Chapter 02: Ereshkigal in Uruk
[This story is the second of the series. I received enough requests for a continuation to actually write one. This story, like most if not all of mine, is also predicated on a fetish: women who are paragons of muscular development, and who may be engaged in intense struggle for physical and mental dominance. If you have thematic objections to this, please do not read this story.]
[I would like to thank LaRascasse for being someone whom I can bounce ideas off, and who also contributes his copy-editing to my work. We are all our own worst editors, and LaRascasse helps me on a regular basis.]
[Despite the fact that I mostly try to use Sumerian naming, I found that certain Babylonian or Akkadian equivalents were more evocative than the Sumerian versions. So, any such inconsistencies in my story are intentional.]
In the cold dank halls of the Underworld, the goddess whimpered in agony.
The sound was so high-pitched, and so soft, that it could barely be heard unless one were very close by. In any case, it was lost in the eternal susurration that enveloped the entire realm of the dead. Whispers of loss, of mourning, of unrequited desire, filled the air. Despair pervaded the atmosphere.
Ninshubur shivered, her hands going up to cup her bare nipples. She decided she hated this place. But she had to brave it — her beloved mistress and queen Inanna needed her more than ever before.
While Ereshkigal was away, the powers of the Anunnaki, the Judges of the Underworld, were temporarily focused elsewhere. Still, Ninshubur found that the gatekeeper Neti insisted on following the laws to the letter.
“You are the very soul of a bureaucrat,” she had grumbled, as she passed through the gates, divesting herself of her garments. Neti had remained unmoved, though Ninshubur’s lithe beauty was something that enraptured every god and goddess in the Heavens.
Now she crept into the hall of the absent Ereshkigal, stepping around the boundary of the dais upon which Inanna had undergone a crushing defeat, a defeat that had been seen by spectators ghostly or divine. From her position in the skies, Ninshubur had gazed down, and she had wept tears of deep sorrow at Inanna’s suffering.
She had gone to plead at the feet of Almighty Enki, her liquid eyes as large as a doe’s, her lush lips trembling.
“Do not let bright silver be covered with dust; do not let precious lapis be broken into stone; do not let fragrant boxwood be cut for firewood,” she had cried, rending her garment of sackcloth to reveal her breasts. “My mistress Inanna is the strongest and best of all goddesses — she is the font of life on the Earth. With her life essence stolen by the evil Ereshkigal, all fecundity has faded; the mortals gain no pure joy from the holy act of consummation, but are driven by dark desires; the plants wither, the wombs of mothers are bare, and death stalks the land like a hungry beast. Do not abandon Inanna to this unjust fate! Let me go to her and restore to her the life force that is hers by right!”
Most of the gods were callous and heartless. They scoffed, and opined that Inanna had been foolish in the extreme to enter such a Trial with Ereshkigal on the latter’s terms. They had enjoyed the sight of the haughty goddess’s abject humiliation. “Your lover could not even control her own body, Ninshubur,” they crowed. “We saw how Ereshkigal overcame Inanna in every way. Your loyalty to her is touching, indeed!”
Enki, however, had been persuaded sufficiently to give Ninshubur a portion of the Essence of Life, to restore Inanna’s corpse to its divine glory, for which Ninshubur was duly grateful.
That corpse was now coming into view, and Ninshubur wept again as she beheld the sight of naked Inanna, displayed as a trophy by Ereshkigal’s throne.
The wicked sadistic Queen of the Netherworld had devised a cruel torture indeed. Inanna’s back had been snapped, and only the barest glimmer of her consciousness remained in her broken body. A goddess could not be “killed” so easily, yet this could be a curse — Inanna’s suffering was unending. She hung from a hook in the wall — this hook was the size of a sea serpent’s tooth, and it pierced her womanhood. Rivulets of blood dripped down Inanna’s useless, unmoving thighs.
Inanna’s arms were chained to metal rings set in the walls, and this was the only way Inanna could support her weight apart from letting herself hang completely from the hook — if she did that, she would be eviscerated in short order. Inanna’s mighty biceps bulged — and it was all she could do to keep them flexed so that she could lift her body above the hook, lessening the pain. Intermittently, however, her meager reserves of strength failed her, and her body would slump. The hook would slice into her, and she would have to suffer until enough of her arm strength returned for her to pull herself upwards again.
By now, barely any such strength was returning each time Inanna faltered. She was beyond being exhausted — even a goddess could not endure this indefinitely, Ninshubur thought.
Frantically, she started forward. Inanna raised her bowed head, and a flicker of alarm flared in her eyes.
“Mistress! I have come to save you!” Ninshubur called out, as she ran fleetly towards the trapped goddess.
