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.