Description
h2.Meat Slave
[section=Story]
[i]How long had he been here? A week? A month? Or maybe several years had passed? For him, time had stopped long ago, just like the concept of day and night. A faint orange light constantly lingered in this place, appearing out of nowhere in the distance and disappearing into eternity, and the air was so humid and thick that it was exhausting to breathe. But all this faded into the background against the sharp and nauseating smell of flesh.
Flesh. This entire place consisted entirely of its transformed forms. Pillars of tendons held up the ceilings, fleshy growths created enormous terrain, and the floor made squelching sounds when walked on. It seemed as if the very atmosphere of this place was saturated with tiny meat spores floating in search of a surface.
Lexon's prison was also made of flesh. From a distance, it resembled a grotesque painting in which a mad artist had captured all the lust and despair of this place. Up close, despair gave way to horror, and lust was complemented by madness. A bag of flesh was stretched over a frame of thick, twisted bones. Living flesh. The entire structure writhed and pulsed, keeping time with the heartbeat of its captive.
Disgusting worm-like tentacles penetrated every possible orifice, filling Lexon's insides with their filthy juice. It did not even spare his very brain, violently breaching its sanctuary with its sticky limbs. Whether this was done accidentally or on purpose, Lexon was now unable to concentrate, because in the brief moments of clarity, a cold tentacle would pierce his brain and send him back into oblivion.
His nipples were pierced by metal needles of exquisite shape, painfully hot and sometimes vibrating. Combined with the two tentacles in his anus, they gave Lexon a semblance of sexual pleasure. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't enjoy it fully—the same needles pierced his cock, permanently sealing it in a flaccid state.
Lexon had become part of the organism, and the organism had to take care of itself. The flesh nourished his body through the tentacles, injecting nutrients into it and regenerating cells. Whatever the creature's goals were, it was in its interest to keep its host alive for as long as possible.
Don't think that Lexon had resigned himself to his fate as an eternal prisoner. In those rare moments when his mind returned for an instant, he tried to break free from his fleshly bonds, using all the strength and will he had left. However, as if sensing this, the flesh tightened around him with incredible force, nullifying all his efforts. Perhaps this was influenced by the slave sigil that had been branded on him in the early days of his imprisonment. Or maybe it was the huge eye that closely monitored his every movement, leaving him no chance of escape.
Either way, Lexon was running out of time. With each failed escape attempt, he was getting weaker, and his will was breaking under the sloshing sounds in his head. He was not alone — there were many unlucky people around him, also trapped in meat galleries, whose moans echoed throughout the hall. Maybe at some point a savior would come down here and rescue them from the trap.
They should have noticed his disappearance long ago. How long had he been here?
[/i]
When I played the game Scorn, I was really struck by its alien environment. Living and non-living organisms coexisting in symbiosis and creating incredible works of art. I decided to do something similar, but with a greater emphasis on meat-based body horror. And since I'm not going to treat my avalis like that, Lexon once again took on the role of the victim >:D
Please don't call the mental hospital. I'm ✨completely sane✨
- Rating
- E
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- Uploader
- Fenrir784
- File
- jpg 256x332