PixelJail

Story by Wolvun

 

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FWOOSH

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Clatter.

A sputtering flare sits at the bottom of dry well in front of Misery Manor. An oddity amongst oddities. Each month of October, around the middle, witches gather slaves and lower them down into the darkness. Young witchlings do not know why and older witches do not tell. Such a matter has frustrated the Witch of Words to no end. Now, she has someone that can finally get the answer that has eluded her for far, far too long. 

A coil of rope unfolds onto the ground. Followed by a figure sliding down with one arm. In her other hand is a flashlight. In her head, Pippin is focused fully upon the intricacies of gravity. Channelling such energy though the Blue Book currently under her arm, it allows her to use loopholes in that understanding to do the impossible. That’s the way of a Blue Witch’s magic. To understand the rules so intricately that you can change them. Instead of working against her, pulling her down to a crash on the unknown floor, she allowed gravity to slowly and safety cushion her as she tapped her feet to the ground.

Turning the beam of light though the vast caverns. The light glinting from her glasses as she takes it in. Her neck tingling was a familiar sensation. But she knew what she was doing. Whatever was down here, whatever the mystery, she was a confident scout of the Blue Library. A well trained apprentice with some good experience, and had survived two encounters with pumpkolossi.

Each time she escaped, she would get stronger. With each lesson she wrote her experiences. Written in ink on the magical book, her book filled with power as she did. With each word she wrote in her book, she felt tingles of power, she was more confident and hungry Blue Witchling.

Pipin could feel the Library Card tucked into her shawl against her arm. The way she could magically escape any danger back to the Blue Library. Recently though, she hadn’t been using it. Having it as a backup reassured her, but she craved the feeling of competence, to impress her Mistress, to be a potent enough witch to not need to use it.

This time, she wouldn’t run with her tail between her legs.

=

Bare feet padding across smooth stone. Not unsurprising for where water had been. Pipin felt it. Grooves on the surface. Suggesting this place was dug out. Uniformly dug out. Symmetrical as though done by a machine, yet imperfections suggesting otherwise. Who and why would anyone bring digging equipment down here? Pipin scrunches her brow. Following the light further and further into the darkness.

She hears scraping noises in the dark ahead of her.

Pippin’s grip tightened as she slows down. Hand over the light to dim it somewhat. Squinting in the darkness. Each step forward. The scraping growing louder until she came around a turn.

The figure stood in the darkness. The light showing they were naked. The most beautiful person Pipin had ever seen. The figure has alabaster skin, probably so pale from being underground for so long, but it’s smooth to perfection. Her round belly and thick thighs are simply inviting, like the safest place in this darkness. Her delicate hands digging into the wall of the cavern. Dragging though the dirty material, ruining her fingernails. Clumps and rocks dropping around the figure’s bare, delicious feet.

Pipin tightens her jaw as the figure comes close enough that her gorgeous face can be seen in the light. Her sensual lips and her adorable round cheeks. Her long, scraggly hair, and her deliciously wet, sparkling brain.

From the top of the head to the middle was largely exposed. Amid the strains of brunette hair that perfectly contrasted her chalk skin sat a purple goo. Like a bowl hidden in the back of her head. The purple goo jiggling and spilling down the back of her neck as the woman claws at the wall towards Pipin. Despite it all, Pipin wanted nothing more than to approach the woman and take her in the throes of passion. She had never seen someone who’d elicited this type of overwhelming attraction in her before. She would find out what has happened to her, who she is, and what her pussy tastes like immediately, as a furious lust overtakes her and she approaches the woman as well.

Seeing that Pipin is coming, the woman’s neck contorts into a very unpleasant position.

More purple goo splotching from the open headwound she now held at an angle. Despite the clear damage, she was smiling. Trails of purple down and around her cheeks. As well as oozing from her bottom lip. The two stared at each, then it turned. Righting the position of its neck and walking toward Pipin. Hands outstretched silently. Ever smiling, ever dripping.

Pippin shook. Taking a step back. The overwhelming lust remained, but the fearful tingle of familiarity struck her.

This has happened before.

Irrational desperation for orgasm, an otherworldly tease to tempt her into the maw of the beast.

The mystery of the well must be another pumpkolossus.

