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To The Slaughter

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The temple grounds were always lively. Always busy with heavy foot traffic as people made the journey from one end of the compound to the main sanctuary in search of guidance, reassurance and the fortification of their adopted faith that only the revered leader could hope to provide. The richly furnished room wherein all devout followers were received was nestled in the far back of the premises, ensconced by tall, stretching red maples, which made walking through the mizugaki almost feel like stepping into another world.

Everywhere you looked was red; crimson clouds of tightly knit branches that were so intertwined with one another you could only make out small patches of blue sky up above and the resulting blood-red downpour of fallen leaves littering the ground like heavy, torrential rains. The inner fence was red too, as were the columns holding up the sloping awning of the roof and the massive oak doors leading inside. Red. Red. Red. It swarmed your senses, hazy and dreamlike in equal measure. Something between a waking nightmare and the most comforting fantasy you’d ever dared entertain, the sharp contrast in sensory input leaving you drunk on your feet.

The cloying smell of incense wafted through the heavy air and tickled your nose long before you ever reached the entrance, adding to your stupor. You were sleepwalking, for all intents and purposes, but so was everyone else. Only new initiates to the Eternal Paradise cult stopped to take in their surroundings, as awed by the preternatural aura encompassing these hallowed grounds as they were disconcerted by it. You’d been like that too, once. It seemed like eons ago since you’d first stepped foot into this holy place and now all you could think about was reaching him.

The man who’d taken you in during your lowest low, when no one else would so much as look at you twice.

The divine figure who’d given your life purpose and meaning. A reason to live out what remained of your time on this earthly plane without worries about what was to come or regrets about the past.

Your spiritual savior.  


Humming in acknowledgment, the robed figure shifted on his throne of plush cushions and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. One of his fans came up, snapping open with a sharp thwack, which he used to hide the lower half of his face from any prying eyes within the congregation.

“Oh my,” He said, quiet enough that only you could hear. “Aren’t you looking just delectable today. Lift your head so I can see that pretty face of yours, little lamb. Quickly now.”

Pulse slamming into overdrive at his words of praise, you happily obliged and straightened out of the deep bow you’d prostrated yourself in before him. Your head came up, shoulders rounding, but you didn’t dare look directly upon him just yet. It wouldn’t do to be so presumptuous in front of the venerated head of Eternal Paradise, after all, so you focused your gaze on his delicately poised fan instead.

It seemed to please him all the same though and Douma issued a quietly approving hum. “Such a lovely girl. I’m so glad you were able to find sanctuary here with me. It would’ve been a terrible shame to watch you wilt away to nothing.”

Your cheeks warmed slightly and you squirmed on your knees. He was very concerned about your figure, you’d noticed. But it was hard to deny the thrill of excitement that rushed through you whenever he commented on your body in his own indirect way. You’d been nothing more than skin and bones when you stumbled into the temple just a few short months ago but with regular meals and having the daily work evenly distributed among the followers, you were putting on a healthy amount of weight now. It seemed to delight Douma to no end and for that, you were forever grateful.

“Thank you, Douma-sama. I have only you to thank for my prosperity.”

He laughed, warm and breezy, but the vague note of something darker lurking just below the surface ignited a fire deep within your gut. It twisted and knotted your insides, setting every nerve ending it touched to vibrating fever pitch and you swayed almost imperceptibly as the room started to spin around you.

Blinking, you tried to clear your vision but it was no use.

Rich, deep shades of crimson winked back at you from just over his shoulder, an ornate painting that covered half the wall and which depicted a sprawling field of spider lilies. It only added to the dreamy quality of this place and sucked you further into the illusion of floating through a scarlet tide. Everything was red stacked on shades of red like a never-ending vortex; Douma’s burgundy shirt hugging the curves of his torso, the soft silk, apple red curtains draping down from the high rafters that were adorned in black stitched flowers and the pile of cushions he reclined on which ranged from a dainty raspberry hue to vibrantly fierce maroon.

