VIOLENT shrunken women BOARD

(Old) New Story: The Tithe
Monday, 19-Apr-99 14:54:58
    192.250.113.22 writes:

    Here's a story I wrote a few weeks back: you'll notice some similarity to the "Accidental God".

    I've got some new, and very different, stuff in the pipeline: M/f boot worship and hardcore S&M, giant couples on the rampage, and maybe the SW equivalent to "Janice in the City". Get your feedback and suggestions in now!

    Without further ado:

    ***
    The Tithe

    Strange, strong men with odd armor and faces obscured by simple, stylized helmets escorted her to the Lesser Door set within the Greater Door. The Lesser Door stood twelve feet high, and was made of solid bronze studded with rubies and inlaid with geometric designs of gold leaf, and its thick iron ring was being pulled by a wizened priest, opening the portal. Not widely, just enough so the strange, strong men could hurriedly push her through, and slam the Lesser Door behind her with a thundering clang that echoed through the vast chamber she now found herself in. No escape.

    Before her spread forth a plain of jade, marble, and malachite flagstones mosaiced cunningly into a single smooth surface. Columns of red marble marched before her, and upon the columns enormous oil-lamps whose flames flickered and lit the vastness of the Hall with an orange-red glow. She tiptoed forward swiftly, the polished stone cool against her feet as she heard the pattering of her dainty footsteps echo in a whisper about the chamber. She stopped some distance before the Throne, gazing up and trembling at the visage of the Throneís master.

    The Beast.
    Thatís what her people called it.
    The Kaizarre.
    That is what it called itself.
    Her Lord and Master.
    That is what it was.

    She was unsure if this was actually The Beast, or a statue representing The Beast. For one, what sat in the throne was not a man. It was shaped like a man, but where a head would be was a large dome, almost like a helmet, spanning its shoulders. It looked to be made of painted metal, or dyed leather; gleaming a dusky red by torchlight. Its eyes were expressive holes cut into its head/helm, and glimmered and flickered with a golden-green light, as if a fire burned deep within it. Its mouth was a thin-lipped gash that spanned most of the breadth of the countenance.

    The rest of it was similar, with what appeared to be leather or painted metal armor growing from its powerful body rather than being strapped to it. As she looked closer, the only ďclothesĒ it wore was a long velvet breechcloth, edged with gold satin and supported by a golden chain about its waist, that was draped between its legs and reached almost down to its ankles as it sat in its throne.

    The other odd thing about The Beast was that, if it were to rise from its throne of bronze and red marble, it would stand more than eighty feet tall. It could be a statue, but there was something -odd- about the way it reposed in its throne. Itís posture was a little too natural, its presence a little too insistent to be mere artifice. But its odd appearance and enormous size could not possibly be anything other than a fanciful representation.

    She stood before The Beast, and looked up into its gleaming, glowing eyes, not daring to move. She wondered if the actual Beast was hidden within the head, watching her, and she wondered what it wanted with its Tithe.

    She was the Tithe. Every eighth year, the farm communities and tiny trading towns of the fertile valley she called home communed, and elected the most beautiful and intelligent woman at the time of the Tithing. It was considered a great honor. The Tithe would accompany the crops and livestock sent as part of the yearly tax to The Kaizarre, and it was rumored that she would have an audience with The Kaizarre itself! If the Tithe pleased The Kaizarre, its tax collectors would be generous the next year, and it was a mark of pride for the humble denizens of Ilrem Valley that taxes were -always- significantly lower the year after a Tithing.

    Whispers went about concerning what might happen if the Tithe failed to please. The Isle of Jubedeh cropped up consistently in these mutterings, and dark tales told of entire towns razed, fields burnt, orchards ruined, livestock herded off and the mangled remains countless people. Thousands of dead, and an entire land destroyed because their Tithe was not pleasing to The Kaizarre. Only, in these whispered stories, it was called The Beast, and not The Kaizarre. People feared The Beast rather than loved The Kaizarre, but it was important to remember that keeping their Master pleased meant prosperity. No-one questioned much why the Tithe never saw fit to return after she had been to the Capital.