The book slipping from under her arm. Dangling from her wrist by a wrapped bookmark around her wrist. It swings back, without any motion from her. Forcing itself into her hand. Pages fluttering open. Pippin’s gaze went from the book to the…thing hobbling toward her. With a grimace, she closed the book. Not yet. Whatever this corrupted woman is, she’s not the source of this.

Tucking it back under her arm while swinging hard at the woman. She sprawled. Purple good splashing across the floor wetly. Her body sat still before twitching. Legs tucking under itself before the arms moved. By then Pipin had pushed ahead. She was caught for a moment in the sudden unexpected arousal, but she’s prepared this time. She can face this.

Her mind racing. Finding more and more of the purple goo on the walls and floor. Scraped? Rubbed? Spilled? She wasn’t sure, but the increase in light was a good and bad sign.

—

The cavern spread ahead. Figures hobbling about. Humans, animals, pumpkinks and others. Each of them has the same gaping head wound. Milling about the pools of purple goo.

But that was not what drew Pipin’s attention. What drew her attention was the sound of her soaking pussy as she was rubbing herself harder and faster. She never even realised she’d started. She stops immediately, but can’t ignore the fact that she’s in a dark, dangerous place full of naked, moaning people. They all want her, and she wants all of them. The sexual energy in the cavern is overflowing, the thick purple cum-like substance pooling everywhere around her, every single rock reminded her in some way of body parts she has to have right now. 

She was close.

She held her both with both hands slightly in front of her. Keeping focused on that, on where they are, on what’s happening. As long as she understands what’s happening with her own body, it can’t get her.

In the centre of the room, it sat. Perhaps bigger than the pumpkolossus in the Pumpkink Patch, this pumpkolossus looked like it might have been a small house. From what she could see, it has at least six “eyes” on it. Flaring with purple flame. It’s mouth opened like nothing she had seen. Lifting up from the middle. As though lifted by a pillar of the purple slime.

Untucking the book from under her arm, she quickly began writing down these observations. Cursing herself for not having written anything about the purple ooze itself, simply only thinking about how odd of a colour it was for something usually translucent and white. Thinking about what it might taste like, if it tastes like cum as well. What it might be like filling her up, if it would be as warm as the human variety. About how hard she could cum if it was inside her. If she could climax at the same time, let it flow through her, over her, on her. About how it would feel splashing over her face, running down her eyes and nose, her forehead. Dribbling into her mouth, her ears. Gluing her hear together, running down her neck. About her neck contorting into a very uncomfortable position.

She snapped out of it, realising she had began writing her pornographic fantasies in her book.

As she scribbled, trying to quickly get back on track, the book trembled in her hand.

Something was off.

Looking up, she saw that what she had mistaken for the fiery eyes of the monster were just holes. The actual eye of the vile thing sat atop the disgusting, slimy stem. Long and prehensile. The end of it a large, round, fleshy eyeball. Staring unblinkingly at her.

Suddenly, Pippin feels hands. Several of them, touching her, shoving her sensually forward. They were touching her. She wanted more. Causing her to tumble out into the open. Head over heels before landing in a heap. Nothing sensual about landing onto dirt and rocks, and yet just feeling their skin contact made her feel an intimacy with them. A desire to be a part of their disgusting orgy.

Already, the masses move toward her. Reaching. Stretching. Erecting. Whatever they can outstretch to take her. She seems them converge over her and she feels only relief. The desire she was suppressing to carry on with her mission flows through her. She’s been beaten, there is nothing left to do but accept them into her. It’s better this way. This is how she can get relief. She wants this. She lies on her back and looks up at the approaching mass of beautiful bodies approach her in the dirt. She opens her legs wide and reaches her hands to her breasts, giving herself some satisfaction, tempting them to come to her, to cum for her, to cum to her, to cum in her.

The large purple eye dangles loosely in the air above her watching her show unblinkingly. She feels pain at the very idea she’s not impressing it, and grabs her pussy and furiously begins masturbating. Not for her own pleasure, she knows she can never reach climax on her own, she knows she can never be satisfied on her own. She does it to show her desperation. To stop hiding, to open up, to reveal herself, to beg, to beg, to beg, to beg it to allow her satisfaction.