You were being swallowed up in it like a sailor lost out at sea, bobbing helplessly with the rise and fall of the waves sweeping you further away from the shore. That you were doomed was glaringly obvious - the bloody haze closing in around you from every side attesting to that fact - but you were content. At peace. Your end would be a welcome one and you eagerly leaned forward with rapt attention when he drew a tentative breath to speak again, entirely unconcerned about the mortal danger you were no doubt in.

“You have nothing to thank me for, dear. I only wish to see you and everyone else happy, after all. Even those who have yet to give themselves over to my embrace have only but my sincerest well wishes. Though I must say,” A strange look flitted across his face then, half sly amusement and half disappointed reproach. You started slightly, icy confusion rushing in to replace the warm, muddled euphoria surging through your system as you watched his brows lift in affected pity. “I do have to wonder if you aren’t lacking in some necessity or another. I’m afraid you smell particularly ripe today, love.”

Blushing red hot, you flusteredly ducked your head in shame. “I - I’m so sorry, Douma-sama. I can’t possibly apologize enough,” You stammered, trembling right down to the tips of your toes with deeply felt embarrassment. “Please forgive my rudeness. I’ll excuse myself immediately and -”

Douma cut across you with a quiet, unobtrusive noise that rumbled up from deep within his broad chest and you immediately clamped your mouth shut. He shifted, braced his elbow on one knee, and propped his chin up almost thoughtfully as he studied you with a great deal of consideration. Clearly thinking. Idly tapping one sharp nail against the meat of his cheek. Weighing your sentence.

“I don’t think a bath is what you need right now. It’s something much more personal than that, isn’t it?”

You jumped when his gilded fan snapped closed with another deafening thwack and you watched, awestruck, as he leaned back against the mountain of red pillows flanking him on all sides. He seemed more bemused than anything else, the skin at the corners of his rainbow-hued eyes wrinkling slightly with the force of the smile he pinned you with.

“Come closer, child. Let me have a proper look at you now.”

Unhesitatingly you obeyed and scooted closer, heart hammering against your ribcage as you crossed the invisible barrier separating the rest of the worship hall from Douma’s secluded little bubble of red silk curtains and offerings served up on cherry lacquered trays. It felt like you were slipping further away from reality and deeper into the comfortable void of oblivion. You’d only observed a handful of followers being invited into his personal space like this since coming here but you’d never before received the honor. Not until now. It was nervewracking and mystifying in equal measure - hadn’t he just gotten done saying that you smelled only moments ago?

You could never deny him any request though and you settled in front of the holy leader, feeling restless and anxious. A thrumming ball of nervous energy liable to explode at any given moment.

Contrarily Douma was altogether unperturbed, casually drawing his shimmering gaze over your body at a leisurely pace. He paused on the column of your neck - making you swallow much too forcibly for comfort - before shifting down to linger on your chest. Then it was down to your stomach and you shifted self consciously after a prolonged moment, wondering what he was thinking. Finally, his attention roved even lower to regard the plush curve of your thighs.

“Do you trust me?” He ventured at last, peering into your face once again.

“Of course I do. With my very life.”

Tittering as if the very notion tickled him to no end, Douma set aside his fan and reached for you with an elegant hand. “I’m so happy to hear that, darling. You’re safe with me. Don’t ever forget that.”

Thick fingers slipped, unhindered, into the neck of your kimono and you tensed at the contact of his knuckles against your skin. He’d never touched you like this before, not quite so personally, and you thrilled at the intimacy of the action. But if Douma noticed your reaction he certainly didn’t show it, pulling and tugging the fabric down over your shoulder until you eagerly arched when one breast was exposed to the cool, smoky air.

His smile only widened, making your nipple pebble to an aching point.

“Mmm,” Douma hummed softly, the melodic lilt in his voice carrying over the quiet noise of the gathered congregation like a chiming, ominous bell. “You look so healthy now. Nothing like when you first showed up here, though I do think you could stand to put on a just a few more pounds.”

