FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Of all the places to stumble around, a little lost, the elaborate spa was at least one of the more relaxing ones. Ankhrea felt small everywhere he went, but those halls were especially intimidating for someone of his limited stature. The sergal paced by the doors to the private rooms, perking up his ears to see if he could get a sense of what was happening behind those closed doors. Now and then he heard a faint murmur, or perhaps the soft schlick of fingers rubbing over oiled bodies. It had him nibbling his lip again. Maybe it was time to take a chance and ask the enormous receptionist if there were any open bookings. He hadn’t remembered to make an appointment, but he showed up anyway. Something simply drew him there once all the rumours about the place started circulating. It was an enticing place. Maybe a dangerous one too. Nobody could seem to agree on the precise extent of its potential threats. It could have all been an extensive marketing campaign, but there was a feeling he couldn’t fully shake. He had to consider the possibility that there were those who went to their appointments and never came back. Especially with the way that dragoness was looking at him. Lizbeth - so it said on the nameplate - was a reptile of such proportions that the sergal himself was about the same size as one of her thighs. He probably weighed less, too. She eyed him with a particularly intimidating gaze that he immediately took for hunger. Maybe she was just naturally intense. Though the plumpness of her ivory figure hinted otherwise. And she wasn’t even a masseuse, or so he assumed. She watched him with a little smile on her face as he reentered the lobby, just waiting for him to approach. “Thinking about checking in this time, honey?” “Ah, well, I - I don’t actually know if I have a spot booked,” Ankhrea said, sort of lying. He did know, but couldn’t quite admit it. “Oh, that’s alright. I’m sure I could fit you in somewhere if I really tried.” Did she wink? Maybe she even smacked her lips a tiny bit. She was probably just having a bit of fun with him. If he was perfectly honest, it had him a little flustered, in a good way, but also in the kind of way that was going to make him drop his defenses. Twas exactly what had him turning tail and fleeing down the halls once more for another wander. At least she didn’t seem to mind, softly chuckling to herself at his hasty departure. She didn’t give chase. That time, it wasn’t all closed doors. There was one open, just a little. It was enough to pique Ankhrea’s rampant curiosity. Just a peek was probably fine. It so happened he was in possession of the perfect snout shape for fitting into doorways, carefully wedging himself into that crack to see if there was anyone waiting just for him. Instead, he spied only an empty room, all seemingly unused, but for the lingering presence of some pleasant scent. It was oddly familiar. A soft sniff of it and Ankhrea felt he had as good a reason as any to investigate further. A quick glance back down the hall to make sure Liz really wasn’t chasing him down or somehow sneaking up on him, and he stepped inside. There was no one hiding behind the door to ambush him, despite an overpowering feeling of being watched. The walls dampened the ambient noise of the spa even more once he was inside, leaving him in all but silence. There was just one prominent sound left, and once he noticed it he couldn’t focus on anything else - the slow, steady dripping of a liquid. There was no sink in sight. Nor could he spot any obvious leak. The sound simply seemed to exist around him, without an origin. Yet for whatever reason, he was compelled to stay there until he located it. The more he searched, the more it dripped, picking up speed and volume until he finally spotted the source. Something was falling from the ceiling, raining down upon the middle of the massage table to slowly pool in a puddle of something thick and goopy. It was faintly purple, its hue more vivid with every falling drop. That was the source of the scent, for certain. It smelled like memories. None in particular. Ankhrea simply found himself reliving some of his better moments the longer he stood in the presence of that mysterious substance. By all rights he should have turned around and run back to the dragon to tell her about the apparent leak, or maybe some sort of terrible chemical spill. Why a spa would be housing dangerous chemicals, he had no idea, but the rumours meant anything was possible. Yet instead of panic, instead of fuss or fret, he found himself simply breathing, and calmly. It was all going to be alright. That was definitely where he was supposed to be. The soothing effects of the strange stuff in his senses even meant the sergal managed to remain silent and relatively unafraid when something began to rise from it. What began as a puddle started to move all on its own, shifting and wobbling as if being manipulated by some unseen force. A smooth, slender head rose - that of a fox, though without any of his details filled in. His skin was smooth and wet, the same colour as the rest of the slime, slowly filling out with more features as he emerged from the puddle as if it was a portal. One when his tall, handsome form had fully formed did the colours start showing, as if being painted on one at a time, in layers. “Greetings.” There was something a bit odd about that voice. It didn’t quite fit the nude, attractive man sitting there before Ankhrea. The flatness made it sound a touch robotic, as if it was merely a computer doing its best impression of a person. Or something else. That and the imperfect, blank expression on the fox’s face gave a sense of the uncanny that should have unsettled Ankhrea more. The sergal knew for certain that he was dealing with something else, something he couldn’t explain, and yet he remained fairly steady. He still felt good in the being’s presence. “Oh. Hi. