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There was a pattern in his dreams. It came to him in segments, scattered in between the recurring terrors like puzzle pieces. He was getting used to the twisted forms of familiar faces, and the persistent sense of being hunted down by something terrible beyond all fathoming. Each night, when Layle inevitably woke up screaming, he put himself back together and absconded from his bed with all the haste his tired body could muster to jot down those half-remembered glimpses of what he saw in the seams connecting one nightmare to the next. The following morning was one of deep study.

He was getting close. What began as nonsensical scribbles were starting to take shape, once he put it all together, staring into his scrawls throughout the day, as if to sink through the pages themselves. There was no doubt in his mind that he was dealing with something outside the understanding of science. The dog was a gifted scholar, well versed in all things on the fringes of living knowledge, where the inexplicable and potentially dangerous discoveries lurked. He shared his findings with the other members of the mage-scientist guild, as was expected of him when dealing with such an anomaly, but against all logic, he believed his gut feeling on the matter. This was a message meant only for him.

That explained why he was alone in the mountain. No, that didn’t make sense. Layle had been considering the possibility of an expedition with his fellow guild members, but he had yet to even set those plans in motion, much less embark in search of the one who spoke to him in the night, carving a coded message into the depths of his subconscious mind. Even if he did end up leading such an expedition, his fellow scientists would never have abandoned him in such a place, unless something had befallen them.

Layle was in his bed, the covers pulled tight to his chest. He was on the cold, hard ground. The wind blew through the window. The voices echoed through the caverns. He rubbed his head. He grasped the hilt of his rapier and the grip of his hunting pistol. His body was bare beneath the sheets, and yet he could feel the fabric of his perspiration-damped cloak and breeches clinging to him. His nightmares had receded to present him with two points in his life, each as real as the other. Closing his eyes tightly, forcefully, he crossed his arms over his chest and fell a little further down.

There was liquid there to greet him, and a voice. The first was warm, the second was sweet. Yet he found no comfort as he was submerged. Not when it went so deep, wrapping around his body and coating him in a wet layer of something rubbery or latex-like. It clung to him. He was underneath, and he was drowning. It was the thing he feared most, ([i]how did She know?[/i]) and yet the will to struggle and fight his way to the unseen surface was weaker than the panic that kept him motionless, ready to submit to the most horrible demise he could imagine.

Yet it wasn’t to be. It was time to awaken once more. No call of the crow roused him from his slumber. Instead, there was a hand. Not Hers. Those tendrils remained only in his mind, for the time being. Outstretched came the grasp of the saviour, and Layle breathed again. He found himself pried out of his nightmare, pulled from the goo that still coated him, seemed to dissolve his very clothing, and his weapons too. Naked and soaked to the skin, fur coated in layers of that strange, smooth substance, he was shiny in the light of torches while he gasped and choked his way to cold sobriety. There was no bed to comfort him, and he was far from the realm of dreams. There was nothing to wake up to but for the robed figures gathered all around him, their faces concealed, their voices chanting something incomprehensible in perfect unison.

Though it was in none of the languages Layle had studied, nor ever heard, he understood somehow. The sounds from their mouths were the same as the patterns he had scrawled upon his pages on waking from his dreams. They spoke the pattern like a song, and all around him, the slime began to stir. He was on his knees as if in prayer, squeezing his hands together, lower lip trembling, tail twitching, and yet he felt such [i]joy[/i]. As the slippery something beneath him rippled with activity, once a pool, now a solid surface, the song came to a crescendo.

He could only listen. [i]Truly[/i] listen. Cerulean images flashed through his mind, broken into pieces, shuffled out of order, until all the colour drained from them, replaced with a ghostly white glow. The depths of the mountain were a wound in the stone, carved out not by flowing water and time, but by something more massive than any world, any ecosystem could have possibly sustained. He and the robed figures dwelt in that unmapped place, unmeasurable fathoms beneath the world and everything Layle had known, and yet the longer he listened, the more familiar it all became.

When he breathed deeply enough and filled his chest with that welcome scent of wetness from beyond all knowing, he was somewhere else. The warmest thoughts, the kindest moments, the brightest lights flooded back to him. He remembered being cared for, being held by the one he trusted most. There was love, discovery, and pleasure. He was twenty years younger, looking up at the sky and wondering about it for the first time. He was old and tired, yet content he had spent his years well. Through those moments, more than memories or premonitions, he finally found the source of all his joy..

[i]It was Her. It had always been Her.[/i]

The apparatus of his mind had finally been unearthed. He could open his eyes again. She was rising from the surface. The great slickness spread through the cave in her coming. The robed ones - cultists, surely - screamed a name he couldn’t immediately make out, when they weren’t falling to their knees to scream and weep for her arrival. Some fled. Layle could understand their trepidation, but he had no idea where those many tunnels led to, or if there truly was any escape from the mountain deep. He watched the figure rise up from the slime as the name came into clarity.

[i]Senka ... Senka ... Senka![/i]

Her smile! Her many eyes, to see him from every side! Oh, how he wanted to scream his instant adoration for the one who came from somewhere deeper. She had always been there for him, always loving, always patient, until he was one day clever enough to find her. The caregiver, the nurturer, mother of all nightmares, Senka took shape before him, and such a shape it was. He trembled before the breadth of her curves, knowing she could destroy him, for she was the destroyer, the one who consumed. Yet in the wideness of her ghost-white maw, in those many dripping fangs, he saw only her elation to be reunited with her precious boy, her sweet lost dog who had for decades unknowingly pined for her embrace.

Sweetest Senka, slick and dripping, shining in the torches. She was all his nightmares made manifest, shaped like softness itself, radiating the glory of uncreation. Her naked form glistened with perfection. There was nothing more desirable. Yet even as she bathed him in the glow of her smile, he recoiled from her touch. Her voice had been beneath a whisper when she spoke to him in dreams. He feared the reality-unmaking sounds she could create with the full depth of her throat.

She sucked in the firelight and breathed her shadows into the room, into the great dark cavern where her cult dwelt. They dared not move, nor even gaze upon her. Prostrate before her, they left Layle to be the only one to perceive such eldritch resplendence. He saw the stars in the night sky dancing all around him, and he no longer wondered what was out there. She answered all her questions with her curves, reaching out and reaching out and reaching out and -

“My sweetie. How I have longed for my good boy’s touch. I have so much love to give you. Will you open up to me?”

Each syllable a song of its own, her voice filled him with equal delight and dismay. Frozen, haunted, a statue before the tentacle-haired one, he could neither meet her gaze nor grasp the hand on offer. A thousand splinters of his mind screamed in unison to know she wanted him. Her desire was apparent by the juices flowing from jaws and squishy sex alike. Every rule of the mage-scientist guild had warned him against such temptation, against cavorting with beings from realms beyond. Yet he understood at a mere glance she was so much more than the Gatekeepers or the Hateful Ones.

His heartbeat was mechanical noise within a chest that no longer belonged to him. She controlled the rhythm with her breath, rising and falling to draw the air she didn’t need, pulling him closer as if to inhale him. Her jaws shone bright, inner light washing over his naked, goo-clad body. He wanted to laugh. To think he had anything resembling a choice in the matter made him wonder if she was capable of humour. That was foolish. She was the greatest of all things. Maybe she had invented it.

The giver of all that was good, the wonder from beyond the stars, the eternal smiler wanted him. He fell into her embrace as if pushed, but none of the cultists had touched him. They were still all around, faintly present in Layle’s awareness, but they hadn’t moved. None dared look upon her. Yet Layle was free to stare, to take in every last detail for as long as he wished, with his gaze and then with his fingers. Laying his head down on the pillow of her bust was the first dive into all the pleasures her body offered.

