Work Text:
The lich laid on the forest floor, having been unceremoniously strewn on the ground with the barbarian's pack. He was unable to do anything without his limbs nor his tongue, let alone still impaled. The barbarian had stuck the sharpened pole up inside of him, piercing all the way thorough, sticking out of his mouth, leaving the undead to only wriggle helplessly. The lich laid there, and watched as the barbarian set up his camp. The lich watched him start a fire, and forged around the camp’s edge for wood to feed it. He could only lay there, still only watching, as the huge man laid out his bedroll before sitting down by the fire, poking at the burning wood for a while with a stick, sending embers into the air.
The lich's thoughts had drifted like the smoke from the fire, somewhere between the crackling embers and the rustling leaves overhead. Centuries of memories flickered behind his remaining eye, the practiced movements of his skeletal fingers with the rasp of necrotic incantations on his tongue as he cast the most evil of necromantic spells they had been chopped off and cut out by the warrior. His existence had been a tapestry of dread, now reduced to... this. Impaled. Ignominious. Nothing more than a trophy strapped to that devious barbarian's back, only a witness to the warrior’s travels, and the horrific acts he carried out against other monsters, ones somehow more brutal and merciless than anything the lich had ever carried out himself.
The snap of a twig yanked him back to the present. Above him loomed the barbarian's face, that horrifyingly deadpan visage, wide eyes studying him with unsettling focus as he loomed over the corpse with his freakishly bulky figure. The barbarian stared down at him, the firelight only intensifying his unblinking gaze, one no mere mortal should possess.
“I see my pet lizard is enjoying basking in the fire.” the barbarian spoke, each word slow and lacking any emotion, an all too familiar smile appearing on his face.
The lich couldn't answer, of course. His tongue had yet to grow back, and the spear shaft still filled his mouth. But he managed a faint, guttural rattle from his throat as the undead felt a wave of over his mutilated body, unsure of what torment the monster was now planning to inflict upon him. The mortal dread that filled his desiccated corpse was something he never had one thought he would ever feel again since he had embraced undeath was now something he had come to relearn since the fateful day he had feel in battle to the man smiling at him.
The lich's vision lurched violently as the barbarian hoisted him up by the base of the impaling pole, the world tilting at a nauseating angle. His remaining eye’s vision spun wildly, first to the darkening treetops, then to the firelight licking at the barbarian's silhouette. Frantic gargled groans spilled from the undead’s lipless mouth as he desperately tried in vain to beg for mercy.
What was going to happen to him? Another strip of his mummified flesh peeled away for that cursed jerky? Another organ torn from his body only to be consumed by the terrible warrior? Had he decided to eat his other eye, leaving him blind outside the darkness from inside the horrid mortal’s stomach? But no blade, came. Instead, the barbarian's massive frame settled onto the bedroll with a grunt, and the lich found himself draped face down across those tree-trunk thighs. The pole still jutting out awkwardly from his mouth though him to where it pierced him between his legs, a symbol of his humiliation, still casually held in the mortal’s massive hand like a skewered rabbit ready to be roasted over the fire.
Firelight danced over the barbarian's hands as they hovered above the lich's spine. The undead braced for the worst, his corpse trembling in fear. But then calloused fingers pressed into the space between his shoulder blades, kneading with a slow, deliberate pressure. The lich stiffened. What fresh torment was this? His mind scrabbled for context, had the warrior gone mad? Was this some bizarre ritual, one more evil than even the deathless necromancer had himself preformed?
The pressure between his shoulder blades deepened, methodical as a blacksmith working hot iron. The lich braced for agony, but still none came. Only a strange, persistent warmth spreading through desiccated muscle, unfamiliar after centuries of numbness. His stumps shivered involuntarily against the barbarian’s thigh.
The barbarian hummed, a low, tuneless sound that vibrated through the lich’s hollow chest. His thumbs dug into the base of the lich’s skull where vertebrae met his desiccated flesh. A crackling pop echoed in the quiet forest. The lich shuddered. Not pain. Not pleasure. Something worse: relief.
"You’re all knotted up," the barbarian observed, as if discussing a stubborn knot in a rope rather than the ruined body of an undead horror he wore on his back as a trophy.
