The Oviposition Chronicles
A Filthy Half Dozen

Paragonas Vaunt

SAMPLE

Arena

Beyond me, visible between my splayed legs, I could see the Duke still stood at his railing.

Below him, the dread portal filled my view.

When it opened, I would gaze right into the eyes of whatever emerged.

Whatever emerged would gaze right into my open cunt.

My cunt.

I would have my shaven cunt pointing directly at it, displayed for whatever use it cared to make of my hole.

Either of my holes.

"Leda of Coruna!" the Duke announced, "You have chosen the Chair of Lament. This chair was brought back from distant lands by my great-great-grandfather, and many a girl has submitted to its embrace. Now it will be your turn!"

With the ridiculous attention to trivia that sometimes comes when one is in mortal danger, my fingers traced the fine detail of the seat back behind my head. It was deeply scored and grooved, the furrows worn over decades by the clutching fingers of hundreds, maybe thousands, of previous occupants of this chair.

"If you survive," he paused to let the laughter die down, "if you survive, you will be freed to return to my household. May the fluids we spill this night on our parched soil bring a bounteous harvest to this sacred land."

The Duke raised his hand. He paused for a moment.

"And now, you shall dance with the Califrax!"

His arm swept down.

For a long moment nothing happened. A look of uncertainty stole onto the Duke's face.

Then there was a heavy, sonorous clang, deep underground, the ground shook, and the massive door started to slide downwards, slowly disappearing into the arena floor.

Beyond its portal was pitch blackness.

The door grumbled to the bottom of its descent and thumped to a halt.

Silence.

The crowd was hushed, unmoving.

Nobody dared to breathe.

There was no noise except the sound of my own heartbeat hammering in my ears.

Then came a deep rumble, a growl, low enough and powerful enough to quake my flesh.

~O~

The Califrax stepped forward into the torchlight.

I had hoped that my memory had embellished it, that the girl of eight summers who had seen it back then had exaggerated its dreadfulness in her recollection, that it wouldn't be as fearsome in the flesh as I remembered.

I was so, so wrong.

It was huge.

The long head and immense jaws, large enough to swallow a man, jutted forward from old iron plates that framed its skull like a helm, and flared into a mantlet protecting its heavy neck.

Its eyes were small, red coals that sparked with ancient wrath.

It steamed.

Even as it stepped into the arena, I could feel the heat radiating from it into the cooling night air, and I suddenly realised the smoke I had seen must have been wood being burned to heat its blood and rouse it from its torpor.

Its long body, trailing behind it between tree trunk legs, was scaled, darkly glinting and hard as old varnished oak, pitted with ancient scars.

The rivets of its armour were rusted, weeping with crusted blood. Its breath huffed in the night air, misting wet droplets, a charnel house stink of rotten meat and bitter death.

Its tail, topped with ridges and armour plates, wound away out of sight into the darkness. I couldn't see how big it was, but it was so long that the tip of its tail would still be in the tunnel when its snout reached me.

It raised its head to the sky and sniffed the air. It great forked tongue snaked out, yellow and sinuous.

It tasted the air.

It found me.

It turned its baleful gaze upon me.

I quailed before the rage I saw in its eyes.

The flagstones quivered as the Califrax stomped forward. I felt it, coming up through the Chair, as much as I saw its advance. My eyesight blurred, whether from the ground quaking or from tears in my eyes, I could not say.

The crowd held its collective breath as the beast approached me. It nudged its head between my spread legs. Oh Throne, the widest span of my legs was barely enough to encompass its massive skull.

Its forked tongue flickered out, slapped wet on my thigh. Withdrew, returned, higher up. It was hot, rubbery, slightly rough yet slicked with thick saliva that roped and skeined between its body and mine as it writhed.

Unerringly, it found my upturned mound, open, vulnerable, bare.

Its tongue flickered over me, bunched and pressed hard at the heart of my cleft. I gasped aloud at the sudden pressure. It tasted all the way over my mound, pitilessly seeking, my tender flesh protesting at the rawness of it.

It found the spot it sought, probed inwards. The forks of its rubbery yellow tongue slipped into me, up me, writhing and coiling as it probed further.

At the innermost part of my cunt, Sara had carefully packed the ginger and herbs. The Califrax's questing tongue found it.

It twitched, then stiffened.

