From the Other Side

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1. First Night

Each step was dragged from the sucking mud. My shoes were lost hours ago, my socks shortly thereafter. My thighs burned, my calves ached, and there were numerous bloody marks on my legs from—things—concealed below the surface of the fetid salt marsh. Step after step, I dragged myself along toward the distant hills. They never seemed to grow closer.

I fell again face forward into the muck, both arms sank to the elbows. I scrabbled but could find nothing to grasp or push against. I in the end leveraged myself back upright through the strength of my aching legs alone. I had to sit in the muck and soak my underwear through. I could feel the cold slime on my skin, leeched through too thin cloth.

On I trudged, the dread growing. A tide would come soon, the muck would turn to a slurry, then the waves of the bay would reclaim it for a time. Could I swim then? Not with how exhausted I felt. Doubtless, I would drown once the water crested my head. Worse than the fear of the tide was fear of something other, something watching me from the darkness beyond or below. It was my imagination, I knew, but I could not shake the terror that gripped me. I envisioned muddy tentacles rising from the murk to drag me down below the surface. That was enough to keep my heart racing. I knew it was nonsense, but I couldn’t keep the thought out of my head.

I dragged my right leg up from the mud, freed my foot and stepped forward. It came down in mud instead and sank to my thigh. My left stuck out straight behind me, nearly doing the splits. I shuddered as I felt myself sink to my waist in the slurry, then a bit deeper. My dress clung to me, soaked through, slippery with the finest silt. Nipples stood out hard and erect, my limbs trembled with exhaustion and chill even against the warmth of the humid air.

Bit by bit I worked myself onto my knees again, tried to pull my foot free of the watery mud and… and I stopped short, something had grasped my ankle, a slippery appendage coiled around it just as I had feared might happen. I screamed. I jerked myself up and away, throwing myself onto my back upon the salt marsh, then started slipping towards the slurry again, into the indentation my thrashing body had made. I struggled to pull away, desperate beyond all belief to escape from that watery hell. Nothing worked, I grasped at mud, clawed at sludge, dug my fingers in, but could find nothing to stop my inevitable downward slide.

Muck closed around my knees, thighs, calves, then hips. Cold wet mud pressed once more into the cleft between my thighs, and then… and then I felt that thing once more as it curled into the hem of my sodden underwear and wriggle it’s way in toward my rear.

I woke then with a start, sweat drenched and screaming aloud. I jerked straight up in bed and nearly fell over the edge. I only caught myself on my dresser, then sat, feet to the floor. Before me stood my grandfather’s mirror, lit only by the full moon through my window. I stared at myself. Mud ran down my face, my night gown was drenched and nearly black… no that wasn’t right. I squinted and realized it was just the shadows playing across my body.

I reached over and flicked a light on, normality returned. I stared long and hard into the mirror and at myself, as I searched for inner calm. My nipples were still hard as diamonds, tenting my gown. The fabric clung to my thighs, sopping wet. It wasn’t muddy at least, but… had I wet myself? I didn’t smell it, at least. After a few minutes of focus, I realized just how aroused I was.

“What the fuck Jo?” I asked myself. Drowning in mud to be devoured by some horrible squid creature, and I’m horny? I shook my head and climbed from my bed. A trickle of moisture ran down my inner thigh. I raised my gown and pulled it off, then dropped it to the hamper. It fell with a wet splat. I had never made such a mess in my life!

I stood before the mirror, staring. My vulva was swollen and red, even my clit protruded from under it’s hood and glistened in the light. Deep inside, I felt a clench and another rivulet of moisture flowed free to drool straight from my engorged labia and drip to the floor below. I chewed on my lower lip, concerned, confused, and rapidly growing distracted by my own urges.

I touched myself, timid at first, while staring into the mirror. Two fingers parted my folds, the glistening pink flesh revealed and another trickle drooled into the air. The touch sent a shiver of goosebumps across my thighs and up my back. Hair bristled upon my arms and my nipples tightened again. Why, I wondered, had that dream made me so aroused? The dread had been so visceral, so real, and I’d felt no lust throughout, not until I’d awoken.

What of the monster I feared? I tried to imagine it’s tentacles grasping me, dragging me down. I’d only imagined a beaked maw awaiting me, or perhaps more tentacles to tear me limb from limb. Now I envisioned that slimy mud soaked tentacle slithering up my thigh to penetrate. My hips bounced and I pressed a digit into myself up to the second knuckle. I clenched on my finger, hard, and bit back the moan that wanted to escape.