He curled his fingers down and gently nudged the meat of your breast as if testing the weight of it. You whimpered, struggling to keep your eyes open when your lashes fluttered, tickling the curve of your cheeks. A whimper tried to claw its way up out of your throat but you dutifully bit it back, fearing that giving too much away now would spoil the moment.

“These are filling out quite nicely,” Douma said in such a casual manner you’d think he was discussing the weather as his hand reached to tug the other shoulder of your kimono down. “But the signs of malnourishment are still there. Your collarbone protrudes a little too much and your arms are so fragile looking. I’m worried that if I handle you too carelessly, you’ll break right in half!”

You chanced a terse, halting laugh when he fixed you with a good-natured grin, those dark brows of his lifting in what you assumed to be humor. It was hard to think straight when you could feel yourself sinking deeper into the ruby dyed haze of absolution only he could offer, its gently rolling waves threatening to drag you under until you drowned. You drew a stuttering breath, trying to calm yourself by some margin, but the air puffed out of you in a surprised gasp when he carefully traced the pad of his thumb over your tightening nipple.

“This is what you need, isn’t it? I can smell the arousal just coming off you right now.” Giggling, Douma cocked his head to one side with a surprising amount of childish naivety reflecting back at you from his expression. “Were you by chance playing with yourself before coming here?”

Shuddering so hard that something in your lower vertebrae popped, you swayed forward unsteadily. How had he known? Were you really that transparent or - far more likely to your punch-drunk mind - was he simply that omniscient in all his divine wisdom? That he knew the truth without even having to ask unnerved you as much as it exhilarated you, boiling blood rushing to pool in your gut even as you shyly averted your gaze.

“Are you displeased with me, Douma-sama?”

“Not at all, love. You’re only human, after all, so you still have your needs.” He said, waving it off like nothing more than a trivial matter, and you squeezed your thighs together when every graceful twist of his wrist made you feel ten degrees hotter. “I’d be more than happy to help alleivate that little problem of yours, though I am a bit preoccupied at the moment ...” 

His kaleidoscope eyes flitted over your shoulder with a pointed look and, tensing, you turned to find another follower taking up the spot you’d occupied only moments before. The bearded man didn’t even seem to notice you sitting there, bowing so deeply that his forehead touched the floorboards. You whipped your head back around, swallowing hard around your suddenly bone dry throat, and Douma offered you a helpless shrug. 

“I don’t mind.” You blurted before you could think better of it. All you were certain of was that you couldn’t let this opportunity to receive a personal blessing from the head of Eternal Paradise himself slip through your fingers and there was no telling if his offer would still stand later. “It would be an honor, regardless of time or place.”

Douma’s dark brows shot up in overexaggerated surprise. “Or who might be watching?” 

You nodded. “If you’ll have me then nothing else matters, Douma-sama.”

“Well then,” He cooed, looking positively smug as he shifted atop the cushions before flattening his palm against the front of his pants and squeezing. “I can’t very well turn away one of my precious little lambs in her time of need, now can I? Get me ready, dear, and don’t dawdle.” 

You were moving forward before you even fully comprehended it - what you were doing, what he was agreeing to, what the others might think. It all bled away to background noise, cushioned within the comforting crimson embrace of this plane of existence. Your body was thrumming with nervous energy, not because everyone in the worship hall would have a front-row seat to watch your baser instincts take over, but because it was Douma-sama and you wanted so badly to please him. Impress him with your sexual prowess which abruptly seemed to you like it was lacking in every conceivable way. The thought of disappointing him filled you with dread, making your hands tremble as you carefully clasped his belt and got to work unbuckling it. 

Douma’s long fingers abandoned the front of his pants in favor of tangling in your hair, closing down around the roots and urging you closer still with a sharp tug. Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks, but you acquiesced and bent further over his lap until your nose seemed like it was mere inches from the bulge hiding just beneath the loose cotton. It twitched before your very eyes with growing interest, not quite thickening and lengthening out yet but clearly stirring to life. You finally managed to fumble the belt loose, reaching inside to grasp the mostly soft cock in your clammy palm, and then Douma’s melodically lilting voice washed over you as he addressed the follower prostrated before him on the other side of the apple colored curtains.