Inanna croaked, “No… my beloved… sukkal [a word meaning "vizier" or "second in command"]… go… flee…”
Ninshubur halted, even as she held her hand out, beginning to muster the Food and Water of Life from within her. Was this a trap…?
Then she shivered. It had not seemed possible, but now the chamber was even darker, even more oppressive, than before. Inanna’s pupils diluted to pinpoints of terror, and her body slumped, but she seemed heedless of the agony at her loins. Ninshubur was aghast — what could terrify her mistress so?
Then she remembered. She remembered what the gods had consigned into the deepest oblivion, so many millennia ago. And it came to her in a flash — Ereshkigal’s new emboldened attitude, and incredible strength. There could only be one source.
A sibilant voice, that seemed to thrum along her very bones, came to her ears. It was an eerie voice, like nothing even she, Ninshubur, had ever heard. It seemed to resonate in nothingness.
“Little sweetmeat… so frail… so tasty… have you come to sate my hunger?”
And the unspeakably monstrous form of Lamashtu, Mother of Monsters, hove into view.
[This story is set in TConcord18's Sex Wrestling League. My character Katie Tay was talent-scouted by a recruiter, and is debuting.]
Katie looked up at the clock. Just 10 minutes to go before the match. She finished her warm-up stretching routine and got to her feet.
“Here it goes, Katie,” she told herself under her breath. “Start strong, finish strong.”
Jessie hadn’t been able to make it, but she knew Penny would be in the crowd somewhere. She had been absolutely titillated at the news that such a league even existed. “Is this for real? Is this some kind of stupid prank?” she had kept asking.
Then they had seen the videos. And then they had been given tickets to a live match. It was exactly like a pro-wrestling show, except that none of the three had ever been to one, but it matched what they knew from Youtube videos — but bigger. And they had watched the matches, fascinated at this explosive mixture of physical combat and sexual prowess.
Katie particularly remembered the match between some guy called “Rob the Rocket” and a thick-bodied, extremely strong-looking woman called “Jersey Kaitlyn”. Rob was rather unfortunately named, Katie had thought at the time, his moniker implying that he would cum like a rocket, but to her surprise he had taken the victory in an intense match that left Katie flushed and aroused. Jessie and Penny had shown similar reactions.
Katie had been left with the thought that she wouldn’t mind tussling with Kaitlyn, to try her strength. She also wondered at the way the Rocket had gained the victory — using his cock to pump Kaitlyn’s pussy into an orgasm. She had wondered at the time if she would react similarly, were she put into such a situation.
“Well, time to find out,” she muttered. 5 minutes to go.
She picked up the robe — really more of a cape — that she had been given. The league manager Ms. Wallace had told her that they would want to work the Asian angle because, “I’m really sorry about any sensitivity issues this raises, but, being Asian in this business is a gimmick.” She had seemed quite apologetic about that. Katie had shrugged and acquiesced.
So this robe was red with vaguely Chinese designs in gold all over it. Underneath, Katie was well-oiled — when she checked herself in the mirror she had felt impressed despite herself. She looked totally killer. The oil increased her muscle definition several times over.
Her opponent would be a guy who already had a few matches under his belt — some bald former trucker with a big beard and a beer belly, going by the name of “Rough Rider Ralph”. Certainly a very evocative name, Katie thought, and quite appropriate for the League.
The other girls in the locker room, wanting to give the Chinese muscle girl in their midst some tips for her debut match, had told Katie that Ralph was a rather gentle and soft-spoken man outside, but became savage and bestial in the ring.
“Watch out for his nipple clutches,” Katie had been warned. “He presses really hard — gentle is one thing he’s not, when he’s in the ring with us! But he does know how to work nipples, for sure!”
This made Katie a little anxious. Her large brown nipples had always been rather sensitive. She sometimes could cum with nipple stimulation alone. Katie hoped they wouldn’t be a liability — Penny and Jessie, bless their hearts, had done their best to prepare her for the match, but they’d been too busy to give her more than a session of training every week.
The usher poked his head in. “Ok, a couple of minutes — you’re up!”
Katie put on the robe and held it around her, her heart beating. The pay packet for this debut appearance was quite attractive in itself, but she wasn’t hard up for the cash — it was the thrill of the impending struggle that excited her.
“After Ryoko, how hard can this guy be?” she asked herself rhetorically. She knew that her ex beau, Jim, was certainly no comparison to the specimens of manhood who strode these halls, but Ryoko, the nemesis of her life for the past year, had been the equal or superior of almost any man.
A stereotypical gong sound was played to herald her arrival as she appeared on the stage. Katie rolled her eyes a little — and then it was showtime, as she strode down the ramp, trying to look as mysterious and as Oriental as possible, while the announcer’s voice boomed: