Dangling

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Monster Huntress got cornered.
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Inspired loosely by a music video you might recognize.

***

1. Backstory: Just a fairly quick rundown ...

Katrina kills monsters. Specifically, a demonic race from another dimension called Snatchers. They like to steal children, crawling up into our world through horrible goopy portals underneath the kids' beds. They can only open those portals when the kids are having bad dreams, which generate psychic energy the Snatchers somehow home in on and manipulate.

Our protagonist Katrina is a college sophomore, somewhat nerdy yet still quite attractive, blonde and slim and sassy, who learned about the Snatchers when her three little cousins got taken while she was babysitting them. She was making out with her boyfriend on the living room couch, as babysitters so often tend to do, while the snatch was occurring, but heard the kids scream and ran into their room just in time to see them dragged away through the foul steaming portals, which immediately sealed and vanished as if they'd never existed. Of course nobody believed her story, including her boyfriend. He's not her boyfriend any longer.

Shortly afterwards, her therapist sent her to a support group that turned out to be a front for a team of monster killers, half a dozen girls like her with similar stories. The group's counselor, Professor Bogarty, is actually a sorceress who trains and equips the girls with magical weaponry. The professor herself is half-demonic, and an outcast from the Snatcher's realm, which is why she now helps the girls. She doesn't much care about the stolen children, just wants vengeance on her kind.

Professor Bogarty can make portals of her own, allowing Katrina's group to invade the Snatcher's dimension. Only it's not easy for her. It's not something she can pull off every day. The spell requires a big pile of monster heads as a power source. Katrina and the others must obtain these for her.

In another paragraph, where the tale will properly get cooking, we join Katrina on a day they've successfully gathered a big enough heap of monster heads to make a portal and penetrate their enemies' home base, the Fortress of Obscenity. They bring a bomb to destroy the place, once and for all. But then, oh no, for some reason it doesn't work. Treachery? Incompetence? There's no time to figure it out; the monsters are swarming them from all sides and the team must flee. Except Katrina is separated from the rest and left behind. (She fell through a trapdoor.) The monsters have her cornered. As talented as she is with her "deathstick"—a sort of quarterstaff with enchantments so it can also shoot lightning bolts—there's no way she can fend off all the creatures by herself. She'll be hacked to pieces! Unless ...

2. She Gives Up:

"Wait!" Katrina yelled, and threw down her deathstick. It clattered on the stone floor, both tips fizzling red, but then its power dissipated as it was designed to if she wasn't holding it in her hands, and it contracted to half its length. "I surrender! Don't kill me! You don't have to kill me!"

All children the Snatchers snatched were converted into monsters—more Snatchers. Except for a few exceptions, 'cause occasionally their transformative process was unsuccessful. That was what had happened to Professor Bogarty, in her youth. She only got partially converted, yet didn't die as the failures most often did. Hence her banishment.

Grownups could not be converted. Snatchers rarely bothered with them. When they did, they simply ate them. That was what Professor Bogarty had said. Would Katrina be eaten? Or was she still young enough for the creatures to attempt conversion? Perhaps they might decide to keep her as a hostage, to hold over her comrades and stop them from attempting another assault. Perhaps they would want to interrogate her, to learn more about the other girls. Their plans, their abilities. It would be a sensible move. It was what Katrina would choose in their position.

"I can give you information," she said, "If you spare me, I'll tell you everything I know." She would lie. She would make up all sorts of outrageous stuff. Confuse them and frighten them as much as possible. She'd tell them she worked for the government. She'd make them believe the CIA was on to them, not just a little vigilante group of college students.

They marched her along twisting tunnels, deeper and deeper beneath the fortress. The creatures didn't bother to tie her hands or put her in chains, but they continually prodded at her with their spears and cleavers. She gnashed her teeth as tight as she could to keep from crying out each time she got another agonizing jab on her shoulders or her back. All the Snatchers were twice as tall as her, covered in shaggy hair that was luridly colored either green or purple. Their heads and faces looked a lot like rams, with backward-curling horns. A few of them had wings but not the majority.

