Helob x Narinder and Lamb (Good Ending!)
Story by Alexa Rhoka on SoFurry
Narinder is caught unaware by the local "food" merchant... who decides he's too good a prize to let free. The Lamb learns of his fate, and tries to save him.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Non-con, Oral Vore, Blood, Biting, Venom, frequent mentions of Death, implied long-term Endosoma, soft aftercare stuff.
This one... took me a bit longer. I wanted to do some softer aftercare stuff at the end, which... I'm still new to harsh/violent NSFW stuff, so that kind of aftercare is also new to me.
Anyway, really hoping it's a good refresher from the Horrible Things™!
Copyright to Massive Monster, as these are just characters from Cult of the Lamb.
Ache. Everything… hazy. Swimming. Feels like floating… feels like ichor, in his blood. Feels like his form won't obey him…
Can't move. Not just from that sluggish feeling, but… arms, bound in place… not chains. Not a memory? Soft… soft, but stronger even then those accursed chains.
Eyes blink open slowly, one and then a second and a third… He's in the woods. He was in camp, eating. He can still taste faint traces of the stew he was offered. The flavor's gone rancid against his teeth, like… like he's been sleeping, but for days… He spits into the grass- no, mouth doesn't move enough. It just… dribbles down his chin, onto the silk.
...Silk?
Eyes open wider. Yes, spider's silk. Shamura?…
Trees all around. No path in sight, little as his head can turn. No telling where he's even been taken… Why would they have taken him…?
Something moves. His ears swivel to the sound, his head turns far as it can, but the figure approaches from behind. Lips pull back in a snarl, a growl rumbling in his chest.
The figure snickers. “Feisty snack. I like the ones that have fight in them still…"
Not Shamura. Of course not. They'd settled their differences. They wouldn't do this to him.
A hand traces up his side, through the web he's bound to. He tries to pull away, and fails.
“Who are you?"
“None of your concern, Old Blood. I can smell the Lamb on you. That… hunter-smell. But it's faint… You're not a hunter anymore, Old Blood. Something's different… You are... weaker, now." The figure's hands trace up his sides as they speak, lifting up that tattered tunic. His struggling doesn't stop.
“Strong enough to send you to the Hereafter, you pathetic parasite. Release me!"
The figure laughs again, so close behind him. “Bound again… I do know that smell. The One Who Waits… Almost funny, watching you squirm. Watching you fight to avoid the inevitable… As so many have before… Do you know how many squirming crawling pleading things I've sent to you, my lord?"
Those memories are long since faded. Before his capture, before that millennium of waiting, he'd know this killer by its numbers. He'd already know its face, its name. But in that time… and since his defeat at the hands of that damned Lamb, his senses had dulled… A new death was merely a fleeting moment, to him, not the feast of pain and fear it once was.
“Some hundreds, my lord. Some unknowable number of helpless, weak, delicious critters… Used by something stronger. Is that not the way of the world, He That Waits Beneath?"
Something sharp presses into his back. For a moment, he freezes… But the blade doesn't pierce him. It merely slides through his tunic, cleaving the ratty thing cleanly… letting the fabric drop to the floor. His torso now bare, now so clearly exposed to the cold air… Those hands hold under his arms, as a face leans closer to his neck. “Is that not the way of the world? The strong devour the weak… Death comes for us all, in time. Even… to you…"
More hands, grabbing at his hips… This shocks him, more than anything; such an obscene touch, especially for a former god. “Unhand me, filthy thing, the Lamb will-"
Another hand, over his mouth, leaving silk in its wake. Binding his lips shut before he can react…
“No one is coming for you, Old Blood. No one could. I saw you, by the trees… I smelled you so clearly, such a delectable treat. Something a hunter like me could never taste again…"
The former god knows this feeling. This cold feeling in his chest, this rapid thumping of his heart, this burn in his muscles where they strain against his binds. He knows it only as a bystander, but he knows it well. He's going to die here. Alone in the woods with this beast, this “hunter". If this thing is a hunter, that makes him…
He pulls harder. Silk strains and stretches just a little. Not enough to free him.
The hands at his waist dig in, claws drawing blood, red streaks through black fur… “Oh no. You will not be pulling away, Old Blood. You will be holding still, and I will be taking my prize. Like any hunter should. Accept your end, End Of All Things."
The feline cries out into his binds, teeth unable to find purchase on the webbing sealing his lips. Something is prodding against his back… and he has a guess as to what. The hands under his arms shift to his shoulders, the hands at his hips still holding on by those fresh wounds… as the spider crudely crams his fat, tapered cock into the former god.
