This is ritual. Ceremony. Sacred act performed in presence of death to seal whatever dark covenant they've made with forces I cannot name.
The moon is a leering, swollen eye, and the clearing reeks of sex, blood and consecrated rot.
I should never have come back.
But the sounds dragged me here like hooks through my ribs.
Kaerith has Elira bent over the corpse’s dangling legs, the dead Waira still pinned spread-eagle to the oak, chest cracked open, ribs flared like black wings. His ruined face is tilted toward them, jaw torn half off, tongue lolling, eyes long since scooped out and smeared across Elira’s tits like war-paint.
Kaerith’s claws are buried in her hair, yanking her head back so hard her spine bows. His cock (thick, brutal, streaked with gore) is shoved so deep down her throat that her neck bulges with every thrust. She’s gagging, drooling blood-tinged spit in long ropes that slap against her breasts and drip onto the corpse’s flayed stomach.
“That’s it, little cunt,” he snarls, voice raw and reverent at once. “Worship the altar with that filthy throat.”
Elira moans around him, the sound wet and broken. Her mascara (when did she start wearing mascara?) is smeared into black rivers down her cheeks, mixing with the dead man’s blood. She’s trying to nod, trying to take him deeper, even as her eyes roll white and her body spasms for air he refuses to give her.
He pulls out with a filthy pop, strings of spit and precome stretching from her swollen lips to his cockhead. Before she can gasp, he slaps her (hard) across the face with the slick length of himself, painting her cheek red.
“Beg, whore.”
“Please, Master,” she rasps instantly, voice shredded. “Please wreck me on him. Break your cunt on the bones of the weak.”
Kaerith laughs (low, filthy, triumphant) and spins her around. He shoves her face-first into the corpse’s open chest cavity. Her cheek presses into cold, congealing lung; her tongue darts out, licking at the torn heart like it’s sacrament. Blood bubbles at the corners of her mouth.
He kicks her legs wide, claws raking down her back until fresh crimson wells. Then he lines up and rams into her ass in one merciless thrust.
Elira screams (raw, animal, ecstatic) into the dead Waira’s chest. The sound echoes off the trees like a prayer to something that has never known mercy.
Kaerith sets a punishing rhythm, hips slamming so hard her whole body jolts forward with every stroke, tits dragging through the corpse’s entrails, nipples scraping over exposed rib. Each thrust drives her mouth deeper into the ruin of the dead man’s chest; she’s licking, biting, swallowing blood and shredded flesh like it’s communion wine.
“Whose are you?” he growls, one hand fisted in her hair, the other reaching around to claw at her clit with blood-slick fingers.
“Yours,” she sobs, voice muffled by dead meat. “Your broken little cunt, your altar whore, your?—”
He cuts her off by yanking her head back again, forcing her spine into a painful arch. With his cock still buried balls-deep in her ass, he leans over and bites down on the back of her neck (hard enough that blood floods his mouth). She comes instantly, violently, a full-body seizure that milks his cock so hard he roars.
He doesn’t stop.
He pulls out only long enough to flip her onto her back in the snow, right beneath the corpse’s spread thighs. The dead Waira’s cock (severed earlier and shoved crudely back into place) dangles above her face like a mockery of blessing.
Kaerith shoves her legs up until her knees are by her ears, ass lifted, and slams back into her cunt this time (no warning, no gentleness, just brutal possession). Blood and cum from her ass smear between them, squelching obscenely with every thrust.
“Look at him,” Kaerith snarls, grabbing the corpse’s severed cock and slapping it across Elira’s face. “Look at the weak thing while your Master breeds you.”
Elira’s eyes (glazed, feral, utterly gone) lock on the ruined face above her. She opens her mouth obediently and Kaerith shoves the dead cock between her teeth like a gag. She sucks on it, moaning, tears and snot and blood streaming down her face as Kaerith destroys her cunt with short, vicious thrusts that punch the air from her lungs.
“Swallow his death while I fill you with life,” he hisses, voice shaking with something between rage and worship. “Every drop of weakness you choke down makes you more mine.”
She comes again (harder, screaming around the dead flesh in her mouth), her cunt spasming so violently that Kaerith has to pin her hips to keep fucking her through it. Her entire body is painted red now, hair matted with blood and cum, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
He finally lets himself go. One last brutal thrust and he spills deep inside her, roaring her name like a war-cry. His heart-lightexplodes into blinding white for one heartbeat (then collapses into absolute black, a void that swallows moonlight).
They stay locked together, panting, twitching, covered in gore and each other. Slowly, reverently, Kaerith pulls out. A river of blood and cum pours from Elira’s ruined holes, staining the snow beneath her.
She reaches up with shaking fingers, strokes the corpse’s flayed cheek almost tenderly.
“Thank you for the offering,” she whispers to it, voice hoarse and adoring.
Kaerith cups her face (gentle now, almost loving) and kisses her slow and deep, sharing the taste of death between their tongues.