Katrina wore no special armor or uniform, just comfy, practical, no-nonsense workout clothes. A sleeveless pullover hoody and loose leggings, with running shoes, plus a headband to keep her hair out of her eyes. Most of her friends had dressed the same kind of way, though a couple had preferred leather jackets and jeans and boots. Trying to make themselves feel a bit more hardass, no doubt. Katrina wondered if she'd ever see any of them again. She wondered if they would try to rescue her.

She didn't see how it would be possible. Not any time soon. They'd need to collect a bunch more monster heads to make a new portal. Putting that problem aside, even if they could have come back right that second, how would they know where to open the passage? How would they be able to find where she'd been taken? The Fortress of Obscenity was enormous. The size of a mountain.

Katrina was brought to a ledge, and then, with ominous creaks and clanks, a huge hefty lopsided ball of brownish corroded metal was lowered in front of her, dangling from a thick chain. It was like a wrecking ball. Not at all smooth or shiny. It was scuffed and scarred and pitted, with bulges in some spots, other parts flattened or dented inwards. Actually it wasn't exactly huge, not as much as she first thought. Maybe twice as big around as a beach ball. Still quite big but not enormous—just slightly too wide for a single person to be able to wrap their arms around it. The black chain it hung on looked about as thick as one of her arms, or maybe a bit skinnier.

She couldn't see what it was hanging from, if there was an actual moveable crane looming up there over her head, or if the thing was embedded in the roof of this cavern. The chain's top end, that was too far away for her, too dark to see. While below the ball seemed to be nothing but a chasm, equally black. There was a funny smell coming up from it. She thought she recognized that stink but at the same time couldn't identify what it was.

Soon as the ball was positioned roughly level with her waist, with no warning she was shoved toward it off the ledge. She was too startled to scream. Katrina just barely managed to fling her arms up across the top of the ball in time to catch hold of its chain—otherwise she would have rebounded or slid right off the crusty surface and plummeted immediately into the blackness to certain doom. Instead, gasping and swearing, she was able in a few moments to pull her legs up and plant her feet against the curved metal, until she was huddled in a crouch on top the ball, and more or less safe there so long as she kept both hands fixed on the chain. After that, working hand over hand, she straightened herself until she stood fully upright with her feet squeezed together on either side of the chain, pressing as tight on it with her shoes as she was with her hands.

The ball moved, as soon as she was standing. The chain that suspended her was made to glide sideways farther and farther away from the ledge she'd been pushed from. It lowered itself at the same time, so she was moving at an angle. A reddish glow appeared beneath her, as well as wisps of steam, and great heat. The light was very faint at first but brightened rapidly.

It was lava. A pool of boiling lava forming directly below her, getting larger and larger as the ball descended toward it, and because more lava kept being added to it, pouring in from sloped channels along the sides of the cavern.

From above she heard laughter and cheers and stomping. Snatchers had gathered upon several levels of encircling balconies, quite a good size crowd. Their faces were gleeful, their black eyes shining. They were eager to witness her demise. Some threw garbage at her, hunks of rotten fruit or worse things. None of their aim was any good, thankfully.

The lava was still a considerable distance from her, and yet already its heat was almost impossible to bear. The air scorched inside her nose and throat each time she took a breath. Her eyes stung if she opened them for more than a second. Actually they kept on stinging just as bad when she kept them closed. She had to hop from foot to foot because the ball had turned too hot to stand on. It hurt her feet even through the thick soles of her running shoes.

She gave in to panic. Couldn't help it. "You can't do this to me! You can't just kill me! Not like this! Stop! Please stop!"

"Why?" the monsters bellowed, "Why should we?"

"I'll do anything! Anything! Don't burn me! Don't let me burn!"

She didn't think they'd relent, but then they did. At least for the moment. The chain began slowly to ascend. It went: THUNKA-THUNKA-THUNKA as it was cranked up, vibrating in her hands. Katrina felt grateful—genuinely and hugely thankful for her reprieve. She knew it was a foolish mistake to feel like that. She told herself they were only toying with her, most likely, to stretch out her torment. She found she didn't care. Let things stretch, so long as it kept her away from the dreadful lava.

