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It could have been anyone--anyone at all. Why did it have to be me? I was on my way home from work; a short walk, three blocks only. Nothing seemed amiss, no lurking figures nor strange noises. I wasn't even alone, three others passed me by with polite nods or a brief smile; it was that kind of town. I didn't know any of them either; it was just a friendly place.

I passed the old diner, a couple slurping at straws from the same malt in front with a flyer for Cinderella between them. Prince Charming's handsome smile gleamed up at me and he seemed to wink. I gave him a wink in return as the window fell behind; it was a night for lovers it seemed though I was headed toward an empty apartment. My prince charming had run out on me a year ago, but good riddance to bad rubbish as my mother used to say.

The fourth figure to approach met me in the dark period between street lights. He walked upright, swift, and his shadowed face looked toward me almost like the others, as if to nod. He made a dashing silhouette; so tall, with a leather duster or raincoat draped over his narrow figure, obscuring it. I'll admit, I tried to get a better look, but it was too dim to make out much more. So I flashed a smile and started to drift aside, giving him more room to pass since he was dead center on the sidewalk.

He didn't nod back, didn't smile--he didn't even try to pass me. I was just beginning to feel the edge of unborn emotions from deep within the hindbrain. Something warned me that this guy was_off_, but it was too late. "Woah there Mr. Charming," I entered, hands out friendly yet warding, "Didn't mean to get in your way!"

He paid my words not even a momentary pause. What I took to be his coat--brown and leathery--unfolded to expose a glossy black underbelly. Was he wearing armor? PVC? It made no sense with only that brief glimpse, so far from the light. Then arms shot out, arms tipped--not with firm calloused fingers as one might expect from such a man, but hard, curled claws; six arms, to be precise. Six arms enveloped me like an alien lover. Six hard, sharp tipped claws gripped me at three levels; thigh, waist, and shoulders.

My mind couldn't quite keep up with this development. Six. Six arms--that wasn't right. Some sort of mechanical monstrosity? Was this a prank? Was a camera crew about to jump out, laughing? Those panicked thoughts raced through my mind as I watched him with utter disbelief at what my eyes told me. His head lowered, an angular silhouette, almost wasp like, with splotched patterns that made it look vaguely human. It had been enough to fool me from a distance, but up close it drew a scream from my lips.

That scream was barely born, and was silenced. His mouth met mine, six mandibles open to envelop my face and a single long tongue emerged. That scream choked off as his tongue entered my gaping mouth and penetrated my throat; I made it so easy for him. I gagged, heaved, choked; it did no good, that muscular, hard plated appendage slithered down my throat with the ease of an earthworm through soil.

I fought, you can be assured of that. Knees jabbed, feet kicked, hands punched, teeth clamped down; yet it did me no good for it felt as if he were made of iron. If he felt pain it was not apparent, but he did restrain me. From shoulders to elbows that upper pair of claws slid, and pulled them wide, holding me helpless. From hips to knees the lower set dropped, and I found myself dangling, spread eagle in midair as if I weighed less than a handful of feathers to him. Those mandibles clamped down, pierced my face in a dozen places. I went still as stone, for two of those pricks were on my temples, just behind my eyes; a flinch and he could blind me.

Down my gullet his tongue remained as my throat seized and heaved, swallowed and gulped along it. I'd never felt such a thing, by god I wanted to throw up but no matter how much my gut clenched, nothing backflowed. Yet, somehow I could breathe; even if it was but a wheeze and he held my vocal cords pinned open.

We were moving before I knew it, moving in an unexpected and confounding manner, for I was upside down, under him, and there was wind rushing violently by! My stunned and addled mind took the longest time to come up with an explanation; we were in flight, he was literally flying away with me! My struggles ceased at once--not that they had been remotely effective before--for suddenly my terror of heights overcame me. I clung to him.

The sky had just barely begun to lighten when we descended again toward the outer edge of the city below. I only knew that, for our descent was a complicated spiral that put me upright a few times and gave me a glimpse of the land below. We were beyond the streetlights but there were still, barely visible, the outline of industrial smokestacks against the velvety pre-dawn sky. Then we vanished into the underground. That had been my last, brief glimpse of the outside world.

Darkness, darkness everywhere, and damp; he'd lain me in a slippery pile of moist... something. Mud, leaves, twigs; mulch, yeah, mulch--I was going with mulch for sanity's sake. So, he laid me in that mess with my limbs stiff as branches and cold as ice. I felt the flight had been hours and my body had not endured it well, nor his vice like grip.

