The Dig of a Lifetime Kristen perches at the end of her cot, listening closely as she ties her hiking boots. Her tent-mates are sleeping soundly, the camp silent in the night. She takes her flashlight, tucking it though a loop at her belt as she rises stealthily. Looping her camera over her neck, she moves carefully toward the netted tent flap. For two months she and her classmates have lived, worked, toiled in this jungle. An internship of sorts, an extended field trip for the more favored archeology students. Already students were dropping out, making the trek back to the city, flying home. Even Kristen's best friend, Lydia, had disappeared in the night, after long days of bitter complaint. Their work had been slow, unrewarding, the bites, stings, and dysentery far more memorable than anything they had found. Until today. Today she had found IT. She's sure of it. A hike to an area their professor had admonished them to steer clear of, a trip behind some bushes to relieve herself had revealed a small cave, the entrance obviously hewn by man, not nature. She had squealed with delight, then covered quickly, calling out to her companions that she had sat on a sticker-bush. This was HER find, she wasn't about to share it with anyone. She would explore, take the pictures, PROVE that she was the star. She trembles with excitement-this sort of thing can make a career. She creeps through the silent camp, smiling eagerly. Flicking on the flashlight, Kristen peers into the dark brush, stares at the beam glancing off the water. She shakes her head, changes course-water is dangerous around here, the locals tell of snakes so large they can devour a man. She looks down at her C cup breasts straining against her tank top. Not a man, but certainly as vulnerable, she thinks. Stepping gingerly through the grabbing branches, she looks up at the dark silhouette in the distance. Her destination. She trudges on, light skittering across the vegetation. Soon SHE will be the center of attention, finally her parents, her sister, her fellow students will recognize how important she really is. Reaching the foot of the hill, she pauses, tilts her head-the trouble with jungles is that they are so loud. The sound never stops, the crying out of birds, the splashing, the crunching of steps on the composting floor. She stands still, ears perking for anything out of the ordinary. Taking a deep breath, she sets off up the hill, bare legs flexing as she climbs. She slaps at her thigh, curses herself for wearing shorts. Okay during the day, but at night the insects feast. Reaching the cave entrance, Kristin pauses, crouches. Her breath comes in short, panting gasps, her body covered with a light sheen of sweat. She runs a trembling hand through her soaked, dripping blonde hair, her blue eyes peering into the dark of the cavern. Sighing, she aims the beam of light into the blackness, sees nothing. Nodding, nervous, she crawls in, shines the light about. Nothing. She whines in frustration, stepping further in. Wait-a passage, far in the back, the light nearly skipping over it. She grins, makes her way carelessly, quickly, to the back of the main cavern. She stands, considers which way to go. She thinks long, then decides. Leaning, she shivers, then ducks, crouching to clear the low passageway. Her eyes widen as she reaches the next widening cavern. She gasps, light dancing over the still forms, glinting off the amassed treasures. Graves. She squeals in excitement, thrilled, dancing deeper into the silent, ancient mausoleum. Bending, she runs her hands over the amazing jewels, eyes huge. She glances at the long wrapped bodies, grabbing a gem encrusted necklace from one, slipping it around her neck. She crows victoriously, sets the flashlight upended on the rough dirt floor, grasps the camera, flash exploding in the near dark. Two hours and eight rolls of film later, she sighs, nodding, tucking the last shot roll into her shorts pocket. Looping the camera around her neck, she smiles, picks up the now flickering flashlight. She takes a step, then gasps as the light goes out. She slams it against her hip, bringing back a feeble ray. She steps toward the low passage, swearing as the light once again goes out. "Fuck it-I'll feel my way out, it's not far." Humming softly to assuage her fear, she moves slowly through the tight tunnel, her hands running along the wall. Kristin stops, eyes staring into the unrelenting black. She should be seeing the cave entrance, she should have seen the moonlight shining five minutes ago, at least. She bites back a moan, adrenaline pumping, setting her body to trembling. She can't be lost, how could she have gotten lost? She must have missed the main cavern somehow, but that's okay, a simple matter of back tracking, finding the opening. She turns around, then whirls back, a soft sliding noise in the dark. She whines, turns back again, then stops-is this the right way? Yes, yes it is . . . isn't it? She moans, "Oh, Christ." Another noise-is that from behind? Or in front? She stands, trembling violently, all sense of direction gone, unable to move, paralyzed by fear. "Move, MOVE!" She whispers angrily, eyes brimming with tears. "Don't just stand here, stupid, just calm down, be careful, this isn't any big deal." Drawing a shuddering breath, she starts walking, hands carefully exploring the rough stone walls. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kristen steps into the large cavern. Her hands leave the wall, she stands, confused. Where is the light? She takes a halting step forward, squeals as her foot catches on something, setting her off balance. She staggers, stumbles, then crashes hard to the floor. Her hands explore the ground, coming to---she screams, pulls her hand back. She's back in the burial chamber, somehow she missed the opening again. Or . . . she thinks hard. No, there was no narrowing, no lowering of the ceiling. She's come full circle somehow, so if she continues on, she should---her mind freezes, eyes widening in the dark as she considers other possibilities. What if there isn't just one? What if there are two, twenty? Twelve bodies, there should be twelve on twelve low platforms. She crawls, hand gingerly stretching, counting. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Unlike the others, this one is soft, almost warm, the strips of binding cloth smooth, not frayed or disintegrating under her touch. Squealing, she jerks her hand back, collapsing on the floor. She begins to sob, curling up on herself. Her imagination, absolutely, it's not really warmer, newer. She nods desperately, not quite daring to test this idea with another touch. She fingers the necklace, the jewels, takes a deep, hitching breath. "Get your shit together, just turn back. Turn back and go slow, you'll find it." Nodding, she crawls back to the doorway, then stops. Is this the right doorway? Is there another one? She begins to cry, stands shakily, feeling her way along. Kristin sits, back against the jagged rock, sobbing exhaustedly. She stares tiredly into the black, hugging herself as the cold sinks into her sweating flesh. She begins to sing, rocking gently, her eyes fluttering as terror and tired take over. She jerks awake with a start, unsure how long she's slept. A light? She blinks, shakes her head as slight shadows begin to dance on the walls. A light! She sighs deeply, begins to call out. "Hello? Hello! I'm up here, I'm here!" She stands shakily, begins moving toward the growing glow. "Oh, thank God." Kristen holds a hand up, shields her eyes, squinting at the flickering, jumping torchlight. "I-I got lost, I don't know how, so stupid, I don't know how long-" her voice catches in her throat as a dark hand snakes forward, grasps the necklace, ripping it from her. She cries out as the heavy chain tears at her skin, her hands flying up, snatching for the bauble. She gasps as her wrists are grabbed roughly, iron grasp grinding into her flesh as she is spun on her feet, slammed against the hard rock wall. Her arms are wrenched hard behind her, bound tightly, her protesting cries echoing in the narrow corridors. Professor Michael Hodges sighs explosively, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the dig site. "And none of you heard her go?" He growls at the shaking heads, pounds his fist on the table. "Didn't I tell you people not to wander? Didn't I? That's two in four days-what is wrong with you people?" He rises, grabs his canteen, strapping it to his belt next to his gun. "Alright then, what are we waiting for-let's find her." He waits impatiently for his students to gear up, his eyes narrow, then widening. "David? David, where did you go yesterday-you, Shauna, and Kristen, where did you go?" He nods, eyes widening as David tells him, eyes darting to the imposing hill in the distance. "I told you not to go there, I told all of you to stay away!" He claps his hands angrily, hurries the group, striding off into the forest as they trail behind. Kristin sobs, her eyes traveling between the dark, native men standing around her. Their faces are hard, accusing in the burial chamber. The apparent leader, glares, then turns, necklace in hand. Kneeling beside one of the low biers, the man's strong voice rings out, his trembling hands returning the treasure to its rightful place. Rising, he looks at her, nods his head sharply. Kristin whines, begging, pleading as the men drag her roughly down a low corridor. Giving her a shove, they step back, watch her tumble into the shallow pool. Kristin screams, sputters, her long, lovely legs scraping along the bottom, pulling her up. She stares up at them, shaking her head desperately as they follow her in, rough hands pulling at her clothing, a rough stone blade cutting through the denim of her shorts. She screams shrilly as the blade nicks her thigh, drawing a thin line of blood, coloring the water as she struggles. Their hands squeeze, maul, her bare breasts the main focus of their attention. She kicks violently, whines high when her legs are grasped, pulled apart wide, painfully. Her legs are jerked up, she slides helplessly under the water, her eyes huge with fear as the water pours into her gaping mouth. She curls up hard, crunching forward until her face breaks the