You give up without a fight

Some strange feeling comes over you. It is worse than despair, it is a sort of wanton self-destructiveness. The gleeful urge to hurl yourself in front of a speeding truck. You might have reasoned with a goblin or a vampire spawn, but not a sentipede. Its mind is far too alien for that. You smile and hold your arms out.

"What is she doing?" wonders the announcer. "It's suicide!"

Perhaps sensing trickery, the sentipede pulls up short and does not bowl you over with its momentum. Its limbs make a soft rapid patter as it walks in a circle around you, so long that it completely surrounds you as you stand still awaiting a killing blow or some other agonizing attack. You can hear it rising up behind you, pulling up its length and exposing its mid-section. It falls upon you gently, grabbing hold of you from the top of your head down to your waist with many pairs of clamping legs.

"The sentipede is probably about to inject its venom," explains the announcer. "It is a potent paralytic that will render her helplessly immobilized. Then it will either begin to feed or inject its eggs and semen."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you are pushed forward by its weight, falling to your hands and knees with the sentipede draped over your back and holding your head in place. It suddenly yanks your head back to the limits of your neck and curves the front segments of its body over your face. It is now looking at you, eye to upside-down eye, blocking out the world around you. It smells strange. An earthy, insect smell with a sharp under-note from the acidic venom dripping from its curved mandibles.

"Go on," you scream at it. "Finish me off. I can't take it anymore."

"Sometimes," you hear the announcer say, "a sentipede will bite off the entire head of its prey. We may be about to witness this unusual method of attack."

The sentipede does not strike. Instead, you feel its back legs that are clamps to your rump slicing through the material of your workout suit. The insect claws easily punch through the fabric and then it pulls with a dozen legs, opening a slit a foot long and exposing your ass and the backs of your thighs.

"No," you sob. "Stop it. Don't do this! Just kill me!"

"Very unusual," says the announcer. "You can see the sentipede is extending its segmented penis for **** breeding of our volunteer, but it has not yet injected its venom. Usually the sentipede incapictates its breeding hosts before mating begins."

You gasp in horror at the cold hardness of the tip of the sentipede's cock as it flexes and plays against the backs of your thighs. It is articulated, like a scorpion's tail, and the bulbous tip presses against your exposed cunt. You shudder, wishing you were somewhere else, wishing the horrible creature would just kill you. Instead, the bulbous head of its cock presses into your pussy, spreading your lips, stretching you as it sinks into your unlubed fuckhole. Inch by inch, it presses into you, painful, massive, fucking into you until it presses hard against your cervix.

You scream in sudden pain as a barbed protrusion shoots out of the head of the sentipede's cock, entering your womb and holding it open. The pain recedes to a dull throbbing, but now you can feel something else, a growing pressure in your guts.

"The sentipede is injecting its eggs into her womb," explains the announcer. "It may lay as many as a thousand eggs before it begins the fertilization process. That should begin shortly."

The barb holds your cervix open like a valve and the sentipede's cock begins thrusting, slowly at first, the body of the sentipede hunched over you, legs pinching into your exposed flesh. Each thrust presses the tip of its penis into your womb, mashing against the hundreds of eggs it has filled you with, the hard ridges on its cock massage your cunny, bristles at the base teasing your clit. The fact that you feel pleasure only makes you cry harder. It accelerates, slamming into you, faster and faster with a clicking of its segments and a cold slapping of your assflesh with each deeply violating stroke.

"Oh god, oh god!" you cry as your orgasm suddenly threatens your sanity. "I'm cumming! Oh my god! Aaahhhhh!"

Your eyes roll back in your head from the pleasure. You cannot bear the madness of what is happening as the sentipede fucks you roughly, spearing you so deep it is violating your egg-packed womb, hissing and clicking and brushing your clit with its bristles. You arch your back with ecstasy, your tongue hangs from your mouth as pleasure, continuous, debased pleasure, reduces you to an idiot fucktoy. You thrust back against the centipede's cock, massive milky tits swaying, wailing and begging for more, shrieking in pleasure as it explodes inside you.

"I've never seen something so depraved," says the announcer. "Our volunteer is...she likes it. She is enjoying the mating process."

Thick semen blasts into your womb, coating the eggs filling you, distending you further. The agony is not enough to overcome the pleasure. You moan like a beast and keep fucking back against the sentipede as its spunk sludge slops down your thighs and gushes onto the sand beneath you. Your tortured cum funnel squeezes against the rigid cock as it pumps you to overflowing with its putrid, insectoid fuck-sauce.

"She has lost her mind," says the announcer. "It's hopeless."

It's the last rational thing you hear as your mind descends forever into the madness of total depravity. You are transported with the sentipede to its cage, a willing, flesh-plaything for its insatiable lust. You moan and lick and suck as it curls around you. Your holes are stretched to gaping and constantly oozing with its filthy fluid. In days you are heaving and giving birth to hundreds of wriggling worms. The orderlies scoop them up and take them away to the labs. You somehow survive for weeks, fucking relentlessly, covered in filth and cum, a disgusting wretch with no thoughts other than the next time your cunt or ass or mouth is stuffed full of segmented cock.

Headmistress Swift watches another mating going on in the holding cell. The sentipede is breeding with the specimen for the third time that day. The specimen's hair is matted with semen, her huge tits swaying wildly as the sentipede fucks her from behind. It is a shamefully disgusting thing to sink so low.

"Transfer her to medical if she survives the night," says Miss Swift to the orderlies. "We have enough sentipede grubs to last us a thousand years and she's a disgrace. Once her physicals check out, put her in the psych ward and keep her medicated. Permanently. It's best we forget she ever existed."

The Headmistress departs, the last time she will ever look at the top student and heroic monster huntress who was once known as Heather Finch.