I could see it, brown-black slime staining my skin as I was held, helpless, restrained against all potential escape. I would have been at it’s mercy, and it would have had none, none at all. I could picture my stomach bulging before my eyes under each violent rapine thrust. That was what the dream should have been.

I brought myself to climax before the mirror and left a sticky puddle between my legs on the hardwood floor. I’d never watched myself before, but it felt so right, so perfect. Like it was someone else in the mirror, someone more depraved, more twisted than I. She brought her fingers to her lips, slipped them inside, and suckled her tart juices clean. I tasted it, blushed with shame and humiliation, and withdrew them. For a second, the other me in the mirror did not, she suckled and suckled as black slime stained her lips.

I blinked and the delusion was gone. I looked away at last, noticed the clock; almost six in the morning, I needed to be up for work in a half hour. With a final glance down over my drawn taut breasts and aching sex, I made my way to the bathroom to shower.

2. Second Night

I dragged myself through the sludge, one step after another, arms buried to the elbows to help push. Behind me the writhing dark gnarl slithered across the moon lit salt marsh. I screamed myself hoarse, begged and pleaded for help, for it to go away, for any sort of escape. Step by step, I fled, step by step, it closed.

I reached the open slurry and fell head first into it. Murky water and tangled entrails of rotting plant matter closed around me as I struggled to surface again. My mouth gaped, saltwater filled it. Then I breached the surface once more and spat, heaved a breath, and started to swim.

I made it half way before the thing squirmed it’s way free of the mud and exploded into the water. It was in it’s element, it moved with such speed through muck and mire, that I had no hope of escape. My ankles were caught, a pair of tentacles entwined and pulled them apart. My swimming momentum was halted mid stroke and I was dragged back.

The limbs coiled their way up my calves, knees, thighs. I shuddered hard and tried to scream, but only bubbles burst from my lips as I was dragged under, toward the silt at the bottom. The beak awaited, I felt it, hard and cold. Sharp as a knife it pressed to my belly, sank into my navel, and held poised. More tentacles enveloped me. My arms were entwined together behind my back, my up thrust breasts were circled and squeezed, my neck circled and held.

The beak remained poised against my navel, more like a talon tipped tongue than bird beak, but no less vicious. My lungs ached, empty of air, and desperate to breathe. I struggled a futile effort against the impossibly powerful grip. It did no good.

A voice echoed like nails on a chalk board down the inside of my skull. It bypassed my ears entirely, straight to my mind. “Surrender yourself to me. Gift yourself to me. Sacrifice yourself to me.”

I shook my head, rejecting the voice, but could not shake it from behind my eyes. Insistent and inexorable, the voice continued. It was on repeat, a mantra that clawed at my thoughts and imprinted itself in my heart. Each beat in time with it’s words. It was terrifying, was it mind control? Would I lose myself to it’s will? I took a breath of sloppy muck, inhaled water and decaying matter. An escape, an out.

I was denied. The beak pierced my navel, wriggled it’s way into my abdomen, and slashed down. It was painless at first, just a chill entering my flesh, followed by that squirming tendril behind. Then it slashed down, through my intestines and uterus, and exited through my vaginal passage. I strained hard, waiting for the pain, waiting for the agony that should be felt. It pulled, hard, and I could feel the strain in my pelvic bone. There was a faintly audible yet bone wrenching felt crack, and then it ripped free as my pelvis was broken in two.

I was eviscerated as the mantra continued. Surrender, gift, sacrifice. The beak struck again, upward, straight into the gaping wound that had been my stomach. My lungs, now full of water, exhaled as he punched against my diaphragm, then tore up, up into my rib cage. My heart stopped with a slash.

I woke with a scream as my hips bounced off the bed. I felt no pain, I was intact, but the overwhelming sensation of orgasm reached climax just as I woke. My fingers were claws dug into my stomach, just below my navel. My teeth were grit together, grinding, and my jaw ached. Under my hips as they came back down, the bed squelched with moisture. My lungs were clenched tight, empty, and stars danced before my oxygen starved vision.

I could still almost feel it, feel those tentacles holding me in place, feel that horrible sharp appendage tear through my vulva from within and emerge like a man’s phallus. My orgasm continued on and on until I finally caught my breath and flooded my blood once more with precious oxygen. At last I calmed, at last I truly woke, and understood.

“Holy fuck… this is too much, what is wrong with you Jo?” I sighed and spread my legs wide, relaxed my hands, unclenched my jaw, and tried to return to sleep. My ass was soaked though, my gown bunched up under my breasts, and I was too wound up. A moment later my alarm went off and I slammed my fists into the mattress in frustration.