surface. She gags, retches, dragging in a desperate breath as biting leather cord is wound around first one ankle, then the other. A long pole is pressed against her heels and the cord is threaded through holes at either end. She pants, sobbing, her shapely legs now trapped wide. Professor Hodges moves purposefully, pushing aside the thicket as his eyes scan the ground. No sign of her. He's not sure if that's good or bad-he didn't have her pegged as a quitter, but maybe she made her way to town like the others. But, like Lydia, she didn't announce her intentions as the others had. He has a terrible feeling that something has happened to her, to both of them, that they've stumbled into an awful place. He stops short at the sound of splashing. Whirling, his eyes widen in anger, fear. "Get AWAY from the water, what is wrong with you? You WANT to wind up snake food?" Kristin cries out raspily, pathetically, her hips slamming against the cold stone altar, the man's giant cock plundering her quivering pussy. Each cruel thrust elicits a sharp cry, a gasp. Her hips jerk, twitch helplessly as her upper body twists, bound hands clenching into small fists behind her. She sobs, squeals, her belly cramping from the force of the fucking. The leader steps before her, she drags her wide eyes up, her face a mask of horror as she sees what he's holding before him. She drags in a ragged breath, begins to scream wildly. The big man smiles grimly, dropping Lydia's tie-dyed shirt and denim jeans to the floor as he steps closer. Reaching down, he yanks Kristen's hair hard, jerking her head up painfully. He snaps his fingers, grasps the brank handed him. Shoving relentlessly, he nods as her mouth opens, accepts the cruel wooden form. She whines pathetically, her mouth now trapped open, jaws straining. He steps in close, his swollen cock bobbing before her terrified face. Pulling back harder on her hair, he pushes his tool past her trapped lips, his smooth, muscular hips moving in a slow, merciless rhythm, filling her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat. His face remains impassive, his ass clenching as he pushes, pushes, gagging her. He watches her lithe body thrash helplessly, knows that her throat can only resist for so long. Something gives, and she swallows hard, choking as his meat grinds into her tight, resisting throat. The man in her pussy begins to groan low, his cock swelling, twitching in her tight, sore snatch. A sharp thrust and his tool explodes, filling her hole with hot, thick cum. Professor Hodges waves, sits heavily. The heat of the day is already rising, sweat soaks his shirt. He pulls off his hat, wipes his drenched brow, eyes darting, searching. She's gone to the caverns, he's almost certain. And if that's the case, she's lost to them-he's certainly not willing to venture in after her. He's known about the caverns for years-many of his colleagues share his knowledge. But he knows the stories, the cautionary tales of yet undiscovered tribes who use those caves still. He knows of three researches whose expeditions to those caves ended with their mysterious disappearances. City dwellers talk in hushed tones of the snake people, worshipping the anaconda, sacrificing those who disturb their burial sites. He lets out a shuddering breath, prays that he's wrong, that Kristen and Lydia have gone to the city seeking passage home. Kristin's breath comes in short, abortive gasps as the huge cock drives into her face. Her eyes stare into the dark pubic hair, her mind plodding dully as another tool prods, pokes, then pushes cruelly into her raw pussy. The warm body in the burial chamber, the fresh, crisp wrapping. Lydia. It had to be Lydia. She sobs, her cries cut off by vicious thrusts into her spasming throat. The pace quickens, she feels the telltale jerking. She groans, then gags, sputters, swallowing desperately as her face is flooded with sour jizz. Her throat works reflexively, constricting, swallowing hard, milking the cruel meat. She gasps, whines as the offending tool is withdrawn. Another steps before her, she squeezes her eyes shut, screaming hoarsely. Professor Hodges looks over his shoulder at the students far below, then back at the entrance to the cave. His eyes linger on the obviously fresh boot prints, the broken branches on the small bush. Taking a deep breath, he scrapes his foot back and forth, blots out the prints, then turns back, shaking his head. "There's no sign up here-she must have turned off somewhere. Maybe she did head for the city-we should go back, radio to find out." Waving them off, he pauses, head cocked as he hears something-something. Kristin stares numbly at the hard, cold floor, her animal-like whines punctuated by sharp, barking cries as the huge man grinds his cock into her tight, virgin asshole. He begins thrusting fast, furious, his large, dark fingers digging into her slim, pale hips, holding her firm as he pumps her ass hard. She grunts with every ripping stroke, her eyes glassy, stunned, her pretty face scraping across the rough rock beneath her, breasts swaying, jouncing below her. Her thighs are slick, soaked with cum, her trapped-wide mouth still dribbling. She gasps, jerks, her head rising as she hears a voice. A voice! She screams shrilly, rippingly, her wide open mouth straining, lips curling around the torturing device in her face. The professor, she knows it, she knows. She screams again, sobbing, praying for rescue as the shredding tool in her ass swells, spits forth its foul load into her aching bowels. Professor Hodges coughs loudly, masking the faint screams echoing from the cavern. He blinks hard, coughs again. He can't, he won't. Such pain, the screams are agonized, desperate. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, surprised at the tingle setting in below the belt. He knows what they're doing, he's read of the ritual rapes before sacrifice. A nice girl, a beautiful girl, he moans, a mixture of pity, horror . . . and jealous desire. Another pained cry, he shakes his head hard, turns away, makes his way down the steep incline. Kristin kicks frantically as her legs are released, then grabbed, the thin, strong leather knotted off, binding her ankles together. She is lifted carelessly, effortlessly, carried through a series of caverns, more biers, more treasures. She sobs, thrashes ineffectually in their grasp, blood and cum mingling in a tacky mixture between her bound legs. Her eyes stare sickly as they stop, their foreign voices murmuring around her. She is thrust roughly to the floor, staring up, sobbing, her voice coming out in garbled, unintelligible pleas. The leader bends, grabs her hair, pulls her face to his. "You have violated our most holy place." His voice is low, accent thick, barely understandable. "You have stolen from the dead. For this you will die." He shakes his head sharply at her sobs, her increasingly loud whines. "If you are lucky, Cihuacoatl will devour you, releasing your essence to the caverns leading to the next life." He yanks her hair hard as her eyes flutter, her breath becomes labored, shallow. "If Cihuacoatl chooses not to partake of you, you will be trapped forever here, bound tightly, your consciousness eternally caged in the confines of your crushed, decaying body." He pulls her to her feet, dragging her to the edge of a round, ten foot deep pit. "Either way, you pay with this life for your crime, and the spirits of our dead are vindicated." He nods to another who kneels, cuts through the leather at her ankles. Grabbing her hair, the leader nudges her roughly, her feet scrabbling as they slide over the edge. He nods at her screams, his strong arm lowering her by the hair as she thrashes, twists violently, her bare feet scraping frantically, seeking purchase on the rough pit walls. Professor Hodges sits heavily in the shade, his trembling hands fumbling with his canteen. How can he do this? How? He drinks deeply, his eyes squeezed shut against the threatening tears. Capping off his water, he pulls out his wallet, flips it open, looking longingly at the pictures of his wife, their sons. That's how. He can do this because he wants to see his family again, doesn't want to leave them alone. He nods shakily, slips his wallet back into his pocket. He told them not to go there. He takes a deep breath, sighs. He told them. Kristin whines frantically, falls hard to her side as her hair is released. She stares up at the circle of torches, sobbing, screaming hoarsely, her blue eyes wide, pleading. A noise, low, ominous, captures her attention. She squirms to her belly, struggles to work her knees under her, eyes peering into the darkness of the pit. Her eyes dart in terror, skipping, then returning-a dark shape, curling, moving. She squints, tears blurring her vision as she rises to her battered knees, cum slick thighs sliding sickeningly against each other. She moans gutturally, terror rising, crashing over her, her bladder releasing as realization dawns heavily. She whines high, staggering to her feet, full breasts heaving with each panting breath. The men stand solemnly, watch as Cihuacoatl stirs. The torch light dances faintly off his strong markings, shining as he glides forward, tongue darting, testing the air. Their god stops, his head rising, swaying back and forth as he senses her. They stare, enrapt as the 30 foot anaconda considers the girl's trembling, sweating form. Kristin moans in horror as the giant snake's head rises, its tongue darting faster as its body coils dangerously. She struggles to walk, her weak, trembling legs failing her, sending her staggering. She overbalances, cries out sickly as she begins to fall forward. A lightning flash, and pain explodes in her arm, teeth sinking into soft flesh. Heavy, cruel coils around her, encircling chest and waist before she can hit the hard rock floor. She draws a pained, terrified breath, screams deep, ripping, the sound cut short by a sharp, crushing constriction. She gasps, grunts, her struggles wild, furious as the snake continues to coil around her, her feet kicking frantically as the cool scales slide between her legs, tighten, dragging one up painfully. She bucks, gasps, her eyes huge, staring up at the dark faces above her as she lets out a small, breathless