Rite to Ferment


Written by Septia.


“Hark, Gabra. We need only make way through this last tunnel, before your fate intertwines with Sabra'Joquwol Ilta.” The priestess expressed, two leaps ahead for each of Gabra's steps.
	The railing supports carved into the granite walls along the stairs terminated, leading the woman to trace her palm across the cavern wall to stead her weight, sensing the moisture building up beneath her fingers. -Bwnb- a faint bump rippled through the zenith of her bloated core, abdomen poking through the rotund bulge in the cloak swathing her tummy. The woman halted, cradling the cocoon of flesh – soft as cotton congealed in honey. Even after all these months, nurturing a life was a sensation quite unreal. Yet, the volume bulging her formed a constant, tactile reminderof her little miracle.
	“Come, Gabra, Fate awaits us, take heed when entering.” Came Ramla from further down the cavern. 
	She followed around the final bend, where the catacombs expanded, a chamber carved in flat, domed marble. Across the floor and walls laid signs, inscribed in purple dye – many she recognized from her studies, many more which eluded her. Two funnels in the roof caught her eyes, leading down towards the center, and slightly offset from there, in broad tubes… and connecting to a stone masterwork: a grand coffin. 
	Ramla stepped forward in a practised pattern, waving the censer to spread the sterile fumes of boakwood and wax through the chamber. “Through the rites of Bu'Delquae, we relinquish, Gabra, what tethers thy fo-form to the slab underfoot.” 
	Gabra looked on, as Ramla finished, and snuffed out the smoke from the censer. 
	“It means,” Ramla cooed as she fiddled with her cloak, “that it is time to lay all your beauty bare.” The priestess explained and dropped her cloak, standing tall – as far as the impish woman could – clad in naught but tattoos inscribing ritual markings on her skin. 
	“O-oh certainly, of course,” Gabra said, untying the waistband, “and, it is customary for the priestess to be, naked as well?” 
	Ramla sucked on her lips, climbing up the side of the coffin. “S-s… sure~.” She said eventually. 
	As Gabra undressed, she watched Ramla squat in the casket, so wide her feet just reached the edges. 
	“Mmrg…” she huffed, panting as she strained. -Chrrlpstsh- a faint crinkle twinged though her cheeks. “Allow me to justmfms, paa… prime the vessel for you…” she huffed. -Chrrlsptsht- -Hrrllpllrschs- Her pucker broadened with a smear of molten dairy, and the lithe cheeks stretched, exposing the loaf of corpulent clay, radiating a steam from the clefs and fissures etched into the auburn mound to toast the air in the air of fat rats brewn in a greasy mushroom stew. 
	Gabra shuddered, knowing the practices of the ritual at hand, and within her core finding calm. Yet, holding over nostrils as she approached. Cloak discarded, taut, bloated belly swaying with a jostle in her steps as she approached. 
	“And this, is also, customary?” 
	“Mfmf mpha…” Ramla sighed as the column -Chrlrpths- of cocoon chocolate tangled into the floor of the coffin. With the nimble of a spider, she crawled free from the coffin. “It is for one carrying your, elegant corpulence.” she grazed Gabra's tummy with her fingertips, as if the woman would break were she not careful. 
	“Then you are ready, Joquwol Ilta's embrace awaits.” 


-Cqurlslgs- The warmth of the priestess’s plaster spread between her shoulder blades. Gabra made aware of her long, deep breaths, as she peered to the gaping orifices in the sides of the coffin. 
	“Mmf, how does, it feels, comfortable?” Ramla asked, hanging by her hands on the brim. 
	“I, do. I know this is an honor, what Is best for… the both of us.” She said, caressing her bulb of a belly. 
	“With Sabra'Joquwol Ilta as my witness, I would never allow harm to befall you,” Ramla assured, fingers quivering. “Deep, calm, and long breaths. My fellow acolytes have ensured the ritual holds for your… mmm… capacity.” Ramla huffed out, then disappeared behind the edge, leaving Gabra to rest in the coffin, before a churn -Cbhrrllpvsths- rumbled through the mountain above. The priestess peered overhead of Gabra. “It begins… with Be'Delquae's blessing, we begin~.” 