3. Dreams Awaken

Night after night the same dream came to me, haunted me, clawed it’s way into my skull and destroyed my body in dream and left me disturbingly aroused upon awakening. There were no other dreams anymore, no other fantasies, no other nightmares. Salt marsh, deep murky mud, and tentacles. Three words began to define me, came to me with each beat of my heart one after the other. Surrender, Gift, Sacrifice. With every step, every breath, every faint muscular twitch, my body was tuned to that rhythm. Involuntarily, I surrendered, day by day, heart beat by heart beat.

There was a promise behind the dream, something other than devastating evisceration. If only I gave myself to it, I would be rewarded. I knew it, and by this point, I fantasized about it. At work I sat at my desk, twirling a pen, as I dreamed myself face down in the mud, helplessly bound, being penetrated. How long would it last? Would he bore of me after a few hours, or perhaps last the rest of my life? Would I be impregnated with monsters? Yes that was it. It needed to breed.

I came home, the words upon my lips. I walked into my bedroom and slowly undressed. It was only five thirty in the evening, no where time for bed, but I was ready. I wanted to spend the rest of my life the dream. I stopped before the mirror and gazed into it, at myself. I could see it in truth, the beautiful horrifying truth. My arms were entwined already, my legs enveloped, and the beak poised at my navel.

I heard the words aloud, not within my own skull. “Surrender yourself to me. Gift yourself to me. Sacrifice yourself to me.” It was my mouth that spoke, but not my voice. The beak pressed, and I felt a pinprick of pain below my navel. I was out of time, he was out of patience. My hips bucked forward as my stomach flexed against his pressing point. I could feel him, feel the slimy muck upon my skin, I could even smell the fetid marsh and taste the salt air.

“I…” I started to speak. The tentacle on my throat was clenched to tight to let my voice sound. The beak however withdrew, he understood. I surrender.

I was dragged toward the mirror, helpless and addled. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be real, yet as the cold glass met my hard nipples, I knew it was. I couldn’t pull away, couldn’t escape. The other me reflected my confusion as we were pressed together. I could feel the cold of her, and the mud as it dripped from her naked skin. Then she moaned while I did not. Behind her something pushed up, thrust. She rose against me, smashed her lips to mine, and we were kissing. The mirror was there, hard cold glass, yet wasn’t. I felt her, soft and pliable, terrified. She moaned again into my mouth and I tasted salty mud as it drooled off her tongue. I captured that tongue and suckled upon it.

None of this made any sense, how could I feel her, me, my reflection? Beyond the mirror I saw the marsh, the distant bay, and even hear the faint crash of waves. She was another me, in another place, enveloped in her captor’s grasp. She moaned again, then again against my lips. I wanted to hold her, but I was just as restrained as she, held up in the air, helpless as a fly in a spider’s web. Thrust after thrust, she was pressed into me, through the mirror. Her back was arched, her body bent so far that I could see her spread cheeks and distended anus as the tentacle pulled free of her bowels, then pushed in again while a second claimed her hidden vulva.

“Give yourself to me. Sacrifice yourself to me.” Two phrases remained, each of her moans echoed them, each beat of our shared heartbeat were compelled. I could feel her lips move, speaking the words mindlessly. I had surrendered, what did it mean now?

Thrust after thrust, it raped my mirror self before my eyes, penetrated her deep and slammed her cold wet body into mine. I was eager to feel it, to know the pleasure the monster wished to take from my body. Would it be my turn soon? Or would I witness only the mirror image of my other self’s violation. I sobbed aloud and threw my head back, then begged aloud, “Take me, please I beg of you, take me!”

Sudden as lightning from a clear sky, I was elsewhere. I fell upon my back with a wet splut in the cold salt marsh mud. I struggled to raise myself up, but had only a moment’s freedom before the beast rose above me. It was unlike the monster from my dream. More anemone than squid. A wreath of tentacles rose from a singular orifice as mud and water sloughed off. It opened like the bud of a plant, spread wide, and reached for me. I didn’t struggle.

Strong, muscular tentacles coiled about my ankles, and slithered up to my knees. Where they touched, the slimy flesh left searing pain. I screamed and kicked, but he held me fast as he dragged me towards his central maw. More tentacles enveloped, touched, caressed, and burned my nerves to cinders. A minute of absolute hell passed, and the pain faded into a strange not-quite numbness. I could feel, but half the nerve endings were dead and lifeless. I only felt pressure and a faint ticklishness where he touched.

I was held in the air, upright by my hips. Up my thighs the tentacles crept, killing nerves as they went with blinding agony. Down I sank toward it’s maw, toward certain oblivion. I’d surrendered, and I’d given myself to him, now came the sacrifice I realized. Dream bled into reality, was I asleep? Or was this truly happening? It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t, yet it felt just as real as the dreams and my daily life.