cry. Another constriction, sharp, cruel, grinding the air out of her lungs with a hoarse grunt. Kristin's tongue protrudes, swipes desperately over her trapped lips as her body is curled, dragged into a V, leg bent to chest as the snake's teeth release her arm. She whines breathlessly as its giant head slides up her neck, over her ear, dragging her long hair over her reddening face. Professor Hodges stalks into his tent, pulling the flap down behind him. He sits down hard, eyes searching the stacks of books, settling on the desired tome. Cracking the book open, he flips through, finds the piece he's looking for. He stares at the paintings-depictions of women ritually raped, then thrown to the snake god. He wipes his lips, his breathing labored as he considers the naked women, hands lashed behind their backs, legs trapped open, their red lips caught around some ancient torture device as their bodies are used by the dark priests. More pictures, their lovely bodies squeezed in steel-like coils, legs spread, genitalia red, sore. He looks at their faces, terror, horrified comprehension, agony blended perfectly, their trapped open mouths screaming, eyes bugged. The last painting-oh, God, she even looks like Kristin. Her tongue protruding, fingers stretched out pathetically, the top third of her head enveloped by the hungry snake's mouth. He moans, his hand fumbling with his fly. He pulls out his rigid cock, begins stroking furiously, his eyes closed, hearing Kristin's screams, seeing her struggling, being slowly devoured by Cihuacoatl. Kristin gasps shallowly, her eyes bugged, staring as the anaconda's jaws unhinge, its mouth working slowly, wetly back and forth over her skull. Her fingers stretch helplessly behind her, her free leg drumming a sick, desperate rhythm on the hard floor. This isn't happening, can't be happening. Her tongue works her trembling lips, her breasts squeezed up between the coils, darkening as the blood is cut off. The sound, the slithering, slimy squelch of the snake's saliva, the cool, agonizing weight of its coils around her, and she explodes into motion again, her head whipping back and forth as the snake pushes down, taking more of her skull into its mouth. She jerks, bucks insanely as her eyes are achieved, darkness enveloping her. Another crushing constriction, something gives, warm, thick blood bubbling into her mouth. She gurgles weakly, her struggles reduced to feeble, trembling jerks of her legs. Her small hands clench, stretch, clench again as the snake's mouth works over her nose, then her chin. A thin spray of blood explodes from its mouth as it clenches down on her again, grinding her ribs to pieces, driving the shards into her lungs, her heart. Her body thrums violently, trembling, convulsing, then falls still. Professor Hodges moans, then gasps, a shattering climax shaking him. His hand works jerkily as his twitching cock explodes, looping globs of cum shooting up, splattering his belly, his chest. He continues stroking, another load rising, flying up. He sighs, the image of Kristin, used, terrified, being crushed and devoured etched in his mind. He blinks back tears, wishing not that he had saved her, but that he had seen her die. The rope loops over Kristin's still warm ankle, tightens, pulling her limp body up out of the pit. Cihuacoatl did not want her. After an hour of working at her shoulders, her head deep in its mouth, the snake had given up, gone back to its corner. The men look at her crushed, boneless form, her blond hair matted with saliva, the skin of her face already blistering from the digestive acids. They lift her, carry her back to the altar room for preparation. Shauna backs away from Professor Hodges' tent, her eyes wide. Something is wrong, something-he's done something to Kristin, maybe to Lydia, too. She saw him, jerking off, his strangled voice whispering Kristin's name. The hill, she knows that he's hiding something, he knows something. The hill-whatever he's done, whatever is going on, that's where the answers are. She nods resolutely, walks back to her tent. She thought she heard something on that hill. If it was Kristin or Lydia, she means to find out, save them if she can. The dark men bear the tightly wrapped figure reverently, laying it gently on the low stone bier. The leader steps forward, his voice low, his shaking hands laying Kristin's camera and film, her earrings and engagement ring on the soft, white strips binding her chest. They look at each other, nod sadly. They had hoped that this one would achieve the next life-it's what they always hope for, regardless of the crime, and this one's struggles had been so much more impressive than the last's. But again the offender is trapped forever in this terrible place, tortured soul caged in the rotting flesh. They turn, torches lighting their way as they leave the cavern, fourteen now instead of thirteen, two more than just a few days ago. They walk silently, returning to their village to tell of the latest invader of their sacred place, of Cihuacoatl's rejection of their offering.
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