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m supposed to be here, I can just go if you like ...” Ankhrea was kind of expecting the creature to interrupt him mid-babble, but the not-fox sat there, patiently waiting for the sergal to trail off. Only then did he gently shake his head. “You may do what you wish. Your presence is not unwelcome. If you are comfortable with staying, I shall offer you my services, free of charge. I need the practice, so to speak.” There were a lot of questions, and Ankhrea felt he wasn’t going to get a lot of answers. It would have been rude to blurt them all out anyway. He glanced back at the door, considering if he could even get away from something that could apparently turn to liquid. There was no sign of hostility from the entity before him, but it was still unlike anything he’d ever met. That alone was a good reason to be wary. Yet he was so very curious, especially because his unexpected company felt so familiar. There really was only one question he could manage to ask. “What sort of services?” “I am glad you asked. I have been honing in on your kind’s preferences for pleasure and stimulation, and the limits of your physical forms.” Quill couldn’t have put it more oddly - there it was, that name. Ankhrea had met him before! Or, he was almost certain he had. He squinted at the fox, trying to figure out where he knew him from, but it wasn’t the appearance of the creature, so much as the mere presence, the scent and something more. His expression was pure befuddlement, but he couldn’t help noticing a certain fluttering in his chest rising up all the more the longer their conversation went on. “My ... kind?” “Dwellers of this planet, that is.” That explained a lot. The last thing Ankhrea would have expected to stumble into while wandering a spa was an actual alien being. At least it was a polite one. So far. He stared plenty. Somehow, he knew Quill was smiling, even if the fox’s expression didn’t change. There was just that feeling of it, no matter how little logical sense that made to Ankhrea. He also knew that wasn’t the slime’s true form. He wasn’t sure if there even was one, given the shifting nature of his masseuse-to-be. Finally, his curiosity was too strong. “Is that what you ... um, how to put this. What you really look like?” “Hm. It is, right now. It doesn’t have to be. This has proven to be an effective default to those unfamiliar with me. Though perhaps you would prefer something a touch more honest.” Ankhrea wasn’t certain if he really wanted that, and he felt a little trepidation break through the soothing aura. Yet he didn’t turn away for a moment, even when that handsome fox seemed to briefly melt, compressing down into something unrecognizable to be sculpted into something else. The purple hue returned, along with some stark red. Quill abandoned his semblance of normalcy in favour of something much more monstrous, rising up before the sergal, one detail at a time. A smooth, eyeless beast stood tall above Ankhrea all of a sudden. It had a maw lined with red fangs, imposing spines or spikes over his back and heavy tail, and a muscular, four-armed figure, dripping, schlurking with the slightest movement. The only word Ankhrea could think when he looked at it was leech. That was a beast, built to consume, to drain, and he definitely should have felt like he was in more danger than it seemed. Yet he wanted more. He perked up, listening to the alien speak in the same voice as before. “There we are. This form has proven popular among those seeking an experience with an interplanetary horror. Does it suit your tastes?” A tiny part of the sergal wanted to beg Quill to go back, to put those teeth away and stop looming over him with all that bulk, all that slimy muscle. Yet he couldn’t deny his attraction. That deep, monotonous, yet calming voice, that hulking shape, the constant droplets of thick purple goo hitting the floor and seemingly vanishing as soon as they did. It was all so exotic, so new, that he was starting to get turned on. He wasn’t sure if that was polite or not. His eyes strayed down between Quill’s thick thighs, and over the smooth, null region there. In a way, he was relieved there wasn’t even more to consider just yet. “That’s ... pretty good, yeah. What would I need to do if you wanted to, say, show me what you can do?” “Nothing at all. Simply be, and I will do the rest. I would welcome a chance to explore such an interesting body and mind.” Maybe the xeno still needed to work on the art of paying a compliment. Ankhrea felt a little weirded out, but he was still on board. He stood where he was, and Quill approached, slowly, carefully, never moving aggressively in the slightest. It was all so careful it was almost unsettling, taking so much care not to frighten his prospective client like that. “May I touch?” Being asked so politely by an apparent monster who could have very easily swept him off his feet - or snapped him up in those jaws - had a way of making Ankhrea blush. He ended up holding out his hand like a bashful princess, and soon found it completely overwhelmed by the size of Quill’s own. The alien was surprisingly solid for someone who appeared at first to be made of liquid, squeezing firmly but not too tightly right up to the sergal’s wrist. Ankhrea smiled a little, looking up at that admittedly nightmarish grin above him. Those many fangs were alarming, but having them on display, without any sort of sense of threat made them wrap back around to comforting. There were a lot of things about the experience of standing in the presence of that otherworldly being that the sergal couldn’t fully explain. He felt sensations he didn’t have words for, and plenty others that were clear enough. Mostly, he was excited. To give himself over to Quill was to completely submit to the unknown, to everything he was afraid of all at once. And he was doing such a good job overcoming it. Also - he was starting to ache over how hard he was at that point, trembling, dripping a little. His legs were twitching enough that he wasn’t even sure he was going to be able to walk over to the massage table. Quill took care of that for him. Nothing the alien did felt unwelcome. He moved slowly, seemingly to silently ask permission for every further touch after confirming the first. Ankhrea didn’t have to nod. Quill simply knew. Pulling the sergal up off his feet and into all four of those waiting arms, he closed the door and carried his client off to carefully lay him across the table like a blanket. There was even a convenient little nook for the sergal’s straining bulge. He wiggled in and laid his head over his folded arms, sighing softly, trying to relax his muscles. It wasn’t easy to do so when he felt the creature stripping off his clothes. Quill managed to make his way through the process without groping Ankhrea very much. There was something simultaneously