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Dorn glanced out over the icy waters of the lake. If he'd been a poet, he might have related the beauty of the cloud-greyed, still waters to a smoky diamond or the eyes of some exotic northern maiden. If he'd been a farmer from one of the principalities downstream, he might have felt a weary joy that the freshly-melted ice from the mountains had filled the dammed area, and relief was coming for the harsh, drying rays of the summer sun. If he'd been a wise man or a member of the cloth, he might have known about the magical properties of the cold liquid and the local plant-life myriad uses in the arcane arts.

"And if I'd been a scout," Dorn grumbled to himself, "then I probably wouldn't be lost right now."

Unfortunately Dorn was none of these things: instead, he was a soldier, and not a very good one. He was young, and so still a lowly grunt serving Prince Borbous' army; this meant he was often given the drudge work with all the other grunts: guard duty whenever there was a local festival, for instance, or getting stuck on patrol duty.

The latter had been what Dorn was doing when he'd gotten lost: he'd been with his platoon when he'd needed to relieve himself, and gone just out of sight for some privacy. He'd not been gone long - at least, that's what he'd thought - and he certainly hadn't gone far when he'd finished and headed back in the direction he'd thought the road had been in. Instead, he'd stumbled further into the trees, and had just spent the last few hours trudging through the forest, sweating and stewing in his armour and swearing to himself.

Being tall - nearly six and a half feet tall - and muscular from having been apprenticed to a blacksmith, Dorn was fine with the fighting part of his job. It was why he'd applied for the position in the first place; all the stories that the soldiers told when they'd come into the smithy swam around in his thoughts for days when he'd been apprenticing and meant he'd not really focused on what his then-master had been telling him to do. Especially the more appreciable stories of women in the taverns who'd be more than willing to take a smart-looking soldier to bed with them for an amusing evening. Dorn would have liked that part too, if he'd ever been given the chance. But training had taken him away from the women, or rather at least those that a man would want to look at more than once. Then when that was over there was a constant string of duties and by the time he had any free time he'd be too tired to do anything. Dorn pondered the idea of, when he finally arrived at a settlement that he'd take off a little time for himself in one of those places.

Dorn skirted the lake, heading towards the dam on the far side; he hoped that someone would have to be around nearby to tend to the thing, and that they could give him directions. When his stomach rumbled, he added something to eat to his list of desires. Hopefully someone would be around to help him get out of his armour as well; although it was made for daily marches, that didn't make him sweat any less or feel that comfortable.

Approaching the dam, Dorn noticed a cottage on the opposite slope. It had certainly seen better days: the thatching on the roof was starting to show early signs of damprot, and he could see the fire in the hearth through a gap in the window's shutters, but it was certainly liveable. The woman tending the garden, however, looked a bit more well-kept: although certainly not young, she had a well-proportioned body and rather striking, exotic features, which he noticed when she glanced towards the lake, raising a hand over her eyes to shield herself from the early afternoon glare.

Dorn quickly doffed his simple metal helmet and took a quick glance at his face in the lake as he held the helmet underneath his armpit. His face was slightly burned and sweaty, and his brown hair was damp and more muddier than he'd have liked, but he hadn't lost any teeth and he certainly looked pretty smart in his uniform.

"Hallo, fair lady" Dorn called out across the rock dam, "I'm a member of the Prince's Army, and I have been separated from my patrol." Slipping out his sword from the leather sheath at his hips, he added, "There were bandits, and I gave chase, you see."

To himself, Dorn noted, "No need to look like a complete donkey."

"Hallo, sir knight," the woman answered, her voice polite but cold. Dorn smiled back at her, somewhat dopily grinning; she had red hair, that was long and crinkled and seemed to shine, making it look like her head was on fire.

"Oh," he corrected her; he was boastful, but not stupid. There were laws for impersonating a knight, after all. "I am not a knight, just a simple soldier. Would you please tell me how to get to the nearest village?"

"I'm sorry," the woman replied, still frozen in her garden. "If you follow the river, you'll come to the next town but I'm afraid you won't get there before nightfall. It's a fair way's away."

Hiding his pleasure, he inquired in a feigned innocent tone, "That is a shame, I have been wandering around for some time now, and I am quite hungry. If your husband approves, would it trouble him if I were to stay the night? I could travel the next day after doing some chores as payment; I have some skill in blacksmithery."

