"The Last Sunrise" (QS, M/Solo, Grim)
#5 of WAM/Vore/Peril/Niche fetishes
The Last Sunrise
(Contains: Male, Anthro Characters, Pain, Quicksand, Masturbation, Grim Ending)
By Zerr
CONTENT WARNING: This story contains swearing, injury, sexual themes, and death.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you are one of those TL;DR people and want to get right to the sinking, skip ahead to {3}.
{1}
Ciroc swore under his breath as he walked along the trail. The six-foot-tall, sturdily built Komodo dragon had just had another argument with his girlfriend; a petite, somewhat snobbish fox named Ada. This had been the third fight that week and he was getting fed up. He didn't even know why he stayed with her anymore. They hadn't had sex in weeks; she was always either angry with him or just not in the mood. He couldn't even remember the last time they had laughed together.
Ciroc was a relatively unremarkable character; he hadn't any flashy colours or odd quirks. However, he did have a tremendous physique and a pair of eyes with hypnotizingly beautiful yellow irises, which were often gazed into with infatuation by males and females alike. He wore a snug pair of black shorts, made of a thin, soft material with white drawstrings at the waist, and a nondescript white sleeveless shirt that accentuated his muscles greatly.
As he walked, he thought back to the fight. He had come home after taking a long walk to find Ada standing in the kitchen of their apartment, looking irritated. She had been using their computer and had found pornography in the internet history. She was angry that he would look at it when he was in a relationship with her. Ciroc argued that she never even wanted to have sex and plus, there was nothing wrong with looking at porn once in awhile. The argument had gotten quite heated by the time he shouted "Fuck it!" and left the apartment for another walk, slamming the door as he went.
Ciroc had been treading upon a forest trail that he didn't know very well. It was roughly a 15-minute walk from his place and he wanted a change of scenery from his usual walking path. The trail diverged many times into numerous smaller trails, most of which just led deep into the woods. He made sure to stick to the main path, as he hadn't a very good sense of direction.
After awhile he realized it was getting dark. A smart move would have been to turn around, but he wasn't ready to go home yet and face Ada; instead he kept walking, his anger fueling every step. Before long, however, it was too dark for him to see clearly. "Dammit," he thought, "I'd better attempt to find my way back." He turned around, or at least he thought he did, and walked in the direction he thought would bring him back to the forest entrance. Twigs cracked beneath his feet, which he thought was odd, as the trail had been clear of debris originally. He hoped he hadn't misstepped.
Suddenly he felt the ground give way underneath him, his feet slipping on eroding dirt and rocks. Ciroc cried out and felt himself alternately falling, hitting the ground painfully, rolling a bit, and bouncing back up into the air briefly, before revisiting the cycle all over again; he was falling down a rather steep hill. The Komodo grunted in pain as he hit the ground repeatedly, the hill seeming to go down forever. He realized with dismay that his clothing was ripping on the branches and rocks along the way. When he landed at the bottom, his left leg smashed into a rock and he hit his shoulder and head on the ground fairly hard, seeing stars and yelling out in anguish. He lied there on the forest floor for a long time, rocking back and forth, his eyes clenched shut, grinding his teeth through the pain. Every muscle in his body ached after that fall. His clothing was in tatters; he removed the shirt and reluctantly did the same with his shorts, merely ripping them off his legs rather than pulling them down. His attractive body was now on full display, much to his chagrin. At least his most private region was protected by a slit.
Finally, after lying on the ground for awhile, he attempted to stand up, but fell back down as a searing pain made itself apparent. "FUCK!" he screamed through the pain; he had sprained the ankle in his left foot.
{2}
After a few minutes the pain dulled enough for Ciroc to regain his senses. He was lost in the middle of a vast wood, it was late at night, he was nude, and his left ankle was sprained; this was not good.
Sitting up on his rear, he ever so slowly pushed himself up with the help of a large, nearby rock. "Shit," Ciroc hissed through clenched teeth as the pain in his ankle flared up, his entire lower leg feeling as if it was on fire. He gently applied weight to it a few times until he thought he could walk on it without falling. He took a few steps before falling to his knees on the ground. This was too painful. Perhaps if he had a walking stick he could go on more easily.
He slid his palms searchingly across the ground, barely able to see anything, without even the light of the moon to guide him as it was obscured by dark clouds in the sky. Grabbing something similar in size to a tree branch but oddly squishy, he let out a sigh of relief, thinking he was in luck, but he heard a hiss and froze, realizing what he had grabbed was a snake! Before he knew what was happening it bit him hard on his right hand and slithered away quickly, leaving Ciroc to curse loudly and pray that it wasn't poisonous, his heart thumping madly with fear and shock.
Carefully exploring the forest floor once again, he managed to find a strong, lengthy branch. It was just the right size, too. After all the things that had happened to him that day, he was surprised to receive such a boon. Using it to pull his naked body up from the ground, he positioned the stick under his left armpit and used it as a makeshift crutch, albeit an uncomfortable, splinter-inducing one.
