The Oubliette
It’s raining as you make your way beneath the gnarled and twisted awnings of the streets of the Vorn District. Water – or some similar substance – drizzles down in a tepid shower that threatens to grow more intense with time. One might hope that the rain would wash away some of the reddish tinges that cling to the walls and buildings, cleansing the district of its bloody and gruesome aesthetics. You know, though, that not all the rain in Nodd could wash away the stains of the House of Vorn.
You arrive at your destination quickly, keeping roughly to yourself. In the City it’s generally considered a smart thing to do at the best of times, but based on where you are? You know it’s almost essential. Overhead hangs a sign that would make most turn around and go straight home again. For you, it’s a sign you’ve been curious about for some time.
The Oubliette.
A bar known for its violence, for its no-limits attitude, and its black market – in as much as a City like Nodd can have a black market. It’s said that the bar has no bouncers or security to keep the worst from happening, because the worst happening is precisely what it’s built its reputation on.
You’ve been told that at least one trip to the Oubliette is all but mandatory for anyone who wants to live in the Vorn District. Sit down, get a drink, take in the ambiance and try to look neither too cocky nor too weak. 
Well, you might not be able to look as dangerous as some of the citizens who live in the grungy, hedonistic district, but you shouldn’t have any trouble avoiding looking too cocky. For good measure though, you brought a provoker with you: a slender, forked rod with two tines at the end. With a squeeze of the handle they can spring to life, charged with a painful level of gloam.
You pass beneath the sign and step up to the doorway. True to its reputation, there’s no guard by the jagged entrance, nor at the top of the staircase that leads into the bar. You can hear the raucous laughter and jumbled cacophony of voices that come from within before you even ascend the stairs.
Once at the top, you find yourself in a large, open space populated by round tables and gnarled-looking chairs with various patrons seated upon them. Here and there between them you can see small platforms with slender metal bars extending upwards, each ending in a tri-tipped spike. Most have someone using them – some dancing lewdly and showing off jutting dicks and drooling cunts in seductive displays, others bound to the pole and looking anywhere from inviting to terrified. Perhaps understandable, given the dried blood that seems to stain both the tops and bases of the poles.
Numerous pairs of eyes move towards you as you enter the somewhat smoky bar, the scent of alcohol, sex, and viscera greeting your nostrils. Taking in the sights, you swiftly pick out an empty table that isn’t too far from the bar yet not too close, either. You pad your way across to it as nonchalantly as you can manage, ignoring the steady thumping of your heart.
Off to your side you can see a stage which looks to have a set of gallows and a guillotine. They both look to have been used. Not far from it is a septagonal railing that looks over some lower level, though the staircase down to it doesn’t look to be readily apparent.
Taking a seat at your table, noting that it seems quite lifeless and non-ambulant, you soon melt into the background of the Oubliette. People stop watching you and return to their own affairs. Meanwhile, you start to pick out the individual happenings that make up one of Nodd’s more notorious bars.
Over in the corner you can see three people sitting around a table with a fourth person on their knees in shackles, firmly held by one of the three – an oggorus. The ogg, a slimy, almost slug-like creature with a wide and snide grin seems to be saying something to the other two while gesturing at the shackled one – a gaunt-looking hybrid with clear petrid parenting, judging by the almost architectural horns.
One, heavily robed and clad in dark vulturewear that looks to have been stitched together out of several ravel pelts, withdraws a slender vial from one of their numerous pockets before waving the glowing object in front of the oggorus’ face. The ogg watches it keenly, laughing, before taking it and popping its lid. They – you think it might be a he from the fat, plush sheath the slug-like creature has, but you think you recall that female oggs have similar appearances anyway – waggle it in front of the wide-eyed looking hybrid who rapidly shakes their head. The oggorus just laughs and asks something of the other two, before abruptly striking the hybrid in the snout with the wand.
Immediately the petrid-like hybrid stiffens and falls back onto the floor. Before your eyes, a seam splits down his front, over his stomach, across his sheath and balls and even up and across his face and head. His eyes bulge in their sockets for only a moment before a sickening, wet squelch sounds out as the hybrid’s body splits open.
Muscle and sinew burst forth in a gushing spray of blood and slime as his body seems to unfold. His limbs split as bones crack and splinter, and his ribcage unfolds like a flower as his lungs, liver and other innards swiftly invert to become out-ards. You watch on as the hybrid’s lungs compress as much as their now external nature permits, a wet and gurgling cry of pain wheezing from a similarly twisting mouth. 
In only moments, the petrid hybrid looks to have been turned physically inside out. His torso and every limb twitches, inverted, bones and organs pulsating on the outside as blood rapidly begins to pool beneath him.
The trio laugh and you see the oggorus hand over a bright, shining cartridge of gloam in exchange for what looks to be half a dozen vials.