The woman turned her head, glancing at the house. "Sir, I must admit I have no husband..." Dorn didn't hear anything she said afterwards; his heart was pounding blood audibly throughout his body. The woman seemed to pull on to him, and it took all his trained self-control and common sense to avoid running immediately across the slick stones of the dam. When he'd regained some measure of control over himself, he heard her say, "... so if you agree to do that, then you may stay the night."

The woman gracefully stepped away from the fence, disappearing for a moment before reemerging at the gate, quickly skipping down to the other side of the dam.

"Thank you, my lady," Dorn nodded his head in thanks. Tightening the grip on his helmet, he carefully stepped out on to the slippery rocks, water rushing over and through them, carefully keeping his balance as he crossed over the stream. The metal covering of his boots clanged as he stepped, slightly muffled by the water, whose chill went right through into his feet.

Dorn kept his eyes on the woman, fiery hair flowing over her head. She was incredibly appealing, and her feminine scent drew him forward. He imagined her disrobing for him while his armour grew increasingly uncomfortable between his legs.

For a brief moment, Dorn felt his eyes see something else - no cottage, no alluring woman - before it all returned. He tottered as he froze, dreamily looking down to try to steady himself, and noticing the slender end of a green tentacle wrapping itself around his armoured shin. Then suddenly she was embracing him, his face touching the rough texture of her hair, his nose filled with her flowery smell, before the tentacle dragged him out underneath the waves, leaving ripples and an abandoned clearing.

---

Dorn woke up on cold dirt and stone, in a barely-lit cell that was surely underground; the irregular walls of his prison suggested they had been made naturally. The only light source, a burning torch, hung from a metal stand fused into a stalagmite. Foul water dripped down from above, plinking off the top of the stalagmite, causing the torch to make a regular sizzling noise along with the expected fire crackling.

He'd been stripped of everything, he noticed. His armour and clothes and weapons had all been taken; he'd not been given any replacement clothes, and he felt chill in the dark cell. The bars of the cell were iron, and thick and heavy; Dorn had made a few in his apprenticeship and he knew that he'd never get out of them. Which made the fact that he had somehow been placed inside them all the more puzzling; while Dorn knew very little of magic, he knew enough common knowledge that either he had been somehow magicked into this cell, or that someone had erected the cell around him.

The tunnel petered off into darkness; he guessed whoever was holding him prisoner here didn't care to light the passages if they weren't present. Instead, they'd given him a light - for what reason, Dorn didn't know - and he'd been left here on his own after they'd stripped him.

Dorn rolled on to his back, stretching out. His stomach was still empty, and now painfully so, but he forced himself to think: escape from capture had been a part of his training that he didn't remember all that well - most of the time, you were expected to fight to the death - but he knew better than to immediately alert his captors by yelling or banging on the bars.

Instead, he rolled to his feet, quietly tiptoeing over to the bars, wriggling each of them in turn; with plenty of dirt around him, Dorn hoped that perhaps his imprisoners hadn't counted on the ground being forced to give way to the bars. Unfortunately, that hope proved fruitless, as the bars held fast as he pushed and pulled on them with all his energy. Further enraged by his failed chance at escape, Dorn paced around in his cell.

While pondering whether to try to dig his way to freedom, a light caught Dorn out of the corner of his eye; a bobbing light that was bobbing down the presumably underground passageway. The approaching figure was old, and hobbled; one wrinkled, spotted hand clutched at a walking stick, the other to the torch that lit his way. Dorn backed up from the bars, muscles tensed, prepared for anything: if such an elderly person was in league with those who had kidnapped him, and they were to come down here, then it was likely they were powerful or important in some way and so certainly not to be trifled with.

"Ah, so you're awake, then?" the old man - it was a man, Dorn noted - croaked. His hood was draped over his face, and his head was bowed - either through age or by design - and the simple burlap garb gave little else away.

Dorn, following his training, stood prepared for anything that might happen, remaining silent.

"Nothing to say, eh?" the old man continued, an amused lilt in his voice. "Good, good, yes, very good. You're a soldier then, aren't you? Used to obeying orders, eh? Even better!"

The old man grunted, shifting his legs apart underneath his robes; Dorn saw the old man's knees bending outwards as he lifted the hand clenched around the staff up. The old man's upraised arm trembled for a moment, then Dorn heard a dull groaning begin. Slowly the iron bars retracted alternatively into the ceiling and the floor, until all that remained were several large holes in two parallel lines.

"Powerful magic indeed!" thought Dorn to himself as he watched the bars disappear. He dismissed thoughts of rushing the man to overpower him; physically, he'd handily beat the old magician, but when magic was involved frailty meant nothing.