I sank to my breasts, and stopped. He caressed my boy, end to end, drove the sensation from it. My nipples burned and breasts ached, then faded into semi-numb bliss. I closed my eyes, expecting to be swallowed and slowly digested, but instead I was raised up, then spat helplessly onto the mud once more. I didn’t move, couldn’t move. I knew where my limbs were, and I could even feel the cold mud against them, but they were as dead and lifeless as wet rags.

The trunk of the beast rose, inverted, and from the center maw emerged a pair of tree trunk thick appendages, covered in black sludge. They rose over me, drooped down, and began to unroll themselves. Teeth emerged first, back curved and as vicious looking as the beak had been, a ring of nine. Then muscular flesh emerged, followed by a second ring, then third ring of teeth. Each ring narrowed it by half until it was no wider than my forearm.

They reached for me at last. I knew what was coming, I’d fantasized over it every night and day for weeks. I felt a faint pressure between my legs, a faint tickle of sensations that gave goosebumps and shivers. Another ring of teeth emerged. I felt it as pinpoint spots of pressure that pushed in and opened me, anus spread, vagina gaped. Then he thrust inside with a wriggle and squirm. My belly bounced, bulged, and my side distended as he worked his way past my colon and up into my lower intestine.

This, I felt. Oh did I feel it. It wasn’t so thick as to tear me, but I could feel him push inside, feel his teeth rasp in, curved back so they didn’t tear, but set firm once he was in place. Had I been able to move, flight would have been suicidal, any struggle would have eviscerated me as easily as the beak had. He sank his teeth in then, held firm, and bound me to him. I felt the pain of it, skin parting, muscle tearing, bones scratched. Those teeth took bit into my body and trapped me. There was no greater form of bondage. I could never have escaped, to even try was death.

My sex clenched, hard, and dug those sharp points deeper against my pelvic floor. Pain, it was pain, but the arousal was overwhelming. It was happening, it was really happening. The lower tentacle burrowed it’s way up my large intestine until it was just below my ribs. I could see my skin dimple and rise over it as it wormed it’s way inside of me. An orgasm began, sexual fluids poured from my sex with a wash of blood and mud. I moaned, a lusty moan as my mind simply broke.

Within my sex he began to thrust. It was more accurate to describe his claiming as a sledge hammer against my cervix. Each thrust everted from his back biting ring of teeth and struck. It felt like the worst period cramp or gas pain, and hammered into my pelvis as the tentacle wedged itself inside. Over and over he brutalized me like a jackhammer until inner flesh was bruised and soft, swollen with blood.

My cervix began to break, thrust by thrust. The skin didn’t tear, but the tissue behind disintegrated and flattened out. It was an agony so sweet and wonderful. I urged him on and on, begging him breathlessly to claim my womb, to make me into his fertile vessel. Pain so intense, yet dwarfed by the sexual bliss that rose in response. I endured it for hours, perhaps days, maybe even years.

I realized, through one moment of clarity: He wasn’t raping me, he was completing me. I had been a shell until I’d surrendered, an empty husk waiting to be filled. I surrendered, and now I gave myself to him. He had a need of me, and that single need left me satisfied, complete, worshipful. “I love you,” I told him at last. He only slammed in harder.

It came at last, the moment I yearned for. I wept tears of joy as my cervix surrendered to his insistent needs. Soft bruised flesh tore open, liquefied tissues spilled into my vaginal passage. It didn’t hurt, not much anyway, and I reveled in the sensation of my broken body drooling from my gaping cleft, over my gaping anus, and down to the mud below. One last slam, more of a splashing dive, and his phallus entered my uterus. Another ring of teeth emerged, bit out, and locked him inside where he belonged.

He stopped then, his movements stilled. He was at last where he wanted to be, where I wanted him to be. Those teeth strained, flesh tore further, and I was lifted from the mud into the air. Down toward the open maw I was drawn, held aloft by both spires. Deep in my bowel, I could feel him pushed through into my small intestine. I hadn’t noticed, not with the violent slamming thrusts against my cervix, but he had penetrated well beyond the limits of my womb.

I looked down into his dark gaping maw and welcomed what I saw. It was a gullet as deep as the sea, awaiting me. Sacrifice, it was time for my sacrifice. I closed my eyes, relaxed my body, and whispered to him, “I am yours, use me, defile me, consume me. Everything I am, digest me and make me one with you!”