His head retreated and with it that hard, hollow proboscis of a tongue he had gagged me with. Fluid drooled from it in my throat and over my taste buds as it pulled free. Only then did I realize; I felt no hunger, in fact I felt quite full. Immediately I doubled up and rolled over as bile and--stuff--came flowing back up my throat. Slippery, gummy, slimy and horrendously sweet; the cloying mess filled my mouth and spurted between my fingers. What was it? What had he force fed me?!

Still heaving with body contorted and stiff fingers clutching at my full stomach and spurting maw; he grabbed me again. His hard claws dragged me back by my ankles, front slopped through muck and vomit. He pulled those ankles apart with an inhumanly wide arm span. I'd not thought long on exactly what he intended, mostly I assumed I was about to become a meal and on that my brain had lodged in abject terror. That didn't make sense though, not now; you didn't force feed your meal.

"Oh gods, no!" I burbled into the mud as another pair of claws stripped me of my already tattered pants in a couple quick slashes. Skin parted in places, blood flowed, but my mind ignored those trivialities as it came to understand his purpose for me. Always one step behind--that brain of mine--always too slow to react; terrible at dodge ball, worse at figuring out comebacks. I realized his intent only seconds before he lunged.

Sticky, cold flesh mashed into my crotch. It felt like a giant slug covered in mud, squishy and oozing. The flesh was plump and firm, but without structure, so he just pressed against my entrance until that sloppy bulge managed to ooze into me. I thrashed; his claws closed on my shoulders and held me firmly pinned. I screamed for help; my voice echoed back at me, muted and close--he ignored it. I was helpless under his intense strength as his wide, chitinous back end rocked to and fro. It was curled under him, thrust forward, and butted straight up to my now sopping passage. Sopping with his mess, my own arousal was as distant and forgotten as ice cream in hell.

As I already described, his protrusion eventually managed to ooze in. It was disturbing, a disgusting sensation of muddy slime and rubbery, cold, slug like phallus. It made a wet, sticky sound as he found his way inside, as thick as a two liter, but squished against my inner walls to fill me completely. The sensation of that cold clammy flesh touching my inner core was enough to make me heave again; but I was already empty.

He began to gyrate his aft end, the rest of his body still as stone as he held me restrained. That phallus rolled and slurped about inside of me, never quite pulling free but occasionally slamming in with the power of a bucking stallion. There were so many conflicting senses, so much confusion in my mind. The stench of rotting plant matter, sugary sweet vomit, and something earthy and fecal like half composted fertilizer. The taste in my mouth was everything I smelled; but worse. The sounds--oh hell the sounds; gloppy splatters as his caterpillar like back end rocked, jerked, and rolled. The burbles and squelches as his soft phallus dragged lazily in, around, and out of my bruised, aching passage. Then the worst sound of all, my own panting breath and helpless little whimpers echoing back at me; they sounded so small--and I couldn't stop them.

My treacherous flesh betrayed me, humiliated me, and left me wracked with horrific shame. My belly clenched, involuntary spasms rippled over his flaccid appendage, and to my horror I sobbed out a moan between clamped teeth. My inhuman rapist had brought me to orgasm. It continued to roll through me as tears rolled down my cheeks and further heaves and sobs shook my taut, restrained body. I had no control, no resistance. Luke warm flesh invaded me, disgusting every fiber of my soul, and It brought me involuntary pleasure.

The mating continued, on and on. Eventually, I realized that he would never truly orgasm. He was already ejaculating, had been the whole time; that gloppy mess that slurped and squelched with each thrust. I felt it as a fresh spurt of cold fluid each time he retracted. Somehow it was worse than just the rape, than even my own climax; his semen tainted me, a stain upon my flesh and soul. He couldn't even reproduce with me, he wasn't human, but he spent his genes in me none the less; I was little more than a dumpster for his unwanted offspring.

In the end, exhaustion took hold of me; of the mind as well as the body. I fell into a deep, horror filled slumber where my dreams were somehow even worse than reality. I dreamed of insect eggs, larva--giant serpentine tentacles splattering into my every hole. I dreamed of filthy maws swallowing me in entirety, of being swarmed by insects both tiny and massive. Somehow, I never woke from these dreams yet each came clear and crisp to my thoughts and laid embedded in my consciousness even when I woke; they did not fade.

When at last I resurfaced from one hell into another; I found that he wasn't done. My limbs had been released and I'd been rolled onto my back, but his flaccid penis was still lodged in my numb, gaping hole. I could barely feel anything below my navel, only the vague push and pull as he sloshed in and out of me. Once more he had kissed me, and likely the reason for some of my dreams. My stomach felt bloated, but he held my face in his mandibles and kept that proboscis lodged in my gullet.

What kind of evolutionary process could have birthed such a specific creature? Feeding its mate by force, keeping her trapped and helpless, and deep underground, the endless mating? Actually, from what little I knew of entomology, that sounded about on par for most insects. But I'd never seen an insect the length of a car, nor one that sought out human partners!

