Whatever Happened To Bleeding Lotus? Mic Check #3

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Click here to read Mic Check #1
Click here to read Mic Check #2

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So, by the skin of my gums, I had managed to narrowly escape the grimmest looking butcher I’d ever set eyes on, a dude totally focused on one thing, that being to cleave me into minced meat. Just as it appeared he would be afforded his wish, I was stolen away and relocated to a far less foreboding locale. A harem filled to the back walls with tantalizing middle-eastern beauties, squirming around lustfully, and covered head to toe in perfumed oils and perspiring the scent of sex. I cast my mind back to a few moments prior when a stupidly oversized meat cleaver was hurtling towards my burrowed brow and breathed a huge sigh of relief. I was merely a gnat’s pube away from meeting my end in that odious chop shop. However, the worm had turned in my favor and, as I took another glance around this Amazonian palace, littered with hard bodies as far as the dense mist allowed my eyes to discern, I felt decidedly privileged. No toss-up really, it was for the best.

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I lifted myself from the revolving stool which appeared to be the only apparatus to trek with me, and instantly felt overdressed. It appeared that clothing was not permitted in this hot house as there was not a stitch of clothing to be seen, aside from the customary row of flip-flops along the side of the baths. I counted what must’ve been fifteen pairs, although the tepid fog was just too thick to make out the exact number. Considering I was only in possession of a single penis; the 15:1 ratio of women to men appeared generous in the extreme and, right now, I would take any slice of good fortune afforded me. These weren’t your haggard middle-aged fishwives with cracked heels and sagging bosoms; there wasn’t the faintest whiff of menapause although these salacious sirens did appear primed for ovulation. That just made them even more ripe for the picking as I had never been averse to a little innocuous bloodsport during the peak of the cycle.

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Before me were two such derobed beauties, one perched strategically amidst the jacuzzi jets panting, eyes flickering with wanton desire, while the other watched on in a similar state of arousal, armed with nipples like fence posts. This appeared far too sensual to be anything other than exactly how it appeared. These two sultry vixens were about to embark on a voyage of forbidden discovery and I had been afforded fly-on-the-wall status. There was clearly stuff going down sub-aqua but I couldn’t quite make it out from my lop-sided vantage point so I did what any curious George would’ve done, had he been in my position: I shuffled a touch nearer to the hot spot and attempted not to pre-ejaculate in my jockeys.

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As my arc of vision become more accommodating; there could be only one feasible reaction. I gulped, so conclusively that I damned near swallowed my tongue and let off a vague quiver of excitement. The onlooking harlot was evidently more centermost to her friends state of arousal than I had imagined. Her long lustrous leg was stretched across the water with five manicured toes stroking the sex of the vigorously oscillating temptress #2 who appeared all set to climax at that precise moment. I squinted to make out what was making her so frightfully excitable and, as the frothing waters cleared momentarily, I was gifted my answer.

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Her painted big toe was evidently steering this particular vessel, towards the rocks I might add, as it burrowed within the other woman’s shaven hub and jostled around, controlling every wincing flinch from her tag team partner. The Crimson Quill was filled with deep red and I began to feel a little light-headed, woozy even, feeling the overwhelming urge to find a perch fast before my vertical license was revoked. To my left was a wooden door so I stumbled straight for it and almost fell right through the opening created.

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As I thudded onto a bench of sorts; the searing heat instantaneously became unbearable and the realization set in that I had unwittingly stumbled into the sauna. I attempted to breathe in what scant air was available but there simply wasn’t sufficient saliva for my throat to function so I slouched against the partition where I commenced convulsing, much like Arnie in Total Recall, minus the eyes on storks. Thankfully there were three buxom beauties sharing this sweat box with me and they all appeared content enough with my attendance which halted the oncoming anxiety attack as I started to acclimatize to my new sanctuary and consider the debauchery ahead.

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This teasing trifecta were clearly concerned for my well-being as they all dashed over to my assistance. “How dreadfully well-mannered” I thought, as they began to strip me down like famished sexual coyotes. Within seconds, I was down to my underwear and rolling into recovery position to accommodate further decisive action. However, I instantly regretted that decision as the blood was all focused on one area of my anatomy, thus giddiness began getting the better of me.

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The slutty sauna sirens then began tugging at my shorts, one of them licking my glistening buttocks and running her incisors along their supple flesh, while the others appeared to have designs on my rigid member. Just as I was preparing for launch, she slid her long tongue between the crack of my ass and flicked it towards my anus. Then, before I could say “sexual chocolate”, I was flipped over like an overcooked burger and all three turned their attention to the meat and potatoes. However, I could still feel that smarting sensation in my rump and, a cursory glance towards the bloody floor confirmed that the skin had indeed been broken.

