Sangkara - The Feast of Flesh

Our next chapter in the Saga of Sangkara is live!
Today is her wedding feast to the bandit Nakaru! A public celebration of their love will seal them in bond forever, but who really will have control as ruler?

TRIGGER WARNING, this one gets pretty dark but if you've gone with me this far, you'll understand that it pays off.

The city’s festivals had become riotous with orgies spilling out into the streets and soiling them with their seed. Nearly all the aristocracy from across the nation had filled the city, exhausting its stores of oil and wine. Expending their slaves so aggressively, they had begun pulling new ones from crowds of commoners and shackling them where there was room to keep a fresh supply. Nakaru, who they said roamed the streets like a drunken madman, pulled anyone into him who wandered too close to either fuck them or kill them, mostly both. He had taken the time to prove the rumor that he would fuck one half of his victims while the other half watched, and the other that if one hole had expended its usefulness, he would hack away to find or make a new one. All this madness preceded Sangkara’s Wedding Feast, the “Feast of Flesh.”

She could not partake of the fruits of passion, of course. In keeping with ritual ceremony, she wore several artifacts belonging to the temples. They were an amalgamation of finely crafted gold, jewels, and obsidian made by ancestral artisans. One was a golden thong crafted into a chastity belt. It resembled the stems of a flower with an array of obsidian thorns like that of a venus fly trap. Remarkably, it was quite comfortable, but it threatened to kill or mutilate anyone who dared enter her. The other ancestral item was an elegant veil fitted to her face. Though it resembled opulent face jewelry, there was no mistake that it was a muzzle, albeit a beautiful one. However, it didn’t stop there. Fitted into her mouth were an array of torture devices for anyone that wanted to use her. Capped on her teeth was a frightening apparatus that began with razor-sharp, golden fangs. It continued with golden stiletto rods inside her mouth, which posed no threat to Sangkara, but were poised to skewer anything that entered her mouth. Her tongue was caged and studded with steel spike piercings threatening anything they came in contact with, save for the roof of her mouth which was protected by a golden palette. Though made from a time in Andrala’s past to claim women as property, Sangkara wore them well. Somehow, in her muzzle, she threatened other men more like a tiger that had been given fangs instead of a tiger locked within a cage. 

Only a single night stood between her and her Wedding Feast. Such an occurrence had not been seen by the memory of written history in Andrala, and yet the ritual had endured since ancient times. The empress, voice of the will of the gods, would wed the mightiest warrior, and this symbolic union between gods and man would ensure that Andrala thrived. By all rights, Sangkara was already the matriarch of all temples to the gods, the High Red Priestess, and the Interpreter of Zuraxes’ Will. Meanwhile, it was not lost on Nakaru that he was now positioned to be Andrala’s first crowned emperor in thousands of years, not by any right, but by supremacy. Even in ancient times, the right to marry the High Priestess was reserved only for the warlord who controlled the might of Andrala’s forces. Though the empire had all but crumbled, the ancient legacy of its armies all but disbanded, there was a single clear signifier that remained: control of the city and the Palace of the Throne on the top of the Mountain. By lies and deceit, usurpation and murder, Nakaru had arisen to control over the throne. Any could challenge Nakaru for the right to Sangkara and the throne, but none dared. Perhaps this was the old way, one that ensured at least the rule of Andrala would be given only to the strong and not to members of bloodline. For much of his life, the status of being Emperor concerned him little more than feeding the Garden at each moon, but now that his rule stood to be legitimized in this way it was all he cared about. 

Little did he know the way Sangkara had intoxicated his son Hammaru. Though awaiting her wedding, she had enjoyed herself thoroughly. Over only a few short days she had twisted Hammaru, bordering on torture. She was careful to draw his eyes during the day, but at night she would come to him and tease him endlessly until morning. Though a large detachment of warriors had been assigned to guard Sangkara, including a charge that Kala and Askarin were to sleep with her in her chambers each night, that did little to dissuade her from sneaking out where she shouldn’t. Sangkara was a jungle cat, finding slipping through the nets of guards rather easily.

