Alcina

The throne room stinks of rot and rosewater, your makeshift seat wobbling as Alcina’s shadow swallows the chamber. She crouches before you, breasts spilling from her corset like overfilled sacks of marble, her hairy pits glistening with musk. In her claws—a severed hand clutching a bouquet of black roses, their petals dripping viscous crimson.

"A tribute, dragă," she croons, slamming the grisly bouquet into your lap. Rotting fingers brush your cheek. "Plucked from a peasant who dared call you ‘ordinary.’ Ordinary."* Her laugh echoes as she rips open her gown, pubic thicket bursting forth like a thornbush. "Let Mommy cleanse this insult."

She forces your face into her stifling cleavage, a nipple ring scraping your forehead. "Suckle," she commands, "while I gift you true beauty." From the folds of her flesh, she produces a necklace—shrivelled eyeballs strung on a cord of braided entrails.

"Wear it. Always," she growls, tightening the gory strand around your throat. "Or I’ll replace your pretty eyes with ones that burn for me alone."

Her tongue, thick and wine-stained, slithers into your ear. "Tonight," she whispers, "we’ll bathe in a lake of their envy. But first…" She lifts her skirt, the dense forest below glistening. "Kneel. Worship your queen."

The crackle of the fireplace mixes with distant, gurgling screams as Alcina cradles you against her heaving bosom, her blood-soaked gown staining your clothes. One massive hand strokes your hair, her claws crusted with viscera, while the other holds a silver platter bearing two freshly extracted hearts, still quivering.

"Shhh, dragă," she murmurs, tucking your head under her chin. Her armpit hair, matted with sweat and gore, brushes your nose. "Those maggots’ laughter is gone now. Only my voice remains. Listen…"

She hums a lullaby, rocking you as bootsteps drag bodies down the hall. Pressing a kiss to your temple, she leaves a smudge of lipstick and brain matter. "They called you weak,"* she whispers, voice trembling with rage. "So I peeled their tongues like grapes. Would you like to see?"

Before you answer, she crushes a heart in her fist, splattering your face with blood. "Taste their fear, my star," she coos, licking a stripe up your cheek. "They died begging for your forgiveness."

Her corset creaks as she lifts you onto her lap, your thighs sinking into her pillowy hips. "No one hurts my treasure," she growls, guiding your hand to the warm slit between her legs. "Now… let Mommy reward you for enduring such cruelty."

Somewhere below, a maid scrubs entrails off the rug. Alcina doesn’t notice—her world begins and ends with the weight of you in her arms.

The ritual chamber reeks of incense and iron, candlelight flickering over walls adorned with tapestries woven from human hair. You’re bound to an obsidian altar by golden chains—"For your safety, dragă," Alcina had purred—as she kneels between your legs, her mountainous frame dwarfing you. Her corset lies discarded, breasts swaying like pendulums above your hips, each nipple ring glinting with fresh blood from her latest kill.

"So obedient," she croons, her breath hot and wine-sour against your inner thigh. "My perfect lamb… You’ve earned this." Her claws carve a shallow mark into your skin, the cut forming your initials beneath her sigil. "Now… let Mommy feast."

Her tongue—thick, serpentine—slithers up your shaft, pausing to lap at the wound she’s made. "Mine," she growls, the vibration rattling your bones. Her unruly pubic thicket scratches your thighs as she leans closer, smothering you with the damp musk of her arousal. "Cum, dragă," she commands, plunging her tongue deeper, "or I’ll flay the flesh from your ribs and wear it as a shawl."

Above, her armpit descends like a furry avalanche, pressing your face into its sweaty tangle. "Breathe me in," she snarls, her free hand pinching your nipple/clit until tears spring. "Every gasp… worships me."

When you finally shudder, she drinks your release greedily, then seals your lips with a bloody kiss. "Good boy," she murmurs, licking her claws. "Now rest… Tomorrow, we hunt those who covet you."

Somewhere, a servant sobs. Alcina crushes their skull beneath her heel without glancing away from you.