After walking for at least an hour, Ciroc was no closer to escaping the forest. He sat down on a rock and rested for a bit, dozing off for at least a few hours before being woken up by an unidentifiable noise, probably the cry of some animal. He rose slowly with the aid of the branch and continued on his way, seeing a bit more clearly as the sky was lighting up slightly; the light of the morning would probably make itself known in about an hour or less.
He limped onward, noticing an unpleasant odour filling his nostrils; he was entering a swamp. Ciroc didn't want to turn back now after having walked (seemingly, due to the injury) so far, so he continued into the marsh. A thick fog blanketed the area, which would be visible once the light of day shone down, but right now all Ciroc could see were the obscure, darkened shapes of trees, leaves, vines and other such things.
Ciroc noticed the ground softening gradually underfoot and felt relieved, as it lessened the pressure on his left ankle. However, the softer ground came at a price; before he could react his right foot plunged into some soft, sticky mud and immediately sank halfway up to the knee. "Fuck," he said quietly, thinking he had merely stepped into a deep mud puddle. He leaned on the stick and attempted to extract his leg, but found the task more difficult than expected, the mud keeping a tight grip on his foot, bubbling a bit and making an obnoxious slurping noise. He pulled harder now, a sharp pain in his armpit as he placed most of his weight upon the branch and it dug into him. This time, however, he felt his left foot slipping and the mud below it eroding, and just as suddenly as the first foot had landed in the muck, the second foot joined it now, a fiery pain crippling him as it moved, Ciroc dropping the walking stick at the same time and swearing loudly as he heard it roll away, out of reach and out of sight.
It was just then that the Komodo dragon noticed a strange shape near him in the mist. It was square, but it was attached to a more thin, long, rectangular shape that came up from the ground. He realized it must be a sign, and it was; a battered, cracked, decrepit old sign, shrouded in a thick fog. He leaned forward to look at it, trying to make it out. Long, rusty, crooked nails jutted out from it, and it was smeared with words written awkwardly, in paint of crimson. He could almost read what it said, squinting hard and leaning forward as close to it as he could; it was far enough away from him that he was unable to touch it even when he leaned as far forward as possible. When he finally made out the deep red text he froze, a knot forming in his stomach and his heart beginning to race, as his eyes slowly moved down to his feet, the mud beneath them bubbling ominously, almost as if it were laughing about the knowledge Ciroc had just obtained.
The sign read: "Danger - Quicksand!"
{3}
"Shit, shit, shit!" cried Ciroc, feeling the mire begin to envelop his lower legs, its sticky, soft consistency feeling oddly pleasant between the Komodo dragon's toes. A dull ache throbbed in his ankle, but it didn't hurt too much to stand, as the mud beneath it wasn't exactly applying any opposing force. However, when he tried to lift his leg out of the muck, the searing, familiar pain returned, and it hurt so much that he bit his lip hard, drawing blood. Its colour matched that of the paint besmeared upon the sign. He wiped it away from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Ciroc felt himself sinking steadily, at an agonizingly slow rate. Each time he attempted to pull his right leg up, the pain in his left ankle throbbed and his left leg sank deeper in the miserable mire, its surface quaking and churning up more each time he moved. He panicked, unable to free himself from the clutches of the bog with his injured ankle complicating things. He was surprised, however, at the rate at which he sank; he descended staggeringly slowly, as if the quicksand were a living thing that was consuming him, and it wanted to savour his taste. He shuddered at the thought of his impending doom and weakly struggled to escape, even while thinking his attempts were futile.
After some time, the bubbling, grey-brown muck was creeping up over his scaled knees, gradually making its way up his thick, muscular thighs. He shivered a bit at the soft caress of the mire; if it weren't for the fact that he was going to die in this stuff, he thought it might feel very nice. Ciroc had never understood the appeal of mud baths, but now he realized why people seemed to love them so much. The swampy earth was pleasantly soft and thick, clinging to his scales, sliding between his toes, almost as if it were massaging him. At this time he looked up for a moment and noticed that the area around him was lighting up more and more, shapes that were once blurry now slowly developing clarity. He could make out the deadened landscape of the swampland: pale, grey, sickly trees; vines dangling just out of reach; and a copious amount of innocent-looking mudpits, similar to the one that was slowly, almost sensually eating him up right now.
He thought about Ada, and what she would think when she discovered he was gone. He hoped she felt guilty about fighting with him. He thought about how much he regretted staying in a loveless relationship for so long. As the ooze bubbled around his upper thighs, he snapped back to reality, and felt with grim certainty that he wasn't going to get out alive. Sinking down deeper with each passing second, he started to panic more and more, his struggles intensifying even as the pain in his ankle increased tenfold, then a hundredfold from his feverish attempts to escape from the glue-like muck.
Soon, Ciroc's movements and the natural suction of the quicksand had driven him down to his uncovered crotch. His magnificent, defined, muscled torso and arms were still visible, as well as the lines of his hips, which were subtly peeking above the surface, dotted with flecks of mud, his powerful, scaled body an impressive sight to behold as it was slowly dragged down into the insatiable earth. His normally stoic countenance was clouded with fear as the thick, sloppy, sticky mud climbed up his hips, pulling him down deeper into its relentless grasp.