The old man hobbled away, calling out behind him, "Come, come along now! Time to obey some more!"

Dorn, having been left behind, stood where he was for a few moments. He certainly wasn't keen on doing what the old man said; however, he was also sure he didn't want to risk raising the ire of someone who could move iron bars with a wave of his hand. Grabbing the torch out of his receptacle, Dorn reluctantly followed. Given the only other option would be to stay where he'd been imprisoned, this was at least an improvement on the situation.

The passage beyond was dirt and rock; Dorn looked down, noticing that the only footprints that he wasn't making right now were of the old man. "Had the old man brought me here, then?" Dorn wondered, shuddering at the power. The passage was a good field length or more, gently sloping down; with no marks indicating he had been dropped, the old man must have taken him the whole distance, or somehow transported him directly there. Either feat seemed impossible to Dorn, yet it had been done.

He could easily catch up to the old man, who hobbled along slowly, but Dorn felt staying back was the most sensible thing to do. He could end up back in the cell again, or worse. "At least now I'm able to learn the geography if I should ever need to escape," he rationalized.

A widening in the passageway led into a room of sorts, with another angled-down passageway leading off to the right. While the old man hobbled over to a torch receptacle, Dorn looked around. What drew his immediate attention was the rack in the centre of the room, kept well away from the other things.

The remainder of the furniture was what he'd probably have expected the old man to have: desks and shelves covered in tomes, scrolls and papers stacked and sorted into some categorization as arcane as the contents themselves. Small metal boxes appeared here and there on the shelves and tabletops. Quills in clear bottles of ink to various levels were dotted over the tables; one table had been set aside with some kind of glass and metal apparatus, whilst another nearby was covered with a mortar and pestle and various jars and bowls of powder, leaves and other various things. Several of the items Dorn had no clue as to their names or purpose.

"Come on then," the old man spoke, breaking into Dorn's observations, "get on the rack!" He shuffled to one of the tables, heading for one of the boxes which badly needed oil, judging by the unnaturally loud creak it made when the lid was forced open.

Dorn eyed the passage out, instead, not moving. It was one thing to go along with a powerful magician when there was no choice, he reasoned, but something else to just allow yourself to be tortured to death, or worse.

"Well, go on then if you wish," the old man wheezed, startling Dorn by resting a withered hand with something cool and metallic between the gnarled, long-nailed fingers against his back. "It's a waste of time, but I suppose you don't know that for yourself unless you see it."

Dorn turned; the old man, being much shorter than he was, still had his face covered and so remained elusive even from this short a distance. However, the old man didn't seem to try to stop him, or magick him in some way, so he headed off down the next passage.

Still holding his torch, Dorn could see well enough, but quickly ran into trouble. The passages rocks were rough in places, and slippery in others and even gripping with his toes made progress difficult. Puddles began to appear here and there, and the water made continuing slippery, especially with the mud that was caking his feet.

Although the water level continued to rise, Dorn pressed onwards; as he progressed, the water gradually consumed his feet, inching up his lower legs. This didn't deter him; he'd learned how to swim, so wasn't afraid of a little water.

About the time that the dirty, dark water reached his knees, Dorn felt a hint of panic when something slimy and wet wriggled beside his leg; it shocked out the memory of his earlier encounter with the tentacle thing and he cried out, nearly dropping the torch as his muscles shuddered. However, when it didn't attack immediately, and seemed to disappear, Dorn breathed heavily, slowing his heart rate.

"Probably just an eel," he mumbled aloud to himself. He pushed himself further, even though the water level continued to rise.

He did stop, however, once he reached the point where the water rose past his hips. His progress had slowed, and more and more slimy things were swimming beside him, bumping into this intruder into their habitat. With the water level ahead of him clearly higher, and no sign of light or anything ahead, Dorn would probably have to give up the light of the torch, and then he'd be stuck swimming in the dark; not a particularly good option in unfamiliar waters. Angry, Dorn slapped the water with his free palm, agitating the things that swam around him, and not doing much to help calm him down. Standing still for a moment, Dorn finally moved when curious creatures started to nibble near his more sensitive areas.

Splashing through the water, Dorn shivered as he looked down at himself. The water was filthy, churning with dirt and a thin film of it coated his lower half. The gritty dirt stuck to his hand as he wiped it down, stubbornly clinging to his body. Dorn's anger and distraction made him careless, and an awkward angle on a sharp stone caused him to tumble backwards into the water, immediately dousing him in darkness as the torch went out and sending a small wave of water reverberating back over him, causing him to splutter as he involuntarily drank some of it.