His palms slid down the lich’s protruding spine, pressing firmly along each rib under taut skin. The pole shifted inside him with the motion, it wasn't painful now, just present, like the weight of a cloak he’d forgotten he wore. The lich’s remaining eye drifted shut as the barbarian worked. A dangerous thought slithered through his mind: when was the last time someone touched him without purpose? Not to worship. Not to destroy nor mutilate. Just... this.
The lich's glowing eye snapped open wide, panicked as the pole shifted inside him. The barbarian's grip tightened around the base where it jutted between his legs, meaty fingers tight around the wooden shaft. A slow pull. Agonizing. Deliberate. The lich's jaw strained around the shaft as it dragged against his insides, feeling every inch. What in the hell was this monster doing to him now?! The lich squirmed, stumps flailing against the barbarian's thighs trying to push away from the sensation. But there was no escape, only the slide of wood through hollowed-out flesh.
There was a short pause before the barbarian exhaled through his nose. The lich trembled, suspended in that unbearable moment before the push. When it came, it was so much worse. The pole sank back in with relentless pressure, filling him anew. The lich's fingers spasmed in phantom reflex. His throat produced a choked gurgle around the thrusting intrusion filling his throat. The barbarian tilted his head, watching the lich's face with detached curiosity as he worked the pole in deeper.
"You’re incredibly tight," the barbarian said aloud in his menacing, deadpan cadence.
His free hand came down to press against the lich's pelvis, fingers splayed over protruding hip bones as if measuring resistance. The pole twisted slightly made the lich's vision blur in an unfamiliar way before the barbarian adjusted his grip.
"Relax."
The command was ludicrous, one impossible for the necromancer to carry out. Yet something in the barbarian's tone, that pure deadpan practicality, but more breathy, his words more spaced out, in the very same as when he described the horrid deeds the warrior was going to inflict to whoever was fool enough to face him before enacting them, made the lich's body go slack. Centuries of undeath, and now this: impaled, massaged, handled, limp at the command of this monster in the body of a man.
The thrusting paused again, only for the mage to hear a sound of something like a snort before a grotesque spit above him. The lich locked up as he felt the bastard dig his thick digits under the bandages beneath his robes. He gasped around the still rod as he felt the blunt callused tip of one of the barbarian’s massive fingers trace around his leathery hole, slicked with warm wetness the lich could only assume was the man’s saliva. The lich could not help but shiver as he felt it drag around where his quivering rim met the wooden rod, coating his necrotic flesh and the immediate wood with warmth.
Another muffled gasp tore from the undead’s filled throat as the intrusion began to slowly press back inside. The pole slid easier this time, the barbarian's movements almost rhythmic, withdrawing again before slowly being pressed back inside. The undead could feel the wood drag against his innards, but it did not hold the same pain as was the usual for the barbarian to inflict, nothing like it at all… The sensation was something that, despite his best effort to corporate with the man’s command lest he do something worse, the lich couldn’t help but tremble at every thrust.
The rhythm continued on, in and out, for what seemed like forever before the lich let out a gargled cry as he felt the pole being moved from side to side inside of him, causing the mage's mind to fracture. The intense feeling of his rectum being stretched further apart from the increasingly brutal motions sent a shiver up the lich's spine. The undead writhed as the side to side motions continued, stirring up his cold innards where it impaled his anal cavity.
The thrusting resumed, deeper this time, the pole’s rough-hewn grain scraping against necrotic tissue with the warm wetness that shouldn’t exist in a body drained of fluids centuries ago. Then, without warning, the barbarian twisted the shaft sideways again, grinding it against the lich’s cold walls in slow, deliberate arcs. The undead’s back arched involuntarily, his stumps scrabbling against the barbarian’s thighs searching for purchase. A choked gargle escaped his throat around the pole, more vibration than sound.
Confusion came first. The lich’s mind, once sharp enough to unravel the fabric of mortality, scrambled for logic in the sensation. Pain he understood. Humiliation was familiar. But this? The drag of wood against dead flesh sparked something that had become foreign to him, a creeping phantom warmth pooling low in his hollowed pelvis. His remaining eyelid fluttered. Impossible. His body was a corpse. Corpses couldn’t-
The barbarian’s thumb pressed down on the base of the lich’s spine, right where the pole disappeared into him, and pushed. The undead’s vision blurred again. A muffled scream stretched his jaw around the shaft. Despite the centuries, he was sure sensation wasn’t the same pleasure he had felt in life, but something adjacent to it, a grotesque cousin that made his phantom limbs twitch. The rhythm changed again, three shallow thrusts, then a cruel twist that stretched him wider. Over and over. The lich’s thoughts unraveled as he was thrusted into.