It pressed harder.

I cried out. I was trying not to distract it, not to raise its ire, but the sensation was too much.

Not pain. Pleasure.

It was incredible. The slight texture of the creature's slimy tongue was just so distracting, so stimulating, so insistent.

I know I have told you I take my pleasures where I can, but I am not sure that view would necessarily have encompassed seeking it at the end of the forked tongue of an ancient man-eating monster descended from among the stars.

But I was where I was. I blush even now to admit that I came, for the second time in my life. For the second time that very day, to a questing tongue.

I groaned and clutched the chair, digging and clawing at the same grooves as my forebears as I panted out my climax.

As I subsided, the tongue withdrew.

I hoped the ginger had done its work.

I feared the ginger had done its work, in equal measure.

I would know in a moment.

The Califrax suddenly opened its jaws wide, and I stared past the rotten stumps of ancient yellowed teeth into the bottomless maw of death. It bellowed, stale stinking air billowing over me, making my stomach lurch, my heart quail.

Then it reared up and lunged forward.

Over me.

Its massive head passed over my trembling, helpless body without sinking its teeth anywhere into my flesh. It planted its forefeet either side of my waist, and heaved forward again.

Its body settled on the cradle above me.

The creature slid forward, the iron frame and woodwork creaking alarmingly. The leather straps of the cradle rasped over its belly scales, but the contraption held.

I was staring at the belly of the beast.

I was not inside it.

From the slightly elevated position in which my head was placed, I could look down the length of my body and at the bulk of the Califrax's belly heaving above me.

I didn't want to look down there.

I was terrified of what I would see.

I looked down.

And now its cock came in view.

Yes, I know it wasn't a cock as such, it was an egg tube, but I find it difficult to think of it any other way than as a massive, pitiless, male member. Gazing down between my legs as it lifted towards me, this is what I saw.

The head was bone white, looking very much like the same stiff cartilage shark skeletons are made from.

It was scoop-like, a bit like a short trowel or half of a bird's beak. This was the digging head, the part it used to burrow through the wet sand to find a safe place for its eggs. If you were to squeeze together the fingers of one hand to form a cupped scoop, you would have something about the same size and shape.

The shaft behind the head was a thick rubbery tube, longer than my fore-arm, like a length of animal intestine, greenish-brown, muscular, and it squirmed and writhed, doubtless the better to drive the questing spade head down through the sand. The tip of the shaft was at this moment closed off by a thick knot of flesh, presumably to keep the sand out as it burrowed.

The Califrax continued to slide its bulk over the cradle above me, and that scoop head weaved closer.

I could see little around the bulk of its huge body now, but if I turned my head to one side or the other I could see the audience either side craning to get the best view.

Hungry for my deflowering.

The beast's shoulder plates brushed against my hands where they were bound above my head. Its belly scales scraped the inside of my knees.

It was in position above me.

I had succeeded in tempting the Califrax to fuck me rather than eat me. Now I was about to lose my virginity, and possibly yet my life, to its cock. What a day this had been so far.

It was still far from over.

It hunched its abdomen downwards, probing for me.

I felt the hard beak of its egg tube brush the back of my thigh. It pressed again, short jabbing thrusts as it attempted to find soft ground in which to bury itself.

It struck higher on my leg, then several times on my lower belly, then once or twice on my buttocks. It seemed to sense the softness there, pressed inwards between my cheeks, and I feared our plans to direct it to my cunt rather than my arse had come to naught.

I struggled within my bonds to shift myself lower, to align my cunt with its cock. Wanting it, not wanting it. With my ankles and wrists secured, and no band around my waist, I could lift myself upwards; there was no space to push down lower.

But it found the way itself.

Probing again, its massive cock-head slid into the bottom end of my cleft, rode up the trench between my lips, and glanced off my bud, causing me to squeak at the sudden contact.

It withdrew and thrust again single-mindedly, ploughed doggedly along me a few times, making me squeal anew, making the audience gasp delightedly in response. Then, at the final stroke, it lodged at the entrance.

It knew instantly that it had found what it sought.

It dug.

The Califrax strained its bulk against the restraint of the cradle between us. The head of its egg tube squirmed, the shaft behind it coiled with muscular strength, and then it pushed in.

The lips of my cunt strained wide, bulging as wide as my eyes as it drove in.

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