The Royal Kennels

From beneath the palace, tortured feminine moaning can be heard amidst a cacophony of barking. The cold granite of the dungeons echoing and eventually silencing these horrid noises. Below, there are women who have been forced into a life as bitches. Turned into dogsluts for the amusement of the decadent nobility.

Some of these women are kept in the kennels voluntarily, dragged from reality and placed into a cage and leashed. Made to eat and drink from doggy bowls as if they were common animals. One such girl-bitch is Amanda Chalmers, esq. She is the mate of Diamond, a tremendously large mastiff.

Diamond's previous owner was a lonely old widow who died and left everything to her beloved dog. Miss Chalmers assumed the mantle the executorship of the estate and did everything she could to see to the comfort and happyness of her latest client. Perhaps she pursued her due diligence with a bit too much vigor, for soon the lady lawyer found herself completely submissive to her new master. She was lured into the kennels with occult promises of a terrible corruption...

Another girl-bitch in the kennel is Julie Norton. Once an animal control officer in the city of Sirius, Nebraska, she searched for a humane alternative to spaying and neutering. Her exhaustive exploration of these alternatives led her to finally give in to her darkest desires. She got down on all fours and let stray dogs pump their hot seed into her warm receptive snatch. The orgasms she experienced as multiple knots bulged obscenely in her tightly stretched cunt were beyond belief.

Julie's Obedience School for Women Dog Owners opened a short time thereafter, but a darker desire to provide additional services led her to the Royal Kennels. It was here that she willingly partook of the demonic Royal Seed. She drank the foulness in great quantities from a copper bowl on the floor. She sipped it sitting before the prince from a crystal goblet. She even experienced it in her womb, as the Prince rose from his hideous throne, his human flesh ruptured and unraveling as his tentacles invaded her.

Julie Norton became a breeder slut. Her belly was filled with the larval spawn of the prince. She was a concubine slave. The unholy alieness dwelling in her womb and her constant ingestion of the Prince's alchemically enhanced seed had changed her. She could now go to her dog lovers and bear their puppies. And so it was that Julie became a girl-bitch. She was dogged, mounted by the entire pack. Soon afterwards, she whelped her first litter in a royal cage. There was no going back.

Charise was a young peasant maiden, she loved to roam the fields naked with flowers in her hair. One day she wandered into the royal orchards and ate some strange quivering fruits. They were so delicious she gathered an armful of them and proceeded back to her home. But then the guard dogs found her.

Two female guards from the palace came upon her abused form. She had been brutally used by the entire pack of the Prince's trained rape dogs. Rex Mundi, the pack alpha male, was still tied off inside her, his knot linking them in a chain of flesh and pleasure. The two smirking swordswomen had to wait until his swollen bulge shrunk down and Charise was released from her canine pussy-bondage before she could be imprisoned in the Royal Kennels forever.

One day, the prince took his sister and a young noblewoman named Lily into the dungeons for a tour. The Princess sneered at her rival for her incestuous brother's attentions. Lily was innocent and hardly even noticed the cruel princess' catty remarks. The Prince's sister was all finery and lovelyness on the smooth porcelain surface of her flawless skin, but underneath there was nothing but a roiling mass of fangs and talons.

It wasn't long before both women were mated to two of the Prince's best hounds. The Princess had chosen Satan, a tremendous black Hellhound who smelt of fire and brimstone. Her red dress hiked up past her waist as she crawled on all fours under her wicked demonic lover.

Lily was mewling in bestial pleasure as she was introduced to Winter, the great dire wolf. White and bold and gentle, the giant animal rutted in Lady Lily's eager young pussy as the prince watched. As the knots formed in both of the newly indoctrinated bitches, they suckled on the Prince's maleness. His corrupt seed blasted onto their faces in great stringy splashes and both women eagerly lapped it up off of his shooting cock and each other's sperm drenched faces.

There was much howling that night in the Kennels...

Caught Stealing from the Royal Orchards

Caged Females await their mistress and their master.

Alchemical Potions allow her to get pregnant from her dog mate. A slave forced to whelp puppies and bear litters for the Kennels.

She submits to the canine seed.

The Urn looks out from the deck of a Black Galleon, perhaps soon to be a ghost ship.

The Urn of Corruption

In a sheltered hallway of the Imperial Palace is a small alcove lit by candleflame. The floor and walls are of polished black marble. The smallish room is round and has many small vases which reside in cleverly constructed display hollows. The gold flecked veins of the black marble seem to lead to the centerpiece of the room, a great golden urn covered in strange sinewy black designs.

