The Oracle said four days from acceptance to release, from swallowing to strangling, from life to death.
'It is poetry.' she said, 'Poetry of life and death.'
I was barren and that broke my heart. My master attempted to seed me with a child from my first bleeding until four moons ago when he released me from his harem. All the other girls carried a child for him, but not me. Never me.
Pushed out on the street to become a whore, and even four moons of that left my belly flat and infertile and each night I ached to feel life growing in my belly.
‘Go see the Oracle if that is what you seek.’ the others told me, ‘The Oracle of the serpents. She will fill you and swell your belly and you will birth in ecstasy. But there is a price.’
There is always a price. But to feel that - to feel my belly swell with a child - to feel a life moving inside me and emerge from my body - that would be bliss. Such sweet bliss.
‘Four days.’ the Oracle of serpents said, ‘I will give you what you seek for four days, then you must give your child what is left of you. You will become its first meal, and its tight, suffocating embrace your last ecstasy. That is the poetry.’
‘Anything.’ I had replied, trembling with eagerness, ‘I will give anything. What other worth am I in this world?’
‘Then let it be done.’ she said.
I had to be cleansed and I thought that would mean beathed, but it was more. ‘You must be clean outside and in.’ she had said and by her hand the water flowed into me, filling me, cramping me. My bowels were cleansed, my throat, my stomach. I was filled over and over, cramping and vomiting, shitting and gushing, until the water that convulsed from my body was as pure as it was when it flowed into me. I was left shaking, sweating and reeking of sex.
Then the Oracle bathed me a final time and perfumed my body with oil, then led me up the stairs cut into the stone walls of her cavern, each step having a shallow depression in its middle, worn by the thousands of female feet climbing to their impregnation and down to their final bliss. She showed me the four chambers I would inhabit, the four beds on which I would lie. Everywhere was the sound of trickling water, winding its secret way through her chambers, deep in the stones.
As we climbed, she told me that the lower most room - The Room of Fate - was where I would pay my price, the next - The Birthing Room - was where I would give birth to transformed life. Up the winding stairs cut into the cave walls she led me past the next - The Quickening Room - where I would languish as new life squirmed in my belly and grew, feeding from my body to give itself strength. ‘And an orgasmic experience that will take your breath away.’ she promised me.
At last we come to the uppermost chamber - The Acceptance Room - she bids me to kneel upon the bed, to sit upon my heels, to accept new life into my body and not to struggle, that no matter what I feel I must believe I will be safe until I enter the fourth chamber on the fourth morning. So I kneel and sit calm, my hands folded in my lap and she brings this new life to me. It is long and thin and writhing sensually in her hands, its face weaving toward mine, its tongue flicking and seeking me. I open my mouth and take it in and it slithers over my tongue and down my throat to wriggle in my gullet and nest in my belly. Its body was slick and smooth and though I gag and heave, I accept it into my body, swallowing it deep.
I can feel the foriegn weight there in my stomach as it begins to move, and the feeling is exciting and sets me to trembling as my arousal builds. This thing I have craved my entire life has begun and it is a strange ecstasy.
The Oracle leaves me then, blowing out all the lamps except one. ‘Try to sleep.’ she says, but I am trembling badly as I feel it squirming in the pit of my stomach and know that no sleep is possible. It is an invasive sensation and quickly grows intense as it wriggles deeper into me, and soon my quivering transforms to powerful convulsive orgasms. They seem endless and the night is long.
Three soft chimes signal the beginning of my second day, and with my belly already swelling, the Oracle takes my hand and guides me to the Quickening chamber and helps me lay back on the bed there. She stays with me as my child grows and matures oh-so quickly.
It moves continuously inside my belly, slithering and rolling, always burrowing deeper, my bowels gurgling as it feeds on me and grows thicker ... longer. I can feel it consuming me as it moves, finding new flesh to suck dry inside me. My unholy child is killing me slowly, but I didn’t care, my body writhes in rolling orgasms until I am delirious and fevered. I don’t know when the Oracle leaves me, but this night too is long and filled with pleasure and sweat.
Three soft chimes and the Oracle is lifting me from my second bed. My feet are unsteady and my thighs quivering as we descend to the Birthing Room. I am somewhere in that shadowed place between dream and nightmare. I don’t want to go, I want to stay in the Quickening Room, feeling it moving inside me until it consumes all of me - that would be the best way to die; my child eating its way out of my belly to birth itself from my twitching corpse.
My abdomen is pendulous and heavy as we descend, the Oracle steadying me as I weave and stagger down the smooth stone stairs. It is a relief to lay back on the birthing bed, feeling my belly spread from my child’s weight inside me. I know my its body has grown longer than my own; its body filling me from stomach to large bowel; its girth thicker than my upper arm; its head boney and hard as it seeks its perverse birth canal. I can feel its sinuous tongue flicking and licking my tender insides as it traverses across the top of my abdomen and down my left side, seeking its birth.