The naked bodies begin to bend over and reach down to her, the purple goo dribbling off of them, light drops landing on her just barely. Her skin even touched by the material she’s completely consumed by the life or death need for this cum to fill her, to impregnate her, to take her completely from the outside out.

“Fill me!” she screams in desperate agony, tears streaming down her eyes because they’ve not already done it.

Pipin’s eye’s are closed. Her hands are full only of her own pussy. She doesn’t realise her book is no longer by her side.

Through the culmination of much study and practice that the Witch of Words had impressed onto her. Knowledge gave her power. But also gave her Hunger. She may not feel it, but her Blue Book would. Filling and advancing alongside her, it lives and learns with her.

And protects her.

Snapping at the grasping appendages of the naked figures. Closing onto them and tearing away form and flesh. Leaving exposed flesh and bone yet injuries and no blood spilling. The Blue Book creases as an imitation of an animal’s snarl.

From within folds out papery spider-like legs. Lifting up its body as it scampers around Pipin, biting at any who would approach her, guarding her.

The scene around her reminds her what’s happening. That she’s not defeated. She can’t be, the fight hasn’t even begun yet!

Back on her feet, defeated, not defeated, she snatches her beloved Blue Book up as she takes in the situation while the spider-like legs unfold back into pages. Desperate, but she can’t lose. She won’t lose, not as long as she cums, which she can do here. She’s here so she’s already won really. She doesn’t need to cum, she can’t cum, not anyway, not while she’s here, she needs to give into the purple orgy, but not to cum, she’s already here, she’s come, now she knows, she’s seen, she can go!

She wipes the splash of goo off of her leg, finding herself completely pulled in by the desperate lustful desire for an orgasm that she reminds herself she’ll never get here. Not here. Not like this. It’s a trick, she reminds herself.

Whatever that thing was hadn’t moved. It was stationary. Yet with this many pawns here there would be no victory in challenging it.

“I’ve got enough,” She mutters, the pages of her Blue Book fluttering, showing her diagrams of the knowledge it had “swallowed” off of her attackers.

Gravity, mass, sensuality, density, climax, direction. All these concepts spiralling in her head. Wilfully separating her own magic from the insidious influence of the pumpkolossus. Silently reasoning with the magic why it should work unlike nature intended. Feeling herself getting lighter. Or more precisely, gravity lifting her up toward the ceiling by her feet. Out of the reach of the attackers, the eye on the stem following her as she adjusts her mindset. The centre of her own personal gravity redirecting for her as she falls toward the cavern entrance she had come in though. That she had come through. That she had cum through. That she could have cum through. That they could have cum through her. That she wanted-

She crashes across the ground in the tunnels as her reasoning ceased and nature reclaimed its nature status quo. Her mind slipped too much, reminding her that while she was quickly mastering her abilities, that her focus was under constant assault, and that her mind as a young witchling was still vulnerable.

Feeling the Blue Book’s bookmark wrap itself around her wrist again, she took off running. The convergence of naked flesh and purple cum very quickly starting to move behind her, realising that she was escaping.

The endless twisting tunnels may have confused others, but was child’s play for a Blue Witch. She only had to remember backwards a single path after all.

Escaping the well and vanishing into the night, she found a dark corner outside Misery Manor where there was rarely any eyes and she reached down between her legs. The trickery instilled by the pumpkolossi can only dominate you from nearby, but the lust and desperation remains and is unlike anything natural. She knows she can’t possibly ignore this, but she at least has to accept this embarrassment in private, this time away from the eyes of her Mistress.

—

The Witch of Words puzzles to herself as Pipin finishes up her writing.

“Strange things indeed. Your book describes them yet they do not seem related to references here.”

Pippin nods, closing the Blue Book and turning.

“They didn’t feel right here. Like whatever that was wasn’t from the Manor. It acted differently, calmly, seemingly precise control over its subjects. Unlike any pumpkink we’ve seen.”

“I suppose there is reason to that. I suppose there’re much larger things for us to learn than simply their existence” The Witch of Words mulls

“For you, Mistress, I won’t stop until we learn it all. I starve for knowledge, desperately.” Pippin offers the Blue Book for inspection. While the Witch of Words did not show it, she was eager to see her enthusiastic pupil’s gained knowledge.

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