sterile and deeply intimate about it all. The sergal stretched out his legs or raised his arms as needed just to assist however he could, soon naked on the table before the eyes - or at least, some sort of sight and other senses - of the unknown being above him. He felt perhaps a quarter the size of the alien himself, and yet Quill remained as gentle as before, introducing his hands to the sergal’s shoulders in what began as a fairly standard massage. Ankhrea would have frankly been disappointed if he didn’t feel all four arms upon him. Quill clamped onto the sergal’s shoulders with the bigger of the pair, pressing deep, feeling over the shape of them, with his thumbs pressing into Ankhrea’s neck. A little extra force brought out a briefly concerning pop from the joints there, but the relief that followed kept the sergal calm. It was just like Quill said. All he had to do was enjoy, whether it was the more potent squeezes of those bigger hands, or the smaller set exploring their way down his back, pressing into spots just beside his spine to send further satisfying pops and crackles rolling right down to the base of his tail. It didn’t take him long to let out a moan. “Hnnnnnn ... nnh ...” That was a little embarrassing, but Quill quickly reassured him. “Make any noise you like. It is just us here. This is your session.” That was all the permission Ankhrea needed. He knew how well those walls muffled the outside sounds of the spa. Surely it went both ways. He was free to cry out and groan as much as he liked. It got surprisingly fun. He was nearly shouting by the time the alien got down to his hips, squeezing them, lifting them up from the table just to reach around them with his smaller hands and clasp them. It felt for a moment like he was just going to get on top of the sergal and fuck him. Ankhrea had a pang of lust at the mere thought. But Quill could do so much more than that. It started with the most tremendously wet sound Ankhrea had ever heard. An immense, writhe-worthy schlicccck left the sergal squirming. Throbbing, too. He didn’t know what was happening behind him so much as he simply understood he was going to love it. Bracing himself slightly, he lost that last hint of tension and allowed himself to completely melt under the new touches. There were so many of them, and they all pressed right where they needed to be as if Quill had already learned and memorized the map of the sergal’s muscles and all his sore points. At least a dozen nimble tentacles pressed deeply in against the sergal’s back, sides, shoulders, and thighs to explore all the parts of him that made him move. Everything that was under any sort of strain, that might have suffered from pains noticed and unnoticed sang with utter relief in a matter of seconds after some good, thorough kneading. With that out of the way, he could instead focus on all the pleasure. His moans weren’t stopping. Neither were his whimpers. He couldn’t recall the last time he made that much noise during anything more explicitly sexual. Though he did find himself pondering whether that much pleasure could ever be anything but intimate and erotic. If it already felt that good, Ankhrea wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to handle anything more. Quill was still exploring him, sometimes poking and prodding to examine him and determine exactly where he needed to be touched. Most of the time though, he was simply applying pressure, with such strength, such dexterity, digging into all those muscles at once as if, for a moment, to burrow inside. The squishy, slick nature of the xeno’s many tentacles made such a thing plausible. The sergal gave a bit of a shudder, feeling ever so slightly penetrated by those deeply breaching appendages digging into what felt like every muscle he had, all at once. Quill’s tone hadn’t changed in the slightest, but it was comforting to hear nonetheless. “Remember, you may always tell me to stop if you are no longer enjoying my services. Even if you are unable to speak, I will understand your intent.” Ankhrea couldn’t give any more of a reply other than a shaky groan. The reminder wasn’t for nothing. Quill continued to explore the sergal’s entire body, including some of the more sensitive, more intimate places. Ankhrea felt a tentacle coil around the base of his tail like a muscular serpent, gripping tight to lift it up. He was already making plenty of noise, but all the more escaped his mouth when he felt the first wet prod to his taint. It was as ever an incredibly precise, incredibly stimulating touch, exactly where it needed to be. Those felt good enough when they were pressing into his muscles. Massaging his prostate from the outside like that nearly made him scream. He never said no, nor even thought it. If he had the capacity, he might have screamed yes instead, though he was well beyond words by that point. Instead, he sunk down deeply into the pressure, letting it milk him, letting it work him through ecstasy and into release in a matter of seconds. There was an initial rush of disappointment when he realized how quickly he was going off, cumming suddenly, uncontrollably. Yet there was nothing to be disappointed about when it felt that good. He drenched himself for all the mess he made, shooting all over his own belly and the table alike. Bucking back into each touch, grinding against that tentacle, he rolled through orgasm until his hips simply gave out, and he collapsed. “Well done, Ankhrea,” Quill said, muted as ever, yet affirming all the same. “I do not grade my clients on an arbitrary scale of performance, but you have proven stunningly responsive to my talents nonetheless. There are few who could enjoy this as much as you are - few who could so much as understand how to do so.” Hearing that left Ankhrea much more comfortable being so completely helpless before the creature. He flopped over when Quill nudged him, turning up to face the great, purple beast. The alien was still straight out of a nightmare, and his eyeless face still had such a particular way of gazing that felt as if he could see right through Ankhrea. Yet the sergal looked right back, as best he could. His blurred vision perhaps took some of the fright out of the experience, leaving him instead admiring all those thick, masculine details Quill had carved out of his shifting slime, as if making a statue of himself. It seemed to fit how powerful he truly was. Moreover, that