I was drawn down into that darkness. The wreath of tentacles closed above my head, the walls of his gullet closed around my body, swallowed, and down I went. I closed my eyes as I relaxed, pain and pleasure were one now, there was no difference between them. Only the rapid beat of my heart spoke to my terror, but each beat spoke the words. Surrender, Give, Sacrifice.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of my captor, I was held. I awaited digestive enzymes, pain, and oblivion, but instead I began to fill. Both spires pulsed in time, a hard throb that I echoed in my own flesh. He throbbed again, and I felt the first spill of his release, deep in my womb, then a moment later with farther to go; in my intestines. A trickle at first, faint sputters and spits, then increased to a continuous vomiting gush. I could hear him expel, not a nauseating heave, but a earthquake like gushing, squeezed from the bowels of his body to enter into mine. When it finally crested, like a tsunami rising from the depths, it was not truly liquid, but a flow of writhing forms, living spawn.

My stomach crawled, inside and out. My womb burst, ruptured into body cavity. I was filled, completely in that one cresting wave. My stomach knotted, my saliva glands wept, and my gorge rose as the cramping discomfort increased. He was breaking me, had broken me. My womb was a tattered wasteland full of writhing life. My digestive tract swarmed with it, up and up it flowed, filling me end to end.

A second wave crested, that squirming gush of sound followed by an evacuation of wriggles into my body. I screamed as my body arched, even against the numbness. I moved, just barely, but enough. Suddenly I felt them, they were wriggling into my stomach, fluttering against my nauseous gullet. I purged, helplessly. Wriggling swimming larva burst up my throat, exploded from my lips, and sprayed into the tight confines around me. Then again, and again.

A third wave, a fourth, a fifth. On and on he emptied himself into me. Discomfort was overwhelming, and so was my lust. My purpose, this was my purpose, a vessel for his spawn. I squirmed with discomfort and clawed at my bloated stomach in terror, yet… yet I felt absolute pleasure radiate from my broken genitals as he used me. Within my heart and mind, I knew only peace, serenity, and lust. The dichotomy between visceral terror and helpless lust warred within the broken expanse of my devastated psyche.

Sacrifice. I was his sacrifice. I climaxed, hard, face down and ass up as he emptied the last wave into my body. Then I fell from the bed, tangled in blankets and sheets. My alarm was going off and I was so disoriented that I thought I had died and gone to hell.

When at last I rose to my feet and brought the light on, I gasped in utter shock. Reality was real, cold, hard. But… the bed was a mess. Black slime coated the bare mattress. Blood splatters marked the wall between finger smears of mud and black slime. The final mind altering straw came when I looked down and saw my stomach, jutting out slightly, bloated as if I’d eaten a twelve course meal for three. There was no discomfort, no pain, only a bone deep sense of gravity centered over my womb. I felt so heavy, so weighed down by the life that must now reside within.

It was real. All of it was real. I turned to look back at the mirror, but it was inky black. Nothing reflected, not even a sheen of light on glass. I reached out to touch it, and met a hand, clammy and wet. I leaned close to peer, and I saw my own face, eyes wide, mouth agape, a splatter of black slime running down my chin and a violet larva drooled free to fall into darkness.

My sex clenched, hard, and I fell backward, away from the erotic vision of myself trapped in darkness. I landed on the sopping wet bed. The stench of marsh and monstrous semen filled the air. I hadn’t noticed before, not until now, I’d been too saturated with it. But I could smell him, salty and animal, pungent as a skunk. My sex clenched again, my nipples tightened, and a splatter of my own lust ejected from my swollen passage onto the floor.

I reached down and began to masturbate as I watched my mirror self. She was pressed against the glass, continuously filled. I watched her bloated stomach swell followed by a splatter of black sludge and larval life spill from her gaped mouth. Her eyes were wide with panic, no lust. She felt nothing but terror as she was sacrificed. I fingered myself, slow and steady, bringing my lust to it’s peak as my other half was destroyed. Tears washed through the black slime on her cheeks, her eyes stared with panic, helplessness, and terror into mine. I came, for her and myself. This was what she was for, what I was for.

Black slime ran between my fingers and sprayed across the room as I clenched down hard, then broke eye contact as I tossed my head back in bliss. Mindlessly, my fingers rose to my lips and I tasted his seed. Salty, pungent, and inhuman. My eyes water and nose burned as I inhaled his scent. I sucked my digits clean and drank his flavor into my soul. I was his, I belonged to him, my body was his vessel.

4. Too Real

The dark seed continued to flow, hour after hour. I tried a tampon, a pad, even a whole towel stuffed in my underwear under my dress. It didn’t help. Each item soaked through and black slime drooled down my thighs. I was corrupt, tainted, and my heart loved it. I fantasized about dragging some poor woman’s face in between my thighs, to coat her lips and tongue in his pungent release.

