Cult of Cthulhu

[darkstalker]

Clare from claymore is gangraped and tortured by a group of men and then given back to a cthulhu like monster who tentacle rapes her.
(will return to other stories later on so don't worry..)

*****

Clare’s blade slices through the slimy flesh of the being once more, her sword coming down with a thud and great crack against the stone floor. The sword remains where it is, lodged between pieces of rock, Clare’s shoulders hunched over, her and face damp with sweat.
Her normally human features are obscured by her partially awakened state, which has now twisted her lips to hold a mouth full of serrated teeth, the veins standing on end on her arms and legs. Her eyes glow a vibrant yellow in the night air, 10% of her yoki called up.
She struggles to lift her head, hearing as the slime creature... as that is all she can call it, retreats once more. Its body slips between cracks, both the hacked limbs and whole blob of flesh disappearing from sight. Clare has been fighting it for hours and still there seems to be no recourse. The damned thing just comes back together again!
She wrinkles her nose, watching as it comes back together in one piece. It is a putrid green mass of flesh, looking like puss and feeling like it any time it slaps against her skin or cuts her. She used her quick sword initially when she’d attacked it, lashing it to pieces smaller then kindling in seconds. She’d mistaken it for an ungodly piece of mold or manure but found it was alive and sentient. But any slash is only momentary as the creature returns for her. It is annoyingly determined, but so is she.
“That is enough!” the creature hisses. “Submit to me already!”
Clare grits her teeth, grinding them against one another. “Never!” she says, wrenching her nearly six foot sword from the ground. “I’m not going to die to you!”
As the blade is wrenched out so is her balance thrown off and she stumbles backwards before catching herself. Sweat pours down her body, making her black leather shift uncomfortable, her panties running up her sensitive areas in a most unpleasant manner below the skirt. Even her boots now feel sickeningly damp with sweat. Why won’t this damned thing die, she thinks.
The creature simply chuckles, laughing hideously. “Is that truly what you think we want,” it says, forming its large body before her. “No... we want your body. We want to violate every orifice you have, hear you scream and fill you with our seed. Sate our need. And when we’re done we’ll drop you at the edge of the chasm here. Wether you live or die will be your will alone.”
“You’re disgusting!” says Clare, moving her blade before her when a sudden sharp pain lashes up her thigh. She buckles to her knees, screaming as a tendril with a twisting knife going up her leg behind the knee, pumps her full with a secretion. She lashes at the tentacle with her sword, hacking it away. The tentacle spasms and recedes back into a crack too small to contain its girth. The remains of it in her knee sliding back out to join the rest.
She is breathing heavily, barely able to stand, her vision blurring. No she realizes, her yoki level is dropping again. With each sting the monster gives her, her yoki grows weaker and weaker.
She is breathing heavily now, leaning down against her sword. “Almost time....” says the creature, its voice filled with acid. “You have been most troublesome indeed. I will make sure you suffer more then the previous women.”
“I....” says Clare as she begins to stand when a wave of pain lashes through her right arm under her pit. She slashes awkwardly, but it is her sword arm the tentacle is under and the blade does not cut fully through the tentacle. Instead the tentacle reshapes itself, twisting its toxins into her blood.
Feeling drowsy with the night closing in on her and the sword suddenly feeling frighteningly heavy, she lets go before her arm snaps in two. The blade falls with a thud, her body held up by the tentacle pumping its toxins into her. Her mouth is reshaping back into its original form, her vision growing duller. She feels weak, heavy, and helpless.
“Damn it,” she hisses. “Why?”
Since the beginning this monster has given her troubles. It is not an awakened being for no yoki emanates from its flesh, but still monster it is and with its uncanny ability to slip between cracks and reform itself no matter how many times Clare slashes at it she has gradually grown weaker and weaker.
The monster laughs with a burbling mirth, putrid blisters along its body popping. “You are all but human now, woman,” it hisses. “And now the games shall begin...”
It wrenches its knife like tentacle from her pit with a jerk, slamming her towards the floor as it does so, her mouth filling with dirt and debris. She spits and coughs, her throat feeling constricted. She struggles to her hands and knees but falls back, feeling completely drained.
“Kkkkk... not like this,” she growls, looking towards the writhing mass of flesh.
“Yesss...” says the creature, running a length of it’s tentacle across her cheek, leaving a trail of wet slime behind. “Jusssst like thissss...”
“But...” Its tentacles recede back into the mass, the creature breathing heavily. “You have taken your toll and I mussst rest. I shall let my followers take you for now... instead....”
“F-followers?” says Clare, struggling to get back up. A strong arm grips her left and jerks her to her feet.
“He means us,” says a dirty man with a cropped mustache and unshaved double chin. He spits in her face, blinding her left eye momentarily and licks her cheek. Clare struggles against his grip but finds she can barely move out of it.
The man laughs heartily. “So this is a silver eyed bitch, eh? Not much are ya?” he says, gripping her bangs and jerking her head back.
“Let go of me,” she says. “I haven’t done anything to you!”
The man slaps her hard across the face. Blood flies from her lips and pain runs up her cheek. “You attacked our god you bitch. You call that nothing!”
Again he slaps her, nearly knocking her to the floor.
“Biiiinnnd her,” says the creature. “Tooortuuree her... buuurn her... and... hahahaha... fuck her. Let her know what it isss to be a woman in these parts. Then tomorrow night, bring her againnn...” Its tentacles move up to Clare’s legs, running along the skin. “I wisssh to tassste this one... and make her scream myself.”
Its tentacles retract and go towards the several men now milling about Clare, touching her, fondling her, tossing her around in the middle of them. “You will allll be my vesselsss... your seed will keep her weak and vulnerable....”
Clare watches with wide eyed horror as tentacles rise up behind the men. “Watch out!” she yells. “It’s behind you.”
The men simply laugh. What is wrong with these men, she thinks. Are they that secure in themselves and their god?
She watches as the tendrils strike forward behind the necks of each man, making him stiffen, their veins bulging as something pushes deep into them, the sounds coming from their throats sounding like gurgled screams. Then the tendrils jerk away, slimy chunks left behind, wriggling in the back of the neck of each man.
Damn it, Clare thinks intending to step behind them. I have to get out of here! But as she is about to step around one of the men, a large gruff one made like a bull, grabs her shoulder and tosses her back in the center. Her back slams against the floor painfully, his large hand pressing her down.
“No sense in the hen running out before we’ve had the chance to crow, now is there?” The man licks his large bulbous lips. Clare shudders, staring at him. His eyes have gone a sickly yellow and his strength seems unmatched.
“Bring the chains!” she hears someone yell. She looks to her left, hearing the rattle of chains as they are brought forth. She struggles, kicking and punching, but it does little against the large giant before her.
Her arms are jerked behind her, roughly and tightly, the manacles put in place. As she bucks someone jerks her hair violently, a metal collar looping around her neck and snapping in place. The tight fit feels cold and when the length of chain running away from it is jerked she is pulled with it, coughing as the metal restricts her flow of air.
“It’s a little tight for a swan like you,” says a lengthy man of bony features, “but it will do.” He grips her cheeks tightly running his tongue over her face, across her cheek. With a crack he slaps her across the face and jerks her by the hair of her scalp again. “Whores like you need know their place.”
“Goooood,” she hears the creature bubble. “Take her every way you know, then bring her.... I must ressst for now...”
“Alright you heathen goats! This cow ain’t getting any lighter, let’s get a move on!” With a jerk Clare is brought to her feet once more, pulled along the procession down the hillside. She gives one last glance towards the slime creature as she is pushed forward and swears she can see it shivering with laughter.