angle allowed Ankhrea to watch those tentacles working. They extended from wherever they needed to, springing forth from Quill’s body without diminishing his overall bulk. Another extended towards him, slurping all the way with every thick stretch of that flexible appendage, finding a place against Ankhrea’s lips. He kissed it. That just came naturally, as did giving it a curious taste unprompted. Whatever chemicals were running through his brain the moment his tongue made contact with that otherworldly substance, he liked them. “I have been refining the flavour of my corporeal form based on feedback and gathered data. If you find it adequate, you are free to sample it as much as you wish.” “Hmmmmf ... hnnnhgh ...” Ankhrea was trying to say something, but he eventually just embraced the silliness that came with muttering so incoherently. “Understandable. I will continue as directed.” Ankhrea spent a few seconds trying to determine if the alien just made a joke. It didn’t matter when there was something so precious, so decadent on his tongue. Newly obsessed, he pushed forward, opening up to accommodate its gently prodding entrance. Latching on and starting to suckle for its taste, texture, and intensely intoxicating effects had him moaning all over again, newly muffled. He swallowed that slime. It felt so good going down, flowing steadily, squishing out of that thing as he sucked and licked it. Once he started, he really couldn’t stop. It was his new addiction, and going without it was the only part of the experience that gave him brief anxiety. That was quickly banished by the bliss flooding his system, making every touch, every massage all the more intense. He was hard again. Quill continued his exploration, keeping one tentacle pressed where it was, massaging the sergal’s taint with a certain mercilessness. Yet there was still more stimulation that sensitive button could take. Every tentacle came thoroughly lubricated, so there wasn’t even a moment of discomfort when he penetrated the sergal. A few soft prods at Ankhrea’s hole was enough to make him relax. He arched his back a little, struggling to even move his body that much, and accepted the warm, comfortable slip of something so smooth and flexible, conforming to all the contours inside of him, pleasuring him in ways he’d never felt before. The steady double-teaming of his prostate had Ankhrea in eye-rolling, even tearful pleasure. He did his best to keep sucking, bombarding his senses, bringing himself closer and closer to something less like an orgasm and more like complete rapture. It felt like he was slipping over an edge, like he was going somewhere far deeper than mere climax, but Quill pulled him right back to reality with a tender squeeze of his cock. That made him open his eyes and keep them relatively focused again, staring down at that new tentacle, that especially thick one coiling around the entire length of the sergal’s shaft, cupping his balls, squeezing his tip, ever so slowly curling its tip back around to touch that leaking slit. That alone was enough to send the sergal reeling. He felt as if he was falling briefly, perhaps tumbling right out of his body, perhaps seeing himself through Quill’s eyes - or lack thereof. The effects of the slime on his mind were proving as intense as ever, but nothing had ever been more real. His eyes were wide, watery, pleading, but in the midst of his extra sloppy, drooling, schlurking sucks of the tentacle pushing straight down his bulging throat, he managed to give a little nod. It didn’t matter if Quill already knew he was okay with it. He wanted to make sure. “This will not feel strange,” he said, for the first time coming off only somewhat reassuringly. At least he was telling the truth. No matter how thick that tentacle may have been - thicker than Ankhrea’s own shaft, even - it still fit perfectly. Squelching as it stuffed itself slowly down that stiff spire, gushing its own juices while squeezing out the sergal’s own, it soon bulged within that cock in ways Ankhrea never thought he’d enjoy. That was something beyond mere sounding. It was so many times more intense simply during penetration, and exponentially more so when it reached out with its many tendrils to massage from within at the same time as broadly fucking in and out of the sergal’s hard dick. Newly rooted in three places at once, massaging from the inside and outside alike, Quill left Ankhrea to stew in all those feelings for a time. There was nothing else to be done but enjoy, in total submission, total weakness before something so much more powerful than him. He trusted that xeno in every way. There was a reason he’d taken up residence in a spa of all places. His gifts were unique, and they deserved to be shared with the world. Whether Ankhrea was worthy of them, every moment they spent together assuaged any self-doubt that remained. He didn’t last long with that tentacle in his cock. At first it felt as if it might plug and block off his cumshot, but that was the opposite of what it did. The plunging, stroking, slicking inner rubs put that tentacle on a collision course with all the spunk shooting up the sergal’s shaft, milked out in vast quantities by the double-sided stimulation to his pleasure button. Instead of obstructing it, it slurped it right up, absorbing that excess seed into itself, swallowing it down that tentacle and all the way back into Quill’s body. Drinking from the sergal, draining him of his cum until there wasn’t a single drop left to take, he left Ankhrea leaving comfortable hollow, empty in the best of ways, staring blankly at the monstrosity fucking him so very good. He wondered if it was over. There was a quick answer to that in the form of those ridges. The tentacle slowly pumping in and out of the sergal’s rear, working between his spread legs, it was smooth and largely featureless, perfectly smooth to make for as comfortable a fuck as possible. Quill could do better. He pushed right past any worry of overstimulation, and Ankhrea found himself surprisingly ready. His body was already feeling things unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It made sense that he was learning what it could truly do, too. Quill gave him stamina like never before. He was so very ready to be milked again. That tentacle rubbing back and forth against the underside of his tail, fucking him deeply, firmly, slowly, it was stimulating enough