    She was the Tithe, and that meant she was more beautiful, intelligent, talented, and graceful than any other woman in the whole of the Ilrem Valley, a place noted for its handsome people. Her entire lifeís purpose was to be a pleasing gift for The Beast, and thus rain plenty upon her people and spare them destruction. To this end, she had traveled for almost a year along the roads of the Empire to the Capital, pampered and deferred to as if royalty by a retinue of soldiers and tax-collectors. The crops and livestock of the tax were brought to the great city of Terimin, and gold from their sale shipped on with the Tithe to the Capital. Along the way, she passed many strange lands, and encountered countless wonders and myriads of different peoples.

    The Capital itself was an enormous city, made of towers higher than mountains and streets
    paved with marble and pink granite slabs, and marketplaces almost as large as her home valley, teeming with crowds of humanity that fit all descriptions. At the center was the Palace of The Kaizarre, a mountain range of marble, granite, and alabaster architecture that was refined opulence at its most extravagant. Here she was given chambers fit for a princess, and ladies in waiting to attend her as she bathed and rested from her long journey.

    Now she was at journeyís end, before the throne of The Beast, gazing up at the inhuman eyes of what she was reasonably sure was a statue. To her shock, the statue moved suddenly, bringing together with a thunderous boom hands that could lift haycarts. As the echoes of its clap faded, music filled the hall as an unseen orchestra began to play softly. She stared in absolute shock at the titanic form that sat before her, scarcely believing what she had seen. The eyes of The Beast had changed their shape, bunching and warping the material around them. The result was an expression of emotion easily identified as amusement. The Beast moved one of its massive hands again, and gestured languidly at her. Its desire was clear: she was to dance.

    She noticed the bamboo screen of a cupola high on one of the massive columns, and surmised that the musicians must be hidden there. She could not look upon them as they played, but neither could they look upon The Beast and its Tithe. In the privacy of its presence, she began to dance.

    The music was alien in style, but it had a rhythm and melody that she could feel in her gut, it moved her of its own accord. Her feet stepped daintily, and her arms gestured gracefully in time with the slow and stately progression of the orchestra. The music began to change, its rhythm quickened and its strange harmonies filled her, ever more quickly she stepped in time before the watchful eyes of The Beast. Soon, she was gyrating and swaying with the insistent tones, melding her movements, devoting her body, to the worship of the music, which was itself a worship of The Beast. Her back arched, her legs swung high, her body shook and twisted, never missing a beat, flowing like water in a cold rapid stream. Her dance was lust, the music driving itself deep within her mind, the powerful presence of The Beast overwhelming.

    Faster the orchestra played, and faster she danced. She was a whirl of primal emotion and complex skill, every movement precise and perfect in its raw abandon. Her silks whipped about her like fireworks, a colorful flower of delicate fabric that billowed about her as she danced. Her sole purpose was to please The Beast, and she was aware of its power and majesty with every movement. The music peaked into an orgy of symphonic hedonism, and she danced with sultry abandon and sensual grace. She was aware of her orgasm as the orchestra ended their playing and she lay, panting and spent, on the toe of The Beastís boot. She kissed the leather, or perhaps it was flesh, she was not sure, and slid her body upon it as she licked and pressed her lips to the smooth warmth.

    There was a sudden movement above and around her, and she spied the glowing eyes peeking over towering knees, and saw the open palm of The Beastís hand beside the boot upon which she had sprawled herself. She lifted herself, trying to regain her composure, and stepped lightly upon to proffered palm. The hand raised swiftly, far too swiftly for even her nimble reflexes to cope, and she lost her balance. She fell to the leather of the glove, if it was a glove, and felt thick, strong fingers wrap about her to keep her safe as she continued to rise. The hand felt like soft and supple leather, but radiated warmth like flesh, and she was held tightly in its grip.

