Belly of the Beast Read online

  BELLY OF THE BEAST

  by

  Kimberly Zant writing as

  Desiree Acuna

  © copyright by Kimberly Zant, July 2004

  Cover Art by Jenny Dixon

  ISBN 1-58608-579-4

  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Dear Readers:

  I really pushed the envelope here, for me, at least. I feel this should come with a warning-- don’t try this at home-- any of it! My world is a fantasy world, my characters pure imagination and, as god of the world I created, no one gets hurt unless I will it—which, of course, I don’t, because this is all in fun. Beware, there are many elements in this work that could offend and/or possibly repulse those not ‘in’ to seriously kinky sex!

  Chapter One

  The summons at the door of their cottage was so abrupt, so fierce a demand, that it startled Lady Mariel Champlain. She jerked reflexively, burning her hand on the pot she’d been on the point of pulling from the cook fire. Whirling, she glanced fearfully at her father, wondering if he knew who it might be, or if he would deal with whomever it was. He had been drinking steadily for days now, though, and scarcely seemed to register the pounding, even when it came again.

  Realizing that she would have to deal with whatever the situation was, she turned to look at the pot of thin stew and quickly moved it away from the fire, setting it on the hearth. It was all they had to eat and, regardless of what calamity might wait on the other side of the door, she couldn’t bear to allow the little food it held to go to ruin while she was distracted.

  Sucking the burn on the side of her palm, she set her spoon and the folded cloths aside and hurried to the door before whoever stood on the other side broke it down, fearful that it might be more creditors that she would have to try to fend off.

  The setting sun dazzled her for several moments, making it difficult to make out the dark figure who stood upon the threshold. Slowly, her eyes focused upon him, however. A debilitating wave of shock went through her as her mind registered who, or rather what, he was.

  A Trull—a demon soldier of the dark Lord Valdamer, the warlock who ruled Daeksould. Once they had been human, but the demons who inhabited their bodies had erased all traces of humanity from them beyond the human shell they inhabited. They were not evil so much as they were soulless creatures, without pity, without remorse, without emotion of any kind, but they were the minions of Lord Valdamer and they did as they were commanded without question.

  As numb as if she had suddenly been frozen and separated from thought, emotion, and even physical feeling, she fell back instinctively as he stepped into the tiny cottage she had shared with her father since they had fallen upon hard times and lost all that they had once had.

  Closing the door behind him, the Trull folded his arms over his broad, muscular chest, his stance wide, his back guarding the door as he glanced around at the stark furnishings. "I am here to see Lord Champlain."

  Swallowing with an effort, unable to speak, Mariel glanced at her father again. He’d roused from his drunken stupor enough, she saw, to look around. The look of terror on his face mirrored what should have been her own, except that she could feel nothing at all. He seemed paralyzed by his fear, for he made no effort to rise. "I am Lord Champlain," he responded hoarsely.

  The Trull nodded. Stepping forward, he grasped Mariel’s arm. "I am Behsart, sent by Lord Valdamer to accept your offering. Is this the female?"

  Weakness washed through Mariel as she stared at her father uncomprehendingly.

  For perhaps a second, their eyes locked and then he looked away from her. "Aye."

  Without a word, the Trull pulled a set of manacles from his belt. Fastening one to the wrist of the arm he held, he grasped her other arm and manacled it, as well. Pulling a bag from his belt, he tossed it to Lord Champlain. "Your pay for your offering."

  The bag landed in her father’s lap, jingling. He grabbed it up with shaking hands and pulled the tie from it, pouring the contents into his lap—a pile of golden coins.

  Mariel was still staring at him blankly, in complete disbelief, when the Trull pulled on the chain attached to her manacles and turned toward the door once more. She stumbled as she was dragged across the threshold. Instinctively, she righted herself once more, struggling to keep pace with the man who led her away. As he tugged her through the gate that fronted the tiny yard, she glanced back at the cottage, still unable to accept that her father had sold her for coin, hoping that she would at least see denial in his face, concern, shame--but there was no sign of her father.

  Catching her around her waist, the Trull lifted her up onto the black fire steed he had tied at the gate and climbed up behind her. Holding the prancing beast to a walk, he urged it along the road and through the streets of the village. Some of Mariel’s numbness began to wear off as they rode. A flicker of thought here and there entered her mind.

  She had been sold by her father as sacrifice to the demons the warlock Valdamer owed his powers to.

  She was going to die. She had not even lived yet. She was only twenty. She had never been courted, never gone beyond the village, never wed—though she should have long since and would have if her father had not squandered their fortune. Now she would not get the chance of any kind of future at all.

  She shied away from that thought.

  Why had her father done it? Only for the coin?

  Sickness welled inside of her. He had gambled away his fortune and now used her to rebuild it?

  She had never felt her father loved her, but she would not have believed he felt so little that a bag of gold coins was worth more to him than her life. Surely, she had least had some value to him above that? If nothing else, she had cooked and cleaned for him.

  She thrust the thought aside, unwilling to accept it, certain there must have been more to it than that. Perhaps they had demanded that he make sacrifice and the coin was something offered as recompense?