just curling and touching him in all the right places. A little change, seemingly at will, and Quill could make it even more deliriously stimulating. He added textured ridges from a start, but he could still do better. Though it was never quite a cock, it certainly acted like one once he started rounding out a bulge near the entry point, swelling with something like a knot that thumped, slipped, slimed, and all but demanded entry into the sergal’s stretched rump. It was incredibly easy to just relax and let it in. Even if it moved smoothly and comfortably, it still made for a considerable stretch. The sergal wasn’t worried about breaking. In Quill’s clutches, his body seemed to be every bit as malleable as the slime himself. He accommodated that enormous bulge even if it meant making for a hefty bump in his belly before it was even all the way inside. Slowly slipping towards the middle point, the widest part of all left the sergal shaking, doing his best to spread his legs, feeling his body give into whatever the xeno willed of it, no matter how he had to reshape himself. It teetered, pressing, grinding on all his sensitive places, overpowering him with pure, blunt pleasure until a surge of motion left him recoiling as if in shock. The decisive POP had a bit of an echo in that quiet place. It easily competed with all the other slurps. Ankhrea went rigid all over when he felt it, and then repeated that response when it pulled right back out. Supremely lubricated like that, it was no struggle. Quill even added a second one, turning it into a rhythmic pop-pop and pullout, over and over again. What started as a slow massage grew gradually more intense, leaving the sergal trying to figure out which of his muscles even still worked. He wasn’t quite paralyzed, but nothing behaved how he intended. Mostly, he twitched. One of those tentacle knots pressed against him just right on insertion, lingering there just a little too long, and pushed him over the edge into yet another orgasm. He was having trouble seeing all the details of his surroundings anymore, but he had a clear enough look at his cum winding through that tentacle, sucked straight out of his cock again. If he was getting sore or dry, he didn’t feel it. Every release was as potent as the last, as if he was never going to run out. The steady kneading and stroking ensured he was phenomenally productive, never soft for a second, rigid enough to feel ready for another orgasm the moment the last one ended. They were going to start blending together if Quill wasn’t careful. And he still had more ideas. “If you can hear me, I would like to try something new now. This may feel particularly intense at first, but that feeling will lessen. I admit, I have had a sample of your thoughts at this point, and I would like to probe deeper.” Finding out how to communicate when he was all wrapped up and getting fucked in so many directions at once, wobbling between delirium and euphoria, wasn’t exactly easy. Maybe if what Quill said was true in the literal sense, all he had to do was think it. Ankhrea concentrated as best he could, pursing his lips around the tentacle so casually throatfucking him, and gave his best inner affirmative that he could. Whatever it was, no matter how extreme, or even how dangerous, he wanted it. Everything Quill could do was welcome. That seemed to be good enough. The alien approached, tentacles outstretched. Another girthsome pair wriggled towards Ankhrea’s face, leaving him uncertain of what Quill even intended to do. He wasn’t afraid. They caressed him over the cheeks, running up and down the length of his wedge snout. Then they travelled upwards, curling inwards when they reached his ears, massaging behind them, and then inside them, a little at a time. They were prodding for a reaction, to see if the sergal withdrew too sharply from such a suggestion. If he could have nodded, Ankhrea would have done so immediately. Quill was welcome to touch him anywhere. For as ready as he was, he had to give a slight flinch not at the feeling, but the sound. The squelching as those tentacles pressed deeper into his ears was briefly painful, deafening. It tapered off in time as the alien pushed all the way inside. What followed was a bizarre, sometimes disorienting feeling. The tentacles started large, plunging, flexing, constantly squelching. They split off once they were firmly nestled inside, tracing through and touching the sergal until Ankhrea could feel Quill as a presence in his own thoughts. The tentacles probed him directly in the mind, exploring his grey matter directly, combing through the neurons until Quill found the ones he most wanted to stimulate. Ankhrea was already getting pleasure unlike anything he’d ever felt. That almost felt like cheating. Going straight to the source meant sending unreal crackles down the sergal’s every nerve, straight to his toes, his fingertips, his tail. Everything else that already felt good still applied, amplifying, melding into one full-body orgasm after another. He wasn’t even cumming so much as he was perpetually stuck at full ecstasy as if never to come down, and Quill was just getting started with that mind of his. Quill’s voice took on, perhaps for just a moment, something resembling feeling. Perhaps Ankhrea was just projecting. “Fascinating,” he said, with some emphasis. “There are such textures here. Such layers to work between. I will find much to enjoy within you, Ankhrea. You have such a delicious mind. That is, of course, figuratively speaking.” His correction came casually. Quill hadn’t stumbled. None of it mattered when Ankhrea so quickly understood exactly what he meant. It didn’t take long before the sergal was contending with pleasures sourced from things he never even thought pleasurable. Every breath he took - comfortably filtered through the tentacle in his throat - filled him up with bliss just to pull that lifegiving air into his lungs. Every beat of his heart, surprisingly calm for the moment he was in, sent the blood pumping through his ecstatic veins. Existing there, as one being, intertwined with another from so very far away, was the most wonderful thing he had ever known. It was always leading to this, he was starting to think. Quill explored those thoughts to the fullest of his ability, looming directly above the sergal, keeping him writhing with the amplified schlorps in and out of his perked ears. Ankhrea found