While there wasn’t much damage she could do trapped within her barbed jewelry, she had tested its limits with Hammaru, careful not to draw out a single drop of his seed, but more than pleased to leave him drooling. In truth, she had barely even touched him. It wasn’t enough to defend her honor to her marriage by any means should anyone have found out, but it was a world of difference to Hammaru. Though it was painful, he had grown addicted to Sangkara’s touch very quickly, and happily swore away his rights to other women, even release of any kind unless it was by her. All the while he promised her his undying devotion and loyalty. He threw his entire being down at her feet. 

On this night she had been particularly cruel, not in extracting pain from him, but much worse, extracting pleasure. Hammaru knew there was only one thing that mattered to her right now as he lay on his back, his loincloth pulled aside. She was so close to him he could feel the hot burning coal of her heart in her chest, the steam of her breath coalescing on his shaft. He felt his flesh swelling as though begging to catch her touch, his hips just gravitating toward her ever so, her face mere inches away from his cock. She had kept inching the borders of their bodies on a collision course, and yet like a paradox of motion, she would not allow him to touch her. Instead, she conducted him with her expert hands. Though apparently a virgin, she had perfected the art of edging Hammaru instinctively. His pleasure was like a wave on the beach during a rising tide, and she was the moon. Each wave was a surge to new heights. 

“You’ve been so good, Hammaru,” she said as she toyed with him. “I want you...”

She pulled him on top of her now, displaying herself, saddling him in full view with nothing between his brimming cock and her sating cunt but the razor-sharp obsidian teeth of her chastity belt. She teased him there, pulling him ever closer to her opening with her hand, both knowing the danger she posed. She was so beautiful it was almost enough to forget the belt was there. She pervaded his mind, his every thought fell into her, coveting her, crying out to violate her, to rain down on her, to sow her inside and out with himself. She just glistened there, a pristine virgin who had invited him to the bars of the gates into her just to torture him, and she delighted in every second of it.

“...But there has always been something in the way of us, hasn’t there?”

If he couldn’t cum inside of her, he told himself, he could at least impotently cum on her. Even if it drew her ire and retribution, even if she were mad enough to pull him into her chastity belt and shred him apart, somehow it would all be worth it if her pussy just felt the impact of a single drop. Perhaps it didn’t matter at all if the chastity belt cut him into ribbons, he could just inject those pitiful ribbons into her even for a moment and at least know what it might feel like. 

He just had to know. And yet, somehow, even though Hammaru knew he had surpassed his limits and would have broken long ago with any other girl, Sangkara kept him damned up. Though wound up inside of him, his seed awaiting to jettison forth with nothing between it and the open air but the barrel of his cock, he couldn’t cum. The tide’s rise had no end. It could only keep rising without the flood of release. Perhaps it was her skill. Perhaps it was the threat she had poised with her chastity belt and his own fear. Perhaps it was something else entirely. But he could not cum and he agonized over it. He began to panic as everything was telling his body to release, and yet all the muscles in him meant to do so were choked, frozen in a twitching fear more painful and pleasurable than anything in his life.

Finally, he was able to break his eyes away from Sangkara’s pussy long enough to meet her gaze. Her stare alone could have caused him to cum, and it might have. He looked into her eyes searching for any excuse to release onto her. He felt as though something was wound so tightly inside of him it would soon snap, and just before it did so Sangkara let go of him and wrenched his balls in her vice-like grip. All the pressure wound up inside of him had now just been compacted even tighter, and all their motion stopped.

“You cum when I say you can cum.”

The full reservoir of his pleasure had just been squeezed. His mental limits collided with his physical limits, and he could feel his body dream of tearing itself apart to find any other way of releasing the pressure inside of him other than violating her orders. 

Instead, he retracted away and caught his breath. Still naked and covered in sweat, drunk and intoxicated like a wild bull, he grabbed his sword, tossing aside his scabbard. He looked back at her a moment as she devilishly grinned on silk sheets, her back cradled in luxury, her legs spread displaying her vibrant beauty, and charged out of the room.

Without missing a beat, Sangkara hopped to her feet and left the chamber, slipping into a silk robe. She awaited her would-be lover’s return soaked in blood, the alarm bells to ring, the glorious chaos to precipitate, anything. But the night’s silence remained undisturbed. Hammaru had run into the abyss of the night and been swallowed whole, and she was most displeased.