  In any case, did it truly matter? For whatever reason he’d done it. He had not even warned her. He had allowed her to go about her chores with no notion that any moment a knock would fall upon the door and she would be told her life was over.

  She found it nigh impossible to grasp that she was to be led away to her death without warning of any kind, without ever having done anything to deserve such a fate.

  After a time, it occurred to her that they were many days ride from Valdamer Castle. She would not be sacrificed until they reached it. The Trull had said that. She might have a chance to live if she could only gather her wits about her.

  She was still too stunned to do so. With the best will in the world, she could not seem to think beyond her father’s betrayal. As she looked up and saw that the Trull was leading her to the Demon Temple, what little wit she’d gathered deserted her.

  The priestesses of the temple were assembled on the piazza that fronted the temple, awaiting her. Mariel’s heart began to hammer in her chest with fear as the Trull pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted by the steps. Four priestesses with mallets began to hammer at the two drums suspended on either side of the temple door as the Trull reined his horse to a halt at the foot of the temple. Pulling her from the saddle, the Trull wrapped the end of the chain connected to her manacles around one fist and began to ascend the stairs, towing her behind him.

  She could walk, or she would be dragged.

  She concentrated on keeping step with him, mindlessly counting the stone treads as they climbed--twenty, and they reached the piazza. The High Priestess stepped forward. Taking the chain from the Trull, she turned Mariel so that she was facing the village. Mariel saw that a crowd had gathered below, drawn by the summons of the drums.

&n
bsp; "Behold—the bride of the Demon Sheenigan, the demon of many mouths!"

  She nodded then to someone beyond Mariel’s view. The priestesses surrounded Mariel, tearing at her clothes and ripping them from her body piece by piece. Within moments, she had been stripped completely bare for all to see. Catching her by her arms, the priestesses paraded her back and forth along the edge of the piazza so that all might see that the bride offered to the Demon Sheenigan was without flaw.

  Numbly, she walked and turned at the priestesses command, still too numb to feel anything at all, even embarrassment at being displayed in such a way, wondering a little hysterically what they meant by "flawless." She was certainly no great beauty, but perhaps they only meant that she was not lame, not hunchbacked, not twisted or deformed in any way?

  When the High Priestess had offered a prayer to the Demon Sheenigan, she was surrounded by the priestesses and led into the temple. Torches lit the stone corridor that she was led down into the heart of the temple itself. The procession halted when they reached a large room at the end. In the center of the room was a pool. Steps led down into the crystal clear water. Around the pool were several stone benches. At the end, taking up most of one entire wall, water spilled into it from a statue of the Demon Sheenigan himself. She swallowed uneasily as she stared at the nightmarish creature, wondering if it was only her imagination that he seemed to be staring down at her lasciviously.

  Leading her to the ‘purification’ pool, the priestesses bathed her. When they were satisfied, she was taken from the pool again and made to lie down on a stone bench. Anointing her body with oils, they rubbed it into her skin from her neck down—her arms, her body, her legs—between her legs. Next, they took scrapers and worked them over her body, removing the hair from her entire body, until her flesh throbbed and burned with the abrasive scraping.

  She lay still until her legs were grasped and parted. Unfortunately, they had apparently anticipated that she would be reluctant for them to touch her private parts. They held her, pried her legs apart and scraped the hair from her mound and between her legs.

  When they had finished, they took her into the pool and bathed her again.

  This time, when she emerged, she was dried. Still naked, she was escorted from the chamber. Instead of returning the way that they’d come, the procession turned as they left the bath and Mariel saw that there were stairs leading downward into the bowels of the temple.

  The air grew cooler as they descended, whispering over her throbbing, heated skin and pebbling it until shivers began to quake through her. When they reached the foot of the stairs, Mariel saw that they had emerged at one end of a large room. Torches flickered in sconces around the stone walls, showing a vast, empty chamber—bare save for a perpendicular slab of stone that protruded from the floor. She was led to it and all save two of the women departed. The two who remained turned her, pushing her back against the slab. The cold stone against her back sent a hard shiver through her, piercing the numbness that she’d begun to cling to, to welcome since it prevented her from feeling the terror that hovered at the back of her mind.

  The two women lifted her arms up until they were above her head, attaching the end of the chain to something Mariel could not see. When they had secured it, they bent down and lifted leather cuffs from the floor. Wrapping the cuffs around her thighs just above her knees, they tightened them and then knelt and picked up another, smaller set of cuffs. These were secured around her ankles.

  Mariel stared down at them in consternation, feeling the first twinges of fear working their way through the numbness, wondering what it was that they meant to do her.

  It was not something she truly wanted to know, but she was not left to wonder long.

  When the two priestess had finished securing her, they stepped back. The slab Mariel had been attached to was tilted and she discovered that it was a table—an altar. For several moments as it began to tilt backwards, she hung by her arms and then the tilting table caught her and she was slowly lowered until she was lying completely flat.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm, desperately seeking the numbness of before, telling herself that she was not to die today. The warlock Valdamer would sacrifice her. His priestesses would not dare to kill her. Whatever it was that they meant to do she could endure it knowing that she would not die.