Of course, to squish and nuzzle against her breasts, to press his face to the softest chest he could ever imagine was more than just a gift. It was an exchange, and Senka was free to take what she wished in return. He felt her wrap an arm around his body as if closing the gate behind him. The chanting continued as she hummed to him, hugged him, pressed him all the more intimately into her cleavage until his face was coated in her lovely slime. He wanted it all over his body, radiating that thought as if to manifest it, but Senka took her admiration of his body nice and slowly. She started with her hands, and the points of her claws.

Scratching away all the itches he’d ever feel, banishing any present and future discomfort, she traced her fingers along his back and stroked his spine as if from the inside. Even the smallest touch was enough to spread her comforts through his body. He let her feel him, let her take him in as she dwelt there, snuggled into her tits, trying not to dream himself awake. The bed was far from him then. It was a place she’d visited him so many times before, nameless, formless, but with a lingering sensation clinging to him on waking. What had been a whisper of her presence was then a silent shout.

Simply to be near her was to be tasted, Layle knew. Yet she could take so much more of his flavour with a slather of her tongue. She whipped and curled it all around his body, inch by inch. It was a serpent’s welcome embrace, squeezing him with the strength that told him he was safe in her care. There was nothing else that could harm him. Nothing greater than her. She slicked and drooled all over his body until he was erect for her, leaping from his timid softness to full, engorged, and steadily pulsing with the thunderous heartbeat she’d imposed upon him.

“You never have to be lonely again, Layle.” To hear his name escape her maw was a shuddering experience. It wasn’t his anymore once she’d claimed it like that. “I have known this feeling like you would never understand. You have no word to describe how long I have been searching for a one like you to cure me.”

She reached down and curled his head up towards her with one clawed finger, leaving him to widely stare up at her from between her breasts.

“Will you be this for me? Are you just a boy, to be coddled and cared for, or are you my man?”

He didn’t know how to answer that, and simply dwelt there, waiting for her to continue.

“You have grown so strong and handsome. I know you would make me the happiest woman in all reality and beyond.”

Layle found his voice as if it had been thrust into his throat, moving from silence to spitting, sputtering, blatantly blurting out his thoughts with no ability to stop them.

“I’m ... I’m not. I’m not strong. I’m far from the best in the guild. I have never met a woman like you. I feel so ... so weak, so pathetic compared to you, Senka.”

He spoke her name slowly, feeling it out with his mouth. It was something like an ordinary name in any other context, but when it belonged to her, it was powerful. So too was the grip she used to seize him when he spoke of himself like that.

“No. Never again. You don’t speak these words when you are mine. I will show you all the potential within you. Everything you could ever be, it shall be so, with my love. I have longed for you, Layle. I would live this day forever.”

The fleeting images in his mind of more familiar surroundings flashed once more. He ran through his whole morning routine in his head before he blinked back to full awareness, still trapped between her breasts, wrapped in a tongue that did nothing to muffle her speech. Her message was clear and firm. He could only apologize.

“I’m sorry, Senka,” he said, looking down again, feeling unworthy of her visage. She squeezed him all over at once.

“You never have to be sorry, Layle. You will never disappoint me. I know the song within you.”

Her words inspired his scholar’s curiosity, and yet before he could inquire further about inner songs, she gave him another sample of the pleasures she could offer him. All the dark places in his mind slammed shut when he felt her tongue tantalizing his taint. She was not subtle in her desires, nor her offers of carnal satisfaction. It took her seconds to push her way between his cheeks, beneath his tail, and plunge forth until she penetrated him and bestowed upon him sensations he’d never experienced, nor ever thought he would.

He was a whimpering mess, all but dissolving into her embrace from the moment she entered. Throwing himself forth, grasping at her, scrambling, he listened to the chanting rise while the horror before him tonguefucked a pleasure into his body he couldn’t bear. It was his burden, that rising ecstasy, his trial to endure. Senka didn’t mind if he squeezed her body for support, nor even if he ended up pressed up against her belly, thrusting his stiff cock against her soft, slick heft while he fought to even comprehend how good it felt to have her inside him. She didn’t merely touch his pleasure button as she stimulated his entire body all at once. Then she went deeper.

Stroking, massaging, and above all [i]fucking[/i] him, she left him madly humping her great, soft gut, sending ripples and wobbles through her curves. He couldn’t stop. Not while she was treating him like that, manipulating him like a puppet with the [i]schlick[/i] of a long, infinitely flexible tongue plunging in and out, curling, touching, exploring all the places where he was most tender. A short time taking everything she wished to give, and resisting orgasm wasn’t a matter of willpower. It was inevitable. His body wasn’t made to hold all that pleasure. He needed to let it all out.

“There you go. Almost. The first of so many more. Let your seed mark the body of your nightmare bride,” Senka whispered.

She hardly needed to speak a word. Senka’s soft cooing and murmuring told him it was okay. It was all going to be okay. He didn’t have to hold back. He didn’t have to hide how she made him feel. An arch of his back to throw his hips forward, to thrust hard against that great soft middle, to bury himself in her plush form and feel her slickness soaking over his shaft, and Layle released. All the tension and fear came with that cumshot, fuelling it, serving to keep him shooting all over her until he’d produced an impossible amount of bright white spunk to splatter over the round rise of her gut.

She wore it proudly, letting it slowly stream down her body until he was utterly drained. Layle felt no pain in the absence of anything more to give her, but he felt exhausted, pleasantly satisfied, empty even with her tongue still inside him. Senka let that cum coat her a while longer, but it began to vanish amid the slick coating all over her body. He watched as she absorbed it, taking it directly into her skin, claiming it for her own. His inquisitive mind wondered if that was all it took to breed with the eldritch goddess, and if he was to call himself a father-to-be. He could ponder further while he took in all the more of her thick, wet scent.

It had already been prominent while he rested in her bosom, cushioned on both sides by breasts larger than his head. Faintly twitching his tail in the aftermath of orgasm, sensitive to the smallest touch, experiencing extended ecstasy simply by feeling her skin against him, he breathed extra deep just in time to delve deeper into her haunting musk. Layle could hardly explain it, but even her natural scent inspired fear and awe. It was potent, and it was intoxicating. He knew not how merely sniffing her was reshaping the physical properties of his very mind, rewiring the paths, perhaps even changing his whole identity, and yet he never wanted to stop.

A gentle push was all it took to guide him beneath an arm. The crevice there was as slick as the rest of her, though perhaps imbued with a darker, wetter taste of her overall scent. Layle inhaled pure nightmare musk and he licked it too. Tasting her for the first time was enough to settle a longstanding question in his mind. He lapped at her underarm, he sniffed the monstrous one’s armpit, and ended all internal debate on the matters of religion and God. She was the one.

Newly invigorated by his understanding, he was all the more willing to slide down her body when she urged him, and let her trample upon his face. It wasn’t truly that she stepped on him, remaining seated as she did. She simply took his head in the clasp of her toes and pressed his snout firmly to those sleekly-textured soles so that he might worship them as she deserved. He was huffing rapidly by then. Each sniff was too short to fully satisfy him. He cursed the capacity of his lungs and licked up and down, from her heels to her toes, and everything in between.

Sometimes he fascinated even himself with what his tongue could do. Perhaps she had given him some small touch of her own, the tiniest of transference to allow him to slurp the contours between her toes and drink in her flavoured slime all the more thoroughly. He was moaning while he did it. More so than Senka herself, but she did too. Listening to those ghostly gasps and sultry rumbles from her throat while she squished him between both of her soles, smearing their soft texture over his features meant he was stiff again, no matter how many inner reservoirs of his she had drained.