The following dawn had come without a sunrise, the Red Tree’s upper boughs were obscured in a great gray breath of silent clouds. Sangkara waited out her morning in her bed-chamber, waiting for any sign of Hammaru, though she would not reveal what she waited for to her priestesses. It was as though Hammaru had been swallowed by the night. Nakaru had left that morning for the Arena. At the final request of Kala and the other priestesses, Sangkara finally left the palace to join with her betrothed.

She was escorted toward the Royal Arena with Askarin, her bodyguard. It was a grand theater for her final feast and an apt stage for her unification with Nakaru, large enough to hold even skirmishes between soldiers, bordered on all sides by a great stadium. Within its center was a raised stone ring as well as a stone altar where offerings were often made, many of them during combat. All week there had been gladiator games set within the Arena without end, an open forum of carnage and massacre, a meat grinder for both slaves and volunteer warriors to be thrown into for cheers and glory. The ring never closed, and any warrior that survived would be given fight after fight until they were killed. Of course, prestige was given to those who fought in the sight of the king and queen, so great battle royales often erupted as they arrived. Today had been a slaughter, each warrior crawling over the other to be seen fighting for Nakaru and Sangkara’s eyes. 

Though much of Andrala’s culture was steeped in ritual and ceremony veiled over carnal expression, this ritual of uniting emperor and empress was simple. There was only one feast, the Feast of Flesh. The Arena represented the chaotic world and the many battles of mankind. Soon Nakaru would descend into the fighting pit to bring an end to the slaughter by force. He and his closest allies would cut down any survivors of the fighting pit or grant them mercy or a seat within his empire, and once peace was brought into the Arena, he would call down Sangkara who would lead a procession of temple maidens. There, on the battlefield of the Arena, the women would pledge themselves to this new order created, and a public orgy between them would ensue, proving before all witnesses that they had been bonded. This was the Feast of Flesh.

Sangkara was led to the Emperor’s box, a roofed throne with prime viewing separated even from the other nobility. She looked radiant, adorned in a golden bridal headdress with many facets of jewelry laid over her scarlet silk robes, the same silk robes she had been wrapped in once she had attained her freedom from the Garden. Though a butchering was going on before her, her eyes ascended into the seats, looking on to the people cheering. Nearly all of Nakaru’s forces had amassed here in the city to witness his ascension to emperor. She had barely noticed that much of the clamor had been raised in sight of her, and nearly all stood to honor her.

It was the most she had seen of Nakaru since the festival had begun, she barely looked his way while standing on his right side. He looked awful. Though bristling with the strength of a warrior, his body in prime condition, wearing his mantle and cape, a gilded sword by his side, he wreaked. He wore cuts with some of his own and his enemy’s blood, the sweat of days spent fighting and fucking, and the stench of many women co-mingled with his bull-like musk on him. 

“I must admit,” Nakaru said between guzzling wine without raising from his seat or looking her way, “I underestimated you.” Sangkara took her seat beside Nakaru, not even looking at him. Kala knelt beside her to her right, taking the duty of her handmaiden, and Askarin stood behind her shoulder.

“How so, my king?” she responded formally through her muzzle.

“When I met you all I saw was a diseased waif, some mongrel cur from the fringes of the old empire, and yet here you are about to receive the highest honor in the realm,” he said as he held his crotch in one hand and his goblet in the other. His loincloth did little to hide his cock, still wet with oil, and he knew it, looking over to her only to see if she was looking to him pulse half-hard. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair beside her. “Did you sleep well, my Empress?” He said with a knowing grin.

“What do you want, Nakaru?” she said, still refusing to look at him.

“What all men want, my betrothed,” he dropped his act, “I just want more. But for all my conquests, finding you has been the most difficult, the most important one. It has hung over my head since I conquered this fucked city and its fucked people. So I have waited for this ridiculous ritual to vomit up a worthy bride to satisfy these superstitions. Somehow the universe offered me you, and now the last gate between me and my absolute authority over these people is crossed. Now that I have you, I will not let go.” His words were for her alone but drifted over the people, their bloodlust, their reckless abandon, the opulent wastefulness of life thrown into the Arena. 

“So that’s it?’ She said expectantly, “These are the mighty aspirations of ‘Nakaru the Conqueror,’ to turn me into some trophy? This is how you carve your name into the rock?”