This birth will be a perversion. My child will emerge not from my womb and cunt, but from my bowels, shat out in orgasmic bliss. I feel its boney head in my rectum, its strong thin tongue flicking outward, beginning to open me. Then its head presses outward, pushed by its powerful body that curls and tightens my bowels, gripping tight to seek purchase in the soft flesh of my belly in order to press itself outward. I don't think I can do this and cry out in fear and pain, but I feel myself open and a burst of gas precedes its emerging head and then I lose my mind.
The birthing is slow and long, and as its body, emerges it feels like I am being pulled inside out - convinced that if I could rise up on my elbows I would see the large puddle of bowels between my open, trembling thighs. But this, like I experienced in the chambers above, is sexual bliss. I am birthing my child, my monsterous and terrible child. My belly slowly deflates and slumps as it emerges from me and as I feel its narrowing tail slither from my bowels at last, I feel and hear the final shuddering burst of gas, flapping my loose anus.
My child slithers over my body and its mouth finds my nipples and suckles my swollen breasts dry, first one, then the other. As they refill during the night throughout my fitful slumber, my child returns to them over and over, feeding itself and draining me then awaiting the swelling of my breasts once more, each time depleting me.
The chimes. The insufferable chimes. The Oracle lifts me from the bed, yet I feel other hands on my arms and body as well. She has brought someone with her, a man ... no, men. The room is suddenly crowded and I smell perfumes and rich spices and the musky sexual scent of my own body as I am lifted onto legs that can barely function.
My child is lifted with me and draped around my sweating, trembling body. I feel its weight across my shoulders, its body coiled twice around mine - once under my thrice swollen and thrice emptied breasts, and another around my waist, squeezing and releasing my now empty belly, and its tail lazily tracing across the wet and oily skin of my inner thighs.
I am half carried downward to the Room of Fate where I will die, where these men and the Oracle will watch my final writhing before my child consumes me whole, swallowing me into its now thick body. The thought arouses me even though they will not watch out of deference to my sacrifice, but out of lust for my final experience.
They are gentle as they lay me down onto the hard bed - a bed not made for slumber, but of final ecstasy - a bed to experience the tightening of slow, sexual death.
I hear them settle around me on cushions to watch this final chapter of mother and child, and I feel my child - my unholy child - begin to move, its long muscular body sliding oily and slick, seeking my throat.
'Do not fight it, girl.' the Oracle’s voice is close to my ear, her breath puffing on my cheek, 'Let it take you and let it finish.'
'I will.' I sigh as the thick coils encircle my throat and I feel its body tighten like a thick rope and I gag. But it is teasing its mother, it eases its coils and I whisper '... more ...' and it begins to squeeze in a slow rhythm like a lover's foreplay. '... more ...' I whisper again knowing that this small word will be my last. I am ready for this. Ready to be strangled by my child. My cunt throbs and leaks as it tightens around my throat once more.
It isn’t panic I feel - I’m too exhausted for that - it is the gentle horror of the inevitable. I am about to pay my price for my granted wish, to write the final stanza in this poem of life and death. I have taken the embryo of the serpent into my belly and allowed it to feed and grow in my bowels. I have birthed its long form from me and now I will surrender to its will and it will swallow its mother and feed on her flesh in its entirety.
My body that was once its sanctuary will become its first meal.
I can’t prevent my struggles as it tightens around my throat. I welcome this death, but my body does not. It wishes, like I do, to return to the top of the stairs and swallow down a fresh embryo and feel the excitement and swelling within. I recall the initial tingling and squirming inside my belly, and my trembling gasps as it writhed and delved into places never before touched within me.
Now as my world turns red, I feel my final ecstasy begin as my body arches and my sex and bowels swell and throb. I leak and spurt from my orifices, shamelessly soiling the bedclothes that wrinkle and twist under me, and I hear the murmured delight of these men gathered around me and I relish the feeling of their gazes studying my twisting form as my child chokes the life from me.
As the room grows silent and dark for me, I enter one final orgasmic state - my belly hitching and pushing outward as I choke and gag and heave, my thighs splayed wide with piss and gas pulsing from me as I empty myself, and this orgasm rolls on and on like the waves of an unsettled sea reaching ever landward on the saturated sand of a flat beach.
Then comes a fading, not of me, but of the world. It dissolves around me and becomes an ethereal rumour that I once believed was real, but was - after all - nothing but smoke and whispers without substance.
This price is the easiest to pay as I let go and am consumed. As the final chimes tone, I slide inside that which I once held within me - my body having birthed this child and is now consumed by it.
It is poetry and so heartbreakingly sweet.