someone whose work I like! 
James-Is-James Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the watch and welcome to DA!