Mother Night: The Cult of the Scarecrow – Part 4

by Mr. K. 

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Shambling. I would say that they came “shambling” for me. They moved with the awkwardness of near-humans. It was as though they weren’t used to man-shaped bodies and were doing the best they could with arms and legs and stiff necks made of straw. It was as though they were just getting accustomed to bodies that could do something dynamic when asked. It was as though they had stood as straw men in a field for years and years, and were only now coming to life.

Slowly, surely, the joy of movement was starting to well up in them. Just in the time it took them to walk from one end of the church to where I was hanging, I saw their movements become looser, more natural. As my ordeal went on, moment to moment, they grew stronger and more graceful.

By the time they swarmed me … just a few minutes into their entering the church … they had grown by the dozens and were moving like athletes.

They swarmed me. I was hanging in my cross, and they swarmed me. To reach me, some climbed the altar and the piled furniture. Some climbed up on the shoulders of the others. Whichever way, they reached out and grasped and climbed and pulled until they reached me – Mother Night on her cross.

I could smell the hay and the musty scent of years spent in open fields under the elements. I could hear the rustling of dry straw and long years. As some untied me, some took hold of me. Their hands had supernatural strength and they had no problem manipulating my body as they took me down from the cross. Some took hold of my breasts, my thighs, my ass. Some grabbed around the curve of my waist. As my wrists came loose from the ropes, some grabbed my arms and held them out in that same position.

Hands grabbed my throat and started squeezing. Immediately, blood was pounding in my head and my lungs were burning. I felt my mouth open, my lips purse, and my tongue jut out. I could hear myself make the chirps and gurgles of a choking woman.

I was Mother Night being strangled.

They brought me down, then carried me out of the church. They carried me like a trophy, still choking me, and placed me down in the sod just outside of the church. Now, they truly focused on choking me. They took turns.

Some would smother me, clasping their thick, straw hands over my nose and mouth. Some would take their places, using and arm in choke lock to squeeze off my air. Just as I was blacking out, they would release and let another use his hands to squeeze and squeeze my throat. They watched silently as my eyes started to fluttered closed. They watched with expressionless faces as my body contoured and struggled in the darkening embrace of near-suffocation. My air supply was cut off. My limbs felt numb and heavy. My head was spinning.

I wondered if they had plans to fuck me. If that was something that was even part of this. I had no idea how their bodies worked, whether that was something they could even do. As two of them choked me at once, I had an answer to my question. A group of them started to unbutton and undo their ragged pants. There was movement in the crotch of each of them, and stiff, male members fell forward.

At first, they looked like dildos – crafted from wood or something else stiff and unforgiving. Then, I saw, as they moved the pricks would sway and arch as if they were snakes, as if they were living things. They closed on me at once, but at the same time fell into line. It wouldn’t be like when The Frey lined up to rape Mother Ice and me. They climbed all over each other to get at my sex. These would take me systematically.

Silent. Powerful. They got to work raping me. Still silent, still powerful, the first one grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. The world was a blur, and his strength was overwhelming. I heard myself gasp as he made a toy out of me.

There was a pause, then his hands pushed and slid. He forced my upper body down, and he yanked my hips back towards him. He pulled me in towards him.

The others made sure to grip down hard on my arms and hair. They made sure to grip down hard on the muscles of my thighs. One had hold of my ass. It felt as though my buttocks were seized by some sort of powerful machine. The one that had hold of my rear didn't tear my costume, but was still able to separate my buttocks. He kneaded and gripped and twisted.

This was when I heard the brief tearing of my costume, and the sudden burning intrusion. The sudden gapping of my asshole. Somehow, he was lubed … or something. It was just enough to get him in smoothly, but still hurt. His girth was huge and he stretched me out suddenly, massively.

My screams echoed through that cornfield. They must have heard me back in town. Their whore had been given to the corn.

When he pulled out, my muscles convulsed from the pain. There was a fleeting moment, then my vulva quaked and stretched. My vulva arched and screamed as this massive thing, with its ridges and its knobs, filled me. Again, I screamed. I felt it plow itself against my cervix, and I howled in pain.

I was Mother Night being raped in cornfield.

I was Mother Night being raped by a supernatural scare crow.

I was Mother Night being raped.

The scarecrows were silent. I was screaming.

They pulled my hair, choked me, and twisted my arms while the one in my cunt moved faster and faster. He rammed my cervix again and again. Thrust his knobs and ridges across my G- spot over and over. I was in midscream, during one of his long and powerful thrusts, when he pulled out. His speed had become insane and my screams had gone unchecked when we pulled out and moved to my face. Bent over, I could only accept the next cock, and look helplessly at the single eye of the cock that had just been in me.

The was a pause, then the image of a tongue of fluid spurting from the narrow hole. I was suddenly blind. I knew that the fluid was golden-yellow. I knew that it smelled like candy corn. I knew that it tasted like candy corn. It sprayed in one unstopping gush that filled my eyes – burned my eyes – coated my face. My mouth opened in shock, and the scarecrow’s cum shot to the back of my throat. In seconds, it overflowed my mouth.

It really did taste like sugary thick candy corn.

I swallowed it, and almost immediately began to drift off to sleep. My limbs were heavy, my mind spinning. The one in my cunt pulled out and another spun me around. He slapped me. He grabbed my breasts. A set of hands spread my legs and his empty eyes looked into mine as he thrust up into me.

Again, my vagina screamed.

The one that had just been in me released his spume on my back, my ass. My head was tilted back, my back arched. One of them stuffed hay in my mouth as I slowly blacked out.

I awoke at one point, my back against a board. I was still in that cornfield. I was still surrounded by the straw men. Again, they took turns. They stood over me, two by two, releasing those streams of golden-yellow sugary spume. I remember how hot it was, and how it clung to me poured out of my mouth.

I slept.

When I awoke, I understood what this was all about. The towns people had left me crucified for these straw creatures. Now, the straw men held me up to show that they had done with me. Maybe, one of them had been on this post. I don’t know. All I know is that I awoke on yet another cross. I was in the middle of the field. I was covered in their sugary jizz. I was paralyzed and powerless.

I was Mother Night, made into a scarecrow.