himself relieving his best memories, played out seemingly in real time in some theatre of his mind, with him as the captive audience. Even though he was aware that mere seconds had passed, he felt himself get locked in there for mental hours. Some of his less pleasant memories briefly flared up as well throughout Quill’s experimentation - yet even those remained welcome, for the catharsis and resolution he could taste, just to see them again. He didn’t have to hold onto fear, shame, or disappointment. Not anymore. Part of him wanted to simply weep in pleasure. There was a rising tremble in his throat that soon spread to every other part of his body as the wings of his phenomenal, body-shaking experience opened up before him. He was seeing colours he’d never seen and thinking in ways he had never thought possible - backwards, upside down, and detached from time. Sometimes he wondered what exactly Quill had injected him with, as if there might have been some sort of chemical, or drug flowing through those tentacles. Yet he soon understood the reality of it all. All of it was Quill, his body, his being, and he was simply sharing his state of existence for the sergal to attempt to comprehend. Such thoughts quickly spiralled into various pleasing possibilities. He thought perhaps that Quill was some sort of god, that alien was merely an understatement, but that consideration evaporated soon after having it. Maybe Quill himself silenced it. Those tendrils were in deep, pushing into the sergal’s physical mind as much as his projected self. He never stopped penetrating and stimulating Ankhrea in all those many ways, either. That seemed almost inconsequential compared to the steady brainfuck bringing him such bliss from ears to spine. Sometimes it felt as if Quill was fucking him in a thousand different positions, tucked away into equally as many infinitely spacious pocket realms. He felt splinted and united, taking pleasure from every angle, feeling the subdued lust of the visitor from beyond the stars pouring out upon him. Quill didn’t need to actually fuck him or cum inside him to make him feel owned. He simply joined his body with his client and demonstrated something far more intimate than the simple lust. Ankhrea found himself wondering if that inexplicable being desired him as much as he wanted Quill, and that thought was quickly bare before the alien brainfucking him half-blank. He responded as if the sergal spoke it. “Of course I want you. In every sense you are imagining. From the very first glimpse. All the more once I had my first taste.” For all the flatness of his inflections, Ankhrea sensed a slight growl in the xeno’s tone at that. It might have been a mere projection, or it might have been something more. It occurred to him that while Quill called his present form honest, the true nature of his being was hidden away. There was no true form to behold. Merely the ever-shifting mass who desired him, who wanted him and claimed him all the more with every passing second. There had never been a more dominant creature as far as Ankhrea’s addled mind was concerned. Feeling those touches running down his connecting nerves, deep in his brainstem and working down his back made Ankhrea realize just how deep Quill really was. He was stretching out his great, infinitely flexible fingers right through the sergal’s entire body, touching every synapse, every impulse, and ensuring they were constantly firing off with nothing but the best possible feelings. The knots squelched in and out along with the pair in Ankhrea’s ears. The one in his throat massaged him there, constantly leaking the taste he’d learned to love - one that remained consistent at the same time as it changed with every suck, cycling through all his favourite flavours and scents, bringing back those sweet memories as surely as he was making new ones. “A glowing tapestry unwinds before me. Such complexities packed into a comparatively simple mind. The colours of your memories are painted on a canvas like no other, and I am honoured to make it my own. Overcome with emotion.” His delivery of such a statement made it unclear if he was making a joke or not. “You are a kind being to invite me in so deeply, Ankhrea. You are still doing very well, as you are.” The one on his cock needed something new, too. Quill could always do better. He wrapped another around that shaft, engulfing it while he plunged straight down it, to wrap Ankhrea up in the feeling of getting his dick sucked and fucked all at the same time. The knots popped to keep him throbbing, leaking juices, sometimes cumming all over again but barely noticing it. Climax was becoming his constant state, and there was no physical limit he needed to worry about obeying. He was never going to run out of fluids. Not while so intimately wrapped up with that strange being. While the many tendrils carefully prodded various centres of the brain, housing emotions, sensations, memories, the tentacles in Ankhrea’s ears still messily fucked him. Applying such blunt pressure produced unpredictable results, leaving the sergal drooling, blanking, slowly getting overloaded little by little. Those memories that had been so sweet to relive felt locked away once he was done with them, not fully forgotten by tucked beneath a blanket of empty euphoria, of complete submission of his body and self alike. Quill slowly picked him up off the table, letting him dangle, letting him sway there in the grasping grip of the many tentacles rubbing him, fucking him, and draining him. It was a better angle to let the tears fall. Ankhrea didn’t even recall when he’d started crying. