"Welcome to Eternity." 

The woman sat up. There was great difficulty in doing so. She was slightly sore and had a fast-fading headache. The real difficulty was external forces on her body. As she was expected, she had been bound somewhat thoroughly. 
Over the tight blouse, tie, and sleeves she wore a fanciful series of rope bindings coiled around her. They were tight, too, and not just for show; they criss-crossed her arms, keeping them snugly behind her back with her wrists touching. The ropes also neatly framed her chest and torso in what looked a little like a pentagram formation. Similar (though less intricately-woven) ropes held tight her curvaceous legs and tighter her leggy, stocking-enclosed thighs. Kat's short hair was unbound and splayed across the 'table'.


"...and, now that you are members of our glorious following, we initiate you not just as neophytes but as friends, and as family. Followers of the Eternity Lodge..."

A firm, gloved hand belonging to the orator pushed down on the woman's neck, and the captive was pressed down onto the flat of a large table. She responded with a curt and witty comeback in the form of 'mmph.' A linen wad in her mouth was kept in place by a very large and very tight pair of handkerchiefs that covered her mouth and nose from ear to ear, layering and stifling those comebacks which she was sure would come to her hours later in the shower.

Of course, there was no shower in store for her - but again, she could not have known.

"As we prepare ourselves for Bliss, I say that even before our ceremonies that we give thanks. Oh, there is much thanks to be given but preface your thanks-giving with a most sincere benediction for the grace of our Issue, Kat."



The orator and narrator was more clear now. She had a low, feminine voice, husky and powerful. She work a black manteau of leather; full of holes and tears but not a single sign of mistreatment. She lacked the decency to wear any leggings, relying on coiled and oiled strips of black leather that snaked and buckled its way around her right leg. In many places, it seemed deliberately placed to exhibit scars or markings on the woman's legs.

"Our Issue's name will never be forgotten, so long as we honor her memory." The orator's shapely legs and barefoot feet danced about the room with the practiced puissance of a ballerina. 

Kat's eyes reflexively looked up. The room she was in, some sort of immense domed structure, had alcoves and acid-etched plates slotted into the walls. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds - and those were just the filled alcoves. The rest had blank slates and nameplates. The alcoves each held what Kat would best describe as 'miscellaneous objects'.

The orator spoke again. Other than her manteau, she wore a bodice with a strange symbol emblazoned on the chest and a massive and fanciful headdress of plumage. She looked like a peacock, in her own strange way.

The shapely orator turned her head to Kat. She stared at her, but it was an alien stare; there was some sense of cunning behind the orator's eyes. There was a taint of latent malignity; the orator did not make eye contact with the tightly bound, lovingly-packaged and humbly-gagged woman. No, she stared right through her.

"And so, we exalt the contributions of those to whom we pay homage... and also, on this rare day, to (name). May we honor her life.... and her sacrifice."

 The orator spoke rehearsed words and straddled Kat. It became more and more clear to Kat the nature of her predicament and the cause of her bindings.

This was an altar, not a table. The orator was not some rabble-rouser, but a Hierophant; a dark priestess, a cultist, a madwoman perhaps - but above all, a woman in charge.

The Hierophant raised a long, wicked-looking knife into the air. Kat instantly reacted with the same defiance as earlier, but all to late; several of the congregants were already holding her down, buckling thick, red-encrusted straps over her to keep her in place.

Kat moaned. That moan turned into a yelp as the Hierophant waved a curved blade in the air. 

Red liquid washed over them both.





...seconds passed. Kat was still alive. She was, in fact, completely unharmed. A juicy fruit, exotic and plump, hung in the air. It had been cleanly cut as if it were to be served at a dinner party. Its sticky, bright red liquid had a slightly acrid smell was enough to make someone woozy.

"Thus do we commit Kat to history."

The captive was overwhelmed. She passed out.



****

She had awoken slowly, once again. The thick, passionate and noisome odor of the blood-fruit had been enough to sedate her, but fresh air and inviting alpine smells had roused her back to consciousness. 

She was completely naked, now, and for that she was instantly embarrassed! She had been under a spell, it seemed, for she had been walking entirely of her own accord. name was able to surmise that the very smell of the fruit was enough to put her into a hypnotic trance. She could hear voices, repeated gently and low in her head.

