Revolving Door Guillotine & Trophy in the Womb
Flesh dragged over stone. A long, broken groan leaked out of her.
It was heavy—and it was not mere weight. Something had hooked itself into the deepest, most secret place in Na-bi's body and was hauling her entire viscera backward, a hideous gravity that would not let go.
"Hah... hah... nngh."
She crawled, smearing a face glazed with sweat and tears against the floor. Every time she planted a hand and dragged her torso forward another four inches, the hundred-and-thirty-pound beast strung from her rear came with her.
A wet slosh. A grinding crunch.
"Ah—! It hurts...!"
Each time the Hound was pulled along, a nauseating sound issued from the junction of their bodies. The beast's cock, locked inside her in a perfect Knot, had caught against the inner face of her pelvic bone like an anchor. The farther she tried to crawl, the more its bulb yanked at the mouth of her womb, as if her uterus itself were about to invert and spill out of her—a bottomless, gut-dropping agony.
Behind her the war of beasts still raged. Mannequins clung to the Hound's hind legs and hung there; the Hound, even as Na-bi dragged it, snapped its teeth at them in stubborn resistance. That pandemonium of flesh tearing flesh felt, to her, like an eternity.
Then her palm found cold glass.
The Revolving Door. The threshold of the Exhibition Hall—a barrier of ballistic glass and steel framing. She stared with unfocused eyes at the narrow gap: a fan-shaped sliver just wide enough for a single body to squeeze through.
"I have to... get in."
Instinct crumpled her through it. Head first, then a twist of the shoulder, her broken arm hugged tight against her ribs. Her torso slid inside the glass. The Safety Zone. But it was not over.
A dull, hollow impact—and her body was yanked violently backward. The Hound. Its massive trunk, snout still buried against her ass, had caught on the steel frame of the entrance.
She screamed without sound. The instant the beast snagged, her body—the living tether between them—went taut. At the far end of that taut line, the knot buried in her belly crushed against her pelvis as if it meant to pulverize the bone.
The Hound panicked and tried to backpedal. As it retreated, she felt herself about to be dragged back out through the door.
No. I don't want this. Never again—!
She braced her feet against the glass and clawed at a seam in the floor until her nails peeled back from the beds. She would not be pulled out. She would not. What followed was a grotesque tug-of-war: Na-bi holding from inside, the Hound holding from outside, and between them, stretched to singing tightness, a red ring of living flesh.
Her legs were forced apart to their limit. The mouth of her vagina stretched until the tissue went bloodless-white. The junction trembled, as precarious as a rubber band a breath from snapping.
"Break... just break... please...!"
Spite drove her. She shoved the glass. The door's wing began, slowly, to turn. A rusty-bearing screech, and the steel frame started to close.
"Nngh—! Gyaaaah!"
The harder the glass crushed against her back, the deeper the beast's cock drove into her. As the door's pressure shoved the Hound's body away, the reaction rammed the connected flesh toward her womb. Her pelvis split as if it would crack open. The pubic symphysis popped, and popped again, screaming.
And yet, in the midst of that horrific pressure, her brain was sending the wrong signals—a circuit gone haywire. A packed, total fullness. A strange security in inner walls filled without a single gap. When the pain exceeded its threshold, her pleasure center misfired and converted agony into ecstasy. Her vision strobed white. Drool ran from her mouth.
I have to cut it off... but I don't want it pulled out...!
Contradictory feelings whirled through her. Reason wanted the beast gone. Instinct said she could not endure the emptiness that would come when that massive bulk slid free. She felt herself going mad. Like a female broken in by a beast, a craving at the cellular level to keep this monstrous coupling climbed her spine.
It was not a door. It was a guillotine.
The revolving door's sharp edge drove into the narrow space between the Hound's waist and her ass—targeting, with terrible precision, the root of the cock that bound them together. The steel frame began to press into the hide of the Hound's lower belly. The sound of flesh being crushed.
The Hound screamed, a high, broken yelp. It knew. Its most precious, most sensitive part was being flattened between plates of steel. It tried to lunge forward, but it was too large to enter. If it retreated, the agony of being ripped out of her awaited. A deadlock.
Na-bi put her entire weight into the door.
"Die! Die! Just die!"
A nauseating rupture—the Hound's pubic bone crushing against the frame. The pressure grew. The root of the beast's cock, caught between steel and glass, began to flatten like a sheet of paper. The tough hide could not hold. It burst. Red muscle fibers stretched taut and snapped, one strand at a time, vivid in her ears.
The Hound's scream climbed an octave—a tearing, inhuman shriek. It thrashed in mad agony. The door closed without mercy. Blood fountained out, painting the transparent glass crimson. A rain of blood fell before her eyes. She did not stop. She forgot the yanking in her belly. There was only one thought: cut the monster away.
The final moment. Only the toughest tissue—urethra, corpus spongiosum—still clung on. Blood vessels stretched thin as rubber bands screamed their last. Na-bi put everything she had into it, every last scrap of strength, and kicked the glass.
A dull, heavy sound of severance. At the same instant, the tension that had been stretched taut vanished. Like a snapped rubber band recoiling, her body was flung forward. She tumbled, graceless, onto the cold marble inside the door.
"Hah... hah..."
Quiet. The Hound's screams cut off on the other side of a single pane of glass. She huddled her trembling body and gasped for air. It was over. She had escaped. She had cut it off.
But it did not take long to realize that something was wrong.
Her body was free. The heaviness in her lower belly had not gone. No—it had grown even more distinct.
"Ah...?"
A violently shaking hand reached down and groped between her legs. Where there should have been emptiness, something heavy and hot was hanging. Her fingertips found wet, slick mucosa. And a rough, severed cross-section, dripping.
"Ah... aah..."
A moan like a lament spilled from her lips. It had been cut. The Hound's cock had definitely been severed. But it was the beast's body that had been cut away. The bulbus glandis and the glans—the parts that had swollen into a knot inside her—were still buried in her body.
It was a perfect Bio-Plug. A massive lump of meat nearly three inches across was sealing her entrance shut. From the severed face, the dead beast's blood welled and welled, soaking her thighs.
Worse was what lay inside. The semen the Hound had poured into her until the very last moment. That enormous volume of fluid, unable to leak even a single drop past the tightly seated plug, was trapped intact in her belly. Every time she breathed, the liquid pooled inside her sloshed. A foreign weight stirred her viscera. The desperate sensation of needing to void and being unable to—an exit sealed shut. The presence of that severed lump was so overwhelming that a mad thought crossed her mind: hanging off the Hound might have been better.
She looked through the glass. Beyond the blood-soaked revolving door, the Hound's severed lower half lay sprawled, and the mannequins were tearing into the corpse. Mid-meal, they spotted her beyond the glass and froze.
A girl covered in blood, a grotesque trophy hanging between her legs. One mannequin pressed its face right up against the glass and worked its mouth.
"...She took it."
"...She took our parts."
Terror burned through her nerves once more. Without even the strength to scream, she crawled on all fours and hid herself behind a pillar in the lobby.
She could not close her legs. Because of the massive foreign object jammed in her groin, she had to shuffle along with her thighs awkwardly spread. With every movement the severed lump of meat swung, and that vibration traveled up the inner walls of her vagina and reached her brain intact.
It was warm. The fragment of the dead beast still held its body heat, warming her deepest place. That nauseating warmth seemed to whisper to her.
You are no longer human.
You are nothing but a vessel carrying a beast's seed.
Na-bi crawled into the deep dark, bearing shame and filth. In the trail she left behind, red bloodstains and a mucus of milky fluid stretched out like a snail's slime.