Centuries of pride curdled in his chest. He was a lich, a master of necromancy, not some plaything to be toyed with like a tavern whore. Yet his body betrayed him with each grind, shuddering around the intrusion as if starving for it.
A fresh wave of humiliation burned the lich to his core as he felt the cold night air against the bandages covering the bony remains of his lower half. The barbarian had lifted the skirt of the mage's robes. The lich struggled, desperate to get away as he felt the barbarian's massive hands part the bandages around the pole, revealing the lich's cadaverous hole that had begun to involuntarily flutter where it clenched around the pole.
Above the barbarian watched the squirming corpse, entirely focused, his gaze boring into the struggling mage, as he continued the motions. He took in every detail of how the lich's shrivelled entrance clung around the wooden shaft when the warrior dragged it out, like it was desperate to keep it inside, and how hungrily it swallowed it up as the pole was pressed back in.
The lich's body continued to betray him before his mind could catch up, a shuddering clench around the pole as the barbarian dragged it halfway out, then a slackness when it plunged back in. His remaining eye rolled back, the world narrowing to the hypnotizing drag of wood against necrotic flesh, the way his own corpse seemed to pulse around the intrusion, starving to be filled. His pelvis tilted involuntarily, meeting each thrust with a twitch that felt horrifyingly eager.
The barbarian noticed his reactions. Of course, he did. Those wide, seemingly unblinking eyes tracked the lich's every spasm, his unneeded breathing gone ragged in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. He slowed his movements, twisting the pole just enough to make the lich's back arch. A soundless keen rattled in the lich's throat as the barbarian leaned closer, his breath hot against the lich's ear.
“You like this.” A statement, flat and undeniable.
Terror and shame coiled in the lich's gut. He tried to shake his head, tried to writhe away, but his body only clamped down harder, his entrance fluttering pathetically around the shaft. The barbarian chuckled, a low, awful sound, and picked up the pace, his thrusts now punctuated by cruel little circles that made the lich's vision blur. Every drag inward stretched him wider, every withdrawal left him clenching at emptiness, and somewhere between humiliation and mindless sensation, the lich realized he was rutting back against the pole.
The barbarian's free hand slid to feel the way the undead's body quaked with each thrust, how his shrivelled muscles strained to keep the pole inside even as it split him open.
“Look at you,” the barbarian murmured, almost admiringly.
“All that evil dark magic, and now you're just-” A particularly deep push cut him off, the lich's jaw still straining around the thrusting shaft as his body convulsed.
“You’re nothing but a hole for me...”
The lich's remaining eyelid fluttered uncontrollably as the barbarian's thrusts grew more purposeful, each push sending a grotesque ripple through his desiccated form. A soundless scream died in his throat as his body betrayed him, arching not in protest but something so truly, viscerally horrid in a way he didn't want to think about but was so undeniable. The thrusts suddenly began to slow down as to the lich's shock, the pole began to be fully withdrawn from him.
The lich's body froze in horrible anticipation. Every inch of the pole's withdrawal dragged against his quivering walls with torturous precision, the drag against necrotic flesh that shouldn't have been able to feel anything like this at all from it. Yet he felt it, the stretch, the hollowing emptiness as the shaft slid free from his throat, leaving his jaw slack. He felt… empty. Like his spit slicked innards were mourning the fullness of the shaft. His hole clenched instinctively around nothing, a humiliating spasm that made the barbarian's breath even more terrifyingly heavy.
The lich let out a proper gasp, his throat finally unobstructed as two of the warrior’s thick finger, soaked in more of the mortal’s saliva slipped past the corpse’s stretched rim with humiliating ease. The necromancer trembled as the fingers roughly shoved all the way in to the base of the human’s hand. Luckily for the lich, his mind blurred enough to not fully register the sounds that came slipped from his tongueless mouth as the fingers roughly thrust in and out of his wettened hole. The remains of his thighs instinctively spread open wider as the digits began to scissor his wanting passage, the large fingers stretching him even wider than the pole had. He unconsciously pressed his hips back into the stretch within him, some part of him desperate for more.