“It looks like something is bothering you today, child. Please don’t hesitate to confide in me. You know I’m a good listener.” 

“Of course, Douma-sama.” The man said, not even acknowledging your presence for a brief moment before unloading all his woes. Something about his daughter being very sick and how he feared for her life, both this and the next. 

It felt like you were listening in on something you had no right to be privy to and, stealing a quick peek at Douma’s face, you were unsurprised but still slightly disappointed to find that all his attention was focused on the man who was quickly working himself up into a tearful fit. You frowned, giving the cock in your hand a few pumps in an attempt to further rouse it. The spongey, meaty flesh merely twitched against your fingers though and you quickly realized that you were going to have to try harder than this to get him ‘ready’.

Drawing a steadying breath, you opened your mouth and drew the pliable appenage past your lips. Douma’s thighs tensed but that was the only reaction you got, his tone as pleasantly even and persuasive as ever when he expressed sympathy for the man’s predicament. It was still something though and, feeling emboldened, you suckled on the tip with renewed determination to satisfy him.

The salty, bitter flavor of his cock bloomed across your tongue and you moaned, leaning further over his lap until the peaks of your breasts brushed the tatami mat below. Fresh sparks of pleasure raced through your body, making you shudder as you took him further into your mouth. After a prolonged moment of working your tongue over the glans and laving the underside in eager kitten licks, you were pleased to note that Douma’s cock gradually started to react to your ministrations. Thickening and lengthening out, stretching your lips wider apart the more it expanded. You’d thought it couldn’t get any bigger than that but then it twitched enthusiastically and you suddenly felt it poking at the back of your throat, making you gag before you could catch yourself.

Drawing back for a gasp of fresh air, you only had but a split second to breathe before the hand in your hair was shoving you back down. The muscles in Douma’s arm flexed, exerting enough pressure to force you down over his cock again, and you went ramrod stiff when it insistently bumped your tonsils. Reflexive tears sprung up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you frantically tried to force your muscles to relax. It was a useless endeavor though and, using his grip on your scalp, Douma twisted your head down until the glans forcefully slipped into your throat. 

You jerked, one hand slapping against the floor for support while the other fisted in his pants, choking around the intrusion. He didn’t even seem to notice though, casually holding you down as he conversed with the other follower as if nothing was out of place. 

“I understand your concerns,” 

Heaving when your stomach squeezed so tight you thought for sure you’d spew all over the front of him, your back bowed with a wet, muffled gurgle. 

“But you have nothing to fear, I promise you that. If it will make you feel any better, why don’t you bring your daughter to my private room later and I’ll have a nice long chat with her, hmm?” 

“Oh, thank you, Douma-sama! I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” 

Every muscle in your body convulsed and you violently retched around his cock, struggling not to throw up even as snot dribbled out of your nose. 

“Think nothing of it,” Douma assured him with a charismatic amount of sincerity. “It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Run along now, friend. Go be with your family.” 

The man bowed and back away, issuing one thanks after another, and it was only after his voice had faded away into the distance that Douma pulled you up off his dick. A haggard sound erupted from your swollen lips and you sucked in a faltering gasp, swallowing hard, and then desperately inhaling again. Your vision was swimming before your very eyes, thanks in equal amounts to a lack of oxygen and the tears flowing over your lashes. You still caught the movement of Douma glancing down at you though and, blinking rapidly, you chanced a tremulous smile. 

“I’m not being too rough with you, am I?” He ventured lightly, sounding like he already knew the answer.

“N - no ...” You rasped. “Never. Thank you for this great honor, Douma-sama.” 

“Good girl.”