All the more arousal washed over him when his tour of her body continued. She pulled him along, clutching him with such care, as if he were the most delicate thing in all the worlds, just to plant him firmly between her thighs. Layle was acutely aware of the danger he was in at every moment in her presence, but none more than then. One squeeze of those thick legs could have crushed him into nothingness itself. Yet that did nothing to dissuade him from - and if anything only encouraged him to - cast himself deep into her pussy even if it meant being entirely enveloped in those eldritch folds.

Immediately immersed so deeply he could hear the echo of his thoughts in his submerged ears, Layle didn’t let himself think about drowning. When the fear was ever-present, a little more changed nothing of his approach. He didn’t modestly kiss her between the legs. If the scholar and mage was to be her groom, he needed to make a proper proposal, and that was precisely what he gave her. Doing his best to emulate the wriggles and writhes of her tongue as he stuck his own inside her, he feasted upon her juices and drank her arousal until his senses were swimming so deeply in her eldritch warmth that time seemed to simply stop.

A monumental goal occurred to him, and he pursued it without hesitation. Could he make her cum? Could such a higher being even achieve orgasm in quite the same way a mortal did? She probably knew something better, and he worked to bring it out of her with his lips and tongue. He felt something almost like a tremble passing through her, internally. Though he wouldn’t have described it like that. There was power in those internal flexes, squeezing around his tongue and muzzle. It occurred to him how easily he could have vanished into her, been pulled up inside her body, never to be seen again. That kept the fear from fading.

An ocean of her essence flowed down his throat as he drank from her, swallowing her arousal, inspiring all the more. Even as the shivers continued down his spine, he felt a blush in his cheeks to know he could turn on such a frightful being with his mere mortal self. He worshipped her with every act, no matter how damned it may have made him. Such petty considerations of heaven and hell seemed little more than superstition while he was neck deep in the pussy of an old goddess. The squelch of the internal flexes wrapping near skintight to each of his facial features was her forbidden invitation, leaving the walls stretching and conforming around the shape of his head.

The thickness of her tail was such that merely sliding it around, he could feel the vibrations in the floor beneath him. That massive appendage had weight, and it had strength, but neither prevented it from moving with the precision she needed. A great anaconda, muscular and writhing, it curled around her body on her command to wrap around Layle’s own. All the dog could do was keep licking until he was no longer able. His dream of making her cum with his cunning tongue work alone wasn’t to come true, or so it seemed. She wound and coiled around him until he was helpless in the grasp of her squeezing tail, and brought him where he needed to go.

That was when the cultists began screaming. Layle couldn’t tell if it was fear, fury, or rapture that drove them to such intensity. Yet for as loud as they were, they were easily drowned out

“You have proven yourself a worthy mate, time and time again. I know you don’t remember all of it, but you have always been there for me when I needed it most. When a mortal like you earns my love, Layle, there is only one thing I can propose.”

She carried him along with her tail, swaying him through the air as if showing him off to her hooded admirers. Then she dipped him down, with surprising speed. It caught him off guard enough that he stretched out his hands to brace for impact with her great, shapely rump. That didn’t help matters. Instead, he ended up with his entire hand inside the sleek hole beneath the base of her thick tail. A [i]schlurp[/i] of friction as he entered her, and that ring of dark flesh clenched around his wrist, trapping him in place. The internal muscles squeezing on his hand felt so strangely orgasmic, more than just a massage. Layle could only ponder what it would have felt like to have that grip working over more tender parts of his body while she spoke as if nothing was amiss about the situation.

“What do you say, my sweet dog? My man, my lover, forevermore?”

Even as he sensed the looming danger, it was difficult not to blurt out his response. Layle’s entire being wanted him to accept. No matter the consequences, no matter the horrors she still had in store for him. That she gave him so much as the illusion of choice made him want to trust her, and so his response escaped his trembling lips

“Yes ... “

“So it shall be.” Her permanent smile grew broader. Layle couldn’t see it, but he could hear it in her voice. “You will make me such a happy woman. And I know precisely where to consummate our love. A private realm, dark and beautiful, only for us. Let me take you there.”

She wasn’t asking questions anymore. She told him how it was going to be. Layle had little time to reflect upon his decision. He was already travelling deeper into her body, feeling her constricting around his arm. At the last moment, he opened his mouth to ask for mercy, or perhaps simply for a moment to prepare himself for the plunge. Senka muffled everything as she engulfed him, compressing him, squeezing him between the monumental cheeks of her ass, eclipsing all remaining light, drenching him in her inner darkness to snuff out the last remaining flicker of his stable mind.

To be so lewdly handled by someone so far above him stunned him as much as the kneading inner walls did. She hugged around his face with those clenching muscles, welcoming him with a massage that made him gasp. Her wet scent and nightmare musk grew all the warmer the deeper she took him, but she was never sweltering, never uncomfortable. It would have been the perfect place to sleep if it wasn’t for the suffocating grip of everything around him. When she overtook his chest, the fear rose all the faster.

She must have known. More than just the natural, instinctual panic he felt inside her, there came the phobic response. It was a reaction that fascinated his scientific mind even as it pushed all reason from his thoughts. He could only shake inside that tight space, getting the air slowly squeezed out of him by her pleasured contractions. It felt akin to drowning, still coated in all her slime, lubricating his passage into her body. Powerless before her whims, he found himself satisfying her in his writhing terror, if the rising pressure of her working muscles was anything to go by.

Layle knew how much danger he was in. It had never been more apparent. All his research, all his discipline and careful practice had done nothing to ward him from his fate. The air was running out inside her, replaced by the wetness in his lungs. He choked and he weakened, and yet still struggled on. Even as his shaking paws popped past the last resistance of her dark hole, sealed away inside her along with the rest of him, he fought with to resist dying inside her. His effort made for a slight wobble of the vague bulge in her belly he had become. He was hardly big enough to make a big indent in her curvaceous form.

It would have most likely been easy to crush the life out of him with those powerful squeezes. Senka chose the slow death for her new husband instead. The panic never left him. It kept him moving even when he should have long since died. Yet his body had its limits that no amount of adrenaline could overcome. He seized, stiffening all over, and finding himself strangely erect in the moment of passing. What he was certain was his permanent end left him with a sensation like freely falling at terminal velocity before all sensation blinked out, and he was gone.

A familiar bed awaited him beneath a spiral in the sky. The fear felt so far away once he awakened. Lights danced in dissonance above and around, overwhelming his senses. Gazing up at the miasmal patterns surrounding him with their undulations, he found himself stricken by the urge to find his notes, to jot down and document not just the visual properties of such phenomena, but to journal the emotions they inspired in him. Gone were his laments, replaced by wonder, even elation. Layle’s curiosity overtook the need to know precisely where he was. Until she arrived.

Emerging from above like a slime-slick spider, tendrils on display, descending from a place higher than he could ever hope to fathom, Senka returned to find him in that place. He looked in all directions as the motherly figure softly floated down to meet him, wondering if there was any hope of exit hidden away in the seemingly endless, featureless blackness that kept him from seeing anything of note. Sometimes, the darkness seemed to dance as well, forming shadows and glimpses of things which he might have recoiled from if not for the horror herself soon standing colossal at the foot of a bed that had once been his, or so he had always thought.

There was nothing to fear of nightmares and lesser monsters when she had her six eyes upon him. Layle’s first response was to pull the covers over his head in rather juvenile fashion. He heard her gently laugh. It was a kind sound, a pleasing one. She wasn’t mocking him. His antics merely amused her, and of course they didn’t keep her from acquiring what she wished. He heard the great [i]schlick[/i] of her body moving, of something emerging from within her to writhe around and grope beneath the once-comforting blanket, wet and wriggling as it tickled at his feet.

“Silly Layle. You have always made me smile. Will you hide from me in a world I have made for us? I know you fear for your mortal shell, but I keep it safe within me.” She leaned closer, casting her shadow over his hidden form. “You are a keen-minded one, Layle. You should understand there is so much more for you to lose than your life.”