A whine almost leaves his lipless, mouth before a surprised grunt escapes the undead as suddenly dropped onto the ground on his stomach, unable to move his head enough to see what caused the ominous sounds of shifting movement behind him. As quickly as he was dropped, he was picked up, the barbarian's massive hands gripping him by his ribcage and lifting him as if he was nothing. The lich was turned back around to face the mortal man, his features half illuminated by the firelight, his pupils like pinholes as the man stared into the lich, unblinking.
"I'm going to take a pole and stick it up inside you... and I'll wear you on my front a-, a WRIGGLING trophy for all to see!"
The lich blinked, he had heard this one from him before… Wait, what is he planning to-!
The lich's mouth dropped open, his eye wide as, to his abject horror, he felt something thick, warm, and slimy pressing against his empty hole.
The barbarian remained entirely unfazed, his expression unchanging, past his grotesque smile as the undead frantically struggled in his iron grip as he was slowly pulled against this "new pole".
The lich's body went rigid as the barbarian's cockhead pressed against him, the heat searing where cold emptiness had been for centuries. His hole fluttered, still far too tight for what the warrior was attempting. The barbarian exhaled through his nose and pushed harder. The undead's stumps flailed wildly, his ribs creaking in the barbarian's grip He could feel his rim stretch wider and wider as the pressure mounted past unbearable, until it suddenly gave out.
The rasp of a tongueless scream filled the night air as the lich his hole was suddenly impossibly full, the barbarian’s massive cockhead breaching him in a mere instance. The necromancer went limp, his corpse shaking as the lich's remaining eye rolled back, his jaw slacks around his broken scream while the barbarian's girth stretched him wider than the pole or even the barbarian’s fingers ever had, so wide he didn't even know how this could even be physically possible. Every ridge, every vein carved itself into the lich's dead flesh with brutal clarity. The barbarian didn't pause, didn't hesitate, he just kept pushing, forcing inch after monstrous inch inside with single-minded determination. The lich's body resisted, still far too tight against the massive girth, his long dead muscles somehow spasming in protest, but the barbarian only grunted and adjusted his grip, tilting the lich's pelvis to allow deeper penetration.
The lich's body arched against the barbarian's grip, a new, silent scream locked behind his slack jaw as the warrior's cock pressed deeper into his desecrated corpse. Each inch stretched him wider, the heat of living flesh branding his necrotic insides in ways no magic ever had. His hole pulsed weakly around the intrusion, the sensation too much, still not pain, not pleasure, but too much, yet still something of that strange sensation still lingered in somewhere in the back. The barbarian exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers digging into the lich's ribs as he adjusted his stance, and bullied it further inside.
The lich's vision whited out. His body wasn't built for this, wasn't built for anything anymore, yet the barbarian carved into him. The undead could feel his own flesh yielding further, the way his cadaverous muscles fluttered around the barbarian's girth as if trying to reject it. But the warrior didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He pressed forward with the same relentless inevitability, the same as every fate given to evil he met, burying the lich under the weight of his own impossible fullness.
Suddenly the barbarian paused. The lich's remaining eye darted wildly, his blurry vision frantically trying to focus on the barbarian's face, searching for some clue, some reason. The warrior's expression was unchanged, but his breath came heavier now, his nostrils flaring as he looked down at where they were joined. The lich followed his gaze, and wished he hadn't. From what he could see from where he was held, the barbarian's cock was only halfway inside him, glistening in the firelight with clear fluid. The lich's body trembled, he could already see the outline of the length currently inside of him under the thin skin stretched over his concave stomach. That wasn't possible. Surely not even a corpse could take that much.
The barbarian hummed, low and ominous, before tightening his grip and lifting the lich slightly, only to pull him back down with untold force. The lich's jaw gaped soundlessly, his eye rolling back as his body was mercilessly speared deeper in one brutal motion. The barbarian repeated the movement, again and again, each barbaric thrust forcing more of himself deeper inside, repeatedly stuffing his hole, until the lich could feel the warrior's pelvis pressed flush against his own, his emaciated thighs forced open wide, their bodies joined in a mockery of intimacy.