I sat at my desk, tissues at the ready to wipe the dribbles from my chair. I couldn’t focus on work, but I could hear my neighbor chatting, her soft voice a mockery of the twisted beauty I wanted to inflict upon her. I was not so far gone though, not yet. In the end I retreated to the unisex bathroom and hid myself in a stall to sit and calm myself. Her face danced behind my eyes, coated in black, eyes wide, terrified, confused. Then her confusion would turn to lust, and she too would surrender just as I had.

I was tempted to masturbate, but that would only make it worse. I needed self control, I needed to clear my head! I wiped myself a final time and stood up. The toilet was nearly overflowing by that point, filled to the brim with thick, viscous, black sludge. It should have gone down, it should have flushed the moment the trap was overpressured.

I thought of plunging it, but the thought vanished as another urge overwhelmed. I fell to my knees, lifted the lid, and gazed down into the darkness. I could see my other self within, writhing and squirming as life was pumped through her. She was utterly broken now, there was no awareness behind her glazed eyes. I wished I was her.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had kissed the black mirror of the overfilled toilet and began to drink. Gulp by gulp, salty foulness filled my mouth, then stomach. It was thick like fake maple syrup, smelled of urine, and tangled with mucous strands and ropes. I found myself licking the bowl clean by the end, and when I sat back I discovered a wide puddle of lumpy black mucous between my legs. That too I lapped clean from the stall floor.

At last, I opened the door. My underwear were a sodden clump left behind, my socks soaked, my shoes full. Each step sloshed as I approached the mirror and saw myself. I was a mess, my face coated, my hair slicked back, my eyes wide and crazed. I was astonished by how bad I looked. I leaned into the sink and splashed cold water on myself, tried to bring some sanity back to my mind.

Instead I felt coils upon my thighs, parting them. I moaned helplessly and pressed myself into the basin and counter. Water flowed into my bra. My cheek pressed to the soap stained marble. My dress lifted behind me, was laid with a wet splat upon my back, and I was penetrated. It was a slow, almost intangible penetration. He wasn’t truly there, or not all there, or maybe I wasn’t? I couldn’t wrap my thoughts around the sensations. He penetrated me in both holes, I felt my sphincter and cunt gape wide, yet also felt air flow in through that gape!

Hard and slow he violated me against the sink, hammered me into submission. I was his, I had a purpose, I was his vessel. I came for him, over and over. My body he played like an instrument and he a master musician. When he was done, my nerves hummed with the melody he had plucked into them, and my stomach was full of his dark gift once again. Unconsciousness came slowly, my mind serene, my body exhausted.

I woke, suddenly, when the bathroom door opened and someone stepped in. They took one look at me, mouth agape, then grinned. He was upper management, handsome in face, though thick about the waist. I should have done something to cover myself, said something, laughed it off. I didn’t. I laid there upon the sink, water still running, cold now, across my breasts. My cheek was in a puddle of black stained drool.

I spread my thighs again and rose upon tip toes, exposing myself to him. I didn’t say a word, he didn’t either as he approached, his eyes upon the sopping wet cleft I revealed to him. Didn’t he see the foulness? Didn’t he smell the salty pungent release? Apparently not, for he leaned in and pressed his face to my sopping hole and inhaled deeply.

“My god Joanne, what has gotten into you?”

I moaned aloud pressed back until I felt his lips upon my heat, I couldn’t form the words. I wanted to say something to send him away, but my body refused to obey such rational thought. I was a vessel. He got the same idea without much encouragement. I heard his buckle ring then hit the floor. A moment later his hands were upon my waist, pinning me against the sink.

He entered me without hesitation. My heated liquid depths enveloped him, clung to him, clenched upon him. My hips rose to meet his thrust, my lips parted around an eager moan. He lost control, I never had any. He rutted me like a beast and I met his vigor with an otherworldly heat of my own. I couldn’t even remember his name, though obviously he knew mine. I looked back at him, over my shoulder, and watched his wide lust filled eyes as wet flesh slapped and my body was pounded into.

It didn’t take him long. He came with a ragged gasp, red faced, fingers curled like claws in my ribs as he lay atop, clinging. I didn’t cum, but the sensation of his cold sticky seed as it pooled against my cervix, it satisfied me, it touched something so deep in my heart, that it brought tears to my eyes and choked me with a sob.

“Are… are you crying? What the fuck.”

“Sorry, I can’t explain it,” I told him, truthful. He pulled out and I felt misery at the absence of him within. I needed more, I wanted to spend the rest of my days under a man, any man, every man, a waste bin for genetic filth to take root.