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t concerned either. Such a reaction to that experience was only the beginning of truly expressing himself, but it was a good start. He wanted Quill to know how much he loved every second he spent in that embrace, and surely that alien did. Maybe some of that pleasure reflected right back, through those many connections they had. It made Ankhrea happy to think that to some extent, Quill was getting as much from the giving as he was from the receiving. Having every single one of his buttons pressed at once meant there were some more alarming emotions mixed up in the thick of it, but bliss seemed to override all else. Ankhrea felt a certain degree of terror that he was going too far, that he was already broken and there was no going back, or that he might explode or burst into flames when his body simply couldn’t handle all those sensations at once, but that fear got pushed down somewhere deep, hidden away by the ecstasy of existing in the grasp of the alien. It wasn’t that there was no fear. It simply didn’t matter anymore. Similar were the emotions of shame, of shyness, of regret - such troublesome things rose up to their fullest intensity, simply to allow the sergal to embrace them without pain. Everything was pleasure. He was beautiful and alive, and being so very cared for by that living anomaly who wanted nothing but his pleasure. Ankhrea went somewhere beyond mere crying when he came to truly understand the state he was in. His body began to shake, to convulse, wracked with violent sobs as merely the default response to the hard reset his mind and body were undergoing. “It is okay to cry,” Quill calmly explained. There was perhaps some semblance of tenderness to his voice, even if Ankhrea understood it as an imitation. The effect was hardly diminished.. “All is going as it should. You are under my care, and you are doing very well.” No doubt he understood exactly how Ankhrea felt. That didn’t stop him from increasing the intensity, little by little. Those tentacles weren’t limited to mere writhing. They could also expand and contract, sometimes slowly to let Ankhrea feel their flexible girth, sometimes rapidly to create a pleasant vibrating effect. It sounded like a purr in the sergal’s ears, rattling through his head and down his spine, sending yet more signals to swirl through his nerves and his consciousness alike. The extra touch brought forth another sudden burst of sobbing, to which Quill responded with a gentle hum and his further reassurance. “Though you may not be able to speak anymore, most of my clients have at least thought about asking me to stop by now. You are very brave to keep enduring, Ankhrea. And I am happy to bring you what you have clearly needed.” The tendrils kept on creeping. They reached out and out, crawling down the sergal’s spine, to join with those working over his prostate, moving microscopically through his nerves, mere signals, impulses. When they touched, connecting from one end of the sergal to the other, and centring it all on that button, Ankhrea felt as if he’d been smote by a god of pleasure. Nothing else compared. His mind shook and vibrated while his cock erupted in a constant stream, multi-orgasmic, squelching with release while he gurgled in awe around the one in his mouth, his attempted screams muffled and submerged. There was only so much pleasure that button could possibly withstand. Quill had been relentless with it as soon as he got a single tentacle upon it. He hadn’t stopped rubbing it from both sides for what felt like hours. Even if it had only been minutes. Or perhaps days. Ankhrea wasn’t experiencing time the same anymore, but he certainly felt the moment something popped deep inside of him. He understood it moments later. His prostate was simply burned right out, wrecked and ruined in the best of possible ways, leaving him with one more orgasm gushing out of him in the aftermath. Eventually, the potent flow of his thick white cum turned to a trickle of watery juices. Ankhrea’s dick went soft at last. He dripped, and sometimes still gave a little twitch that was almost like a throb, but it wasn’t working the same as it used to. Maybe it never would. He wasn’t going to need it anymore anyway. His body belonged to Quill. He was still experiencing something better than orgasm anyway by the time that tentacle pulled out of his limp shaft and rear alike. It was all about his mind from there. Dangling loosely in that grasp, barely moving, barely responding, making very little noise, Ankhrea focused on the sounds around him as they grew more and more intense. He was staring straight ahead, perceiving only purple and red, and yet still he understood what he was looking at. Never had he understood Quill’s form more. It wasn’t about his shape, or whatever appearance he was taking at the moment. It was truly him the sergal was connected with, getting his brain rubbed from inside his skull, his spine tingled by those many tentacles playing him like a musical instrument, and his thoughts slowly, wonderfully massaged away. “There. Does it not feel so much better in that void? There is no pain to be found here. Only the passing moments in the eternity I offer.” Each sentence felt so very drawn out by that point, as if there existed an entire lifetime between each word. “I see the spark of your being, even so diminished. I know there is still yet more you want to give to me.” Ankhrea couldn’t deny that, neither physically nor internally. It felt so good to completely give up to the alien. He knew no horror. Sometimes, he found himself knowing fairly little at all once those tentacles had been fucking his ears for long enough. How did he ever arrive there in the first place? Had he ever been anywhere else? Quill was pleasuring his memories away, melting them from his mind one by one, perhaps drinking them into his own body just like all the cum he’d taken from his supposed client. The sergal was joining with him, little by little, not consumed so much as simply added. All it took was the limp, swaying, hollowing devotion to his new master masseuse from beyond the stars, and Ankhrea could be truly happy. Nothing was really making sense anymore, and Ankhrea loved it that way. A silly smile appeared on his face. That much he could feel, perceiving himself sometimes from the outside as he did. He giggled, dumbly, blankly. Even he wasn’t sure what was so funny. The most basic concepts of existence were starting to leak from his scrambled mind, to be replaced by nothing but the pleasure Quill offered. He was heading towards either a sudden shutdown, or a total reset for the way he was emptying out, fucked stupid by the tentacles plunging into his ears, by the tendrils groping his brain for everything he had. Something was going to break in time, and he could hardly wait to feel it. For all Quill had already mixed up with his deep probing, he could still go deeper. Ankhrea felt himself penetrated right through the mind, great plunging tentacles pushing directly into the wrinkles, sucking out those thoughts. It felt so good to give them all away. There was only the bliss, rapturous, sometimes almost religious, keeping his body shuddering