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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTitle: "The Swamp Wife's Dowry"xxThe first thing Elias noticed when he awoke wasn’t the pain radiating from his shackled wrists, nor the swamp water seeping into his trousers—it was the smell. Like rancid honey and wet mushrooms. Then he saw her==================== ==================================================="You’re late for supper, husband." The words slithered from between blackened teeth. Widow Mirelurk crouched over a bubbling cauldron, her knees cracking like greenwood in a fire. The bioluminescent algae clinging to the ceiling of her hovel cast her in a ghastly blue glow, emphasizing every liver spot, every wiry hair of the nest between her thighs that brushed the dirt floor as she moved.============================================================================Elias yanked against the rusted manacles. "I’m not your damn husband!"=======================The widow’s cackle sent a family of tree frogs leaping into the night. "Ohhh, but you are now." She held up the contract—his own signature staring back at him in blood-inked cursive. "Signed in your own piss when you tried to cross my bridge. Tut-tut."=======================================She stirred the cauldron with a femur, the steam curling around her sagging breasts. "Ten years I’ve waited for a man strong enough to survive the binding. Ten years watching fools drown in the muck trying to run." A gnarled finger pointed to the skeletons dangling from the rafters like grisly wind chimes. "Their seed was weak. But you…" Her tongue—too long, too pointed—darted out to lick the rim of the cauldron. "You reek of vengeance. That makes for potent breeding stock."===========Elias screamed as she mounted him, her cold, mottled flesh slapping against his stomach. The widow’s necklace of dried newts bounced between her breasts with each thrust."Yesss," she hissed, her claws drawing blood from his shoulders. "Fight me! Your anger makes the conception sweeter!"=============================================================Elias gagged as her breath—decayed meat and witch hazel—filled his nostrils. His hips moved====== against his will, her witchcraft pulling the orgasm from him like a cork from a bottle.==============As Elias collapsed, spent and shuddering, the widow plucked a single writhing sperm from her thigh with her claw. She held it up to the moonlight, its tail lashing like a cat-o’-nine-tails."Ohhh, this one’s feisty," she crooned. Then, with a wink to her audience of half-breed horrors: "Looks like Mama’s having twins."n
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