Your Betrothed

“It won’t be empty; I am meant to be married. Spit me out and you can eat him instead and all his men. Your tribe will have a feast.” You bargin. The acid was rising more rapidly up to your waist and your panties had dissolved exposing your sensitive vagina to the tingling burning onslaught.

“We ambush on road, cough, your husband join your body in me,_ cough, _my tribe feast.” The troll taunts as her acid reach your breast what is left of your black dress falls off your shoulder and your backpack burst open splashing your face as it’s contents spill out into the acids bring the volume up to your shoulder.