You tear your eyes away as the hybrid slowly slumps onto the floor, gurgling weakly.
It isn’t a sight that takes your attention, though, so much as it is a sound. A rhythmic, methodical thwap noise that comes from a dingy corner. Gazing towards it you see a gruff and burly insider with a slender snout and a leathery body that looks heavyset enough to crush a krudge standing over a lehlt. The lehlt, a wretched-looking thing with gnarled hooves and a mangy, patchwork coat looks to be strapped to some kind of bondage horse. Standing in front of them is a slyne, crouched down and looking poised to kiss the lehlt full on the mouth.
The burly insider is wielding a paddle, you can see – only the paddle looks to have sharp, wicked-looking teeth on one side. Blood-soaked teeth. The source of the blood indisputably looks to be the lehlt’s reddened, weeping ass. The appearance is confirmed only moments later when the insider brings the paddle down and spikes it into the lehlt’s rump.
The wretched lehlt’s eyes bulge, tears streaming down their snout as the slyne perched before them simply leans in and inhales, drawing in wisps of some smoky haze. Suffering. As the lehlt tenses and whimpers in their restraints, the insider’s toothed paddle pulling back with a wet schlock, the slyne feasts upon that strained ache and pain.
Your attention is stolen then by a sudden commotion only a couple of tables across from you.
A ravel of greasy, purple feathers grabs hold of a lone nurk and bodily hauls the little creature up and into the air by one leg. The rodent-like insider thrashes and writhes as a few errant cheers come from nearby patrons of the bar. Not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself just yet, you lift one arm in a silent cheer of your own.
The ravel hauls the nurk up onto the stage area with the gallows and the guillotine. You sit a little forwards on your seat, suddenly watching intently. Surely not? Then again, the oggorus did turn someone literally inside out which couldn’t have been a survivable experience.
You watch as the thrashing nurk struggles against the ravel, clawing at his talons and kicking at his stomach. The ravel’s larger size easily outclasses the smaller insider though and it’s only moments before, holding him captive one handed, the ravel has snatched a rope from beside the gallows and bound the nurk’s arms behind his back.
The nurk doesn’t cry out for help. Probably he knows that nobody would. Yet his struggles grow more and more pronounced, more desperate, more urgent as he strains against the ravel’s grip. Yet having his grubby paws bound is enough to tell everyone in the bar that the fight is already well and truly over.
“Nurks,” the ravel says loudly to the room. You have to strain to catch his words over the ambient sounds of the Oubliette. A few of the conversations die down as it becomes clear that this is going to be a performance. “Are so tight, are they not?” His beaked face looks to be frozen in a smirk. You know that it’s the inflexibility of a ravel’s beak making it hard for one to change their facial expressions but, somehow, the smirk suits him.
A laughing cheer sounds out from around the room. You try to join in with another token arm-lift. The ravel’s eyes drift across to you, and his beak opens slightly in what might be a ravel grin.
“There is one easy way to loosen them up though,” he announces, holding the nurk by his bound arms. As you watch, the ravel’s other talon trails down his stomach, coming to grope at his own swollen sheath and hanging, pendulous balls. He stands there, playing with himself for several moments in full view of the entire bar until a slick, bulbous tip begins to squeeze out from the end of his sheath.
The ravel takes hold of the nurk and yanks him backwards, stepping up to the gallows. The nurk’s eyes go very wide and the rodent starts squirming all the harder, noduled nose twitching manically as his tail whips and lashes around. 
“We’s tight because we’s smaller, you fuck!” the nurk shouts, kicking at the ravel again. His claws leave a gash on the ravel’s belly and the avian’s blood trickles down over his oily feathers.
Calls for the ravel to do it start to come from the audience. One table chants for him to hang, while another shouts out excitedly to loosen him up. Next to you someone calls for the guillotine. The ravel pays them no mind, just as he pays no mind to the injury the nurk inflicted, and before your eyes one of the hanging nooses is slipped around the nurk’s neck.
“Shhh,” the ravel hushes, tightening the knot until the nurk’s throat is being squeezed by the thick cord. “I promise to give you a reacharound.”
The nurk’s eyes go wide as the avian’s talons slide downwards, letting go of the nurk’s weight. That puts the smaller creature’s heft directly onto his neck and the rope tied around it. You can hear the singular, choked splutter that gets cut off as the nurk begins to dangle.
The attention of the whole bar is on the pair on stage as one of the ravel’s talons slides down to his slowly hardening cock once again. You can see it sliding free as the nurk’s legs kick and his eyes bulge. With his other talon, the ravel takes hold of the nurk’s tail and slowly lifts it upwards. This has the added benefit of lessening the pressure on the nurk’s neck, and the rodent hoarsely gasps for air.
You can see him mouthing out the word, ’Wait!’