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A rivulet of deep red was dripping from the timber bench beneath me and, with that, the dizziness returned full-pelt. I was losing a disconcerting amount of fluid at a fairly alarming rate, probably unaided by the fact that my middle torso was particularly well-stocked with blood by that point. Through my blurred peepers I could just about make out two of the vixens’ faces, while the other was too busy tugging at the base of my shaft somewhat impatiently. While these birds of prey admittedly had fine feathers; something didn’t sit right with me. With the exception of any blood loss or dizzy spells, this all appeared way too good to be true.

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Initially their eyes had appeared welcoming but, on closer inspection, they were ever so bloodshot and there didn’t appear to be a sheesha room on the premises to account for such red-eye. Still processing that data, I was then presented with an enticing glance of the razor-sharp fangs of my tormentors and it didn’t take a degree in rocket science to work out that I was in a spot of danger once again. On the plus side, I had always desired to meet my demise at the hands of the pussy patrol but, on the other hand, I still hadn’t the vaguest clue as to Whatever Happened to Bleeding Lotus and I’ve never regarded myself as a quitter. I simply had to see this through to its natural end and there seemed little organic about being torn asunder by raging succubi. I summoned all my inner resolve to ignore the alluring cry of these cannibalistic cronies and kicked them away as best as I could, freeing up my legs to make a dash back to the door. However, I returned back to my upright position a little too hastily, and the sudden return of blood to my head sent me careering to the right, face down into a stockpile of something decidedly dubious. I grabbed on for dear life and instantly felt something warm and sticky ooze between my fingers.

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My face was pressed into this ominous silage and it smelt ghastly, decaying even. I used it as smelling salts and propelled myself forth and back towards the three bloodsuckers, who had now become five. A quick glance behind me confirmed my very worst fear. My icky launch pad was one of three dangling cadavers, hanging by their ankles and devoid of any epidermal blanket. Areas had been stripped to the marrow and bone jutted through appendages willy nilly but things only got more messed up the longer I gazed.

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Their anguish-stricken eyes were fixed on me from deep within their scalped skull caps. No lips, just rows of exposed teeth and jaws callously ripped away with no regard for their comfort. It was beyond hideous; I’ve witnessed the sickness on a number of occasions but this particular sight cut deep. It left an instant scar which I knew instantly would remain with me to my eventual grave. This, in turn, encouraged a sudden surge of adrenalin which afforded me the strength to stagger out of the door before dropping onto the cold hard surface back at the baths. At 6’1, plus change, my centre of gravity did me absolutely no favors as I went down with sufficient force to prise any remaining oxygen from my lungs. Flailing like a fish out of the swim, I frantically endeavored to regain my composure but my attempts weren’t helped by the sharp pain in my upper calf. One of these caustic cunts had sunken her teeth into my tendons and a new benchmark for agonizing pain had been set.

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Besides the fact that a dozen or so demons were closing in on my coordinates; my pressing concern was the one who had attached herself to my leg via talons. Using the wall to prop myself up, I dragged myself back to my feet, and commenced frantic attempts to dislodge my aggressor but this kitten was nothing if not persistant. She was into me at least two inches and was gripping her prize like a championship bowler,. The flesh on my leg was starting to separate from the bone and it was unbearable, causing me to convulse wildly. A few feet away was that stool, the only prop to offer any solace as I could use it as, if nothing else, it would provide a significant swinging weapon to batter my assailant with. I dragged myself along the wall but there was too much blood loss to stay upright and, once more, my equilibrium was compromised. This time I was more fortunate and landed back on the leather stool which then began to spin. The last thing I recall was a sharp twinge of pain before passing out slumped on the stool. When I awoke the agony had fully subsided.

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I was now in much more hospitable surroundings, propped up against a headboard, surrounded by pallid walls and pinned between fragrant but restrictive bed linen. My primary calculation that I had relocated to an infirmary was confirmed by the antiseptic scent stinging my nostrils. No longer could I smell decomposing flesh, so I suppose that was a significant plus, and it seemed I had been taken good care of while I had been out of commission. I was however, still no closer to finding out Whatever Happened to Bleeding Lotus.

Click here to read Mic Check #4

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Truly, Clearly, Really, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013 (Revised 2015)

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