PixelJail

Story by HealingPotion

She lamented, there in the burning orange haze that was to be her eternity, her own personal hell.

Had she been stronger, this fate would not have befallen her.
Had she been smarter, this fate would not have befallen her.
Had she been just a little bit luckier, this fate would not have befallen her.

Illwyn had been high on ecstasy, but only figuratively. When she’d discovered her powers, when she’d responded to the invite to join the Samhein Coven, she’d been swept up in a whirlwind of emotions. Her life until then had been nothing but a soul-dulling parade of mediocrity! Soon after, everything would change. Everything would be better! Her powers realised, her forbidden carnal desires given a chance to rage free!

The tour of Samhein Estate was more than she had ever dreamed of. The torments there that the coven would inflict, would revel in, was everything her twisted little black heart had ever dreamed of. Beautiful, lithe bodies, filled with the souls of men and women alike, cried and screamed and writhed in agony. From one room to the next, she found nothing but pleasure in the unique and hideous tortures inflicted upon these poor unfortunate souls.

It had only been a few weeks since she’d joined the coven when Illwyn learned of the true nature of the Pumpkinks, how they were condemned to suffer in endless sexual frustration, thus driving them to hatred and resentment of all of the slaves. They were ideal slave labour, compelled by their own baser desires to torture and tear at the slaves if they wanted their own chance for release. Feeding their vicious hatred was the only way for them to collect enough magical energy to escape their mushy chastity prisons. This amused her, and after a short while she fancied herself their guide on the right path, their shepherd to sexual salvation, their ally…their queen.

Illwyn, Queen of the Pumpkinks!

Naturally, it was only a matter of time until she discovered the existence of the Pumpkollossus! That fat, bloated, rotting, decrepit shell of a Pumpkink that had refused to transform and escape its increasing frustration, long after it had gathered enough power to do so. The horrid thing fancied itself high ruler of all Pumpkinks, even going so far as to birth new ones without the help of the witch Mistress Serena. In Illwyn- no Queen Illwyn’s eyes, this was an offence that simply could not sit.

Flying with purpose to the pumpkink patch, Illwyn confronted the monster. Enormous, bloated, rotting, two-mouthed, the creature dominated the head of the patch. Before her eyes, its vines gleefully stuffed a captured stray slave into the giant, glowing, gaping maw, while the other mouth roared and smiled  grotesquely. From inside, the muffled screams of countless slaves could be heard. They might as well have been whispers, on the outside.

“Foolish, arrogant pumpkink!” Illwyn cried, leveling a magic-laden finger at the swollen creature.

“You lounge-about! Long ago should you have performed the ritual and escaped your life of chastity! What keeps you here, false monarch! Pretender!”

There came no response from the towering pumpkink, but its vines did slow. Glowing, unblinking eyes turned to settle on the upstart witch.

“These tortured souls are not yours to rule!” Illwyn shouted, taking a step closer. “Get thee about thy ritual! Move on, bloated Crown of Nothing!”

Again, no verbal response came. However, the entire patch seemed to slowly wind towards stillness. Not a vine twitched, not a pumpkink flicked. It seemed to Illwyn that she was the only thing in the entire patch that could still move in time.

“I give you this chance, misbegotten monstrosity,” she continued, finding that her voice was lowering, that a feeling of ill-ease was coming upon her. “Quit this patch, use thy magic and become a beast unto other monsters. But do not linger here, or you will surely face my wrath!”

An uncertainty welled up from within her. Illwyn began to feel the fires of her outrage dim against the chill of her sudden fear. That scenery around her, moments ago seemingly frozen in time, began to encroach on her. She took one step back, without even thinking, and then another. The pumpkinks, the vines, everything around her was slowly closing in.

By the time that her brain could react to this, to turn tail and flee, it was much too late.

Pumpkinks lunging and leaping from every direction bit into her everywhere. Her legs, her arms, her neck and her body. Each one was insignificant, but together they became a powerful force pulling her down, preventing her escape. Then, the vines began to seize her. Wrists, ankles, chest. Illwyn screamed and clawed at the ground, but it parted before her fingers. One inch at a time, she was dragged into that wretched Pumpkollossus’ mouth.

“RELEASE MEEEEE! I-I-I am a witch of the Samhein Coven! Y-you can’t…please, no…NOOOO!”

The dark world of the starlit woods that blanketed the pumpkink patch disappeared through the jagged hole of the Pumpkollossus’ mouth. It faded further and further away, until she was left alone in a burning orange haze, the last of the outside light fading into a tightening wall of contracting muscle-like pumpkin flesh.

The belly of the beast.

The pumpkinks and the vines receded as she was dropped onto something warm, soft, and sticky. Instantly, stringy and hideously adhesive pumpkink guts covered her back, her arms, her legs. Illwyn seethed in frustration and struggled with all of her might as her clothes dissolved away, as her limbs were pulled back behind by, increasingly tightly by the irresistible force of the orange goo. The muscle and flesh like innards of the creature appeared larger than it could possibly have been from the outside, but as she was pulled away from the mouth of the creature, as the outside light receded to nothing, the pumpkink muscles, flesh, and goo became tighter and thicker around her, leaving less and less space and air.

As every bit of space around her vanished, she felt herself being glued to a wriggling, hot mass behind her. One quick, unfortunate glance to the side revealed exactly what she had been stuck to: a massive ball of writhing, trapped bodies.

It was then, as she became part of the orange, mushy, hell inside of Pumpkollossus, that Illwyn finally learned how such a rule-defying creature could exist. The sexual frustration, the agonising and intolerable frustration, of the Pumpkollossus slammed into her like a tidal wave of horniness.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of slaves, witches and victims, all writhing and screaming and struggling in that infernal gut of lust, were being filled to explosive, desperate anguish with the Pumpkink’s own frustration being passed onto them. The hideous rotted creature on the outside would be enjoying endless, sheer pleasure, sheer excitement while the frustration borne of its inability to achieve any physical release? That would be passed safely onto the victims trapped in its belly, for them to suffer instead of it, and thus feeding its desires further.

And so, “Queen” Illwyn screamed. She screamed for help from her sisters, she screamed for orgasmic release from her agonising prison. She tried to reach herself in a frenzy to sate that urgent need, but she couldn’t possibly fight the intensely thick goo that prevented her movements. Not that it would help, she would find no release here. She screamed because there was nowhere else for the frustration to go but out her mouth, which was even invaded uncomfortably by the tormenting innards. She screamed in that hazy orange hell, endlessly, because there was nothing else that she could do except for scream.

Scream, and hope for a release that some despairing part of her knew would never come.

Scream, at the very least, in the hopes that it would scare away the next arrogant witch or careless victim, if only to ensure her own torment would not become ever worse.