Kinky Temptation

Silence enveloped them, thick and suffocating, broken only by the measured breaths and rhythmic crunch of loose stone underfoot.

The tunnels twisted and constricted, seeming to tighten around them like a noose. Miriel felt her heart pounding, her exposed skin crawling because of the faint, sickly-sweet odor which grew more pronounced. She stuck close to Lyssandra’s shadow, drawing comfort from the other woman’s solid presence in the suffocating dark.

Ahead, Lyssandra stopped abruptly, crouching beside a pile of rubble partially blocking the passage. She brushed aside thick cobwebs and a layer of sticky, green-tinged fungi.

Beneath lay a tattered scrap of leather. Time and moisture had ravaged it, ink was mostly faded to ghostly smudges, edges crumbling. Only a fragment in the center remained legible, scrawled in a frantic, trembling hand. Lyssandra squinted in the dim light.

”…started hearing them,” the fragment read. ”The voices. Not… the head. Deeper. Walls… whispers. Like…” The next words were obliterated, swallowed by time. ”…screaming… not pain… anger? Or… joy? …it hungry…” The scrawl deteriorated into a series of jagged, indecipherable marks, then stopped.

Lyssandra frowned, carefully setting the fragile scrap down where she found it. ”This guy was breaking down fast,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. ”Whispering walls, voices. Angry? Hungry?” Her gaze swept the damp, fungus-encrusted stone walls surrounding, searching the shadows for anything amiss.

Miriel stared at the scrap of leather, her skin prickling with unease. ”Voices?” she whispered. ”But we haven’t heard anything but silence.” The word felt heavy, oppressive. She shuddered violently despite the closeness. ”We shouldn’t linger. This place…”

Every instinct screaming at her to turn back, to flee the crushing stillness and the unseen eyes she imagined watching them from the very walls. Her exposed skin felt oddly sensitive, every brush of Lyssandra’s cloak making her flinch. Was she imagining the faint, almost sub-sonic hum vibrating in her bones now?

’It can’t be…’ Miriel thought desperately. ’Let us find what we seek and escape this cursed place quickly.’

A sudden, jarring sound shattered the stillness, guttural shriek of pain echoing down the corridor ahead. Miriel jumped violently, stumbling back against the wall with a yelp.

”Lyssandra?” Miriel gasped, panic rising like bile in her throat.

Rounding the next bend, she froze at the sight that greeted her. Lyssandra stood silhouetted in the gloom, her body partially morphed.

One hand, impossibly long and razor-sharp had elongated into a spear-point of hardened green slime. It dripped viscous liquid while retracting back into its normal human form.

Before her lay the corpse of a huge creature. It was easily twice Lyssandra’s size – a mutant rat, covered in patchy fur matted with filth and fungal growth. Its muzzle was a horror of overgrown teeth, its claws long enough to rend flesh from bone.

But the most striking feature was the gaping, ragged hole punched clean through its chest cavity, revealing bone and pulped organs. Stench of blood, entrails, and decay washed over Miriel.

”Just a rat,” Lyssandra muttered dismissively, giving her hand a flick to shed the last drops of ichor. Her voice was calm, devoid of exertion. ”An ugly one, mind you. Looks like the local vermin adapted to whatever poison is lingering here.”

She glanced back at the Saintess who was frozen in terror, plastered against the tunnel wall. Miriel’s face was ashen, eyes wide with shock and disgust as she stared at the mutilated carcass, her breath coming in short, shuddering gasps.

”Are… are you okay?” Miriel stammered. ”You left me behind… don’t… don’t ever do that again! Please!” Tears pricked her eyes.

Lyssandra didn’t reply. Instead, she closed the short distance between them in two swift strides. Without a word, she grasped Miriel’s trembling hand firmly in her own – warm, strong, reassuring. The contact jolted Miriel from her paralysis.

Wordlessly, Lyssandra pulled the paranoid girl away from the grisly scene. They skirted the dead giant rat, the sickly-sweet scent momentarily overpowered by the iron tang of blood. Lyssandra navigated the twisting tunnels, pulling the trembling Saintess behind, a silent pillar of strength against the oppressive dark.