	“Let the confluence commence~.” 
	-Bhrpgtus- -Bhrostsh- bouts of smog jettisoned from the tubes. Sizzling humidity marinated Gabra in the breath of animated sewage. -Bvhorrohts- The fumes wafting through her nostrils and caressing her mind with a salve; putrid in its redolence, yet carrying warmth… She resisted her urges, to move, to shift, to clasp her nose shut… she had faith in the order. In Ramla. -Schrlrpghbgrltpsh- With the squelch of a toad gargling on jam, the flood of fumes came abrupted. -Chffrlprrsghusht- She peered to the side, and watched the funnel fill, and its content fed into the coffin. -Chrlrpstush- a rugged, curved top crowned the mound of onslaught of manure. First it came at a crawl, but once the opening laid congested the force projected out the load -Chrlrpths- a tangle of raw auburn gel, bending and folding over itself in the barrage of ointment fresh from the tube. -Clslprths- The length curved over her right wrist, realizing how wide the compiled gunk was when its width swallowed her wrist, hand and lower arm in a smothering clasp of. Its texture encompassed her pure skin, slobbering into her frame as a batch of freshly tapped alaque tree sap, sprawling as the manure crawled through the pit. The odour of the fumes covered with the fragrance of wilting leaves and rubber melding with the odours as the coffin began to fill. 
	-Schrlpthg- -Brlrpghts- On the other side the funnel closer to her head followed suit, watching as a the pastel lemon batter billowed free from the hatch, snaking its way into over her shoulders -Hjcpltsh- gumming in place as molten rubber, but weighing down her frame in the manner of mortar. Whilst the lower tap continued its sluggish currl and wielding, grating down her hips and sloping by her thighs, the higher mound was moving briskly, folding, breaking formation to slough out in growing dunes of soft-serve cream. It moved as an ocean of grease -Chglprghs- Cbhrlpgs- -Cbllgrsh- bubbles popping across its surface as the batter folded itself over and over again in its sluggish heaves up her frame, enveloping Gabra's hair and gluing it to the stone backing, gradually welling over her shoulder to consume her in the embrace of a vat of bubbling cheese; it was leaving no space vacant, and melding her skin to solder into the clasp of the basin of stone. As the warmth spread forth, from the yellowed mulch seeping and enveloping her skin and the tangle of congealed muck below weaved in sinking tubes over her legs… Gabra realized how… cold she was. The sensation of being slobbed and suckled by sewage fudge had her spine rattling. But through the gruelling clasp of the mud there was a humidity which felt… cozy. The rest of her body isolated in chills, her legs quivering… but her back, she felt -Chrlpstsh- Ramla's warmth… Gabra shifted slightly, kneading her shoulders down, letting the clasp of -Chrlrptsh- greasy paste rhind her back. 
	“Everyone has helped pitched in f-for your service, and it is coming along s-so wooo well…” Ramla cooed, her lips clasped by her teeth as she breathed through her nose, long, calm breaths, but with an audible shudder. 
	“I feel-.” -Cbhrprlpgotsh- a gas pocket in the lower hatch interrupted her, spewing out a cloud of reeking loam. Whilst the deluge grew thicker, hampered by its own bulk for a moment, before the smooth glossy loaf was replaced with a pillar pelted in a pattern of fractures in the bark of guttural putty. 
	“I-It feels…” 
	“Yes…?” Ramla asked, closing in. 
	“Is so, foul.” 
	“It is~.” 
	“Like I am… descending into a marsh forged from pig sty’s.” 
	“Good, yes, let it envelops your mortal pod.” 
	“I am… a little scared.” 
	“Oh.” Ramla was quiet as the slow -Chrlprsh- deluge of raw waste crept onwards. 
	“I expected as much, the ritual is much to take in, a commitment to the well being of you both,” she cast a glimpse to her belly, watching as the brown nougat bundled against it, -Chrlpst- segmenting along its fissures to mould against her bloated frame as a pattern of moulding cobblestones. “I cannot help but think of, Selin'Quabu Yeli.” 