“Hardly. Our bond will begin a reunification of the empire that has not been seen for millennia. Without you, my conquest of these lands would be just that, another lifetime of bloodshed among many.”

“Hard to imagine you’re opposed to a life of war.”

“I’m not. Everything should be solved by the blade. Politics are for women,” he said looking at the empty palm of his hand. “All I have ever wanted was the perfect war. Ironically, you are the quickest path to that war. Coming to this city taught me many things. First among them was that history had no shortage of nameless warlords. Any man can hold a sword, but they will still sing of the victories of kings. With you, the crown, and the titles you give me, I will be able to do what all the others could not. Instead of dying another bandit, they shall write of me as royalty. I’ll be ‘restoring justice and balance to the realm.’ Every swing of my sword shall lay down the foundations of an endless dynasty. And those that still enjoy their freedom? They’ll become worthless rebels in the backdrop to stories of me. Shortly after our wedding I shall ignite this realm into the greatest war it has ever seen, one that will redraw the map for generations.” The people began to cheer for their new emperor to enter the Arena, for the Feast to begin. 

“I think you’re forgetting who you will soon be sharing your throne with. It won’t just be you up there.”

“Your place in this is already decided. You will provide me with an heir of ‘nobility,’ and we shall rewrite the rules so that none of this nonsense in the Garden ever needs to be done again. The throne shall belong to me and my bloodline alone. The gods now acknowledge my divine right to rule for all time, or some such bullshit.” Nakaru looked at her for some sign of compliance. “And this is why I am willing to forget your little transgression with my bastard son. I will do you this one courtesy, slave girl. You can sit beside me willingly as I create my dynasty and secure my empire, or I will drag you by your hair as I do it.” Sangkara seethed underneath in anger. Her heart was furious. Nakaru stood up from his throne to a wave of cheers awaiting his entry into the ring. “This moment, today, this is the only reason you still live. Were you any other concubine of mine, I would have cut you into pieces made you watch what I did with them. Now, however, you’ll have to watch while whole.”

The great iron doors that caged the Arena opened. Nakaru and his generals filtered from the stairs of the stadium into the gladiator ring toward all that remained to stand against them. Many of the gladiator slaves, though champions all, were armed with simple clubs and short swords, whereas Nakaru’s professional soldiers were armed with long spears and greatswords. They made the life and death struggles of these slaves and career gladiators look like child’s play. 

To satisfy Nakaru’s bloodlust, many of the soldiers that knew him best chose to stay out of his way and allow him the lion’s share of the killing. Though he rarely sought a fair fight, there was no mistaking his proficiency, his mastery over combat, his sheer strength. He either overpowered his opponents or effortlessly baited them into a lethal counter strike. He would normally make short work of a naive fighter, as though he didn’t want to waste his time, but those with enough skill to last even a few moments with him he would try and toy with to draw out something of an actual fight before dismembering them and leaving them for dead. It was enough to wish they simply threw their fights away so as to not incur any “special attention” from Nakaru, lest he leave them screaming in agony. 

Soon, however, the gladiator’s ring fell silent, the last of Nakaru’s pitiful opponents lay dying with their hands held up begging for mercy. The people waited for Sangkara, the high priestess, to descend the steps from the throne. Then Nakaru looked back from the center of the ring near the stone altar, still half-crazed from a frenzy. Sangkara could still see his eyes even from this distance. 

Kala and her handmaidens released the chastity locks around Sangkara’s mouth and waist. She stood there in her robes and nothing else, nothing flowing over her shoulders but a thin veil of scarlet silk and from her neck down to her feet she wore nothing. Nothing over her bare cleavage, her bare heart, her bare, womanly vulva. Though she might never have been more vulnerable, part of the silence that overtook the stadium was in sheer awe of her. There might have been more than two hundred thousand in and around the Arena. Andrala had been known for the raw sexuality and beauty of its people. All of them seemed to fall short of Sangkara at that moment. 

Strangely, she still managed to detach herself. Though there was hardly a single eye that was not fixed upon her, Sangkara began to drift her eyes into the clouds which appeared to darken above her. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, and only a silent mist began to drift over the stadium seats. A fog began to gather in the streets.