"Walk forward.
 Follow the others. 
Do not stall.
 You are ours.
 You are mine.
 Walk forward.
 Do not tarry. 
Walk forward. 
Follow the others.
 You are our slave.
 You are our willing captive.
 Walk forward."

Though she might have broken free of any mind-affecting compulsions, she had not broken free of her captors. Kat now had her wrists strapped tightly behind her in leather cuffs, her arms bound in just such a way as to show off and jut out her generous chest. Flanked on four sides by cultists cut off all avenues of escape... and considering her environs, Kat's prospects for escape would have to wait.

The woods were colossal, and ancient. The trees were so large, and so very dark. They just stood so tall. Her mind spun as she stared up and up, expecting to see the boughs and branches bearing leaves, nuts, and fruit but seeing none.

No, her disconcerting surroundings did not concern her. It was the inhabitants.

Every few feet, the distressed Kat would spy movement in the forest. Shapes seemed to gently dance. Very, very shapely shapes indeed! Delicate and deliberate shapes, moving in the almost imperceptible breeze and dancing with the looping motions of a low-hanging tree.

They were people – emphasis on 'were.' All of them female, all of them now coated from head to toe in an inky blackness. The ink seemed to gently glide off of them. It floated in the air, like blood off of an underwater shark bite.

They were gleaming and jet-black. From head to toe, the 'ink' coated their every feature and every inch. Their feet and toes, their lustrous and curvaceous thighs, and of course their rears had all been sculpted and highlighted to perfection. They had been 'inked,' rough human 'sketches' turned to detailed and enclosed products.

Their faces were 'blank.' Another thick black layer of the ink covered that, too. They shone slightly in the soft light. They were  all identical; their enlarged, buxom breasts and robust figures making not a sound as they swayed and walked. Their motions reminded Kat of a weeping willow tree.

As she walked through the moonlit forest, she spied more and more of the girls. Within a few minutes, she had counted at least 20, maybe more. They stood in places like stone menhirs, almost entirely unmoving and in other places they walked gingerly like protectors.

“Walk forward.”

“Do not tarry.”

The voices were not coming from her head, Kat realized. They were coming from all around her. The epiphany shocked her slightly; it was not the forest, not her mind, but the women that were encouraging her and guiding her.

The path reached its terminus at a clearing. She had walked for maybe an hour into the forest.

The clearing bore a terrible sight. The moon, far in the sky overhead, was aligned in a glorious celestial convergence with a stone structure. A colossal dolmen – a structure that evoked images of Stonehenge - loomed in front of a jet-black pool, with the moon just above. She quivered with trepidation and anxiety. Adrenaline coursed through her body and her spine and legs seemed to shake.

The cultists spread out. Kat was left alone, standing in the center of the clearing.

Time passed. Kat was overcome with the suspense of it all. Not an owl hooted, not a leaf rustled in the wind.

Then, just as the moon reached its apex and it locked in exacting coordination with the dolemn, Kat's status as a free human ended.

A gush of ink from the lagoon grabbed her. It was fresh, pure, like a mountain spring, and all the more dominant. She was grabbed by it, lifted by this living tidal wave of ink. She was engulfed by it and it ran over her slender, robust body as it pulled her towards the lagoon.

Her leather cuffs were dissolved away; her accessories and adornments were thrown onto the grass. Her cold, naked body was suddenly in the warm and oh-so-incredibly forceful embrace of the pool.

She lashed and thrashed, but it was beyond use. Inhuman, prescient strength of this arcane entity probed her mind and body. When Kat tried to go rigid, the ink would find just the right bundle of nerves to tickle, to apply force to, or to 'suckle'. It sent her into a frenzy of senses and pleasures, and she could feel her arms and legs go slack when she needed them the most.

In under a minute, she had been pulled to the pool. She was held aloft, the thinness of the ink somehow holding her rigid with only her ankles popping out of the stuff. It was almost like she was walking on water.

She began to sink. It was more than quicksand; it was a living, thinking creature;

it was a creature that wanted Kat to know and feel everything it was doing.