The lich trembled and shook as gargled noises poured from his lipless mouth. He felt as if even if he had his legs, they wouldn’t be able to move with how wide his hole was stretched open between his thighs. His shivering cadaver was so entirely, impossibly full, at a complete loss at how he had not been split in half. But his innards remained untorn, by some miracle, perhaps his regenerative healing or some unnatural durability, his walls somehow managed to stretch around the massive girth the impaled him deeply inside.
He cried out in a shaky rasp as the barbarian began to rock into him, slow at first, almost experimental, as if testing the limits of the lich's desecrated flesh. The undead shuddered, his hole pulsing weakly around the intrusion, his body responding in ways far past his control. The barbarian noticed, of course he did, and his rhythm changed, his thrusts growing more purposeful, each one dragging against the lich's insides with agonizing force and precision. The mage's stumps flailed spasmed wildly, his ribs creaking in the barbarian's grip as he was used like some common fleshlight, his body nothing more than a sheath for the warrior's pleasure.
The barbarian’s rhythm was relentless, not the frantic, sloppy rutting of a man starved for release, but the steady, grinding pace of someone who had all night. His hips rolled with the same methodical precision as a blacksmith hammering iron, each thrust pressing deeper into the lich’s hollowed body than should’ve been possible. The undead’s cadaverous frame jolted with every movement, his stumps now only able to twitch uselessly against the barbarian’s thighs.
The sweat-slicked planes of the warrior’s chest almost glowed in the flicker light of the campfire, as he leaned back slightly, adjusting his grip on the lich’s ribcage again. He still had his monstrous grin, his eyes remained eerily blank, but his breaths came heavier now, nostrils flaring with each snap of his hips. The lich’s remaining eye stared off, out of focus, as the barbarian watched how his body swallowed his cock with every thrust, how his shrivelled flesh stretched taut around the intrusion, how it clung when the warrior pulled back, the remains of the undead’s cock flopping pathetically as his corpse was pounded into.
Without warning, he lifted the lich higher, only to slam him back down in one brutal motion. The undead’s jaw gaped, his vision cutting out for a moment as the barbarian’s cock carved into him with renewed force. His body convulsed around the intrusion, his hole fluttering in ragged, involuntary pulses that dragged a grunt from the barbarian’s throat.
"You’re a bit tighter this way," the warrior observed.
His thumbs dug into the lich’s ribs, tilting the undead’s pelvis at a sharper angle. The change was immediate, each thrust now dragged against some ruined, nameless part of the lich’s insides, sending sparks of that same something through his undead body. His stumps weakly scrabbled against the barbarian’s thighs, not to escape, but to press closer, as if his corpse mindlessly chased that strange sensation.
The barbarian every twitch of the lich’s form, every hitch in his nonexistent breath. He slowed his thrusts, leaning in until his lips brushed the lich’s ear.
"You love this," he repeated, voice rougher now, the words puffing hot against desiccated flesh. Not a question. Never a question.
The necromancer’s is body shook violently as the barbarian punctuated the statement with a particularly deep grind. His insides burned with the barbarian’s heat and that pleasure-adjacent feeling his cadaver craved.
After all the pain and weeks of being carried around as a trophy on the barbarian's, not spoken to rarely acknowledged past cutting his slowly regrowing limbs down, no stimulation but to simply watch the world around him helplessly, this drove him to truly unthinkable levels. The lich's jaw continued to hang open, lost to the barbarian’s overwhelming, rhythmic thrusts, absolutely stuffed past any mortal limits over and over. His stumps twitched with every thrust, what was left of his thighs unconsciously parted further, desperate for whatever he was given.
The barbarian's thrusts settled into a rhythm, deep, measured, relentless. Each downward plunge forced the lich's body to accommodate impossibly more, his necrotic flesh stretching in ways that would have torn a living person to shreds. Yet he still didn't tear. Still didn't break. Only trembled, those strange sounds again pouring from his limp jaw, his hole fluttering around the barbarian's cock with eagerness that made that burning core twist inside.