With that, she wrapped that tentacle around his ankle, and dragged him from his bed. He dangled there, observing her inverted self, flailing and even attempting to strike her. Though he could not say for certain what manner of reality he had fallen into after his apparent death, he knew he was alone with her. The feeling resonated through every moment. There was a great nothing all around them, surrounding him like the walls of a prison. His existence was a simple one. He was to be devoted to her, in every way she liked, in a place where time stood still. It was that or lose his mind. Perhaps he had the capacity for both.

He could never keep the arousal down, no matter how hard he tried. She enticed him. Her shine and her smile, her shapes and her textures, they sent such pleasure through his brain for every moment he spent observing her, to say nothing of breathing her. That persistently wet scent grew thicker in the air the longer she held him. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew it to be her own arousal. She let him hang there, dangling with his face inches from her sex until he caught a misting of the lust flowing from those plump lips. She filled him with the urge to kiss them, but instead she spoke.

“Will you breed with me, Layle? I want to show you how much I truly love you.”

For all the fear and quivering madness creeping up the back of his scalp, Layle found himself stricken once more by the intense curiosity he had always shown.

“What will we make?”

He heard that soft [i]mmm[/i] escape her mouth. It pleased her when he found the courage to speak to her. “That remains to be seen. Even I could not say for sure. I want to be surprised, for the first time in aeons. I want to put something new inside your world.”

A quick snap of her grasping tentacle sent him flailing. It was a minor fear for all else she had done, and could do to him, but he yelped nonetheless. Collapsing once more into the bed that seemed as if it had been taken directly from his now-distant residence, down to the familiar smell and the slight sag near the upper left edge. He wondered if her shadow was already spreading across the town, if even as she teased and seduced him, she was consuming her way through all he had once called home. It was a strange comfort to assure himself that her attention was fully on him.

There was one thing that told him the bed wasn’t the one he had once known. It never could have supported such weight. She climbed on top of him slowly, leaving him all but paralyzed to watch her approach. Easily stepping a foot on each side of the bed, raining her coating slime and her flowing juices over his body, she slowly lowered her steaming sex towards his erect shaft. The approach left him trembling, lip quivering in tandem with the shakes of his desperately aroused cock. For all the urges to scream, to weep, and to praise her as his everything, all was pushed back in favour of the simple, primal need to [i]fuck[/i] that eldritch beast of a woman. He would grant her the spawn she desired, at least somewhat willingly.

His knot didn’t slow her down in the slightest. She took him inside with a thunderous thump to his hips. One single [i]schlurp[/i] stuffed his canine dick inside her to the very hilt, leaving him trembling within her confines, pulsing, shooting, already on the edge of climax. The pleasure inspired further horror in him. He was already desperate for release, edging his way towards a peak he wasn’t certain he could handle. The slurping suck of the wettest cunt he’d ever felt left him gritting his teeth, merely trying to bear the lewdness of those sounds she evoked with the slightest movement, the slightest slide up and down his every single inch at once.

Then there was her voice. She had been kind enough to speak to him with only one in meeting him. A chorus of moans escaped her once she got going, pumping up and down, slipping and slopping over his slathered shaft. Her song of pleasure overlapped and echoed off the darkness all around them. The shadows encroached with every thrust, every sleek, driving dive of her hips to bash her heavy rump down on his thighs and knees, swallowing his cock down to his aching balls with each majestic stroke. Layle watched the wobble of impact travel through her entire body, watched the force she was bringing down on him, and wondered why she hadn’t broken him to pieces with such ferocity yet.

Through it all, there was her stare. Layle had been focused on her figure, and the way it bounced and shook with their nightmarish lovemaking. He avoided her gaze as best he could, but through her moans and huffs of utmost pleasure, there was a low rumble emitting from her throat. It was more akin to the vibrations of an ancient cavern, a tremor from within her that wordlessly spoke to him of her desire. He saw the spit flowing between her fangs, highlighted in the moonlight glow of her gullet. He felt her eyes upon him as if groping deep into his muscles, to feel the structure and firmness, all the qualities of the piece of meat he was to her. She was drooling for him.

With a feral cry that seemed to replace his blood with pure ice, she lunged forward and doubled her pace. A relentless, slamming swing of her broad hips saw him sinking so deeply inside her sex he felt his very balls enter her too. She gripped him and milked him with the steady convulsions, the undulating pulse around his cock demanded tribute. He could only whimper for her and reach for her breasts. Layle needed something to hold onto in the moments of climax, and those squished nicely under his fingers, offering him some sense of stability while she spoke her commands in a firm, deep voice.

“Fill me and let us bring another fear into the world. Give me all of it, Layle. Every drop you have left before the feast.”

Layle thought nothing of the implied threat. He could only obey. An arch of his back to push as deeply inside that sopping, squeezing sex as he could get, and he released. The initial jolt of pleasure shot all through his entire body, spreading through his veins, crackling in his fingertips as much as it left him throbbing inside of her. He felt her flexing. He felt her quivering, even. It got wetter and wetter inside of her, and she drenched his fur in her juices, cumming for him just as he came for her. There was nothing he could do but breed with her.

Even with her jaws looming so near his face the entire time, misting him with her breath, dripping on him, he kept cumming. He poured everything he could give her, a week’s orgasms all at once, into her eldritch womb. There was warmth all throughout his body as he filled her. He knew his seed would take, in some nightmarish way. From awed, blissed out in total rapture, he found himself straining, his body curling as if in defense. He squeezed her breasts all the harder, but he couldn’t make her flinch like he was. His cock just kept pumping, kept giving her everything she wanted even if it meant he was going to break, in some sense. Whether it was his mind or body that threatened to go first remained unknown to him.

He was still cumming even when she lunged for him. Layle knew there was little reason to resist her. If she wished to devour him, he could only offer his terror as tribute. Instinct had a way of fuelling that even if his submission was inevitable, and his climax continued. Still balls-deep in her pussy as she wrapped him up in her tongue, Layle felt another reserve of pleasure worked out of him by those kneading muscles. Senka squeezed all the tight as she drew his body towards her jaws. His efforts to push that great, glowing face away from his own only ended with his hands straight down her throat.

It was as before. Once her body had a grip on him, she did not let go. Layle tugged back, testing the strength of her gulping muscles, even if he already knew they would be absolute. Then he tried a little harder anyway, turning objection into combat, shoving at her with all his might just to preserve his nightmare for a little longer. He hoped it would be quick when it came. Those fangs could have easily cleaved through his meagre mortal flesh, which made it all the more concerning when she didn’t use them on him.

He felt the points of her teeth glossing over his skin, combing through his fur as she took him into her mouth, but she never bit beyond a nibble. With his eyes wide open, engulfed in her inner light, Layle descended into the throat of the horror from beyond the stars facefirst and screaming. It was an endless exclamation by then. He couldn’t stop it once it started. The sheer horror of being swallowed alive by a being he couldn't begin to comprehend, of being crushed and cramped into the tight, slimy confines of her stomach. Or whatever chamber awaited him down there. Her internal composition was as unknown to him as her nature.

[i]Ulllp! Glllp! Mmmmm![/i]

Senka was moaning all around him as she ate him alive. She took to rubbing the same breasts he’d been squeezing while they mated, playing with them, then stroking her belly to stir up some welcoming activity. Layle heard the typical gurgles he associated with digestion, and something more. There was a roar down there that he couldn’t attribute to mere hunger, as if another, lesser beast was waiting for him in the dark. He was bulging in her throat, a paltry outline under her slimy skin, descending with her long, savoury swallows. If she wanted him inside her quickly, she could have easily done so, but instead she worked around his naked body, kneading over his shoulders until she made him slip out from inside her, juices pouring over his still-twitching shaft.