The urn is redolent of musk and forbidden odors, although the lid remains sealed shut with exotic wax. The urn is voluminous, perhaps able to contain a large man. It seems to quiver at times, pulling observers closer with a sensuous mystic allure. It is warm to the touch, almost... alive.

She discovers it one day; this Urn. A chambermaid of the palace, she wanders in and cleans this ornate, yet simple alcove. Day after day, the Urn fascinates her. It is constantly drawing her in with some terrible power. She begins to desire it's opening, longing to experience the wonders sure to be contained within it.

Soon, desire turns to obsession, and obsession turns to madness. The dangerous magic of the Urn has seduced her mind entirely. She rubs herself at night under her sheets, thinking of the dark power waiting to emerge and be revealed. Each morning her sheets are stained with sweat and sweetness. Each day her cunt is soaked. The Urn owns her soul now, like some cruel and distantly misremembered rapist.

In one ancient book of blasphemous myth and fallen lords is written: "...they say that the darkest artifacts have the ability to bend men to their will. Calling soundlessly to the wicked and discontent from thousands of miles away or hundreds of feet beneath the earth or sea, and that in this way they always come to light again, no matter how buried or forgotten."

So it was with the Urn and the Prince.

In the darkest hours of the night, our chambermaid approaches the Urn. It seems to greet her fondly, although the object merely squats within the alcove like a bloated and diseased toad. She kneels and hugs it's side, feeling the foulness of the lurking interior. Visions of defilement and forbidden lusts dance in her mind like whirling mad dervishes. She quickly stands and lifts the thin skirt of her nightgown, touching herself lewdly.

With a slim stilletto she cuts away the waxen seal, eagerly lifting the lid with an expression of unholy anticipation painted on her visage. Then her face turns sour and strained with fear and revulsion, for within the Urn is a myriad of immoral tendrils and tentacles that explode outwards. The horrid boneless limbs seize the poor girl and slam her rudely against the ceiling. Her wrists and ankles are instantly bound in the dreadful suckered and slimy feelers of the inhabitant. She feels the thick veins all over the coils of the leviathan in the jar pulsating with the beating of many sinful hearts.

Her teeth clench as the obscenity violates her body, and it is most obscene indeed. The girth of the breeding probes entering her sopping wet pussy dripping with excited fluids of their own as they brutally plunge in and out of her, bruising her sex with a casually indifferent violence.

As she opens her mouth to scream, a spewing thing enters her mouth and chokes her throat until her nostrils leak it's alien sperm. For that is what it is, a mass of rampant penises, or penii desperate to impregnate and mate and breed. The stench of it is overwhelming now, the raunch of the Urn's musk spreading a narcotic miasma in the air. The poor chambermaid is drugged into a stupor by it's horrific aroma, her body nearing addiction and orgasm as the beast in the Urn tames her pussy with it's rough slamming and groping.

She squeals past the cock-probe in her throat, swallowing it's spunk as her asshole is penetrated by another iridescent black spike. The tentacles black as pools of pitch, shimmering with rainbows of light like a liquid prism. The girl shivers and quakes, shuddering in forced ecstacy. The Urn has made her cum like a whore in need.

Hours pass, time stretching into the distant road of the future as her violation continues. Exhausted, she reaches peak after peak of ever-increasing pleasure. Demonic sperm covers her now, dripping down from the ceiling and pooling in specially carven rivulets in the polished marble floor. She does not notice the sacred priestesses entering and forming a circle. In unison they drop their robes and vestments. As they kneel and crawl naked like greedy kittens, their wiggling tongues lap up the unholy seed of their god.

Finally, she is pulled down from the curtained heights... her eyes open suddenly, some hidden despair in her heart making itself known. The priestesses titter as the chambermaid is yanked into the Urn. Her struggles amusing them greatly. She tries desperately to escape, but it is like swimming against the rapids. The tentacles drag ger under and she disappears beneath the roiling black flesh of the unearthly thing in the Urn.

The priestesses lift the lid as one and replace it upon the Urn, sealing it once again with melted wax which they pour from a small brass lamp. Her muffled screams and sequestered pleas for help cut off as the lid slams down onto her prison. The priestesses dress themsleves in their modest robes and vestments and file out of the alcove one by one.

Left behind, the Urn waits alone, redolent of musk and forbidden odors, although the lid remains sealed shut with exotic wax. The urn is voluminous, perhaps able to contain a large man. It seems to quiver at times, pulling unwary observers closer with a sensuous mystic allure. It is warm to the touch, almost... alive.