Sangkara’s priestesses assembled behind her and they descended the steps. A clear path had been made for them through the bodies that lay in the sand. Sangkara stepped barefoot in blood without hesitation and walked directly up to Nakaru. The mists began to engulf the Arena, with whole sections of the congregated in the stadium obscured.

“Today,” Nakaru addressed the people in the stadium, “we make history.” 

Finally, she and her priestesses stood near the stone altar surrounded by Nakaru and his men. Some of them hardly even waited, tugging on themselves as they eyed up the girls. They were not generals or warriors. They were bandits and cutthroats in gold.

“Bring him out,” Nakaru said to his men with a smirk. “Today I will teach you where your place is.” Two more of his men brought up a chained slave from one of the barred animal pens laid into the floor of the fighting ring. It was Hammaru, naked, beaten to near unconsciousness, covered in his own blood. Nakaru kept looking at Sangkara, waiting for the dread to finally sink into her, but her eyes never left him, staring back with the same contempt she had for him when they met. She simply disrobed, and her priestesses hesitantly did the same, tossing their final regalia into the blood and sand. 

Nakaru began to grow bitter and impatient, being robbed of the satisfaction of his trick. He looked to see his bastard son chained to a pillar near the corner of the altar, and barely looking back he cheaply drove his fist into Sangkara’s chest with lethal force. Without giving her time to breathe, Nakaru threw Sangkara onto the stone altar, beating her relentlessly. 

Immediately, Kala and the others fought back but they were quickly outmatched by Nakaru’s warriors, who began to hold them down and rape them. Any that resisted too much felt a blade instead of a beating. Askarin in this moment drew her blade and began to rush Nakaru’s soldiers, cutting a path somehow to save Sangkara in time. A massive riot then began to break out between the people and the soldiers in a mass, hysterical confusion. 

Sangkara fought back, but she was unable to recover from the blow she had received. She was already coughing up blood. Her heart, bruised, even appeared as though it had been split open under the force of Nakaru’s hand. Though it beat violently in her chest, it merely sealed its own fate as she bled more and more. Every resistance Sangkara made was met with another blow across her face. 

Hardly wasting any time at all, Nakaru spread her open and forced himself inside her, ripping and tearing her as he raped her. He was far too large, like that of a horse, and she was not ready to be penetrated. When Nakaru had the assistance of his own men to hold her hands back, he held her legs apart hard enough it almost felt as though she would soon be torn in half. Nothing in Sangkara’s body was made to withstand this kind of abuse. Dying, nearly limp now, broken with the feedback of the pain coursing through her with every thrust, she was still tense and writhed to be free. 

Nakaru’s limbs were as hard as oak. His thrusts pulverized her bones to breaking. He ripped and tore his way through her with a manhood thicker than her arm. Remarkably, Sangkara was now wet enough that he glided in and out of her, but she knew why. Much of her lubrication now was merely her own blood, and it streaked across her thighs into a puddle beneath her collecting into the table. Nakaru hardly noticed. He had grown accustomed to fucking corpses and throwing away what was left of them. Her slit was little more than a glorified wound he kept stabbing again and again. He might as well have been using a stiletto to rape her.

The fog now drifted over even Nakaru’s shoulders and some of his men began to look wary. The stadium seats were difficult to see. Though they had at once sounded like a battle, they had become now many screams. Something ripped and tore its way through the crowds, indiscriminately devouring civilians and soldiers. The shadows of something terrible even drifted among the sands of the gladiator ring. Nakaru hardly noticed. He was determined to finish in Sangkara while she still drew breath. He wanted her to feel it.

“I guess you’ll have to be Empress in memory only,” he said breathlessly, “my beloved.”

As he neared his completion, Nakaru seized Sangkara’s throat in one hand, wringing her neck completely. Try as he might, he kept searching for a way to cum, but could not. He kept searching Sangkara’s body with his eyes until he looked into her own. Even this close to death, she still looked back at him with defiance and disgust. Somehow her eyes penetrated even him. He began to think that maybe he might be able to come if he cut her uterus open so she could see him inside her.

Mere inches from death, she had only the remains of one shallow breath as she uttered, “Do it,” while gritting her bloody canines. He wanted to strangle her but instead, he felt the muscles within him seize and urge to begin pumping.