The first layer of ink was soon coated by another as she sank into the lagoon. Her ankles, then her knees, then her thighs. As the ink snaked its way round her inner thigh, Kat let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. It was soft, it was warm, and it was very, very firm; it teased her thighs and groin before forcibly inserting itself into her waiting and now primed body.

Sensitive and erogenous zones were given special attention as she sank. When Kat's wrists were coated a second time, she let out a soft cry of the utmost sublime pleasure. Her wrists were daintily kissed and gently massaged... before a thick layer of the latex-like ink coated them, of course, and enclosed her hands in useless fists. If Kat had any gadgets or gizmos, they would be useless. The ink was inescapable.

The ink gently covered Kat's buxom breasts, as well. Special care was given to tending to her chest; it was like a gardener picking a rose. Its petals had to be just so.
A thin, rubbery coating slithered its way around her nipples. It vexed her to no end; this assualt on her senses had her quivering with delight. These stimulting pods were of course then coated by another thick and luscious layer of ink, which supported and proudly displayed her assets as her arms were folded behind her back.

Kat's body was in ecstasy. It was almost enough to forget that she had been 'sacrificed' to a living latex entity in the middle of the woods by an evil cult. Her eyes darted left and right , half-closed in vexing pleasure.

Several of the 'dryads' – the latex-clad beauties that had essentially escorted her here – were standing in around the pool. They moved gingerly and deliberatly, watching and observing intently. Kat predicted that they, too, were undergoing such earthly and bodily pleasures. They were watching another join their ranks; this was a special 'treat' for them.

Just as the ink reached her neck and mouth, Kat was giving in to desperation. There were worse fates, and resisting now would just delay the inevitable.

One of the girls – yes, girls, not guardians – was approaching her. She seemed to be almost clawing at the smooth and featureless hood that secreted her face and hair. Her hands were of course unfit for the task, being kept in an inky prison, but -

“Mmgg... fgghh.”

Was she talking? Kat hadn't heard any of these girls talk before.

“Ffghh hhhght.”

Fight it?

The 'mask' parted just for a moment. It was just a tiny, half-moment, no more than three seconds but it was enough to see her. She had bright blue eyes that shone even in the pale moonlight. Her eyes, just her eyes were uncovered by the rubbery prison – and in them she could see that her personality, her arousal, and her desperation were all very much intact.

The moment passed. The coating covered her face once more. She, too, was the epitome of inky-black bound perfection.

Kat hadn't realized that she had already opened her mouth. She hadn't realized that this girl's plea was futile.

Kat's mouth was filled to the brim with the clean, serene, and totally inextricable ink. She was able to get out one last final scream before the ink moved up and plugged her nostrils, covered her cheeks, bundled her hair and finally covered her eyes. She, too, was a faceless 'dryad,' a guardian and inhabitant of this forest. She, too, was covered from head to toe, from  arm to arm and plugged by the latex-like ink.

Words and emotions reverberated in her head. The world seemed dulled and her mind clouded. She could 'hear' the other emotions of the girls, and 'feel' what they tried to say to her.

“Us.”

She was not yet developed in using the new 'senses' provided. She was still relying on her human faculties, which now failed her. All of which, of course, save touch, which reminded her every few seconds of the tremendous pleasure, the breathtaking ecstasy and the stirring motions within her body that made her want to experience orgiastic release in every way.

“Welcome.”

She writhed on the surface of the ink. More women rose from the pool, and the others entered it.

“Hello.”

She felt hands, dozens of hands on her body – groping at her chest, massaging her back, stroking her arms and thighs. She felt pressure as she, and the rest of the girls, were pulled below the surface.

“More.”


- - -

It had been about a week since Kat had gone missing. Acquaintances and friends had turned out to search through the hotel room she was last seen in one final time. They had launched a search to recover their friend.

And now, only one was left, sitting in that same room she had apparently leapt out of a week and some change ago.

There was a knock. Instinctively, the searching woman's head jerked towards it. Nobody should be knocking.

“Kat, is that you?” She asked, half-hoping and half-jokingly.

The door flew off its hinges.

The inky, buxom, lustrous and menacing form in the door was sign enough . The searcher ran to the window. She needed to ask her legs for speed that she had never asked before.