She squeezed the breath out of him. He couldn’t gasp, and his screams fell to a rasp, then a silent quiver from his open mouth. Layle ended up swallowing plenty of her saliva on the way down, kicking his legs when she wrenched him up in her jaws to hold towards the spiral sky. She didn’t bother to restrain him. Nor did she even grip him with her hands and shove him in. Her throat did all the work, tugging him, dragging him, overtaking him, drowning him in the darkness beyond the glow. There was no light waiting for him in her belly, only the sensations of eldritch flesh wrapping all around his naked body and holding him as still as could be.

One more swallow, and it was a long one, sent him fully down in a spatter of her spit. She turned him from a throat bulge of handsome dog boy to a wobble in her belly, pushing out from beneath the softness. He made her ever so slightly plumper just by being there, and her curves cried out to wear him. Layle could feel some sense of that as he churned there, caught up in the aggressive gurgles that surrounded him, scrunched and squelched upon by the walls of the chamber all around him. His cries rose up again in his throat, attempting to beg her for mercy but finding nothing coherent escape his lips. Her voice was meanwhile clear to him, as if she was speaking directly into his ear.

“You may die as many times as I like, Layle. Don’t fear the false end, no matter how real it may feel. I will only take one small piece of your immortal soul each time you expire within me. It will be my little treat.”

That she spoke so casually of his total annihilation, of picking apart his very existence piece by piece put renewed vigour in his struggles. She crushed it out of him in time. The walls closed in, setting off more and more of a panicked response as juices sloshed around him. He felt them soaking into his skin and beyond, as if eating right through him. It didn’t hurt. Perhaps that was her mercy at play, or he had simply gone numb to the horrors he was experiencing. It didn’t lessen his fear by much. If anything, it simply helped him focus more succinctly on his body being crushed and dissolved in the dark, like the meat she had made of him.

Even when Layle heard Senka moan and touch herself to his continued struggles, he didn’t stop. The [i]schlick[/i] of her pushing her fingers inside her cum-filled sex was audible to him even there. Perhaps she wanted him to hear it. He was softening, melting, and ultimately collapsing in on himself under the intense pressure. Nothing was unclear to him. He could paint a total mental picture of the havoc she was inflicting upon his mortal shell. When he was little more than late-winter slush inside her stomach, easily pulled apart and distributed for her body to absorb, he swore he must have been dead by then. Yet thought and sensation endure, right up until there came the terrible realization that he was travelling deeper through her monstrous body.

Though what remained of him held no resemblance to the dog he had been anymore, he felt it all. Layle passed through the nightmare’s intestines, bulging down those ravenous tubes, feeling a little more of himself stripped away with each inch of passage. It all moved rapidly, and yet smoothly, accompanied by the satisfied rumbles of her belly. At least the roars of that inner beast had subsided, for the time being. He was left to soak in the humiliation of being transformed from a handsome, intelligent canine to something to squeeze through the digestive system of one of the very monsters he had been devoted to studying, claimed and worn as trophy weight upon her fearsome body. He made her fatter, and in some sense, he couldn’t resist thinking, all the more wonderful.

Yet there was no glory in what he had become. He glowed ever so slightly after his passage through her body, as if taking on some of her own otherworldly properties. The end of his journey had come, and Senka rose from the recreation of his bed to send him on his way. A sway of her great tail as she moved, trailing slime with every step, and she found an appropriate place in the darkness to relieve herself of him. Everything Layle had been was little more than a light-touched mass of nightmare shit squeezing from between those massive cheeks.

It almost seemed too crude for someone as elevated as her. She probably didn’t even need to do such a thing. Senka [i]chose[/i] to, simply to humiliate him, to leave him with the feeling of piling up on the floor of that mysterious, empty location. She loomed above, dumping him, squeezing out his former self until he was little more than a feeling, thinking mound of self-awareness. No doubt far from the first mage-scientist to end up as a mountain of monster shit, yet few were left thinking and aware of the terrible thing that had happened to him.

“It would be easy to leave you like that. Alone and pondering your fate, knowing I carry you on my curves to seduce my next lover. This place shall remain without crumbling long past the fall of your world.” There was haunting mirth in her voice. “Yet as easily as you are unmade, you are made again. Return to me.”

She snapped his fingers, and he awoke, as if from a trance. Jolting up at the floor left him flinching at the light in his eyes. It was nothing more than a few lanterns hung about a familiar room, and yet it was blinding in comparison to the darkness he had grown accustomed to. She was there, of course, and she was not alone. In slowly finding his vision again, Layle came to recognize the grand hall of his guild, where his respected colleagues and superiors had gathered to observe him, naked and depraved, bending the knee to the very horror he had vowed to banish from the realm.

Senka looked ever so slightly softer even at a glance. She wore him proudly. The realization made Layle frantically pat at his own body, as if looking for misplaced keys. He was intact, at least in flesh, but he could feel a gap beneath the skin. She had kept her word and only taken a portion of his soul, but the absence of that missing piece left a hollowness he couldn’t bear. It was as if she had bit a chunk out of his very being. His mind shook, and his will weakened. When she beckoned at him to rise, he obeyed in an instant.

The dismayed and disgusted looks of his guildmates felt too real to ignore. He knew she had merely conjured them up to add to his humiliation, pulling them directly from his mind, but he wouldn’t have put it past her to give her illusions the self-awareness they needed to be truly believable. Whatever shame he felt was more than just a trick. He crawled to her on all fours as she swayed for him, slowly swinging those great, wide hips until she turned herself around with a twirl of her thick tail and showed him that fine ass he had admired from the start. No matter the blasphemy and depravity, he could not resist the perfect rump of his almighty bride.

There was no need for her to speak her commands. She softly laughed, a musical sound as he stuck his face between her cheeks and started to lick. His attention was solely focused on that slick, dark hole. Slathering it up and down with repeated drags of his tongue, he debased himself in worship, obsessing over the nightmare musk of her slime and perspiration as they mingled on her skin. He clutched her cheeks to brace himself for further worship, delving deeper and deeper, slobbering on her like the whore he had become, until she clicked her tongue to direct him like a trained animal.

In an instant he withdrew, madly stroking at his cock in front of all those disappointed faces. He needed to be [i]hard[/i] for her. Not just aroused, but aching, rigid, absolutely pounding with lust by the time he stepped between her cheeks. She remained kneeling, still taller than him in that pose, while he pushed himself against her back and squished against her rear, sticking his shaft directly against the same hole he’d been so fondly licking. A whimper from his lips at the sensation of wet horror against his dick, and he soon found himself panting, drooling, and penetrating her before those he had once sworn loyalty to.

There was nothing compelled about his needy, lunging, pounding thrusts. He gripped and squeezed about her hips, feeling the added fat on her body under his fingertips. He rammed forth, knowing he needed not worry of showing her gentleness. Knotting her ass and pulling back to pop that sex-slickened bulb free, only to plunge it in again, he soon had a sloppy pace providing a spatter of juices to any of his guildmates who drew too near. They observed him with faces of confusion, of anger, of sheer disgust, but they never looked away. Each and every set of eyes, even those belonging to members he knew to be deceased or missing, remained locked upon the pair consummating their forbidden love in the guildhall, or some recreation of it.

Layle didn’t bother with the specifics anymore. When she weaved illusions with such skill, everything was real to him. The tight, clenching hole squelching around his cock with every thrust had become his entire existence. He fucked her and made her jiggle with the strength she had given him. It was enough to send those deep, rutting pounds rippling through her cheeks like waves. Senka stretched her arms above and behind her many-tentacled head just to display her bouncing bust to the masses of viewers. Layle didn’t stop, didn’t slow, panting and even snarling with his need to fill her gorgeous ass with his seed.

