Foie De La Vierge
Copyright© 2010 by Grim Williams
Chapter 11
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 11 - An erotic horror tale set in France at the time of the French Revolution, where in the catacombs beneath the streets of Paris the victims of the terror are laid to rest. Here, a beautiful young aristocrat on the run from a blood thirsty mob finds herself locked in a tomb facing unspeakable misery, but she isn't alone. There is a sex-hungry man there, and as a result her virginity is assuredly doomed. But when her identity is revealed, that becomes the least of her problems.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Rape Heterosexual Historical Horror Caution
As the days past and still no food, the gentle curves that had covered Christine's delicate bones flattened and disappeared. Soon, I could count the ribs shaping her chest. Her cheeks hollowed and her eyes became sunken. I viewed these changes with mixed feelings.
"Show me your hands," I ordered one day, letting go of her bosoms and lifting her wrists. Her nails were broken and there were hard calluses upon each of her fingers. "Excellent," I muttered loudly, turning her hands so as to look at the backs. They were scratched and bruised, bleeding in several places. "Very good. Yes, that's first-rate."
"Monsieur?"
My heart was pounding and bleeding with emotion. Fear and worry were eating me up. I examined her hair next, checking it thoroughly for the presence of lice, and of course, I found an infestation. Despite all the washing, her hair had become dull, lifeless and unsatisfyingly straggly.
"When are you going to eat me?" she asked me later that day, chewing at her nails while watching me crawling around, hunting for rodents. She was standing as I'd ordered her to stand, with her hands high above her head, her legs a few inches apart, and standing like that, she was watching me work. "Please. You have to eat me soon or I'll be too thin, and I'm so, so hungry! Why won't you give me any meat?"
I replied to her coldly, glancing up from my hole. "Because I don't have any, that's why. If you want meat, then bang at the door and call for the soldiers. Ask them for corpses. Suggest to them that they execute some more pretty young aristocrats. Of course, when you ask them, they may have their own ideas. They may take you outside for a while and then bring you back in here as meat."
She cried then because of the pain in her arms, and while I did feel sorry for her, I couldn't relax. I had to find meat. Her breasts were half the weight and size they'd originally been, and their shape was changing. They sagged, whereas before they hadn't, and it seemed to me that Christine was shriveling up from inside, both physically and mentally.
"I can escape," she insisted later that day, or was it the next? Because one day elides with another when there's no light or darkness, no sun by which to count out the hours.
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