  She felt a tug on her legs and opened her eyes. The chains attached to the cuffs around her thighs and ankles were being tightened, bending her knees upward even as her feet were lifted.

  The cranking stopped. The two priestesses who’d bound her, grabbed her and dragged her down the altar until Mariel could feel the edge of the stone biting into her buttocks. When they were satisfied with their positioning of her body, the cranking began again. Slowly her knees were drawn upward until they were perpendicular with her body.

  The lifting stopped. Then, just as slowly, her thighs were spread. Mariel jerked at the chains, trying to pull her arms down, trying mindlessly to hold her legs together and succeeding only in causing herself a great deal of pain. The pulling continued until she felt the petals of flesh that protected her sex yield to the tug and part, felt cool air caress the sensitive flesh of her cleft—and still the chains were tightened until it reached the point where she began to feel a burning as the tendons were stretched and her mind instantly shifted from the discomfort of being so shamelessly exposed to the fear of pain.

  To her relief, the pulling stopped. The chains that held her ankles were tightened, holding her feet in place. Then the women moved up her body and tightened the chains that held her wrists until her arms were resting on the table above her head and she could not move them at all.

  When the tightening of the chains stopped, she relaxed fractionally, thinking, perhaps, that they would stop. Instead, they pulled leather straps from beneath the altar stone and bound her hips to the table and then bound her chest, just beneath her breasts, so tightly she could only breathe shallowly.

  She lay panting with fear, unable to move any part of her body except her head and her arms prevented her from twisting her head more than a few inches. She saw, though, that the room was filling with the priestesses, all wearing the hood and half mask of the Demon Sheenigan. They had discarded their robes and now stood along the colored circle of stones that surrounded the altar as completely nude as she was.

  The Trull stood near the entrance, the fire from the torches throwing off blue and silvery highlights in his pure, black hair, throwing harsh shadows across his rugged features. He, too, was completely naked now, his arms folded over his chest, his expression impassive.

  A shiver went through her as her gaze was drawn inexorably toward the obscenely huge cock that jutted from his belly before she, resolutely, looked away again.

  The Trulls were the most feared beings in all of Daeksould, the realm of the dark Lord Valdamer. She had never seen one of them except from a distance, but, even without Lord Valdamer’s colors, she would have known the moment she saw the one who called himself Behsart that he was a Trull. There was no softness in him, she knew, despite his starkly handsome features, no pity, no mercy. He did not study her coldly. He studied her dispassionately, without emotion of any kind.

  She would never escape him and she had no hope that she could convince him to free her. Why had she even considered that she had a possibility of finding a way to save herself? Was there any tiny speck of reasonable hope? Or was it merely that she could not accept that her fate was sealed and she could not change it?

  The High Priestess appeared in the doorway beside him carrying the headdress of the Demon Sheenigan. He knelt and she placed the hooded mask upon his head. When he rose once more, Mariel saw that the mask covered all but the lower portion of his face, making him seem, if possible, even more forbidding than before.

  Stepping away from him, the High Priestess turned to face the chamber and lifted her arms.

  The priestesses of Sheenigan began to chant, offering their bodies to se
rve him, calling him to receive the offering. Slowly, they shuffled in a circle around the altar where Mariel lay, following the circumference of black stones. She closed her eyes, trying to close her mind to the world around her, trying to shield mind and body from the unknown terror that awaited her.

  She jerked when the first hand touched her, her eyes opening wide with fear. The priestesses had closed in upon the table, she saw. As they moved around her, they skated their hands over her body, touching her everywhere. Mariel’s skin prickled. A shiver raced through her.

  After a few moments, they moved back once more, chanting, still performing the slow, shuffling dance, calling Sheenigan to enter their bodies and use them for his purpose. Calling upon Sheenigan to come and taste his bride.

  The cool touch of a hand on her thigh made Mariel jerk all over. She lifted her head and saw that the High Priestess was standing between her spread thighs. Without a word, she placed a hand on Mariel’s mound, spreading the flesh that surrounded her sex with her fingers. Mariel gasped as she felt the intrusion of a finger. For several moments, the priestess felt around inside of her. Finally satisfied, she stepped back. "She is a virgin, emissary of Sheenigan."

  Mariel saw then that the Trull stood just behind the priestess. As the High Priestess moved away, he stepped forward. Laying his hand on her mound as the priestess had, he parted the flesh with his fingers and thrust the middle finger of his other hand inside of her. Mariel winced, her body flinching even though she was unable to jerk away. Gasping, panting, she stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the finger she could feel moving around inside of her.

  After a moment, the finger was withdrawn and Mariel let out a sigh of relief.

  They’d checked to make sure she was a virgin. She told herself they would release her now. She knew that must be what this had all been about, to make certain that they had a virgin to sacrifice.

  They didn’t.

  Instead, as the Trull stepped back once more, the High Priestess moved between her thighs once more and the others began to circle closer to the altar, still chanting. Abruptly, the chanting ceased.