    Before its ďfaceĒ, the fingers opened like a flower blossoming about her, and she lay cupped in the open palm of The Beastís hand as its eerie gaze ran her length. She reclined upon her elbows, trying to attain at least a sitting position. Her efforts were foiled by the powerful fingertips of The Beastís other hand as they pushed her back against its palm. Deftly it pinched a layer of silk and tore it away from her in a slow, deliberate motion. She gasped as the fingers returned for another layer, and the fingers of her support closed about her, holding her as The Beast stripped her one silk at a time, till she was only dressed in a scant loincloth and silk brassier. A massive thumb rested beneath her breasts, her back cradled by huge digits as a forefinger returned to stroke her gently, smoothing her hair with one pass, then caressing her cheek with another. The fingertip traced the graceful arc of her neck, and slid down to her bust. It felt her perfectly proportioned breasts beneath the fabric, circling with amazing dexterity about her nipple. The prodding and stroking of The Beastís finger was too much, and the cloth ripped away noisily, leaving her totally exposed.

    She found herself flipped gently, and suddenly laying facedown upon the open palm of her lord, her bare flesh warmed by its contact. She ran her hands along the buttery smooth surface of its palm, her nipples hard against its decadent sensuality. The knuckle of its length stroked her back lightly, and she arced her body at its passing, moaning in pleasure. Again it stroked, from her hair to the base of her spine, where it suddenly turned tip-first and rent her loincloth, leaving her totally naked. Three fingertips now stroked her length gently in a single pass, fore and middle fingers lingering over the soft fullness of her bottom.

    The Beast clasped her between its palms, feeling her perfect, naked form and enveloped her in its firm hands. She peeked over the edge of its fingers, and saw that his breechcloth had a noticeable rise in it, the velvet draped over its mammoth erection. It opened up its hands, and she lay reclined upon a cradling palm, facing its huge, alien visage. The Beastís eyes glowed with lust as its other hand raised and snapped twice, imperiously.

    The hidden orchestra began to play again, softly and slowly. With a massive finger, it teased her to her feet, naked and helpless before The Beast. She began to sway in time with the music, and before she realized what she was doing, she was dancing upon the enormous palm. The foreigner descended again, and she braced her hand against it as she pirouetted, spinning herself slowly before the ravenous eyes of her lord. Her dancing became more wild as the music intensified, enormous fingers ever there to act as dance partner and to keep her from tossing herself from the fearful height in her lustful abandon. She danced for The Beast on the palm of its hand, her dainty feet flitting lightly over warm leather.

    The music and her passion was building to a peak, and as its massive foreigner descended to prod her back to the center of its hand yet again, she thrust herself at it, sliding her slit along the length of the digit to the first knuckle, straddling the warm leather-flesh. This pleased The Beast, and it took her between thumb and forefinger, its eyes burning with lust and hunger.

    Her orgasm was swift and intense as it slid its finger between her legs, brushing her clit roughly, and she lay, trembling, pinched gently as the music lowered and stopped. She was confused as she was raised above his head, thrilling to the strength of The Beastís fingers but nervous of the height.

    Her nervousness turned to terror as she saw the enormous maw open beneath her, the golden green light flickering deep within. She struggled and writhed against the grip, but she could not wriggle free of The Beastís fingers as she was lowered over the gaping abyss of its mouth. With abrupt suddenness, it released her, and she plummeted into the jaws of The Beast. Its lips snapped shut after she had disappeared between them, and she felt something long and sinuous wrap itself around her. It crushed the air from her slowly, and something slimy and powerful thrust its way deep into her vagina. She was squeezed and raped by the inhuman tongue of The Beast, and it tasted her naked body and moist sex with its powerful coils. She could scarcely realize that it was dragging her deeper and deeper into the glow that lay filled its maw. With a noisy gulp, she was sent to become part of the golden flame that lay at the core of The Beast.

    The Kaizarre stiffened, its impossible eyes clenched tightly shut, and with a shudder it sagged back upon its throne. It clapped thrice, its enormous hands filling its throne room with deafening thunder. The viziers who hid behind the bamboo screen with the orchestra made note, and the valley of Ilrem was duly marked in their records as being exempt from all tax next year as a reward for the excellent quality of their Tithe.


    Theophilous Bolt