Ciroc struggled frantically, moving his waist back and forth and thrashing about, desperately trying to free himself. Soon, however, a peculiar thing happened: All his crazed movements were causing him to inadvertently grind his slit against the viscous, gooey, sucking mud, and he started to pant lightly, both from the exertion and from the feeling of his slit rubbing roughly against the deep, clinging morass; it began to moisten, as his struggles turned into humping movements; and soon, his long, girthy shaft started to emerge into the muck, throbbing and secreting precum as it grew. His heart pounded faster; he had to be insane! How could this be arousing him? But it was, and it felt so good, the soft, oozing caress of the mire against his most sensitive regions. He reached his right hand down into the mire, grabbing it and proceeding to gently stroke it, even as the quicksand dragged him deeper into its clutches, bubbling wickedly and moving up his waist, now just below his defined abdominal muscles.
The Komodo dragon deftly pleased himself below the surface of the deadly, consuming swamp, his biceps and chest muscles flexing and tensing up as he jerked his large member underneath the thick, sloppy mud which was splashing onto him and churning up around his waist as his arm movements became faster and more frantic. He felt wave after wave of pleasure wash over him, dizzy and drunk with an acute, burning lust, his entire being in ecstasy, the messy, viscous caress of the quicksand driving him crazy with desire. His body yearned, cried, begged for release. He hadn't been this aroused in his entire life. His lengthy cock throbbed with each passionate stroke within the swamp's dominating grip, as the bubbling ooze pulled him in even more with each movement, Ciroc sinking down to his stomach after a few minutes. He even thought he could feel it gently pressing against his rear entrance, trying to get in. He'd never had anything inside him before, but the incredible horniness he felt shattered his inhibitions like shards of glass. He reached his left hand (which had been rubbing his chest prior) down and behind him, and spread his muscled ass, letting some of the mud slip into him before inserting a finger into his virgin tailhole, pushing more of the quicksand into himself in the process. It felt amazing; he regretted never having experienced this before.
As he roughly fingered his tight ring and stroked his cock harder and harder, he started to moan, knowing that he wouldn't be able to last much longer. That was a good thing; he'd been at it now for a long time and the thick, soft, grey-brown quicksand was devouring him still; it was sliding up over his pecs now, threatening to swallow him whole. He jerked himself more rapidly, feeling the familiar tension building up inside his body. Ciroc knew a climax was right around the corner, and an explosive one at that, which was appropriate, considering this would be his final orgasm. It was then that he realized how deep he was, the sensual mire subtly consuming his upper body now, his muscled frame about to slip out of sight entirely. He felt panic mingling with arousal now as he thought about how deep he'd mired himself by giving in to his lust. Even if he didn't have much of a chance, he might have been able to escape if he had struggled a bit harder rather than becoming so intoxicated by sexual desire. His face displayed a strange mixture of arousal, fear, uncertainty and pain; the conflicting expressions upon the Komodo dragon's visage were quite a sight to see.
Soon the muck was up to Ciroc's shoulders, and he felt the climax building up inside him... almost there... and finally, he had release, the most intense orgasm he had ever felt exploded within his body, stroking himself furiously, his cock throbbing while shooting out thick, hot, white globs of seed into the swamp. The mud churned all around him, covering his neck and chin as his shoulders sank beneath the surface of the bog, his arms slowing down as his orgasm subsided, squeezing his shaft to milk out a few final drops of cum. He settled down and basked in the afterglow, even as the deadly ooze devoured more of his neck. He tilted his head up to keep it above the surface as long as possible. He was too tired to fight it anymore, too weak and drained from the ecstasy of what had just happened to try and struggle. He was even having trouble panicking now; what he felt was a sort of grim acceptance of his fate; a foolish wanderer who succumbed to a quicksand trap. As he looked up at the sky, he realized that he was looking at a majestic sunrise, the last one he would ever see. He thought it odd that his death should be marked by a sunrise; surely a sunset would be far more appropriate.
Soon he was slipping away, taking one final deep breath, his last taste of air before he became one with the earth. His head finally sank beneath the quicksand, the thick mud hastily filling the hole he had created. His eyes shut; he saw nothing but darkness as the last of his oxygen quickly whittled away, bubbles appearing and popping at the surface to mark his imminent demise. His chest tightened uncomfortably as he held his breath for as long as he could. Soon he had no choice but to breathe in, and he did so, his lungs aching as the quicksand invaded them, filling Ciroc's mouth, nostrils and throat, leaving an unpleasant taste upon his tongue. He thrashed briefly, reflexively, as his lungs felt the mud enter them, and then his body went still, too weak to move anymore. His chest burned from the lack of oxygen, his life force draining away at a steady rate, and soon disappearing completely, his mind fading to black. Not even a ripple was left above to show that he was there; the surface was still at last. The vicious swamp had enjoyed its meal; now all it could do was lie in wait for its next victim.