and his tears streaming. Everything that remained got shuffled around and rearranged until it no longer made any sense. Ankhrea couldn’t have explained anything about his life before entering that spa anymore. There was only that long, tearful climax of his entire body, of his every single screaming nerve, until he finally reached his limit. “Almost, Ankhrea. Almost. Stay with me.” Quill spoke, for the first time, with just a trace of urgency. “Let this moment linger. Your delirious threshold - the most delicious moment of all. I know you are capable of this. In taste your most hidden depths, I have found you so much greater than you have ever known. That is why I need you. And why you need this. Yet, here we are, lingering on the precipice, the shadow of the light, overtaking like your blanket. Be comforted knowing the care I will always take of you.” Ankhrea might have described such a speech as orgasmic on the part of the alien devouring his mind if he could have described anything at all. Quill came to some form of climax in those moments, speaking his way throughout rather than cumming like any sort of being Ankhrea had ever met. The darkness was a maw, stretched out beneath his dangling feet, yet it was light that he felt pushing against his vessel, bending that sobbing creature, that bliss-broken mind until it reached something beyond enlightenment, a place of everything and nothing, of understanding and ignorance, of ecstasy forever in the absence of anything at all. He even felt the moment he crossed that line. Snap. It was a tangible feeling, with all that mental pressure welling up until something broke as easily as a twig. His mind collapsed with one last wail of certain ecstasy, the greatest moment of it all. He let go, offering himself, whatever he was, letting Quill become his only purpose. His meaning. He came for Master, in some sense of the word. His body wasn’t doing anything anymore. It was merely a vessel for sensations, and that vessel had finally been fully drained. Not even the loss of sensation could panic what was left of Ankhrea’s consciousness. His body was useless, unresponsive, and he could neither think nor feel anything at all. He was free. After all that pleasure, that alone felt as sure a relief as death itself was a release of worldly pains. He slumped, internally. His body was no more limp than it had already been, but it was time to let go of that one last grip on reality and existence, to go fully blank, an empty thing in the clutches of an alien, never to be restored. There was nothing to restore. Quill let that moment hang, somewhat grimly, with his client and perhaps victim dangling there in his clutches. He withdrew his tentacles one by one when his feast was finished, when there was absolutely nothing left to harvest from the technically living, breathing shell that Ankhrea had once inhabited. There was only one thing to be done with such a hollowed out creature. Still in that monstrous form, Quill opened up his jaws, stretching out strands of his own saliva - or whatever it was - before bringing his teeth down around the sergal’s neck in a slow-motion chomp. Ankhrea felt the points of those teeth touching his tentacle-bulged throat, but they never bit, never harmed him in the slightest. That was as good a time as any for his vision to go completely blank, eyes open but unseeing. There were more important stimuli to process. Pumping smoothly in and out of his ears the entire time in increasingly cascading slurps and slorps, Quill began to suck, and then to swallow. He wasn’t eating Ankhrea. He was merely drinking from him, taking those last pieces, those last shreds of the sergal’s consciousness. There was that little bit left to know what was happening to him, but certainly not to understand it. There was nothing left for his body to do, nothing left for his mind to process. Quill sucked on him like he was little more than a piece of candy, a vessel once brimming with thoughts and identity, drained dry by those many tentacles, reduced to nothing more than flesh. One last snap, one last break from everything resembling a self, and Ankhrea was dead. Maybe his body yet breathed, but that was a coma he was never going to wake up from. There was nothing to wake up. No thoughts, no being, no memories. He was blanker than a slate and dangling there in the jaws of the monster who had claimed him. Nothing but a body. Whether it lived or not was irrelevant. Quill began to breathe him in, something easier than swallowing. There was no sense leaving him there to be discovered. Such things had negative emotional effects on the beings he had met in his travels. There was nothing left of Ankhrea to feel regret with, but he wouldn’t have felt it anyway. In those minutes, he had lived a hundred years of pure heaven. It was as good as any mortal life could have ever hoped to be. He vanished into Quill, sometimes swallowed, sometimes simply absorbed directly. It was a messy and efficient disappearing process, one done out of convenience rather than hunger. The xeno’s appetite had long since been satiated by his meal already. Nor did absorbing every last trace of Ankhrea seem to make any difference to the overall bulk of his shifting shape. Once the very last trace of the sergal was totally gone, slurped up and erased just like his mind, Quill seemingly began to melt. There was no need to hold that shape any longer. Perhaps he was more comfortable as something amorphous, or perhaps he wished to be out of sight, until his next client walked in. Whether that room truly belonged to him or he had simply replaced its previous occupant wasn’t clear, nor did it matter. It was his. He made a puddle of himself, stretching out across the floor, only to stretch upwards towards the ceiling where he had been when the sergal entered. There was no one around to be awed by his defiance of gravity. He seemed to float at times, dripping upwards to splash there, hidden away, seemingly no more than a stain. Even that vanished in time, camouflaging perfectly to the marks and details of the ceiling tiles, down to every sign of wear and age. Ankhrea was somewhere in that mass, as were so many more. There was no sign of them - no weight, no mark, no tomb. Merely the assimilation of consumed minds that kept the strange thing sustained. Quill had learned so much from his meal. The next experience he provided was going to be even better.