A deep, wormy kiss.

Althea struggled in the rotten man's grip, but he was too strong. Thrash as she may, his fingers stayed locked around her wrist. A dark, soggy chuckle rose from the cultist's worm-packed throat, and he slowly rotated her arm in his grip, bending it at the elbow before shoving her wrist against her own back, pinning the limb in place like a guard readying his manacles. The maneuver had spun her around, and now Althea's back was to the man. He pulled her closer to him, and she could hear the wet, goopy noises of the worms sloshing about inside his body. It reminded her of the sound a thick stew makes coming to boil in a cauldron. Now that he loomed right behind her, the guard placed his other hand atop her shoulder. It was clammy, sticky, and felt like it was missing its ring finger. She darted a glance down to the hand, and her eyes went wide. Half of the flesh had rotted away, and she could see a number of the man's ligaments and tendons flexing and loosening with every subtle movement. Was he even alive anymore?

"Please... you already marked me," Althea whimpered, tears welling in her eyes from both fear and the pungent stink of **** and decay. The man absolutely reeked of rot and putrescence. Her free hand pressed into the taut, round skin of her belly. A small jolt of pain, far less than the others she'd felt so far, tingled up the apex of her stomach. She already looked larger than four months pregnant, and with the proximity of the cultist, she could feel the shape dwelling in her womb warp and flex. It seemed to get animated whenever around one of the cadaverous fanatics.

"Just made ready," the gurgling, male voice replied. The sticky, rotting hand from his shoulder lifted, leaving a handprint of foul-smelling dark-green fluid in its wake. In a swift but gentle slap, the palm splatted against the side of her tummy, smearing more of the green, viscous, rotslime. Everywhere it touched tingled and started slightly itching. "More preparations... more chaaange." His breath was as awful as the rest of his body. After the final word, a gurgle rose in the man's throat like an imminent belch before he vomitted up a chunky wad of the waxy worms all down Althea's back. She shrieked at the wriggling, larval confetti that now clung to her back in a sticky, rancid, slow-moving waterfall of bile and maggots.

"Helestria... please save me..." Althea murmured softly, hanging her head in prayer, eyes scrunched shut at the disgusting aromas and textures overwhelming her senses. The hand on her belly pulled away, leaving sticky strands of the tar-thick, soupy fluid hanging between the decomposing hand and her domed tummy. As if provoked by the mention of the sacred goddess, the man pushed Althea forward by arm pinned to her back, bending her over at the waist in a lewd position. Once every second or so she felt another of the waxy worms plop onto her back from their aggressive host. That's when something cold and wet flopped down onto the small of Althea's back. Judging by the guard's position, it wasn't his penis, so then... Althea craned her neck back and went wide-eyed. "No! Not that! Please! I beg you!"

Upon her back rested the tip of the thick, purple worm. It traced about her pale, smooth skin, sampling the youthful, flawless texture. A trail of black, filthy ichor lay in its wake. The long worm meandered up Althea's horizontal back like a snake along a tabletop, sliding up the groove between her back muscles, clinging to the skin covering her spine. Althea turned her head away out of disgust and opened her mouth to scream to the door. Maybe the woman who performed the ritual would stop this? Surely this **** was not part of their grand scheme. But before she could let out the first cry for help, she felt the slick length of the worm zip up her back and instantly coil around her throat. Althea gasped, her lips trembling and silent, blue eyes wide and watery. It squeezed her throat once before the tip came into view in front of her face. The priestess realized its intent a moment too late, and before she could close her mouth, the worm squeezed between her lips and its puckering, leaky tip flopped against her tongue. It had a bitter, acrid taste. Not unlike tea left to steep too long. But with another flavor... a salty, heady, spunky taste. Althea felt a glob of the black, honey-textured ichor spill into her mouth. It rolled around like an oily gob of lard before it began melting in the warm confines of her young, oral hole. When it ran down her throat, Althea could feel it burn all the way down. "Mmmph!" she let out a muffled scream around the writhing, invading tendril.

But the secretions were the least of her worries. Just as before, she saw a lump bulging up the length of the purple worm. It coursed up the fleshy, violet tube before stopping at her closed lips. Althea attempted to chomp down on the worm in hopes of expelling it from her mouth, but this only let out an unsettling moan from deep in the man's core. A second bulge now gathered behind the first, and the priestess could see the contents squirming and pulsating rhythmically. Seeing that the cleric would not submit easily, the maggot-filled man did something that completely caught Althea by surprise. He hiked up the skirt of her torn, green robe and seized the tender meat of her small ass cheek his four-fingered hand. What could he possibly have in mind-- "Mngh!" Althea gargled the purple worm in her throat in surprise as the stump of his ring finger pressed against the puckered ring of her asshole. Was... was he going to put his necrotic finger stump inside her? It would seem so, as the soft ragged flesh, cartilage, and rotten bone slipped into her rectum. Unfortunately, the ploy worked, as the sudden invasion from behind loosened Althea's lips enough for the twinned, squirming bulges to work their way to the puckering tip of the purple worm. There, inside the warm, moist confines of her mouth, the worm discharged a dozen or more of the waxy, pale-green worms. Their tiny bodies instantly rejoiced, reveling atop her flailing tongue like it was their new home.

Althea gagged and coughed, but the purple tendril refused to leave. Dizziness and dissociation set in at the shock of the disgusting, wormy soup now filling the young acolyte's maw. And by the time she swallowed the whole first load and half of the second, a third, sticky deluge of ichor and worms flooded Althea's cheeks to the point of bulging. Hot tears streaked down her grime-smeared face. All over her body, the cleric of Helestria was coated in a smattering of body fluids, sloughed rot, corruption, and general filth. She struggled against her captor's grip, but the sensation of dozens of inch-long worms crawling down her throat made her head spin.