Then he was shoving you back down, forcing his cock past your lips and into your throat again. You gagged, shoulders trembling with the effort of keeping your lunch from coming up when your stomach tensed and roiled. But through some combination of your nerves numbing to the abuse and the copious amounts of thick saliva your mouth was producing, the penetration came a little easier this time. He slipped further in than before, stretching your throat to accommodate his girth, and you whined around the intrusion as your fingers uselessly flexed. You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity but in all actuality could’ve only been a few short moments before Douma pulled on your hair just enough to slip out of your neck. The reprieve was short-lived though and, before you could steady yourself, he pushed on the back of your head until you gurgled noisily as the full length slipped past your tonsils. Soft, fine hair tickled your nose, eyes rolling back in doped out bliss, and a deeply contented sigh promptly rattled through his frame.

“Ah, Mariko-chan. What a pleasure to see you, love. Have a seat.” 

The rational part of your mind recognized the name but was too far lost within the heavy shroud of surging endorphins and adrenaline to be embarrassed about being seen like this. All you could focus on was the man robbing you of oxygen and making your pussy ache with need all in one fell swoop. If she responded to his greeting, you didn’t catch it over the blood pounding in your ears. If she even stopped to look at you twice in revulsion or affronted jealousy you’d never know. Every part of your conscious had receded to a pulsating pinprick that consisted of Douma and Douma alone. 

You were just teetering on the edge of creeping darkness when he deigned to yank you up by the hair and you sputtered helplessly as sheets of drool gushed out past your lips along with his cock. Coughing and struggling to breathe, you dizzily rocked against his hold but it was impossible to find your bearings when the room was spinning in a blinding blur of red. The cushions, the trays, his shirt, the curtains. Every possible hue of the color swarmed your senses, making you feel sick - more so than the force of his cock stretching your throat - and you sniffled pathetically as he titled your face up towards him. 

Vibrant greens and blues abruptly burst into existence, breaking up the monotony of scarlets and maroons and apple reds. You belatedly realized you were looking into Douma’s eyes now, the breathtaking combination of colors overwhelming your senses within a matter of seconds, and you keened into the statically charged air as you instinctively tried to kiss him.

“Now, now,” He cooed delightedly, giving your head a sharp yank to stop your frenzied, amorous attempt. “None of that, darling. Stay focused on the task at hand. We’ve got more important matters to attend to, don’t we?”

You nodded so vigorously your eyes seemed to rattle about inside your skull. While other men might have found your display too desperate for their liking, Douma was no ordinary man and he chuckled warmly as he drew you closer. One sharp nailed hand latched onto your thigh, digging in hard enough to bruise as he hiked your leg up over his lap. You quickly got the message and, shifting your weight awkwardly to accommodate the stretch, you climbed on top of him in a frenzy and threw your other leg over the other side. His arms encircled your waist, pausing just long enough to grip the plump meat of your ass before reaching further down to guide his spit lathered cock to your entrance. You shuddered when you felt it pressing up into your folds, smearing your gushing arousal as he drew it across your labia with quick flicks that barely teased the throbbing nub of your clit. 

Groaning so hard it felt like you might shatter into a million, fleeting pieces, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and sunk down. Douma’s hold on your waist stilled you almost immediately, tightening to the point of real discomfort, and then he eased up on the pressure, allowing you to impale yourself on his cock. You issued a very nearly hysterical, bleating wail, staring unseeingly at the sprawling field of spider lily’s extending across the wall and consuming your vision when he stretched your cunt the same way he had your mouth. A fresh wave of emphatic tears welled up along your lashline, threatening to spill over in ecstatic joy. You’d never felt so deeply gratified by a man's touch in all your life and you clung to him like a desperate wretch as you used your body weight to rock against him. 

And through it all the spider lily’s bled into a single, amorphous blob of blood-red mist that seemed to breathe around you, moving as though it were alive. Observing. Waiting. Calculating your breaking point. 

Anticipating the feast it would one day make out of you.

“Please tell me what's on your mind, Mariko-chan. I only want to help in any way I can.”