Coughing and hacking, Dorn scrambled to his feet, cursing loudly and hitting the water with his fists. It took him a while to calm down enough to think straight enough to get his bearings, then he slowly headed back out of the water.

Dorn wondered what to do: he guessed that the magician had simply transported him here through magic, or perhaps had some arcane device for lighting up and breathing underwater. If it was the first, then he would be doomed, but perhaps he could locate the second and escape.

The water level receding, Dorn scratched at his dirty body; the muck clung all over his body now that he had fallen into it, and now that he was coated with it, there was nothing he could use to get rid of it. "Probably full of eel shit too," Dorn grumbled, though did admit it did provide some protection from the cold air of the caverns.

He sighed when he finally escaped from the water, and continued stumbling upwards until he finally caught sight of light, then hurried back up into the old man's chambers. The magician was still there, still garbed and anonymous.

"See!" the old man cackled. "I told you it was a waste of time!"

Dorn had had enough; training or no, he wasn't going to get anywhere. "What do you want?" he snapped angrily at the magician.

"The rack! Get on the rack!" the old man replied.

Dorn wondered whether the old man was even sane; an insane magician was a terrifying thought. However, the last thing he was going to do was just be tortured without even trying to fight back. He punched; the old man had only a moment to utter, "No, you foo-!" before his robed head connected to the thrown fist, and the magician flew to the side, knocked unconscious.

Dorn quickly bent over the prone figure, wanting partially to see who had held him captive, and partially to see if he was still alive; he'd hit harder than he had intended to. When he turned the old man over, the body seemed to dissolve in his hands, turning to a grey ash that fell down roughly where he had been.

Clenching at the now-empty burlap robes, Dorn yelled in frustration. Jumping up, he let go of the robe, grabbing instead on to the legs of the nearest table and flipping it over, sending the books and bottles and boxes on it flying into the air, tumbling and smashing onto the ground. Dorn screamed and ranted, realizing he was now trapped.

His anger dissipating, the cold reality of being trapped underground with no way of escape curled around Dorn like some phantasmal fog, and he sunk to his knees. Head bowing, he caught sight of a piece of piece of paper curled up in the robes. Extracting it, his shaking fingers picked it up, and unfolded it.

There were words written on it, but he could not read them; he wasn't a noble or member of the church, so they were of no good to him. However, there were some symbols on the page - more like crude drawings - that held more meaning to him.

The first image was that of a strange creature, with many tentacles coming off of it; if he had lived closer to the sea he may have compared it to some sea-dwelling creature, but he had only seen some for sale at an apothecary, dried, and did not know much about the creatures at all. In fact, the only knowledge he had about them was that his commander often had ordered him to go purchase some when the commander expected to be entertaining a lady that evening.

The second was of a simple figure of a man, with one of the tentacles wrapped around him. The man-picture had oversized genitals, and squiggly lines around them as well as the head. He wasn't sure what that was, but if it was targeted to him, then it probably had something to do with the vision he'd had of the woman. Dorn thought it had been the work of the magician; but these icons suggested that it may have been the tentacled beast instead. A vague unsettled feeling started to come over him.

An arrow pointed from the man to the third image, which seemed to be of a man, but it appeared to be smudged, or distorted, and Dorn couldn't understand what it was about. Frustrated, he crumpled up the piece of paper, tossing it to the ground. The paper ball half-bounced, half-rolled away, coming to rest against the nearest table-leg.

Dorn coughed repeatedly; hacking up phlegm as tremors shook through his body. Rolling on to his hands and knees, the coughing fit continued. Dorn tried to spit up the yellowish goo that was coming from his throat, but he couldn't produce enough saliva, and just left his mouth open, allowing the phlegm to ooze out.

His stomach heaved, and a brackish liquid sprayed out; Dorn's muscles shook as sweat dripped off of his body. His body seemed to be drying out, his head buzzing as his blood slowed despite the rapid beating of his heart. He realized he needed water, and fast. With his thoughts disjointed, he struggled to crawl out towards the passage that led to the water.

He retched again, crawling and sliding through the fluid as he progressed. The skin on his knees wore down, and Dorn left a path of blood behind him. His palms were rubbed raw, and the pain of his tearing skin tingled painfully as dirt got inside it. His muscles pulsed, swelling and shrinking, Dorn flailing and slipping forwards on his front. His genitals slapped against the rocks and dirt, making the pain even more unbearable.

Dorn's thoughts degenerated; he moaned and grunted and warbled, ooze dripping from his mouth as he mindlessly slithered towards the water. It took nearly twice the time it took him to walk there the first time. Dorn shut his eyes, crawling forward instinctively. His body thrummed, arms ahead with fingers clawing his weight forward; his toes kicked behind as his torso muscles shuffled in aid. Not that his eyes were of much help, as by now he had passed well beyond the flickering lights of the chamber and was sliding through near pitch blackness. Not even the wetness of the stones was enough to sate him now; instead, it just caused the burning of his broken skin to inflame anew.

Finally, with his mind completely lost to the desire to get to the water and from the pain searing his muscles, Dorn's fingertips touched down into a shallow pool. Grunting in some crazed kind of joy, Dorn felt a rush of energy and pulled his long body forward, sliding into the dark pool.

The dark, dirty water embraced him, and Dorn's muscles finally relaxed. The stinging of his wounds continued, but he gulped it down, dipping his head below the surface and gulping down the water, which seemed to relax him. Bloody tears ran down his face, sucking in the water, the painful heat from his body slowly starting to dissipate as he absorbed more and more water.

Instinctively he dived down, his throat seeming to soothe; the choking coughs dissipating as he swam. However, he had not breathed properly for some time, so instinctively clawed at his own neck, tearing at the dry flaky outer layer of skin until he felt the pressure in his lungs dissipating. Underneath the surface, Dorn floated for a moment, feeling his new gills return strength to his form.

His stomach rumbled; and Dorn felt the instinctive desire to eat. Swimming forward into deeper water, Dorn froze, suspended in the dirty water. He waited, starting to feel uncomfortable, with the layer of strange stuff covering him, but knowing it would help him find his next meal and so tolerating it until after he had feasted.

Eventually, he felt the dull nibbling of his prey on his outer layer, as a curious eel slithered up and started to bite at the end of one of his digits. Dorn jabbed forward with the finger, feeling his sharp claw pierce through the eel's throat, breaking through the layers of dead flesh on the end of his finger. The thick webbing between his digits broke through the rest, and a strange skin-coloured glove floated around his dark-scaled, clawed hand.

More eels came up as the glove floated in the water, and Dorn darted on them too, his strenuous actions sloughing off more and more of his remaining human skin from his torso and arms, his pale-scaled, long, sleek-muscled underbelly twisting and contorting; the groove around his budding dorsal fin trapping the dead flaps to his back.

Dorn ate greedily, biting into the eels. His old teeth, loosened from his gums by the razor-sharp fangs growing underneath, made for painful surprises when he swallowed the eel-flesh, but eventually they had all been swallowed or spat out. He absent-mindedly chewed on the remnants of his lips, as a weird human-skin mask started to fray and pull away.

After about a dozen or so eels had been captured and eaten, Dorn's intense hunger had been sated enough for him to stop. Kicking away farther along, Dorn rose slowly to the surface, the claws and webbing on his feet slicing through the dead skin of his legs, causing four flaps to trail about behind him, bits and pieces of hairy skin tearing off and sinking into the dirty, dark depths.

On the surface of the water, Dorn looked down, running his clawed, scaly hands over what his jet black, bulging eyes showed to him was something spiky and unpleasant over his head. Peeling it off, he blinked, and rubbed his clawed hand over the scales of his bare head. The strange protuberance from the middle of his face was gone and replaced by the comforting flaring nares flush with his mostly flat face, flaring open and close as his gills quivered uselessly. The uncomfortably bits on the side of his head had been lost as well.

Reaching below the waves, he quickly traced his claws around his waist, feeling for where the dead stuff clung to him and pulled it away, enjoying the cool feeling of the water against his exposed claws. Dorn was also relieved when he freed the prickly dead skin from around his genitals, allowing them to retract into their cavity at last.

Thrusting up with his invigorated muscles, Dorn dived back down under the water, his nares closing. His new eyelids closed, wiping the dirt from his eyes as the last human skin drifted away.

Dorn swam through the dark waters, navigating around the rocks and underwater growths. He caught and ate a few fish as he swam, teeth grinding flesh and bones into a paste he eagerly swallowed, but it was mostly out of opportunity rather than real hunger.

After some time, Dorn felt the water around him becoming warmer; flipping onto his back, he blinked and peered upwards, careful not to look too long at the large brightness from above. He quickly turned on his back, his dorsal fin starting to extend nicely and helping to keep him steady in the water. Legs paddling quickly, he arced up to the surface, nares flaring and expelling some built-up water.