The ravel, slowly getting harder as he gropes at his own bulbous cock, hints of the avian’s knot right at its tip, leans in and places his beak beside the nurk’s ear. He whispers something out that no one in the bar could hope to hear. Some private words you can only guess at. As he does, the ravel’s eyes scan the room, making eye contact with various patrons.
When the ravel’s eyes lock with yours, he gives his hardening cock a slow, deliberate pump. Is he grinning? You watch a thick, clear dollop of preslime ooze from his tip. Then he whispers something more to the nurk…
…And the nurk groans. You think you see a little flare of something greenish, but in the haze of the bar it’s hard to be sure.
But before your eyes – before the whole bar’s eyes, the nurk starts to get hard. Very hard. The ravel keeps whispering, and the nurk’s tapered, grimy cock starts to pour out from his inappropriately large sheath. Hanging from the noose, only alive by the lift of the ravel’s grasp on the base of his rodent-like tail, the nurk’s dick swells to full mast and begins to gently, slowly throb.
The ravel wastes no time in lining his now stiff cock up with the nurk’s ass.
“Now this nurk is oh so tight,” the ravel croons out loudly as he squashes his fat, plump tip up against the rodent. “But all you need to loosen any partner up… is a little incentive,” he finishes, moving both of his talons to hold the nurk’s hips. You watch on as he starts to grind and mash his stiff cock against the nurk’s rump, pushing the hanging rodent downwards while his hips press forwards. The nurk chokes in the noose, breathlessly coughing and his face turning several shades darker. 
It takes effort. You, the whole room can see the strain in the nurk and the ravel as they struggle to make it fit. The ravel working to put on a show, and the nurk clearly aware that his life depends on helping the ravel fuck him.
A waitress slips between your table and another – a gangly hybrid that reminds you of a slyne, but not really – and gathers up some glasses. One patron sitting across from a dead body, throat slit and head hanging back over the chair briefly snatches your attention as they give the waitress a sharp slap to the ass. You aren’t sure how you missed the literal corpse only one table over, but you can see that the living patron isn’t fazed by it at all - their gaze is fixed on the stage.
The nurk suddenly squeals, splutters, tries to gasp, then chokes as he sinks down suddenly and visibly onto the ravel’s dick. The ravel moans out, head tilted back as his broad and thick spire squashes home into the smaller insider’s guts.
“See how haaard that was?” the ravel groans, talons digging into the nurk. “Now… let’s see how easy we can make him.”
The ravel wiggles his hips a little before he starts to slowly, deliberately fuck the nurk. Only the ravel doesn’t thrust. Instead, he uses the nurk like a sex toy, lifting him upwards a little and then pulling him down onto his fat, greasy cock. Inches disappear into the nurk’s stretched ass as the rodent’s eyes bulge from the strain as the noose tightens and grows slack, tightens and grows slack over and again with each new push and pull.
With each passing moment the air around the stage starts to smell thickly of sex as the ravel wedges the nurk downwards on his dick, a little further each time. The rope creaks with each new pull, and the nurk’s eyes roll back as his face darkens to a ruddy purple. The ravel’s balls start to swing back and forth to the rhythm of the hanging nurk, while the nurk’s cock starts to dribble and drool onto the stage floor. The rodent-like insider’s tail slowly grows still as he loses the strength to use it, drooping against the ravel’s body.
“He’s getting looser,” the ravel pants delightedly, the base of his cock visibly throbbing with its plump and engorged tip buried inside the nurk. “Feeling very good… Nnh, and so are you, hmm?” his voice hisses at the nurk as he lets go with one talon.
The nurk gives a weak thrash, eyes lidded and face a deep purple. You can see the strain on his neck grow heavier as the ravel starts supporting him with only one arm, starting to buck up and into him as well now. His tapered cock juts and spurts a weak drool of precum to the stage.
The heavy thrusts push the nurk upwards, giving him a tiny chance at air. You can hear the strangled, failed gasp as the ravel uses his now free talon to grab a hold of the nurk’s dick and start to rapidly, roughly pump it.
The sudden stimulation is enough to draw a weak twitch and tremble from the nurk’s tail. His toes clench ever so slightly and his noduled nose gives a small twitch. The ravel’s talon holds fast around the nurk’s hips as he wrenches him downwards, the noose snapping taut and tense.
You watch on as the nurk’s cock throbs, then throbs again in the avian’s grasp, little spurts and drools of slime starting to pour over the ravel’s talon.
Time oozes on in grunts and gasps as the ravel fucks the nurk with the little insider’s eyes growing foggier and foggier. His cock jerks and jolts, pushing out weak dollops of precum that he doesn’t quite seem to have the strength to spurt so much as drool. The ravel can’t get past the midway mark, looking to bottom out with the nurk only halfway down his fat, throbbing dick. You and the entire bar can see the effort the ravel puts in to get even that far, but even with all the ‘loosening’ there’s only so much ravel cock that the nurk can fit inside. It doesn’t seem to detract from the feelings wrapped around his cock, though, for soon the ravel’s face becomes a mask of twisted delight as he pleasures himself with the nurk.