Miriel clung to that hand like a lifeline, her heart hammering in her chest. ’A rat this big?’ her mind screamed. ’What horrors lurked deeper?’

She forced herself to focus on the feel of Lyssandra’s gloved fingers gripping hers tightly, the steady rhythm of Lyssandra’s confident strides ahead of her. It was the only anchor she had against the crushing silence and the unseen threats this ancient place held.

They walked on. The tunnels seemed to stretch into an eternity of suffocating darkness, twisting and turning until all sense of direction was lost.

The oppressive silence returned, broken only by the frantic thud of Miriel’s heart. Her hand felt numb. At first, she had clung to the contact, seeking solace but Lyssandra’s grip grew tighter and tighter, her fingers like bands of steel biting into Miriel’s delicate flesh. Pain began to radiate up her arm, a throbbing ache.

”C-Can you… not clutch my hand that hard?” Miriel asked, her voice barely a whisper in the dark. She tugged her hand gently, trying to ease the pressure.

Lyssandra gave no response. She continued striding forward, her posture rigid, pace unwavering. Her grip only tightened further, a brutal, crushing vice.

”L-Lyssandra? Please… release my hand!” Miriel whimpered, the pain becoming unbearable. Tears welled in her eyes. ”It hurts… please!” She tried to pry her hand free with her other one, but the restraint was relentless.

Miriel’s breath hitched on a sob. ”You’re hurting me! Stop!” she cried, voice cracking. She stumbled, tripping over her own feet as the pain made her vision blur.

Abruptly, Lyssandra halted. Without warning, her crushing grip released.

Miriel, thrown off balance, fell backwards onto cold, hard stone, landing hard on her buttocks with a gasp of pain. She cradled her bruised, throbbing hand against her chest, tears streaming down her face.

Lyssandra spun around, ripping off her mask with a sharp, angry movement. Her face was contorted by fury, blue eyes blazing.

”SHUT THE HELL UP!” she roared, her voice echoing violently down the corridor, shattering the silence.

Miriel flinched violently, curling in on herself, sobbing openly now.

Lyssandra towered over her, her expression terrifying. ”Stop your fucking WHINING, you pathetic mouse!” she snarled. ”Stop clutching and dragging me down! Useless bitch! Can’t handle a little darkness? A little pain? You’re nothing but a dead weight!”

She loomed closer, her voice dripping with venom. ”Weak! Spoiled! Saintly cunt! Can’t do anything without complaining? Can’t walk? Can’t fight? What fucking use are you?!”

Miriel could only cower, her body shaking with terror and sobs, unable to meet the furious gaze. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees, away from the raging woman above her.

”I-I’m s-sorry…” she stammered through her tears, her voice thick and broken. ”P-please… I’m s-sorry…”

”Sorry?” Lyssandra spat the word like it was poison. ”You’ll be sorrier if you don’t shut your trap and get on your feet RIGHT NOW! Or I’ll leave you here for the fucking rats!”

Miriel crumpled in on herself, drawing her knees to her chest, burying her face against them while violent sobs wracking her slender frame.

Her white hood was askew, revealing matted silver hair sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks. Her breath came in ragged gasps between desperate, choked apologies.

”I-I’m s-sorry… I’m s-so s-sorry…” she wailed, the words broken and incoherent, muffled against her knees. ”D-don’t leave me… p-please… d-don’t leave m-me… alone…”

She rocked back and forth slightly, a pitiful picture of abject terror and submission. Her revealing suit, already dirty and torn from their journey, looked even more obscene in her vulnerable position, emphasizing the trembling curves of her exposed back and thighs.

The bruises blooming on her wrist from Lyssandra’s crushing grip stood out starkly against her pale skin.

Tears and snot mingled freely on her face. Her eyes, when she dared to glance up through swollen, reddened lids, were wide with pure, unadulterated fear, reflecting Lyssandra’s figure towering over her.

”…won’t complain… I p-promise… I’ll be… q-quiet…” she stammered, her voice a tiny, pathetic whisper.

”…anything… I’ll do… anything…”

She pressed herself lower, making herself smaller, a trembling, pitiful offering laid bare on the cold stone, her only plea echoing in the suffocating darkness.

”Please… don’t leave me here…”