Whatever more Indred had in store for him, Marc didn't want any part of it. Unfortunately, given the sheer size and strength difference between him and his macabre, monolithic moth mistress, he had no means of resistance beyond the standard begging, flailing, and--though he would've denied it--weeping. It made no difference in the end. Indred just dragged him to an old, tattered chair in the center of the room. It was big enough for an anthro, but two metal, human-sized restraints had been built into the arms of the chair. He wondered how he could've possibly missed a chair so large during his initial inspection of the room, but that thought had to wait as Indred dropped him down onto the cushion causing a cloud of dust to engulf him. He coughed on the stale, dirty air. As such, he was too off guard to stop his mistress from locking one of his wrists into one restraint, then another into the other. The end result was that his arms were stretched uncomfortably up into the air and now he was fully trapped.
Now that he was completely at her mercy--ok, well, technically he'd always been completely at her mercy, but now he was even moreso--he expected his torments to truly begin. Indred stood over him, red eyes glowing. Marc's lower lip quivered. He knew what was about to happen next. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the only reason she would secure him to a chair was so that she could sit on him. But with his arms already straining and her incredible weight, he was terrified his arms would just pop out of their sockets.
"Yesssss," Indred said with quiet relish. "The anticipation, the dread, the knowledge of the suffering that awaits you. A satisfactory appetizer of fear... but now I'll dig into the main course."
Marc shut his eyes. He couldn't bare to look! He just waited for the crushing pain to begin... and waited... and waited... and waited one last time until he finally cracked open an eye to peak at what was taking so long. Sure enough the sight of Indred's massive backside took up the whole of his vision, but she didn't lower it on him. Instead she was fiddling with something Marc couldn't see. He saw her raise her fist and bang on something. Was it some horrible instrument of torture that had been used so often it needed repair?!
"C'mon, stupid thing," she hissed. "Damn thing never works." BANG! BANG! BANG! "AH-HA! GOTCHA!"
Indred straightened and turned to give Marc her full attention, revealing what'd been hidden behind her... a television with rabbit ears hooked up to a VCR still flashing 12:00.
Alright, Marc thought, I'm not insane. That TV was definitely not here before. Where is she getting these things? What is she, magic? As soon as Marc thought it he shuddered. He didn't need any more reasons to fear her.
"That's right, human. Shiver in fear. What you're about to witness will chill you to the bone. Madness will be the only escape from your horror, but I'll make sure it never comes. Behold... true... FEAR!"
Here it was, the torture he'd been dreading was now before him! What did she have on tape? Home movies about the grisly tortures and murders she'd committed?! The fighters she'd devoured in the ring? The monstrous fates of all those hapless human servants who'd entered her abode never to return?!
Marc shut his eyes but Indred moved behind him and forced them open with her claws.
"No, little slave, it's show time."
"HELP ME!" Marc screamed. "SOMEBODY HEEEEEEEEELP!"
Wha-Whaaa-WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...
PPPPFFFFFFRRRRRTTTTT!
It was the sound of a cartoon trombone signaling something embarassing happening to someone, followed by the fart-like noise of a whoopie cushion. Marc's cries for help stopped.
What the hell? he thought.
The picture on the black-and-white TV showed a human man around Marc's age, only shorter, scrawnier and as skittish as a mouse at a cat conference. He was dressed in disheveled, business-man attire, working in a cubicle that looked like it'd been built for someone ten times his size. He was standing on a revolving chair in order to reach the computer on his desk. He was typing painfully slowly as he had to reach over for each key on a keyboard the size of a coffee table.
"SPLA-AAAAAAAAAAAAT!"
A loud, sing-song voice like the fat lady wearing Viking horns in an opera cut through the office, triggering a laugh track from the video. The figure typing at the keyboard looked up in terror. Suddenly the entire office floor was shaking as the heavy footsteps of something massive made its way to the tiny man's workspace.
The figure was soon revealed to be a female warthog anthro who stood 15 feet tall. Her fur was dark brown while her black hair was streaked with gray and done up in a bun. She wore a pair of red horn-rimmed glasses and a blue woman's suit and skirt. Her gut wasn't half as big as Indred's but it was still impressive to behold, and her ass was one of the biggest ever to hit the silver screen, barely being contained by her too-short skirt.
She completely took up the space occupying the cubicle's entrance, looming over the tiny, trembling human. Her hands were on her hips, and a cigarette was held in between two pink-manicured nails. Her teeth and tusks were slightly yellow from smoking. She raised her cigarette while glaring at the man before her, took a deep drag between thick red lips, then exhaled through her snout, blowing the smoke directly on human who coughed.
"I said I wanted those reports on my desk first thing in the morning, Splat. It's second thing in the morning and I still don't have them!"
The man flinched and the canned laughter of a non-existent studio audience went off again. "I-I-I t-told you, Ms. Tuskington, I wouldn't be able to get them finished on time without an assistant!"
"And didn't I assign you an assistant?" the warthog demanded.
"Well, yes, but... after you left your lunch at home you ate him instead!"
"Excuses, excuses!" Ms. Tuskington boomed after the canned laughter had died down. "I want results! And if you can't give me results, your ass belongs to me! Or rather," she said, starting to smirk.
"Oh please no," the little man gulped.
"YOUR ASS BELONGS TO MY ASS!"
Ms. Tuskington turned and plopped her ass right down on her human subordinate. The laugh track was replaced by recorded whooping and cheers as if what the warthog had just done was something inspiring and triumphant. She smiled widely as she ground her cheeks into the seat.
"Consider this your lunch hour, Splat," the warthog said just before her stomach grumbled loudly. "Oof, speaking of which. Seems your assistant isn't agreeing with me."
PPPPPFFFFFFRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTT!
The man beneath her gave out some muffled screams as the laugh track resounded once again.
Marc watched the whole thing with a dumbfounded look. This was the big torture? The new Jack Splat movie? Two and a half hours of some hapless human getting squashed and snacked on by anthro ladies? He knew that anthros loved it and humans hated it, but this hardly seemed like torture to him.
Indred mistook the look on his face. "Yessssssss," she hissed quietly. "Gaze into the abyss of horrors. Can you not feel your soul weakening with its terrifying message of how pathetic your race is?"
... Ooooooooooookay, Marc thought. So it's not like I'm looking forward to being abused or anything (if I did this ASL hellhole would be a dream job) but just showing me some crappy movies are really taking the drama out of this whole "feast on my fear" thing she's got going on. Still, might be good to play along and get out of real torture.
What happens next?
1) Marc pretends to be terrified of the terrible movie to appease Indred and maybe save himself.
2) Indred uses her magic to somehow make this lackluster comedy movie into something legitimately terrifying for Marc.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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