He pulled his tongue free again; sticky sweet slime filled my throat and mouth. It took a moment to cough my lungs clear enough to breathe, but this time I didn't throw up. Truth be told, I was just too exhausted to even try. "P-please, just stop?" I begged; voice rough and throat sore. He continued, though far slower and less steady than before. Even he--it seemed--was growing tired.

Gingerly, afraid of what I might discover, I reached down and touched myself. My labia were caked with hard clumps of slime, like massive wads of congealed snot. My entrance though; the flesh was torn in places, but the wounds packed solid and gummed up. His phallus was warm to the touch, as sloppy feeling on my fingers as it had felt going in, and as soft as a half-filled water balloon. I shuddered and jerked my hand back; he didn't seem to notice or care.

I didn't struggle, it seemed such a pointless waste of effort; despair ruled my mind. Under me, the mucky ground had become a slurry and I was half submerged in it. My hips were low enough, that each of his thrusts sloshed back and forth through the watery mess and forced it into me; grit, sludge, bits of this and that raked against my inner walls. My sense of defilement only grew while I laid there with legs draped open and knees nearly to my chest. I didn't even try to close them, I just let it happen.

He did--eventually--grow too tired to continue. It was like a machine winding down, jerking, sputtering, hips flexing at the wrong times. Then at last he stepped back, or perhaps more aptly, stumbled. My abused flesh hung open, packed almost completely with gummy sludge and filth. I could have closed my legs then, could have tried to crawl into the darkness and perhaps escape. I didn't, I laid there instead and silently wept as urine splattered from my un-pinched urethra. In that position and state of depraved desolation, I slipped back into unconscious hell.

It was still pitch black when I again woke, but I was alone. Everything hurt, especially my loins. On top of which, my whole crotch was inflamed; hot, swollen, and aching fiercely. I'd not thought of infection before now, but it made sense; this was hardly a sterile environment, and god knows what diseases my rapist carried. I started to laugh, but it came out as a hoarse croak; my poor throat too felt raw and swollen.

I was still in roughly the same position I'd been left in; one leg had straightened, somewhat, but the other was still planted in the mud, with knee tucked up against my side. I was filthy, flesh itching and burning in equal portions, covered in thousands of lacerations, bruises, and gouges. Still; I felt a new spark of life in me. That spark threatened to die the moment I rolled over and tried to kneel. Dizziness swept over me, and I ended up face first in the mud again. The wave of pain that followed left me bellowing in agony as I clutched at my gut.

It was some unmeasurable time later before I tried again, with careful stretches and gentle pressure I managed to crawl. Bit by bit my knotted and cramped muscles loosened enough to move but nothing soothed the roaring agony in my belly. It was swollen too, not just my ruined vulva, but my stomach jutted out as if I'd eaten an entire thanksgiving meal myself, or... My mind shrank from the thought; it was too horrible to contemplate. Humans couldn't breed with animals after all, that was laughable.

No plan was forthcoming, I just crawled. The mud grew deeper in places, became a trickling stream, and occasionally I stumbled across clumps of dry-ish land. I was in a tunnel, or a series of tunnels, half flooded and clogged with debris. That was as far as I determined, for I'd gone no more than a few hundred feet and was halted--by a pair of hard, sharp claws and a probing proboscis tongue. He had been waiting before me the whole time! I tried to clench my teeth, but the mandibles curled in and pried, forcing my lips apart, then teeth, as others clamped on my temples. He was so strong!

Claws encircled my wrists as arms embraced me, like a lover, clutched to his cold body. My resistance was a waste of energy; within seconds his tongue passed my lips, scraped over my teeth, and began to slither, gaggingly down my throat. I could feel it twitch a little, and faintly hear a gurgling-gulping sound coming from deep within his body. Icy fluid filled my stomach rapidly; I just clenched my eyes shut in rejection--not that it helped in the utter darkness.

He dragged me up against his torso, my aching legs dangling below, and I was laid back. His intent was obvious and I was wailing in rejection even before I felt the cold sticky kiss of his cloacal flesh begin to swell at my loose sex. He laid me down in the slippery mud and water, half submerging me. My tattered shirt flapped in the current as a pool built up around us and found new paths past. His phallus emerged and forced its way into my swollen, agonized hole. I screamed against his mouth, but it was little more than mute rasp around that invading tongue. I'd never felt something so uncomfortable as he pried apart my gummed, swollen, and infected entrance. The moment he opened me, out flooded a coppery smelling gush; which he ignored.