Firelight danced across the barbarian's sweat-slicked shoulders as he leaned back, lifting the lich higher only to drop him again with a wet slap of flesh on flesh. The lich's vision blurred at the edges, his remaining eyelid twitching uncontrollably. He couldn't scream. Couldn't beg. Could only take it, his body responding with involuntary shudders as his mouth remained gaped open, cherishing every thrust despite his wishes.
The barbarian’s rhythm never faltered, a relentless, piston-like precision that left the lich’s body no room to recover. Each thrust drove deeper than the last, the warrior’s cock stretching the undead’s necrotic passage with obscene thoroughness. His hole was repeatedly stuffed as the barbarian’s hips snapped forward again and again, the force of it jolting his limp body like a rag doll..
The barbarian’s hips stilled, his cock buried to the hilt, the thick press of him so deep the lich could have sworn it touched his nonexistent spine. The undead’s body locked up, every necrotic muscle tensing as the barbarian exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression flickering with something the lich could not read.
His thumbs pressed into the undead’s sides, holding him steady as he pulled back, slowly, torturously, until only the tip remained inside. The lich’s hole fluttered around the emptiness, after everything still begging to be full, a reflex that made the barbarian’s breath hitch. Then, with a grunt, the warrior slammed forward, hilting himself in one brutal motion.
The lich's body seized as the barbarian buried himself to the hilt one final time in a brutal, claiming thrust that forced the undead's cadaverous frame to accommodate every impossible inch. Heat bloomed where no warmth should exist, the barbarian's cock pulsing deep inside him like a second heartbeat. The lich let out a loud, dry moan as the warrior's release flooded his cold bowels in hot, relentless waves.
The lich’s body convulsed around the barbarian’s cock in insatiable hunger as his innards were stuffed even further with the barbarian’s thick cum. Each pulse of the warrior’s release filled him more and more, the heat of it searing where it filled the cold emptiness that the lich didn’t think he even had any left of. The barbarian still somehow didn’t stop, remaining buried deep inside, impaling the lich on his cock, his hips grinding in slow, deliberate circles as he pressed himself against the corpse, making it feel almost deeper, ensuring every last drop stayed trapped inside the undead’s ruined body.
The lich’s vision swam. He let out gargled moans as he felt the way his desiccated flesh was filled up, his cadaverous depths fluttered weakly. The barbarian exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening around the lich’s ribs as another thick wave spilled into him. It was too much. It shouldn’t have been possible. Yet his body took it all, the warmth pooling inside him in a way that made his remaining eyelid twitch uncontrollably.
The lich’s concave stomach began to appear fuller, much less like that of the ancient corpse he was as his bowels were stuffed full. The warrior seemingly endlessly injected him with his thick seed. It was fully inhuman, paralleling the supposedly mere mortal man’s unnatural strength and endurance.
The barbarian’s cock twitched inside him, still hard, still filling him even as his release finally began to slow.
The lich whimpered as the barbarian’s cum sloshed inside him, suddenly displaced by the brutal thrust, enjoying the fullness so much more than he would ever admit. The warrior leaned in, his breath hot against the lich’s ear.
"Feel that?" he murmured, punctuating the question with a particularly deep grind. “You’re so full of me.”
The barbarian chuckled, a low, awful sound, before pulling back slightly, his cockhead catching on the lich’s rim. The undead’s body locked up, his remaining eyelid twitching uncontrollably as the warrior paused, his expression unreadable. He pushed forward again with a grunt, hilting himself in one brutal motion.
The barbarian’s final thrusts slowed to a grinding halt, the lich’s necrotic flesh still stretched obscenely around the warrior’s girth. The barbarian exhaled sharply through his nose, as he held himself flush against the undead’s pelvis, ensuring not a single drop escaped. The lich’s body trembled, stuffed to the brim, the copious amount of seed stuffed so deep inside, his hole plugged tight with barbarian cock.
The lich whimpered as felt him shifting. His hole clenched around the huge girth before the barbarian’s grip tightened, hauling him upright with effortless strength as the warrior stood. The lich’s remaining eyelid twitched, but his body could do nothing with wriggle, cock up inside of him.
Still impaled on the warrior’s cock, the lich dangled limply as the barbarian strode toward a nearby tree, his steps steady despite the undead’s weight, his free hand reaching for a length of coiled rope looped over his shoulder.