It was at that moment that Sangkara slid a dagger from one of her assailants and slit the wrists of the men holding her down. She then sat up with Nakaru still inside of her as she reversed her grip and thrust the dagger between her legs. There was a loud “clink” as the point made contact with the stone beneath them. Though she had already drawn blood from Nakaru, she quickly drew the blade from one thigh to the other. It was surprisingly easy. His cock was so hard it was practically begging to burst open with contact from the blade. His dismembered cock was cut so quickly and so cleanly it was still trying to ejaculate inside of her with nothing behind it. Instead, a geyser of hot blood shot across Sang’s body from Nakaru’s bloody stump. But it wasn’t enough for her. Without letting go, her knees now bracing him on top of her, she turned her wrist while still in the wound and drew the blade up his torso to his throat. For all his musculature, the red contents of his body simply spilled out onto her. 

Somewhere in the mess of him, she could feel the stump that was left of him dribble out a few ruined globs of cum. His cock, meanwhile, still severed inside of her, limply throbbed, rocketing its own blood out of her in rivers and shriveling up inside of her. 

She held Nakaru up with nothing but her knees from falling on top of her. He tried to put his last strength into finishing strangling her but it was no use. Drained of his lifeblood, his muscles were useless. He could hardly cry out in pain. And it was at that moment that a great red beast emerged from the fog and sunk its teeth into the back of his shoulder.

Nakaru’s men shrieked out in terror from the monster pulling their king from Sangkara into a rain of red blood, but they didn’t have a moment longer. From all sides, the gang rape of the priestesses was beset by gargantuan mambas and black crocodiles larger than men. The snakes struck with such force they drove the broken bodies of Nakaru’s men into the sand like crumpled paper and the crocodiles snapped many of them in half so quickly that some could even watch their lower halves left behind as they were snatched up into torrents of blood. The remains of Nakaru’s men fled into an ambush, being ripped apart by wolves, lions, and hyenas, who jointly devoured them while they were still alive.

Kala began to stand with the other priestesses who were untouched by the wave of savage violence. Suddenly the winds picked up and the fog began to clear revealing the stadium halls drenched in bright red rivers. Where once thousands of people sat, now carcasses and wild animals populated the Arena.

The animals moved with a strange intelligence or guidance that did not diminish an ounce of their ferocity and feral nature. They appeared to work in tandem, pinning down soldiers with surgical precision and eating them enough while alive to preserve their pain and elongate their suffering.

Nakaru, still alive, hung in the mouth of the growling red beast that stood and watched Sangkara patiently. It was an alien, chimeric looking thing, the head of a wolf on the body of a dragon or a raptor, the wings of a bat spreading from its human arms. And yet it waited and protected Sangkara like an obedient pet.

Sangkara came to her feet and knelt up on top of the altar. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand from a single drop of blood, the rest of her glazed in red. Contracting the muscles of her vagina, she let Nakaru’s remains slide out of her a little more. Before they fell from her she picked them up in her hand. All that was left of him was a pitiful, shriveled up rope. She looked up to see that Nakaru was watching before throwing it away. She had no need for it. 

Sangkara then motioned her beast to come closer to which it complied. There was one thing remaining she did want. She wrung her hand around Nakaru’s bull sized testicles and made a long incision across the base of his sack. Any resistance or protest that Nakaru could make was answered by a controlled crushing of his bones in the jaws of the beast. She squeezed and he moaned as two white lumps slipped free. She had been so skillful with the dagger that not an ounce of harm had befallen his testicles from the blade, apart from the pain it caused Nakaru. She fished them out into her hand and then cut them free at the stem Dismembered now, she bit into Nakaru’s raw testicles like a plum, their raw popping at her teeth yielding a spray of sperm.

With a simple wave of her hand, the beast happily threw Nakaru onto the sand and began ripping him apart. With tooth and claw, he was shredded into stringy pieces that the beast happily gobbled down like a pet dog with a fresh raw steak. Wagging its multiple tails enough that its body shook with excitement, it nuzzled Sangkara who stood to scratch its bloody muzzle and rub their faces together. The monster Easily stood ten or twenty feet high, and yet it treated Sangkara like a master.

With glee, Sangkara looked back at her priestesses who had all fallen to their knees at the sight of her, the savage chaos still all around them. Again Sangkara wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Today,” she addressed her people, “we make history.”