Hello Steemits! So busy, busy, busy replying to my fan base of three people (Me, Myself and I) but no excuses like the present, here is ->
Chapter 5
“Princess Junta requests an audience with you my Lord” Announces the guard from behind the bedroom door.
“Tell the fucking bitch (grunt) to go away (huff)!”
“But my Lord she..”
“That is a command (wheeze)! I am (pant) trying to (grunt) fertilise a (strain)..ah ...Ahh..”.
The door smashes open, just as Lord Argon is about to release his load into one of his three wives, he has with him in his bed. He jumps from the shock, his seed spills forth over her vagina and stomach as a female voice rants behind him.
“It is my night, not theirs! That should be in me, fertilising me brother!”
Prince Argon rages from the bed and comes within and inch of his sister's face, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“You fucking bitch! My seed now dies upon her stomach, instead of filling her womb! Can you not leave me be to sew my fields! But no, you vex me and vex me to throw my seed upon you arid soil, that bring me no sons for fruit but sluts for weeds!”
“You thoughtfully withhold from me, the seeds that are sons, to despise me brother, so deep is your hatred of my cunt and womb, you do this!”
Prince Argon slaps his sister so hard that the sound is heard several rooms away. She staggers from the blow and blood spills to the floor “You demanded these evils sister! To plough you, to plough my father's field, our own mother. All in your demented quest to make our children into holy gods. It is not natural and I will do no more of it sister.”
She rounds on him, tearing, clawing, beating at his face and hair. Guards are fix to their spots, none knowing what to do. Argon's wife screams and huddle upon their large marital bed.
“You are a bastard! A bastard I tell you! You are no pure blood brother of mine! For were you, our mother’s, sister’s and mine wombs would be all you would need to break forth holy fruit! But no. You want us to die unclean, defiled by some other man's seed. You deny me sons, you keep that seed from me as you plough my fields you bastard! And why you not lay with our sisters, instead of these impure sluts?!”
He finally grabs hold of her wrists to abate her assault upon him, as he bellows down at her.
“You sick and demented witch, I lay with our mother and fertilised her as you commanded me and now murdered she be, thanks to the hands of our uncle! And our sisters Ingrid and Haala, you had impaled for heresy just because they were seeded by their own husbands! I still see them in my nightmares, their bellies eight new moons full, screaming for mercy and their husbands rent asunder by horses, I still see it sister!”
She spits blood and saliva into his face. “They deserved it, they were filled with unholy seed, the gods demanded their deaths!”
“Which gods?!” he demands as he shakes her violently “Which gods are these Junta? Not the gods I know, the gods I know would not command a sister to slaughter all of her sibling brothers save one. The gods I know would not command a daughter of eleven to seduce her own father to plough her and when he not, to take her eight year old brother to fertilise her. What gods would demand that sister, tell me?!”
He looks deep into her eyes, seeing if in them, he could find all these answers, an ending to the torment that she plagued upon him. Her hateful blue eyes looked upon him for but a moment and then they shone bright, clear, evil. A malicious smile crept across her face that almost broke into a hideous laugh as she slowly leaned close to his lips, that hers scantly touched and she whispered.
“The same one that has ordered your punishment and the deaths of all your unholy, polluted whores.”
He is frozen at these words, from down the hall the sounds of swords slashing through human flesh and bone and blood curdling screams fill the air. He starts but in a blinding flash she drives her knee into his groin, sending him to the floor. He is crouched in pain and looks up at her to spew forth his blinding hatred of her. Beside her, two guards stand with clubs, waiting for a command.
“Break every bone in his body, save his skull. And damage not his manhood or his god seed or you forfeit your lives in a most horrible way.”
The two guards nod and make for the Prince. Argon yells orders for them to obey but is soon crying in pain as the beat upon him, breaking bones as the go. Queen Junta looks down upon her writhing brother and reflects.
“I should have just obeyed the god and killed you on that first night after father rejected me. I wanted him to so regret it but then I though the better revenge was to have you brother. No, I should have tried harder with father, I should have obeyed the god and got his seed into me before I had him poisoned.”
She looks up towards Prince Argon's last wife, his cries of anguish filling her ears as she look on. Princess Junta gestures to the remaining guards to surround the bed and the woman cries in fear. She looks from the guards, to her broken and bleeding husband and finally to Junta. She peers at her naked body, as if looking into her womb to see what hid inside, never once looking at her eyes or face before she addresses the guards.
“Tear her tits in half, let the milk gush. Break open the belly from bone to bone, remove the womb and eggs by hand. And when your finished, slit her throat and lay him in her remains.”
The guards set upon the woman, grabbing and groping her as if trying to open sacks of grain. Junta turns and leaves, and as she paces down the hall she is filled with warmth as her screams slowly decay into horrid, unnatural sounds.