Our second _lovemaking_was in some ways better, but in most ways worse than the first time. It was better because I knew what to expect, the fear was gone, and the emotional threshold had already been demolished. There wasn't much lower my self-esteem could go after all. It was worse though, because of how much more painful it was, at least until he pounded my vaginal passage into numb submission. It was worse because I could think only of how much longer it would last, and how long until he caught me and began again, and again... I realized that he would never let me go.

I climaxed for him again with a wail of self-hatred and humiliation. It was the worst part of all, how good it felt, his cold slimy flesh against my aching, hot insides and how hard he sank into me, how completely he filled me. It felt good, and I hated every sickening second of that realization! Twice more he brought me to the peak of pleasure amidst emotional devastation and physical agony. In the end, it was exhaustion that sent me back to the hellish abyss of sleep.

This time, when I woke he was gone and I was laying on a firm patch of rubble, though a wad of crusted mucous had flowed free and glued my rear to the ground. Gingerly I touched myself and found my sex glossy smooth, flesh swollen taut from below my anus to the top of my pubic mound. I couldn't even close my thighs, it protruded so far. My stomach too jutted up as if I was six months pregnant and I ached so disturbingly within.

How much longer I'd survive, I couldn't imagine. My fever was worse, I knew it, and even turning my head sent my mind spinning with dizziness. Nothing quite made sense, there seemed to be just a little bit of fuzz over every thought and sense. I didn't even bother attempting to rise this time; where would I go? How would I go? I felt so weak and there was such bizarre discomfort--yet strangely no pain? I poked again at my vulva, and it had a deep ache, but the agony of infection had faded into a queer pleasant yearning.

Diffuse thoughts drifted as I touched myself. Hardened mucous broke away under my exploring fingertips. Before I knew it, I'd found my gluttonous clitoris, engorged and tight under a swollen hood. It shocked my senses clear for a moment, that brief contact; so sensitive and tender. I began to masturbate--in the mud--with a body distorted and pushed beyond all sane limits. I masturbated while vague memories of cold intruding flesh and bone deep thrusts echoed through my delirium. For the fifth time I climaxed for him, and this time he wasn't even inside of me.

The disgust was still there and the shame burned ever bright; but the infected heat in my loins was indistinguishable from lust to my addled mind. I continued--for hours--until one arm grew too tired and I switched to the next, then back again. The plug of sludge, mucous, and semen loosened with each trickle of my arousal until it splatted free. Inside I found my tattered skin wrinkled, scarred, and scabbed; boiling hot to the touch; and stretched so wide I could have taken a three liter. It didn't feel like my body, as if an alien had taken up residence inside my vulva.

I was still masturbating when he returned to feed and breed me. I welcomed him with an embrace, too confused and disoriented to realize what I was doing, at least on the surface. A small part of me screamed at the top of her mental lungs... but couldn't get through the haze of mental fog and arousal. Anyway, it felt like touching god when he entered me from both ends. I swallowed his tongue hungrily, my belly empty though it protruded so. I raised my hips and pressed him into me, meeting his thrust with my own. I was in heaven.

Three more times did my insectile lover come to me. Each time I was a little bit more lost, a little bit more confused, and a lot more swollen. The fever had faded by the third time, but the delirium had not. I couldn't hold a thought for more than a minute, like a dream forgotten upon waking. Emotions were the same, vague memories of feeling something, or thinking something important--quickly lost in the haze of desperate lust. I had become a creature of the moment, the past a distant country, the future an alien world never considered.

That last time my lover bred me, it was slow, leisurely, and tender. He shuddered with each thrust, his limbs trembled, his breath wheezed. I'd never seen such passion from him, such pleasure. His limbs clutched me so intently, his feeding kiss so full of emotion! And then, mid thrust he stopped, jerked once, and went still. A second later I felt a tremendous flood of fluid pour into my gaping vagina, a gallon, more, gushing from my swollen and heated folds, clumpy, sticky, coating my thighs and pooling under me. I'd never felt such a copious release!

It took my confused mind a long time to understand, and even longer to act. He had expired mid coitus. It hadn't been passion and desire, but exhaustion and decrepitude. There was a wash of disgust and horror that chilled the fog from my mind enough for me to pull free, out from under his frozen, dead body. He'd always been cold, so I could tell no difference now, but the touch of his flesh as I extracted myself made me shudder with horror.

The tunnel was a slippery, sodden mess, but I managed to stand and trudge up it anyhow--at least for a while. Eventually though I completely forgot what I was doing and laid down where I'd been standing, in a slippery puddle of muck, and began once more to masturbate. That continued for hours and hours, even as I began to hunger, even as the lukewarm water chilled me... I didn't care. An exhausted sleep overcame me eventually, but I never did remember that my lover had died, and I had been seeking a way out.