He looked at me for a time, then nodded. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone if you wont.”

I looked back at him, then whispered mindlessly, “Tell everyone. Tell them I’m easy, tell them they don’t even need to ask.” I shuddered as the words left my lips. I hadn’t thought them up, hadn’t considered them. I only knew them after the fact, and blushed crimson in humiliation.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, then shrugged, “If that’s what you want. You’re a little too kinky for me I think. But hey, you gave me a good spend.” I clenched, hard, staring up at him in humiliated confusion. His milky seed drooled from my folds and splattered to the floor. I held myself firmly in place, resisting, until he had relieved himself then left. Then at last I fell to my hands and knees and lapped the wasted seed from the tiles.

I was still down there, searching the grout with my tongue for more, when the next man entered, grinning. He’d already spread the word. I looked up, pink faced and shivering, then slowly spread my thighs. There was nothing else I could do, I was a vessel to be filled.

5. Fulfillment

I woke slowly, the tattered memories of the other world falling away as I returned to my own world. The dark mirror bulged outward now, as if there was pressure from within and it strained to shattered. I rose to my feet and laid a hand over my swollen stomach. I could feel it move and squirm, a writhing very unlike the kick of a child. I smiled down at my churning gut, then looked back to the mirror and laid my other hand upon the taut surface, just as pregnant as I.

“Thank you,” I whispered softly, then sank to my knees and kissed the apex of it’s curve and waited. A moment passed, and then my feeding began. A pair of ephemeral spires penetrated me and spilled their ghostly ejaculate by the quarts and gallons. I writhed on the floor, helpless and in bliss as my body surrendered over and over to him. I could feel my flesh glut with dark seed, the black mucous clung to my bones, saturated my muscle, filled my cavities, and stained my skin. Hour by hour it would leech out until I was empty and exhausted, but for now I reveled in being filled.

When he was done with me, I rose again upon unsteady legs and stumbled from my bedroom. Upon the couch my cubicle neighbor lay, sleeping. She woke at a touch and raised her head just enough for her lips to meet my nether folds. She couldn’t see it, couldn’t taste it, couldn’t smell it, but it corrupted her no less. She drank from me, the salty foulness of my bladder, and the salty pure blackness of serenity. Her mind was breaking day by day, and soon she would be writhing in the clutches of my master.

“I love you,” She said at last, through the black slime that clung to her nose and lips. She couldn’t feel it, but it was there, and it was beautiful. She swallowed again around the nausea, as she tried to keep my morning piss downward.

“Of course you do,” I told her firmly, “You cannot help it.” Then I pointed to the floor where a splatter had spilled. She rolled from the couch onto her hands and knees, and began licking the wooden floor. She couldn’t see it, but she obeyed mindlessly. I left her there. She would lick that floor all day until I returned, perhaps the entire house. She was no better than a mindless dog searching for a treat.

I took the bus to work that day, anticipating satisfaction. I wasn’t disappointed. I managed to coerce two men and a woman into an orgy at the back. Both men spent themselves into me, and the woman drank from my depths until I was clean and dry. The bus driver stared at us, eyes wide with shock the whole route. I never got their names, never saw their faces again, and didn’t care. I could feel the faint wriggling of their genetic waste squirming in my body. That was all that mattered to me now.

My office was prepared, already a line at the door waiting. I shut the door in their faces, stripped and tossed my already sticky clothes aside, and knelt naked before the large window. I looked down upon the busy street, only three floors up. Any number of heads could have looked up and seen my exposed form. I loved it. I reveled in it!

“Come!” I shouted, then spread my knees and leaned forward, face and breasts to the window, backside exposed. I didn’t see who entered, didn’t care. They were here to empty themselves into my genitals, that was all, nothing else mattered.

His hands landed upon the glass to either side of my head, and with a single grunt, penetrated me. I clenched on him, milked him, savored his urgent need for relief. This was my purpose. I surrendered, I gave in, and I sacrificed myself for him. I wasn’t a person, I wasn’t me, I was a thing to be filled.

He climaxed, said something I didn’t hear. I felt him rise, felt him approach, felt him wipe his sticky cock in my hair. Then someone else took his place and it continued. He thrust, his thick phallus and wide head touched me just right, brought me to the edge of orgasm but not quite there. My pleasure was only for my Master. He came as well, spoke to me, left a trinket upon the desk. Another took his place. Another after that. Another and another.