"Why should we spare you?" asked the monsters, "What good are you to us?"

"I'll do anything! Anything you want!"

"Will you amuse us? Will you entertain us?"

"Yes! Yes! I will!"

"But it will amuse us very much just giving you to the lava. That will make a fine spectacle. What better entertainment can you offer us than that?"

"I don't know. What do you want? What do you want me to offer?"

"Do you dance? Will you dance for us? Show us how you dance."

"Let me off this ball and I'll do it."

"No. Dance there for us. Right there."

"But I can't dance any good while I'm stuck here."

"Why not?"

"There's not enough room. I'll lose my balance."

The chain jerked and rattled and started to lower again, speedier than it had previously.

"Hey!" she shrieked, "Hold on! Don't! Don't do that! I'll dance! Stop lowering me and I'll dance! Let me show you how good I can dance!"

"But you said you couldn't. You said you didn't have enough room."

"I'll make do. I'll have to make do."

"Yes. We offer you a suggestion. Take your clothing off. We think that might help you. It will help you entertain us."

She should have seen that part coming but she hadn't. "Don't make me do that. Please don't make me do that."

In response, the chain jolted downward once more. She nearly lost her grip and fell.

"All right!" she screamed, "All right! I understand. I get the message. Raise me back up where I was! Raise me back up!"

"Not until you earn it. You haven't even started yet, have you?"

That was perfectly true. So with a nod and a sniffle and a gulp, Katrina began.

She pulled her hoody over her head and discarded it, followed by her headband. It helped to let her hair hang down across her face.

She kicked off her running shoes, one after the other, and would have waited to tug off her socks until the end, except they made it too easy for her feet to slip on the top of the ball. So she ditched them both next. The heat of the metal on her bare feet made her whimper, though actually it wasn't quite as bad as she expected, since the ball had continued to rise higher and higher, with increasing speed as she stripped. When she flexed her toes, she felt crusty shavings of the surface flake loose beneath and between them. Not a pleasant sensation. She looked down at her feet and they looked so pathetic and vulnerable, because they were so tiny and fragile-looking and pale in contrast to the darkly stained and scarred metal they were perched on.

Removing her leggings proved a greater challenge, because the shifting of her weight in the process caused the wrecking ball to spin and sway dramatically. That hadn't happened with the earlier items. Taking off the tight leggings required much more bending and wriggling, especially since the stretchy fabric insisted on clinging to her sweaty skin. They seemed to fight to stay on her legs. Before the struggle was over, Katrina nearly lost her balance and her grip on the chain more than once.

By the time she'd finally defeated the leggings, and discarded them, the ball was level with her audience. The monsters didn't have to stretch over the balcony railings to leer at her anymore. She dangled right before their wicked gleaming eyes.

All she had left was her sports bra and her thong. The Snatchers' tongues were quite literally hanging from their mouths. And they all had erections. Dozens or perhaps hundreds of huge and horrible monster cocks, purple and green, all pointing directly at her exposed skin from every side. She was about to reveal her tits to them, and her bare ass, and her pussy. She had no choice. Then she was going to dance for all these monsters, all these green and purple monster cocks, while she was completely naked, completely at their mercy. Because she was their prisoner and they had total power over her.

What would it feel like if they pushed those enormous green and purple cocks inside of her? How bad would it hurt? And for how long? Would her body get used to them? Would she learn to accommodate them? She would have to, if she was to survive—how long would it take?

Then very suddenly it occurred to her, judging from the swollen itching heat she was feeling in her crotch, as well as the slickness between her thighs, such an accommodation might not take her very long to reach at all. Her body was blazing hot inside and out, and it wasn't just the lava below that had done this to her. It was all of this, the whole scene at once—all the threatening elements together.

Katrina couldn't go through with it. She couldn't give up her underwear—not now. She couldn't let the monsters see how enflamed she was becoming, in spite of herself ... It was too disgusting and shameful. She huddled into a crouch again, covering as much of herself as she could with her arms and legs. She shivered and moaned and wept. "Don't make me do this. Please don't make me. It's too much. Please! It's too humiliating! I can't bear it! I just can't!"