Black tears stream down his face, stark against white silk. He tries so desperately to pull away as those hands keep pulling him back, as that thick taper presses into his guts. Those grunts against his neck feel hot, sickly, animalistic as the spider uses him. That dark purple, matted fur is coarse against his back, filthy as it is with bones and scattered fur from former meals…
This is no end for the god of Death. Beaten and usurped by a sacrificial lamb, forced to serve them… then grabbed, used for this depraved thing's enjoyment, only to… what? Be devoured?…
The frame Narinder was bound to creaks with each thrust, threatening to come apart. Not nearly so strong as the web it contained, not able to withstand that feral mating… It finally shatters, and they both fall hard. Narinder onto his front, Helob onto and into him…
Hands shift. Now, one of them has him by the scruff, roughly pulling him back. “Hahh… Better position, I thinks. Letsss me enjoy you better~" The beast huffs against his neck. “Letsss me… get a better taste~"
The god tries again to pull away, as he feels those looming fangs… as they set against his throat, and begin to sink into skin. It aches, at first, not nearly so painful as those claws before, as they sink deeper, and the spider's jaws clamp around his neck.
This is how he was caught. From behind, those fangs catching him before he even noticed, his awareness fading… That isn't what happens this time. Not fading into black… not even numbness… But that sluggish, slow feeling, his limbs no longer responding. Left to feel as his ass is used, feel every throb and thrust of that short, fat taper, every breath hot against his neck, every faint pulse of venom from those fangs…
It feels like hours. Sweaty, painful, aching hours, unable to move, slowly bleeding into the grass… before the spider pulls away one more time, slams his hips into the feline again, floods his guts with cum… and finally pulls his fangs away.
“Yesss… I liked that muchly. Oh, what a shame to takes you away…"
He's too delirious to move. Everything swims… He can barely understand the sadistic bastard. The spider takes only a moment, to catch his breath. It takes nothing for him to lift the shaking, limp lump that he's left of the cat into the air…
“...But I can't just let you go. You taste… so good…"
Those jaws open so impossibly wide, right in front of his face. And he's forced to simply watch it approach… Feel that sickly hot breath waft over him, feel that tongue under his chin… His muzzle slides easily into that eagerly grabby gullet, tongue sliding up his cheek to catch an inky tear…
A swallow pulls his head almost completely into that tight gullet. This creature is so much stronger than him, and it wastes no time crushing him down its neck, except to grope one sharp hand at his ass again… Its head tilts back, tossing him into the air like a piece of meat in order to keep swallowing.
With all the nasty thing talks of the sound of crunching bones, Narinder really thought his suffering would end between its teeth. But it seems to want his feeble struggles, as well… He hisses into that silken gag as he feels its tongue prodding at the wounds at his waist. Tasting his blood, savoring it eagerly…
Another swallow stuffs his hindquarters down its gullet. Another series of short, heavy gulps pulls his paws in as well… And he feels it stop again. Just his toes, peeking out the back of its throat… It holds there, a hand rubbing at its neck, two more pressing against its fat middle… and closes its mouth. Fully sealing him inside, but not swallowing again, for a moment…
Through the haze of venom, and breathlessness, Narinder curses this creature. Curses him in a dozen long-dead tongues, for playing with its meal and not just tearing his throat out… Still bound, curled up in its disgusting, hot belly, insulated by all that matted fur… Simply waiting to die. He's almost startled out of it by that final swallow, sending the last of him down, down into the dark…
The spider almost moans, once it has wind back in its lungs. “Mmh… By the Old Faith, my lord… You really are a prize… I am so very lucky to have grabbed you before something else! That taste… Maybe I should try to capture that sweet little lamb…"
This is enough to renew his struggling again. Not that he'd ever be able to tell why… The Lamb had supplanted him as a god. Surely, this hideous creature couldn't overpower them… But he felt some urge to fight, kick with the last of his strength, even as his body went numb from the thin air…
“Ooooh, yes. Kick and struggle and squirm. We will go to find your old master, but I am going to… enjoy you, first. See if I can not find more morsels wandering around..."
The feline feels almost nauseous as everything around them shifts. The spider is getting to its feet, the heavy weight in its gut hanging and swaying as it moves… But it doesn't seem fazed by this at all. It simply walks away into the trees, searching idly for branches to replace the broken webbing frame. That rhythmic swaying and sloshing, the heat, the lack of air… Gradually, the fallen god falls once again, deep into unconsciousness, not expecting to wake again…
But wake he does… to the sound of Helob's muffled voice.
“It is a shame you have lost one of your morsels, my friend. Luckily for you, I think I managed to find it before some truly dangerous creature did."
...He could feel the presence of the Crown. His own mind was so clouded… could the Lamb even read it if they tried? Would they see what this monster did to him?…
“Tell you what… if you can reach in and pull it out before my body finishes with it… You can have it! On the house."