Though she had milked him of seemingly everything she had, that was before she devoured him. He was renewed in death, reborn into a better, faster, stronger form, and it was more potent too. Layle could already feel his balls trembling with the rising need to drain them as he fucked her ass with all his power. Fatigue had become a thing of the past. His pace never slowed, until he was knotting and popping free of that hole twice a second, no matter how tightly she clenched up around that swollen base of his canine cock. He demonstrated his devotion with his unending praise, with the plapping slaps of sack to her monstrous backside, drilling that hole slathered, soaking in her slime, sniffing at her back just to take her into his senses all the more deeply.

For as naturally as the pleasure built, working incrementally towards the orgasm he needed, it all spiked so much higher when she clapped her hands together. A sudden cry from his lips barely sounded like him. It was partly a howl, partly something else. He threw himself forth and buried deep with her rear, feeling those blissful squeezes of her own orgasm guiding him through a cumshot too potent to have been the work of a mortal. All those colleagues, all who had ever doubted him, they all saw how powerful he had become when he shot what felt like gallons of his spunk under the great fat tail of the horror in the mountain.

Clutching her from behind, massaging her hips, pressing himself into her body, he howled his way through his orgasm until the faces began to fall away around him. They crumbled to dust, leaving their robes or their cloaks to fall to the floor as all the light was snuffed out of the room. The lanterns died and the cold crept in, but Senka gave him all the warmth he needed. He gave another thrust or two, pressing into the creamed mess he made of her ass, and slowly loosened his grip, sinking back, falling, leaving her body to collapse in satisfaction. He already knew he could never go back, and such an act, no matter how hypothetical, had sealed it.

When he was on his back again, he was perfectly vulnerable to the same shapely rear he had so ferociously devoted himself to. There was more to do to show his dedication.

Senka rose briefly, only to bring herself down on his face with alarming haste. She [i]slammed[/i] down over him, engulfing him in an instant, filling him with a trace of his own scent where her own didn’t immediately drown it out. Sitting on him, pressing his features to the hole he’d fucked, she left him to clean his own cum from her body as if it was somehow defiling her. That was his first reaction to being in such a position at least, but it didn’t last long. She was pressing into him once more, swallowing him with her rear hole with such ease.

Though it could squeeze up tightly enough to force him to fuck her harder just to keep from stopping in place, she could just as effortlessly stretch to overtake his face with that hungry hole. Deeper and deeper she got, surrounding him in crackling flesh, the steady [i]schlick[/i] of the wettest passage he’d ever felt. He delved deeper and deeper, huffing her, indulging in her, and still licking her for as long as he still could as she enveloped him. The steady kneading of her asshole was not unlike the peristalsis he’d endured on the way down her throat, and yet it was so much more welcome at that point. He welcomed his next demise. Let his inner self continue to hollow out to feed her darkest appetites.

Layle was hardly halfway inside her body before she began to truly mulch him. That hole was frightfully lethal for how good it felt to fuck. It was digesting him in a whole new way. He felt the walls gripping him, tugging at him, absorbing him from every angle at once. Such greed flexed around his body, soon squeezing at his still-stiff cock once she overtook his waist. Deeper and deeper into the darkness he went, moaning, whimpering, showing his utmost fealty no matter how fiercely the fear still endured.

He was never fully calm, slipping into such a dark place to be absorbed once more. It was even tighter than her belly. It squeezed around him until he was only drawing shallow breaths. And yet sinking into her embrace, inch by inch, [i]scrunch[/i] by juicy, claiming [i]scrunch[/i] brought him something better than orgasm. He felt such [i]purpose[/i], such a need to be hers and only hers. Being swiftly, horrifyingly digested in the asshole of the nightmare beast was the greatest romance he had ever felt.

A little more to tuck his paws away beneath her lowering tail, and he was prepared to die again. She crushed and kneaded on him, flattening him down, smoothing him over, taking more and more of him directly into her curves without ever pushing him all the way to her belly. Her backside could claim him just fine, squishing him down to a smaller and smaller bulge in her body, soaking him into the walls of the passage she had buried him within. The crinkling flash about him overtook his senses entirely, until the sound of her hungering cavern consuming him was the only thing he could sense, and the darkness that followed.

This time, he was allowed to rouse all on his own. She didn’t jolt him back to life or shake him awake. He opened his eyes as if rising from a dream, comfortable once more under familiar covers. It was more than just his bed. She had seen fit to recreate his entire bedroom, down to the feeling of the gentle breeze through the window and the lively chirps of the birds outside. She was there, unceremoniously on display, standing before his mirror. Turning to admire her rear directed his eyes as well. She was definitely thicker there with his contribution.

It might have been a happily domestic scene of a dog and his horror of a wife if Layle didn’t immediately double over and clutch at himself. The first piece had left him depraved, uncaring. With even less of a soul, he felt as if he might collapse on himself. The emptiness was profound and terrifying. He had already known death, and yet he was drawing closer to something so much worse than that, every time he gave himself to her. It dawned on him the strongest then, leaving him trembling in bed, helpless to keep her from turning to approach him and offer her nightmarish comfort.

Scooping him right up out of bed, she took him in her arms and pressed him to her chest so that he could bathe in the comfort of her slimy embrace. He had been dry for a moment, but found himself immediately soaked by her squishing and squeezing him there, engulfed in her bosom, listening to her hum.

“There you are, my sweet dog, my kindest lover. Right where you belong. The divergence is coming. I know what you will decide.”

She spoke those words as if intended to be comforting, as if by his helplessness he might find acceptance. Pressing so close to her like that felt as good as ever. He sighed as he felt his groin sink against her belly. Yet not all was as calming as it appeared. Perhaps the juxtaposition was her idea of humour, or perhaps it was yet another face of her cruelty. Her hug grew tighter when he tried to readjust himself even slightly. It was almost crushing by the time she got his muzzle between her breasts, smothering him, engulfing him, squeezing him firmly to her gooey skin until he began to slip right past it.

As if sinking into a particularly thick substance, a state of matter between liquid and solid, Layle slowly entered Senka’s body. There was something intensely intimate, undeniably sexual about falling into her like she was no more than a puddle. He had already experienced how she could grip and hug around his form from seemingly every angle at once. Her gooey flesh squished and [i]schlurped[/i] with impossible lewdness, leaving him to shudder as much as he panicked. To be submerged in her was to realize all his fears at once.

For all the ways she had ended him, this one made him panic the most. He experienced the clearest, cleanest fear of all as she hugged him tighter and tighter. It would have been easy to crush him with the undulations of her body wrapping all around him like a second skin. He could have drowned in her very slime, for all that poured upon him, cascading down her breasts, growing thicker the more of him she absorbed. Perhaps those trails of slickness were what Layle was becoming that time, though Senka’s bust growing in heft and softness alike. He vanished into her body, distributed instantly, numbed where she eroded him until the panic was harder to endure.

His cock sank right into her belly, stiff as ever, along with his thighs. She took him all, face-first, slowly smoothing over his muzzle, denying all his attempts at screaming. Soon there was little left to make a sound with. She took that away, absorbing his very face, erasing his features one by one. There was no process of transition, no melting, no digestion. He simply ceased to be once he crossed a certain threshold within her body, converted into her curves, contributing to her bulk the most directly he possibly could. She kept her arms around him the entire time, as if it was no more than a loving embrace. While he still had ears to hear, she cooed to him in her usual tone.

“You might not understand it now, but everything I do to you is my gift. It will take some time for you to recognize these pleasures for what they are. I never want you to stop being afraid. I will simply teach you how good terror can feel.”