The surface was pleasant and warm, and Dorn sunned his scales for a bit, leaping and arcing out of the water in what appeared to be a playful display but was just him testing out his new skin on the upper world's air. He looked at the things of this strange world - the strange plants, in particular, and the dry everything, before he dove down again, heading deeper and deeper into the water.

Echoes from deep in the water drove him downwards, rippling through the water and exciting one of the new structures that had formed in his brain. Everything human about him had disappeared: memories, feeling, emotions, thoughts, even the name Dorn finally meant nothing to him any more. Now he simply acted on instinct, swimming down into a tunnel deep under the cold lake, the light fading behind him.

Caressed by weeds, the creature skirted around nares flickering as scents emerged from the cavity. The new blood in his body stirred through his system, and he eagerly slid through into the hidden chamber below.

A tentacle of the creature he'd sensed slipped in beside him, wrapping around his waist. The creature felt an erotic thrill pulsate through him as he was held in place, as more long, thin tentacles enclosed around him. His transformed penis, a short, thick tentacle, emerged from the lips of his genital cavity, brushing up against one tentacle which entwined it in a strong grip.

The tentacles forced his mouth open, squeezing his jaw in a way that retracted his gums far from the edge of his near-lipless mouth, settling into special grooves that locked them in place; two long tentacles slipped into his mouth, and the creature felt a third, thicker tentacle being slowly worked deeply into his throat. Another two reached around his legs, pushing apart the sphincter of the creature's anus before another thick tentacle brushed up against it, poking and prodding forcefully until it was permitted access.

As tentacles entwined themselves around his limbs, holding him still, the creature felt small jolts of power thrum through his system, clearing his mind once again of even the base instincts he possessed. His penis arced and quivered, the power exciting him as the water around him heated up, making his arousal more pleasurable in the water.

The slow squeezing of his dark thick tentacle made it leak; a steady stream of fluid formed globules that floated around in the water. The creature jerked his muscles about, but was kept in place by the many tentacles working holding his body tightly.

Another surge, and the steady stream of fluid from his penis expanded, the flared, rough head swelling in the water. The thick tentacles sending power surges began to leak fluid into the creature now too, quickly being absorbed.

The dorsal fin began to thicken and expand, and the creature's neck thickened outwards, the head widening and distorting the humanoid shape it had retained. The creature started to grow, as a steady stream of nutrients were poured into it, the pain of the transformation being overcome by the simultaneous pleasure of sexual stimulation.

The fluid oozing from the creature's penis started to become thicker and creamier, oozing out rather than squirting as it ejaculated. Its body thrashed strongly, the tentacles around them having to hold on tighter as the creature strengthened. The tentacled thing started to ejaculate fluids as well, a sticky lubricant that bathed its nearly-completed new creature to prepare to eject it from its nest.

The creature itself felt new thoughts enter its mind as different fluids were poured into it; its ejaculate had become more forceful, turning from cream through a diseased yellow into a glossy black as his body absorbed more of the tentacled being's chemicals. Its slimy skin seemed to attract the slick oil that was sliding around it in the water.

A final heavy shuddering later, and the creature was spent. Weak from the ejaculation, it felt its body being released; the tentacles that once had bound and pleasured him were now releasing him and reorienting him to be pushed out. Its glassy eyes bulged in satisfaction, raising its strong arms forward to more easily fit through the small gap.

Swathing its plaything in oil, the tentacle creature started to move its massive bulk, its tentacles either pressing it outwards or manoeuvring the other creature before it pressed hard, and the creature was ejaculated back out into the lake.

The creature spun around, confused for a moment as it raced quickly into the illuminated shallow waters of the lake, thrust out at such speeds that it began to rotate. Curling it's slenderly-muscled body, it flattened itself out, slowing its movement before drifting slowly to the surface, slowly raising its eyes above the waterline.

It scanned the shoreline. Its master had given it instructions, hard-wired into his brain, of duties he had to perform. It cautiously checked the shoreline for predators, before gliding along, closer to the shore before planting its heavy clawed feet onto the rocks of the shore, climbing out of the water.

It felt dry and bad, but it had a duty to perform. It glanced down at its penis, slightly bruised from its rapid ejection into the water, but recovering and retracting. Its nares flared, mind cataloguing the new scents of this alien world. "It has to get help from those above," it said to itself.

With a vague path in mind, the creature headed off on its course.

• a story by toucanplay -