	Ramla caressed Gabra's cheek, holding it up so their vision met. “That is a sad tale, of a lonely being, one without our benevolence. I am here for you,” she whispered, and when she let go, Gabra felt her chin -Sbrphts- carve a crater into the warm, macerating gilded blubber clotting over her neck, smiling. 
	Gabra released. 
	As she breathed in, her olfactory sense was shocked by the compiling odour wafting and brewing from the filth around her, infesting her senses with an air of licorice and spoiled yolk deep-fried in wrappings of uncured hide. -Shvbrlrpths- The solid muck form below hurled out through the chute, solid chunks of filth diving through the softer muck and imprinting their craggly pattern of raised, bumpy chocolate cobble to her body, pinning Gabra in place. 
	-Chrpgbht- -Cbrorhsts- The flood from the cranial hatch was growing, the hard filth barely pressing and moulding to a cast of her contours, as if she was assaulted by an orgy of tumbling, squirming slugs. Squealing as the posteriors barely flushed it through the nooks and crevices of her frame, flooding in with sludgy batter droves all the way to her legs, sneaking underneath her to envelop her in a wet suit of toasting humidity. As it slogged through her hair -Shpbbtlsh- and Gabra peered out through the coffin, she could only equate the sensation to molten pliant butter melting against her form,… all the while her frame was enveloped in clashing gruel heaps of brown, beige and washed out chartruce… watching her hand be devoured by the melange of crinkling -Chlrlpghs- wallowing filth, leaving her stomach an island rising from the ocean of oozing manure. She watched the ramshackle battering ram of segmented umber dung plough through the filth in its way, sloughing over her breasts in an embrace of pinewood muck budging into her skin with the touch of budding pine cones. The manure’s gradual crawl caking in onto her skin as sinewous custard. It was then she when she saw the sludge clasp to the walls of the casket, surface of sludge raising al the higher, that she realised the Coffin was formed so well to fit her… just enough for the sides of the plumes of muck to cream through and engulf her arms, but tight enough that the hills of sludgy -Chhrpsghs- moulding clay would soon billow and droop back over her; loads of fudge folded back into her like the arms of a weaver. -Chjrhrts-chpthsts- The pit by her head slowed down, dispensing clumps of pliant gel. It was gentle in its invasion of her cleavage, feeling the soles of her feet warped in the gumming load mixing in with the brown batter. -Chrlrpsths- then from the lower pipe, the funnel was clogging once more, slow, deliberate -Chrrsj- creaks of glue, lubricated with glistening bowel lube as the muddy, stale dough crept through, sweeping and spreading like pate into the surrounding bulk, corralled by the solid structure of reeking, poiel meat reeking dung roads of its predecessor. The pliant mulch encapsulated her… her body lifted from the rock, suspended in the mire… all that connected her to the ground was the patch of greasy heat on her back from Ramla's contribution. Despite her heart beating faster, the tinge of worry that would not vacate her mind, and the sensation of being buried in organic sewage… she was was left with one emotion… anticipation.


The Coffin filled steadily. The pipes bulging with assorted lumps of gunk from above crawling through the tubes to the casket. The filth entrance submerged. One could only see the rise ever effulgent elevation of enveloping slag… rising upwards as a souffle, cradling and swollen into bulbing, slobby walls around Gabra's belly and face… the pits sagging inwards as the gradient mangle of swamp hues swelled, pits waiting to clench and devour her whole. 
	Ramla huffed, fingers shaking as they followed the patterns of markings around her frame, gnawing fervently on her lips as the -Chgobrhgs- daub and grind of grime echoed in the chamber, damp of foetid exhausts. She pulled a lever, and the growth from the mulch above crawled -Chrpghffbfft- -Krlccspgh- to a halt. With shaking steps she ascended the coffin, and peered down into the pit, seeing Gabra's pristine, sweaty, panting face. 