Such urging did little to comfort him as he approached another death. When she was done absorbing her way over his muzzle, she took to his mind. The capacity for fear remained until the final slurp. Along the way, she took away his memories and sense of self, his control over his vanishing body. When he was little more than a barely-thinking speck of consciousness, he was still terrified. She milked that moment ever so slightly longer, holding him, stroking him, gently scratching down his back with her claws to ease his passage ever so slightly. In one more blink, he was gone, completely eaten by her body with no need to swallow him first.

When he crawled before her once more, pathetic and yet beloved, surrounded by non-entities, she scooped him up into her many tentacles. They seemed to fight for position, snapping at each other as much as they groped and stroked his body. One found its way between his lips before he could so much as think of speaking to her, of begging for a breather. They had all of eternity to spare. Surely she could have waited before she continued with him. Yet there was nothing to say but for the [i]GLURKS[/i] that came when she wedged a tentacle firmly down his throat and left him to reflexively suck on it without question. There was too much to taste to deny himself that.

Oozing a thick, musky fluid more potent than her usual slime, shooting it straight down his throat in potent spurts, Senka soon took to violating him elsewhere too. Of course one of those wriggling things had to find its way beneath his tail, with a second to wrap around it and yank it right out of the way for easy access to his taut hole. That tentacle squished into him with a sensation like spilling a warm fluid within, spreading him comfortably around its flexible girth. It went more rigid once it was inside of him, sliding back and forth, fucking him closer and closer to Senka.

The nightmare appeared almost lazy the way she reclined to allow her other appendages do the work. He observed her where he hovered, grasped in those many tendrils, watching her relax with her arms up. His gaze strayed to the spot under her arms, as if he was ready to lick there all over again, but she soon placed him between her legs. That thought he’d had earlier occurred to him again. It would have been ever so easy to crush him with a simple squeeze of her thighs. Yet she did nothing more than wrap those around him while she spitroasted him with her tentacles, adding a third to grope at his intensely stiff cock.

This enveloped his entire shaft at once, opening at the tip to engulf him down to the knot, and then farther still to suck his balls into its pressured embrace as well. The precum she squeezed from him grew thick and white in an instant. He didn’t climax so much as he simply found himself milked like an animal, with that goopy pressure on his prostate, the constant suckling on his shaft, and that rich taste getting pressed into his senses until his eyes watered. The tentacle drained him, becoming fat and engorged with all the canine seed shooting up its length, swallowing it all down to deliver it to the body of the monster who controlled it.

In the midst of all that pleasure, she directed him closer to her sex. What remained of his senses, those which hadn’t already been stunned numb by her tentacle-musk took in her essence, her arousal. She brought him closer until he was engulfed in her once more. Each time had been different from the last, and it was no exception. Her pussy was especially accommodating to small, scared dog boys like him. Even when she clenched down on his muzzle, she was so soft inside that the squish of inner flesh was the most welcoming yet. He didn’t scream this time, but he still shook.

Senka withdrew that tentacle from his mouth to leave him guzzling her other juices instead. He was immersed in pure femininity, drinking from her, surrounded by her, overpowered by her hungry squeezes. Layle had no doubt he was going in all the way, and that only seemed confirmed by the time she’d pushed him halfway, pleasuring him with her tentacles all the way. Yet there she paused, and instead began to withdraw him, wrapping a hand around both his ankles at once to grip him and easily manipulate her body. The constant [i]schlicks[/i] and suckles of slimy tendrils and gushing sex at once ensure he kept cumming for her the entire time, even if it meant giving up another tiny piece of his soul through orgasm alone.

Back and forth, in and out he went, used as nothing more than a living sex toy for the great, lustful eldritch one. He bathed in her and felt her essence permeated him, infusing him with her scent forever, so all would know he belonged to her, if she ever let him go. That didn’t seem likely from his present state. She took a little more inside of him with every thrust, every plunge of his upper body into her flexing pussy. Eventually she removed her tentacles and simply let the friction of sliding back and forth, popping his shaft in and out of her slit give him all the pleasure he needed.

Layle whimpered for her yet more, half-hollowed and pushing into the very womb he’d bred. It brimmed with warmth and comfort. He swore he could feel the life he’d given her. It emanated around her. She had taken his seed and corrupted it to her own ends, and some part of him was excited to know what would become of it, what he had helped unleash upon the world. The other half of him pushed out against the walls, finding a prison of flesh no matter how comfortable the accommodations might have been.

A rush of motion and a gush of juices pouring over his legs came with Senka forcing him deeper amid her contractions of climax. The mind-breaking cry of bliss she gave resonated through her body. It rattled him as she slurped him away, leaving her soaking her thighs once he was fully consumed. A bulge in her belly to be drummed upon and kneaded, he made her look ever so slightly pregnant with his presence. Pushing out on the walls as they closed in, overwhelming him with her inner fragrance, her kind embrace, he found himself breathing faster and faster, only growing more intoxicated on her the longer he spent inside her body.

“There you are. My sweet boy. My precious beast.” She spoke like a moan, running her fingers over the outline of the dog inside her womb. “What would it take to show my love? What do you desire most of me?”

All remained dormant as she awaited his answer. She neither churned and melted him as he expected, nor did she move to release him from his predicament. He needed to find a way to respond. The question rattled through his body much like her moans, putting spasms in his muscles, leaving him to clutch at his head and suppress his screams. The edge was right there. All he needed to do was take the next step, and accept the adoration she offered.

[b]Ending 1[/b]

“Please,” he first said, not entirely certain what he meant by it. A brief pondering, and he was more confident in his wretched state of utter defeat. “Mercy. An end. Even if I won’t like it.”

If the alternative was to loop through death and fathomless fear over and over for all that remained of time and space, he chose the more decisive option. Layle knew the fear would never fade away. She wouldn’t let him grow numb to her. There were always new ways to torment and terrify him, always more of his anguish to harvest for her unending appetite. He gave up. He was ready to die, for real.

Senka never ceased her smiling, but her shoulders fell for a moment. He sensed that where he dwelt. It was growing darker in her womb. He could already see nothing at all, but the absence of warmth and light was more oppressive, more hostile. For a moment perhaps, she was upset with him. Yet when he woke from his dream, surrounded by the unmoving cult, whose occasional utterances of joy and horror were the only indication of life, she seemed happy once more.

“Dearest Layle. I understand. It is so much to offer. Such radiance can blind even the most enlightened. Will you stay with me a little longer? I have so enjoyed your taste.”

She clasped him in both hands, holding him out in front of her as she knelt. His paws didn’t touch the floor. For all he had been through, he seemed physically intact, though he wasn’t sure if he could say the same of his mental state. She had not killed him, not truly. It was all simply a cruel nightmare. Before he could reply, she began to lick him with that long, curling tongue slithering up and down his body. That, he knew to most certainly be real.

Her affections proved sinister in hardly any time at all. Senka didn’t need to devour him to destroy him. Her slurping touch could do so well enough. Every lick, every lavish of her long, impossibly flexible tongue took a little more of Layle away. She was lapping him up like he was little more than a frozen treat in her hands, melting through him with her saliva. There was no blood, not even any pain. She simply turned him into something more like goo by covering him in her eldritch drool, and stole that taste away for herself.

The real terror was not in death. He had experienced that already. Layle had been ready for the void since he first met her. His end may have been tragic, but he was prepared to die as an honoured mage-scientist, fighting back the horrors beyond the veil to his last breath. Yet the more and more of him she licked away, gulping his liquid self down into the glow, the more he could feel her [i]erasing[/i] him. As if burning all the records of his life away in a catastrophic fire, she seized a little more of his soul and his legacy with each loud, messy slurp. No one was going to remember him. All the crises he had quelled would be unleashed once more, as if he never was.