But she was wrong. She could. She found that out as soon as they started to drop the chain once more. That shattered all her remaining reservations. That kicked her butt right into gear.

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't drop me! Don't drop me! Please I'm sorry don't fucking drop me!"

She uncurled herself and shed the underwear and started to dance, swinging herself around and around the chain like it was a stripper pole. Of course that made the entire ball swing and spin as crazily as she was—this time she was ready for that to happen, after the fiasco with her leggings, and at least there was plenty of room around her, plenty of open space. The whirling ball wasn't going to smash into anything and squash her or jostle her off of it. Her hands had got covered in grit off the chain. The thick filth made them less slippery from sweat, or at least she imagined that it did.

I won't fall. I won't fall. I can do this. I can get through this. If I don't do this I'm gonna die. I don't wanna die, so I'm gonna dance. I'm gonna dance my ass off and I'm gonna get through this. Somehow. Please.

She had no idea really how to dance like a stripper, but she improvised and managed pretty well. There's not a great deal to it, after all. She just imagined the most suggestive and disgraceful poses and motions a girl could make with her body—the kind of stuff she would never want to do or see any other girl do in front of an audience—and then did all of those things, over and over.

Dance! she told herself, Dance, you stupid bitch! This is what you get for letting yourself get captured. This is what you deserve for surrendering and letting them make you get naked. Dance for these horrible monsters and their horrible huge cocks.

There'd been a girl in her neighborhood that she'd been halfway friends with when they were little, and then during high school that girl dropped out and became a stripper. You'd never think she'd be the type, knowing her when Katrina did. Katrina had never been able to understand why girls would do that, or how they could enjoy it, the ones that said they did. No matter how desperate for money you might be, surely you never had to sink as low as that, not really. Even so, she'd always wondered what it would feel like. It was a disgusting and frightening thing to imagine. The same was true of most sexual things before you dared to do them. A lot of times, Katrina figured, probably most of the time, it was just sheer laziness more than anything else that pushed girls over that line. You showed your ass so you didn't have to bust your ass like a regular person with a regular job. It was a pretty great deal in many respects, if you didn't mind tossing away your self-respect.

This isn't the same thing at all. This is life and death. That's the only reason I've gone this far. I had no choice! No choice!

The monsters assisted her efforts with encouraging howls and whistles. They also put some loud music on. That helped her a great deal. Kept her going. It gave her something to focus on instead of her guilt and disgust. It was energetic stuff, though also very eerie with lots and lots of different drums and a mournful choir, endlessly wailing and moaning.

Soon she found herself moaning along with them. With her head flung back and one leg raised, toes pointed high as she could stretch, she was grinding her pussy against the chain. Humping herself on it, essentially, and doing so with all the strength she had left. It was the single sluttiest act she'd ever performed in her whole life. The sluttiest thing she could think of to do while the monsters were watching her. Hump this chain like the sluttiest slut in the world, she told herself, Hump this chain like the sluttiest slut in the universe! She discovered that doing this felt exciting and ... satisfying. Pleasurable. Very much so. The whole length of the chain seemed to be vibrating against her and inside of her. It was insidious and it was irresistible. When she began to grind herself on the damned filthy chain, she hadn't intended to like it. She was just putting on a show, and she told herself she was doing it with defiant irony. She hadn't intended to get herself off that way, only to pretend that she was since that was the kind of lewd unrealistic behavior her captors wanted to see. But she found no pretense would be required. This was, obviously, very shocking. Also unwelcome. Yet she couldn't make herself stop. She couldn't deny the feelings, or withstand them, now that they'd surged and strained across her system.

Oh! Oh my! Oh shit!

I'm going to come, she thought. I'm going to come and the monsters will see it when I do. All of them—all of them will see it. All of them will know.

They made me come. They made me fuck myself on this chain like it's a stripper pole and it got me off. Why is this getting me off? I don't know but it is—it is! What the fuck is wrong with me? Oh God. Oh God. What kind of person am I?

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