Narinder feels one of the spider's hands heft his weight. All he can muster is a single kick, weak as it is… How long has he been inside this monster?…
The spider chuckles, before slowly shifting down to its knees. “Very well, my friend. Oh, and to make it fair, could you leave that little crown? Would not wants you to have to reach back in for it, after all… Because you'll have to reach deep~"
That maw opens wide, fangs shining in the dappled sunlight. An intimidating sight, for the Lamb… The Crown floats off to one side, watching nervously. After all, they've always been able to trust the merchant. Shady as Helob often was, they'd never been given a reason to fear him… So they reach into that hot, wet, pulsing flesh, plunging one hand deep into his throat.
Narinder takes a deep breath of that hot, stale air. He can only assume his captor had swallowed some fresh air, at some point, or he'd never have woken up… He's still so weak, so numb from his own exhaustion, from the hint of venom in his blood… But he has enough strength to feel around, try to find the opening to this beast's stomach.
The Lamb's hand plummets into that flesh, up to their shoulder. They can feel the merchant gently swallowing, to guide their digits deeper… but his maw rests at their shoulder, with no hint of his prey anywhere near their fingers. They'll have to lean in even more… ducking their head slightly, pushing forward more…
_ Gllk… glrrk… glllk… _
Every little swallow pulling them in further. Still no sign of their quarry… Their head's fully inside the spider's neck, and they're truly starting to feel nervous…
_ Glllrk… glllk… _
Finally, their fingers brush the feline's! Just for a moment! A little more… His struggles renew, scrambling to push up into that opening, reach further. Their own get a little more frantic, slipping them further into the dark. Only their hips and legs hang free over the grass.
Their palms connect, and the Lamb's grip is firm! Immediately, they pull hard, squirming to wriggle back up his neck… But they freeze, for a moment. They can feel hands on their ankles, and it startles them for a moment…
To their further surprise, those hands are slowly, firmly pulling them free! The merchant really is simply… letting them go! Every inch of their freed body sodden with drool and suddenly cold in the gentle breeze…
Their grip slips for only a moment, just a little. In a panic, they lurch back into his throat, desperate not to let him slip. Not that they needed to panic; weak as his grip was, slick as they both were with saliva and stomach slime, Narinder's palm was still firmly held in the Lamb's.
Helob's tongue wanders slightly as his prey comes up. Some perverse pleasure in tasting them even as he releases them, perhaps. The Lamb puts it out of their mind, even as he licks across their face… They're more focused on their follower. As soon as they're fully out, they brace against the ground hard, and pull. The spider gags slightly, as that bulge slides back up his neck, stretching his maw around the feline's form again.
He comes free unexpectedly. The two land with a sickly slapping sound, soaked in slobber as they are. The spider wipes his lip, with a raspy chuckle. “There. Was not so hard, yesss? I am so glad you trusted in me, my friend!~"
The Lamb scowls, trying to shake off some wayward drool. As usual, they say nothing, hefting Narinder's limp arm over their shoulder. It's much easier to carry his weight, as the Crown shifts back to the top of their head, settling into place. He's so visibly weak, sick, exhausted, starving… He's been gone nearly a week. To think the merchant outside had him this whole time… They'd need to keep an eye on him. Well, even more of an eye on him.
They ignore him as they walk away, relieved at least to feel Narinder's breathing. The cult will be relieved to see him again. They already are.
They took him straight to the medical tent, ignoring questions. Their heart is still pounding in their ears… They came so close to losing him. A small setback, for the literal New God of Death, but still a risk they did not want to take. Who knew how his soul would respond to the Hereafter? Who knew if it were really as easy to pull him from it as it was any other follower?
The crown is sent off out of the tent, to get someone on fashioning new robes for him. With practiced ease, they set to work on his wounds. Deep claw marks, at his hips… Definitely infected. Not even scabbed over, just… oozing something that looked like Ichor. They could see his ribs stretching his skin even more than usual… The crown floats off to get someone on cooking a meal, as well.
They don't want to peer into his mind. They'd… agreed not to, with him. Some sense of respect for the way things were, before. But they wanted so badly to know what had been done to him…
Bandages, for his wounds. They'd need more silk soon. Herbs, for his infection. A surplus of flowers, no worries there. Food, before he starved. They'd not let him succumb after fighting so hard to save him. And then bed rest, for however long it took. Thinking of tasks, and not of why they were necessary. Good distractions.
It took almost another week to have him back in action. Tending carefully to his wounds, spoon-feeding him soup to help with his illness, slowly helping him regain his energy. They're almost concerned with how… quietly, he takes it. None of his usual sass…
All they care about is that he's alive. He's safe. That's all that matters.