“What do you all think?” the ravel gasps out eventually, his thrusts and pulls beginning to grow erratic. “I’m getting close. Should I let him off?” 
Around you erupts an almost cheering “No!”
The ravel groans, eyes closing for a moment.
“Should I loosen him up all the way?”
The Oubliette’s answer sounds unanimous. It’s deafening and a little intoxicating all by itself. You watch as the ravel lifts the nurk upwards, sliding his ass up along his cock, pulling back until only his crown is inside.
“Hear that?” the ravel asks, sucking in a deep breath of air through his nares. The nurk’s eyelids flutter open weakly on his puffed, bloated face. The nurk tries to wheeze something out, but the strain from the noose is unforgiving. The ravel grins, starting to focus on the nurk’s tapered tip with his strokes. “Since you’re going out anyway, I’m gonna cum real deep in you,” the ravel says with that avian grin, mercilessly pumping the nurk’s spasming cock.
The nurk’s eyes widen.
Then the ravel’s talons dig into his hip and he slams the nurk down at the same time as he humps upwards. The ravel’s cock squashes hard into the nurk’s ass and hits the midway point, pauses for a moment like it’s met some resistance, and then squelches all the way down. The nurk’s eyes go wide as the outline of the ravel’s cock appears prominently in his belly, like it’s just beneath his hide, only for the ravel to let out a loud shout of pleasure.
The whole bar watches the ravel’s balls pull taut as he starts to cum, while the ravel jerks down on the nurk’s body. The noose stretches taut and the nurk’s eyes bulge in their sockets. His cock jolts in the ravel’s mercilessly stroking grasp, then starts to throb weakly as the rodent cums. As his first tiny, weakened jet of spunk pours out from his tip, there’s a pop from the nurk’s neck.
The nurk’s eyes glaze over, lifeless, as white spunk starts to ooze from the tip of his cock – muscles no longer able to push it out in spurts. The little rodent expires to an orgasm as the ravel pumps his belly full of the contents of his pendulous, hanging balls, and the whole bar seems to pause to admire the scene.
The nurk, hanging from the noose with his face swollen and purple. The ravel, beak open in an expression of delight. The avian’s balls pulled tight, taint clenching with each eruption into the nurk’s guts, his still warm ass pressed to the hilt on the ravel’s cock despite it being a clearly impossible fit. A terminal fit. And the nurk’s belly, slowly inflating with the ravel’s cum, the avian’s knotted tip wedged up against the smaller insider’s ribcage.
“Nnnnh… Nothing looser,” the ravel moans, shivering a little in orgasmic delight.
Then he slowly pulls himself out of the nurk. He slides his cock back until just the tip of the purple-red organ remains lodged inside the deceased insider’s ass. He tugs once, then twice, then flashes a smile at the audience. He even winks right at you as he pulls the enormous, fat crown from the nurk’s ass.
You can’t help but wince as the fist-sized bulb pops noisily from the nurk’s ass, looking so large that it surely broke something on the way out. But then… the nurk doesn’t need to worry about that anymore.
And, now that he’s out, you can see just how big the ravel really is. His cock hangs heavily between his feathered thighs, the girth of his dick easily enough that you would need both sets of fingers to fit around it. It looks long enough that you aren’t even sure that you could hilt him. It drips slowly to the floor as the ravel lifts one arm and makes a signal, stepping over to the ramp off the stage.
He glances your way as he steps down and you look off to the side swiftly.
Yet as you look away at the bloody backdrop of the bar, you find that several other tables are all looking your way. You can see eyes fixated on you and sly, knowing grins leering back at you. It only takes you a few moments to find out why.
“Enjoy the show?” comes a cocky voice from your side. You turn and find yourself face-to-crotch with the ravel. You slowly lift your gaze up from the shaft of his hanging, veined dick, up to his greasy belly with its nurk-claw wound, past his pendulous, plump wattle, then finally to his toothy beak.
You clear your throat and admit that you did. It’s your first time here in the Oubliette, and it was quite a show.
“Ooh, first time?” the ravel asks. Throb. His cock stiffens a little in front of you. “In that case, you’ll make an excellent follow-up act.”
Your eyes go wide and you glance over to the gallows where you can see the chimera waitress taking the limp body of the nurk down, carrying him off under one arm. You turn back to the ravel and begin to explain that you don’t have any intention of—
“This is the Oubliette,” the ravel interrupts, grabbing you by the bicep. Throb. His talons are rough, firm. It feels like being held by a manacle. With a heave, the ravel pulls you to your feet, forcing your body to touch his fattening, slimy dick. His ravel grin seems to somehow grow wider. “I wasn’t asking.”