One last effort, one last panic for the mother of nightmares was his final gift to her, even if he had no desire to give one. She licked him to the bones and drank him down, digesting him within her very hands. He dripped over her fingers and stained the floor like dog-toned paint, but mostly he disappeared down her gullet. Feasting on his fear and swallowing his soul, Senka turned her tasting to a feast, lapping more and more fiercely, losing herself in the lust of consuming him, utterly and permanently. There had never been a Layle. It had never been possible, in any of the many permutations of the possible universe. He was gone from every mind he’d ever touched.

She left him lingering there on the edge of existence, eroded and smoothed over, little more than a featureless blob in her grasp. Then she licked away the last of his mind and introduced him to the nothingness that was his present and his future, until time stopped ticking and entropy conquered all. The rest was a matter of cleaning herself up. Senka masturbated with a tentacle and two fingers alike inside her sex as she dragged her tongue along her body, slurping up the last splashes of what had once been Layle splattered over her bust and belly. His legacy was to be a delectable treat for the eldritch horror who had haunted him for so many nights. Only she could ever remember him, then. And in a blink of her six eyes, she chose not to.

Senka turned to the cult upon the floor around her. She sighed, in simultaneously dreamy and wistful fashion.

“I always knew it would not be. Yet I went through the paces for pleasure’s sake. Show me how you love me, my kind followers. Find me another dreamer.”

[b]Ending 2[/b]

Though he was a shell of what he once was, unrecognizable as the Layle his guildmates knew, there was strength yet in his hollowed form. He thought of her smile. He tasted his own fear. Every moment spent in her presence was one he spent feeding her, filling her, satisfying her in ways he never expected a single mortal could possibly provide. There awakened something then, perhaps enabled by the absence of so much of his soul. He had never felt pride like that before.

No discovery, no successful expedition had ever been so great an accomplishment as making Senka moan. All his research, all his hours of intense study had given him at least some small glimpse of how tremendous she truly was. He was starting to fathom her. And in that there came adoration. She had stayed her hand and spared him an eternity in the abyss, when erasing him from the world and the minds of all who dwelt in it would have been an afterthought for her. She deserved his praise.

Tucked away in her womb, he wasn’t sure precisely how to show it, nor articulate it in any language he knew. Perhaps he would try a new one. Curled up in her juices, marinating in her scent, he found syllables never meant for his mortal tongue. They fit in his mouth just fine, leaving him uttering that which he once thought unspeakable, failing to understand the individual words but knowing how such arcane proclamations made him feel. And Senka too. He swore he could feel her beaming, even tucked away in her body, soaking in all the rubs she gave him.

“My wonderful man. Let me make you into a fitting groom.”

A great squeeze of her womb around him filled all the gaps inside him with something so much more than emptiness. He was beyond hollow as she kneaded him, drenched him, sucked away the last of his soul until he was little more than animated flesh. Yet when the pressure built, and she began to orgasmically birth him back into that nightmare realm once more, he could already sense the changes that had come over him. There was no need for a mirror. He could see it all.

Soaking in a puddle of her raining juices, the new Layle stretched out before her and slowly found his feet. They were decorated with new claws, bright and white, as were his fingers. He stroked them up along his legs to soak in the new textures. Smooth and shiny all over, dripping with a slime to call his own, he continued his exploring until he could grasp his new cock. It was like the one before, glowing with her light, thicker, and ever more potent. Even the juices leaking from him in his lustful throbs were thicker than what he used to cum.

Layle continued on until he traced the outline of his new smile. He could feel her glow inside him, escaping through a many-eyed visage not unlike Senka’s own, and yet he could still feel the familiar features of his canine face. Corrupted or blessed, he remained himself beneath the rubbery, latexy surface. A smoother dog to serve his goddess, he stepped forth from the dream to find himself within the cave once more, surrounded by the robes of the cult who had brought him there, drenched through and empty, soaking in the puddles of their former occupants.

Such a setting was the perfect place to consummate their newfound love. Layle approached his lover confidently, and yet stumbled at the last moment, overwhelmed by her beauty. Senka was there to catch him. She let him rest against her bust, neither smothering nor squeezing him. Their bodies slipped against one another, slippery textures meeting in blissfully minimal friction. He rubbed against her belly, and felt the warmth behind it. He’d bred her once, in his dream. There was so much more he could give her.

“Will you stay with me, Layle? Will you let me love you like you deserve?” Senka spoke as she licked his cheek and throat.

For all his shaky gasps and whimpers in the dream, his new self had the confidence to say precisely what he meant, with all the firmness it deserved. “I will. I love you so much, Senka.”

“Then hold me and let us breed until the mountain spills forth with our spawn. Let us darken the skies and begin the eternal dream.”

She mounted him. This time, he was ready for her. Holding her, touching her, exploring her, he let himself be rigid for her as she took him inside. Fucking amid the remnants of her cult, he showed her he was all the worship she needed, at least for a time. All would tremble before her when they were done, but there was work to do until then. He needed to mate with her, to breed her and impregnate her with all that he could give her in his newfound glory. The [i]schlips[/i] and [i]schlops[/i] of eldritch sex and constant knotting and unknotting echoed through the darkness, until the mountain itself seemed to roar.

There hardly came a time when he wasn’t cumming in her anymore. Layle was in constant ecstasy, and so was she. She rode it out of him, and then rolled with him so that he could show his affection in his pounding from above. Thumping her deeply, watching her wobble, he unleashed all his new strength only to find it paled in comparison to her own. That didn’t bother him. She had given him everything he needed to praise her, and to soak her womb with his cum, to plant the seeds for all the future horrors they were sure to create together.

His cock was still flexing, spurting that slightly glowing spunk all over her belly when he pulled from her. All she needed was to nod to him, and he climbed over her body to nestle between her breasts. What had been smothering, even suffocating before was a place to put his new cock, to paint her as he pleasured her, fucking deep into her cleavage until she was sloppier than ever. Shots of his seed reached her open jaws from that position, when he wasn’t simply splattering it all over her great, shining tits. He watched her lap it up and swallow it down, knowing in some way he was breeding with her even then.

With such a sample of his taste, Senka reached out for even more. Her tongue coiled about his cock and squeezed him beneath the knot as she clutched him by the hips. Layle found himself encouraged to fuck her slurps, still cumming, filling up her mouth until she gulped down that great big throatful in heavy [i]glurks[/i], outright bulging her gullet with the amount of corrupted dog spunk he offered her. She never seemed to tire of it, and yet she moved on in time, directing him but never forcing him to do a thing for her. It was all precisely what he wanted, and somehow she just knew.

When he found himself coiled by her tail, he returned to the place that had unmade him. Being devoured by her rear had been his nightmare, and yet sinking balls-deep into that succulent hole was all his mortal dreams made manifest. He had always been longing for something [i]more[/i], something better than either science or magic could provide. He deserved this. Clutching her by the hips, pulling that gorgeous backside close to him, he fucked her full of cum and bred that eldritch ass with all the corrupted cum he had left.

Fucking her for what felt like days eventually left him contentedly wrapped up in her arms and tail alike, cuddled closed as if they were merely the happy newlyweds of more mundane traditions. Even as he held her, she began to grow. Her belly was rounded and taut beneath his touch. He rubbed it, encouraging her vastness, awaiting her spawn. Her tongue played over his cheek, the softest tasting of all.

“The Great Sleep is coming, Layle. Let your world close its eyes for the last time. We will watch the lights go out together.”

Locking their jaws into a mutually toothy kiss, the lovers beneath the mountain awaited the feast of fear to come. It was always going to be that way. It was always him, since the very first breath he took. Layle had seen it a thousand times in half-remembered dreams, and at last, he could truly live it, in his eldritch mate’s embrace. Nothing else had ever been possible.