	“The order is proud, Sabra'Joquwol Ilta would proud, but Gabra… most of all… I am proud… and to seal, Please… let me be the one to seal your ritual, with my won batch… take a piece of me with you, ha… as you incubate…” She huffed, licking her lips and crouched down above the closing pit around Gabra's face… 
	-Bbfohrprhfflprth- a deluge of flatulence, soaked in brine and colon gutter pepper curled through the pit. -Chrlrpths- as her brim swelled, framing a clump of smooth, khaki oiled nougat. -Chrrpths-choths- The brim warped and creaking around the slab, broadening as the knobbled mass extruded between her petite cheeks, and… engorging to relinquish -Chrrofbffrlt- a creamy behemoth of sludge, sculpted and smoothed by hot jets -Vrrppfrrths- of venting fog through her cheeks, drooping onwards the pit, as it creaked ever closer… -Chothts- -Chtths- -Ttwmtpgh- The chunk plugged into the gape, driving deeper, as a waxy nail into Gabra's coffin, stretching from the priestess' flank. 
	“Mfms phaa… oh yes… al-aslmost… have you.” she huffed, and scootched forwards, stepping lightly around the rising bulges scraping against the brim of the upper rim of the casket, as he neared the stomach, watching the tip and the bulbing navel crowning the cocoon of life. 
	-Bghhts- it wobbled. 
	“Shhh… shhush… you are almost ready for the embrace…” Ramla cooed, -Chrrltshs- letting the pillar of sludge furl out of her cleft, and coil against the outer brim of the pit of filth,. She slowly -Chrlrpsths- bent and gyrated her hips to let the fat rope of gunk spool from her pit, coiling along the brim -Krhrprlsths- its steamy surface of fresh mulch welding to her taut skin, as the swirl of oily, lattice crackled soft serve curled in thin concentircally smaller circles, burying the last visage of the pregnant woman… 
	“Just… relax. Mffs, as you bake… away into a mfs, a cocoons mfs of my… F-f…s. S-…” She huffed, panting heavier as the curls came to a point… -Slpcughtbths- and the mulch clumped , sinking and melding into he clammy texture of cookie batter, drooling with bowel lube down the crevices and rivers forged through the swirling manure stack, Ramla letting lose and allowing the remaining bulk of her clotted rim to -Schrbrths-sbpthcs- tumble free, bales and loaves clubbing together, as the smooth swirl pattern was despoiled in sluggish dunes of indulgence. Transforming the chocolate fondant decoration into a mess of wax by an unintended candle, and the air tainted with the raw, salty lust and bowel brewed petrichor redolence, spewing forth with the priestess’s greasy load. 
	“Mm… Bake away into the sludge…mfps pha… hoa…” Ramla quivered, legs cooked spaghetti ill suited to support her flesh vessel. But careful to not disturb the surface, as the manure settled, congealed, with Barnaul. A faded outline of a woman's body emerging in the hill of gruel. 


~ 1 ~


-Cllggbth- With a slam of stone the lid secured into the coffin, seal. Ramla securing it, whispering sacred incantations, as the ritual was completed… and Gabra, aid entombed. The chamber redolent of her mouldy peach sweat and tark, jerky putrefaction of the amalgamation of dung. 
	Ramla sighed and draped herself over the coffin, huffing and grinding her chest against the cold stone. “Mmf… oh. Yes…,” she mumbled, inching her eyelid shut, before shuffling to a stand. 
	“I will miss you, it will be a long five months without you… though,” she hummed, her strained vocals choppering up with a sing song tune,” by then, you'll be ripe and matured, with a sweet new life born within the embrace of the order.” she hummed to herself, and, caressing the coffin. “I'll see too it we store you close to the entrance of the maturation chamber… five months is an awfully long time,” she paused, and took in a breath of the stench sighing with her tongue rolling out -Plshaha- and drooping with drool, “I might, regular visits will be in order, to ensure your bud will bloom.” The princess whispered, to heave herself back in her cloak, and fold Gabra's over her arm, leaving to declare the ritual an unbridled success.