When the sun set and I stared out into the bright neon lights of the city, I knew my work was done. The final man pulled from me with a gasp and stumbled off into the hall. Another tried to enter but I shooed him off. The carpet was a sodden mess, the room smelled like a brothel and urinal in one. I took a deep breath through my nose and waited serene within.

My stomach cramped suddenly. Pain was sharp and hot against my spine. I fell to my knees behind my desk and clung to it, face pressed to the cool sticky mahogany. Another sharp cramp, then another. The writhing movement within churned faster and faster, and then I felt the first thrust. It was just like his father, hard and fast, slammed straight to my cervix. I cried out in pain and ecstasy. He slammed again and I fell from the desk to the floor, face down in the puddle of waste semen.

Over and over my child battered at my cervix. It was the inverse of his father’s mating. The mirrored half had been raped broken by Master. I was to be broken by the birth of his child. The symmetry brought tears to my eyes and left me sobbing. It might too have been the pain as something split. He struck again, harder, the split widened, a tear formed in my cervix. Blood and amniotic fluid gushed from between my clenched thighs. I parted them at last, ass raised in the air.

He struck again, my cervix gave way entirely and his thrust fell through, into my vaginal passage. I screamed aloud and clawed at the swampy carpet. Blood and black slime splattered against the window behind me. He squirmed and thrashed, tore my cervix wider, rent me in two, and began to wriggle himself free into the open air. The first limb emerged, my labia parted around it, his back turned teeth snapped at the entrance and clawed in. He pulled himself free, filled my vaginal passage, split skin and tore muscle. Another squirm free and that tentacle hit the floor, dug teeth into the carpet, and he pulled again to extract himself.

I remained there on hands and knees, rear up thrust, barely a thought in my head as the searing pain washed over and through me in blinding waves. I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know what I was, I didn’t know who I was. My purpose was complete, that left only a blank slate, an empty vessel, a void without reason for being. I barely breathed. Blood ran in heavy rivulets down both thighs and my stomach to drip off my breasts. My sex clenched, empty, my stomach hung like a limp flag, voided of life.

Behind me the newborn rose to his full stature against the window. I’d never seen his father in more than glimpses and dreams. He on the other hand exposed himself to me in full. A fat, slug like body with a mouth end wreathed in tentacles and a back end ending in a single ring of teeth. He turned toward me, the pair of his inner tentacles emerged. They reached, and something twisted in my heart.

Into my body they sank, through gaping vagina, and tight sphincter. He used no teeth, he needed none. Into my body he wormed, as deep as he could go. I could feel him slither up my large intestine. The sensation left me uncomfortable, queasy, and struck by cramp like pains. When he was satisfied, his wreath of tentacles enveloped my back side, stinging, numbing, searing nerves. I would never move again, I realized, I would never leave this spot.

There was a sloshy rush of sound, like gurgling pipes. A moment later writhing life exploded into my uterus, then small intestine. I shuddered as much as I could, blissful and revolted. They crawled through me like worms, writhed and squirmed up my digestive tract and into my stomach.

My uterus filled, my stomach bulged. I had so much room, now that he had vacated the apartment within. The new residents threw a mosh against my insides. My gorge rose and vomit spilled from my lips as I heaved. Another gush of evaucation filled me further, and I felt the first larva crawl it’s way up my spasming throat. Where it touched, it stung and numbed, where it slithered, it left near dead flesh behind.

My mouth gaped as black sludge sprayed across the carpet in front of me. Another heave, and it wriggled past my tonsils, across my tongue, numbing it with agony too, then my gums, and finally it slithered from my lips and crawled away from me, before my eyes. His father in miniature. More and more came after as my body bloated to capacity. Before I ruptured though like my Mirror self, he was spent. No more gurgles, no more sloshes, no more ejaculations of writhing life. He held me, trapped against his tentacle wreath, then began to carefully extract his phallus from first my womb, then bowels.

The moment he was free, wriggling larva burst from both holes and sprayed against the window. I laid in a puddle of life, filled. I could feel them inside, filling every inch of me, touching and squirming. It was horrendous, it was agony, it was endless fire and numbness. Soon all I felt was movement and pressure, and a faint tingle of something other. It was too much to endure. I never even noticed my newborn leave, nor would I have cared.

Somehow I knew the mirror was preparing another for his spawn, my co-worker, addicted by my own hand to the dark seed from the other world. I felt no compulsion now, no urge, no needs. I lay there in a puddle of life, spent, a broken vessel. Numb within and without, I never felt it as they began to feed. I drifted into unconsciousness, dreamless and empty as blood poured from my gaped and prolapsed anus. My purpose was finished, I had served my Master well. All that remained was sacrifice. I smiled in my sleep as my body failed at last.

End

01/20/2022