With a grunt, the barbarian finally pulled out, his cock sliding free with a wet, obscene sound. The lich’s body jerked, his hole fluttering pathetically around sudden emptiness, but before he could even process the loss, the barbarian flipped him upside down in one swift motion. With practiced efficiency, the barbarian looped the rope around the lich’s torso, knotting it tightly just beneath his ribs. The undead’s stumps twitched uselessly as he secured him with the rope around the tree.
The lich’s vision swam as he hung tied upside down to the tree, still filled with all of the barbarian’s release. Gravity pressed it deeper, making the weight of it all so much more prevalent, the warmth, the fullness, it was all so intense, leaving the lich to helplessly whimper and tremble where he was bound. The barbarian grunted in approval before turning away.
The lich watched his retreating back as he strode back toward the edge of the campsite, his movements unhurried. He continued tracking the barbarian’s silhouette as he bent to retrieve the discarded pole, the same one that had speared him for weeks, its tapered tip menacing in the dim light. The barbarian tested its weight in one hand, then turned back.
The lich froze. He knew what came next.
The warrior didn’t hesitate. With the same clinical precision he’d used to adjust the pole before, he lined it up with the lich’s gaping hole, still stuffed full of his spend and speared the pole back inside. The lich cried out as the tapered tip breached him with one, familiar, brutal motion. He could feel how the barbarian’s cum moved inside him, displaced by the intrusion, but none of it spilled out, not with the lich suspended upside down.
The barbarian exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on the pole as he forced it deeper, inch by relentless inch. The lich’s body convulsed, squirming as his hole fluttering weakly as he was skewered yet again, but the warrior paid no mind. He simply continued to push forward until the pole’s tip pressed against the back of the lich’s throat until the undead was once again impaled from hole to jaw, his hole gaping around the shaft.
The barbarian gave the lich’s suspended form one final appraising look before turning away, his footsteps crunching softly against the dirt as he returned to the fire. He didn’t glance back, didn’t linger, just nonchalantly adding more wood to the dwindling flames before he stretched out beside the campfire with the same casual indifference as a man settling in after a routine meal. Within minutes, his breathing evened out into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep.
Left alone, the lich remained helplessly bound in the dark. The pole and rope held him rigid in his upside down position. He tried to hate it, he was a great and powerful lich! But he couldn’t help tremble around all the filling, still warm inside of his cold corpse. It was good, so good. Half the night he rocked and wriggled around it all.
As the hours crawled by, his undead flesh began to knit itself back together with his body’s unnatural regeneration. The feeling of all the barbarian’s cum, still stuffed heavily inside him, and the wooden pole, began to feel more and more intense as his hole began to tighten as his corpse healed. The squirmed
By dawn, his hole now plugged tight around the pole. The barbarian’s release, trapped inside with nowhere to go, pressed against the lich’s hollowed insides in a way that made him tremble. He couldn’t spill. Couldn’t leak. Only hold the weight of it all as a constant, humiliating reminder.
The barbarian woke with the sun, stretching with a grunt before rising to douse the fire. His movements were methodical, unhurried, as if last night had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction. He didn’t look at the lich, not at first. Only when his camp was packed did he finally approach, his calloused fingers wrapping around the pole with familiar ease.
With a single, brutal yank, the barbarian pulled the lich free from the tree. The undead’s body jolted, his hole stretched taut around the pole stuck tightly inside. The warrior flipped the lich upright in one smooth motion, the sudden shift making the trapped cum move about heavily inside him. The lich squirmed at the sensation, unable to silence a whimper that rasped from his stuck throat.
The barbarian lifted the lich effortlessly onto his back. The lich’s body convulsed but the barbarian paid no mind. He simply raised his axe, cut off the lich's regenerating limbs as he had come to do every morning, and hauled the lich onto his back once more, as if nothing had happened.
The road stretched ahead, endless and indifferent. The lich’s body jostled with each of the barbarian’s steps, the liquid shifted inside him in thick, sluggish waves, each step reminding the undead how full he was. Every movement sent sparks of sensation through his cadaver that responding with involuntary twitches and shivers. He was so entirely filled up, his bowels stuffed full to the brim.