#origins slime | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

idesofrevolution · 4 months ago

Text

Cult of Personality

The blistering New Mexico heat bared down on Douglas' '99 Chevrolet Cavalier. The small blue coupe meandered up I-25, enroute from Las Cruces to Santa Fe. The old man quietly sighed to himself, fruitlessly trying to think of a better pitch to sell his Solar Panels to the rich folks up in Albuquerque. Las Cruces ended up being a bust, just as much as Tucson: the damn things were just too expensive up front. Not that the company gave a single damn, quotas are quotas. Thus, still empty handed, he passed the exit sign for Socorro- still an hour until he'd reach his destination.

As he passed the exit, he noticed a bright red glint a bit further up the road. Douglas adjusted his glasses, squinting his eyes to see. He slowed down on the empty highway as the sight became clearer. It was a car. In fact, it was a bright red '67 Mustang; it's owner leaned on the hood as black smoke bellowed from the tailpipe. Douglas looked down at his watch, knowing fully well that he needed to be in Albuquerque before sundown. Though, as he approached the broken down muscle car, the sweltering heat of the Chihuahuan Desert at high noon would be a killer. The young man leaning on the car turned his head, not even sweating a single drop, and stared blankfaced at Douglas as he pulled up.

Douglas hit the brakes, stopping his car right alongside the young man. He strode up to the old man's car, leaning in and resting his elbows onto window ledge. His stoic expression slowly melted into a wide grin, licking his lips before he spoke.

"You headed toward Albuquerque?" A thick Texan accent flowed from the man's lips, his dark brown eyes nearly black even in the blinding light of the sun. Douglas felt an odd twinge of nervousness as the grinning young man casually smiled; it felt off. Behind that handsome visage, something was brewing within.

"I'm headed to Santa Fe, but I can call you a mechanic from Socorro, he'd be here in a jiffy!" The young man's smile didn't fade, he simply shook his head 'no.'

"Phone's got no service out here, brother. I sure would appreciate a ride. It's just a mile or so up the road." He turned, pointing down the seemingly endless highway. Before Douglas could deny the young man his request, the hitchhiker leaned in closely. It may have been the heat, or it may have been his exhaustion, but for no more than two seconds, he thought he'd heard whispers blowing in the wind. Douglas said nothing, and the young man's grin grew wider. "Thank you, brother. I'll hop in the back."

As he strode back to his car, grabbing a duffel bag from the trunk of his car, Douglas wanted to slam on the gas and blitz out of there. An air of menace surrounded this man, despite his magnetic charisma; yet his foot did not press down on the pedal. The passenger side door opened, as the man hopped into the back seat of his coupe. Too late. The door slammed by itself, evidently thanks to a gust of wind he neither felt nor heard. He pulled the car out of park, and off the duo went. He glanced into his rearview mirror, taking in the sight of his hitchhiker.

He nearly took up the entire backseat. The duffel bag sat next to him, his muscular arms tightly holding it against his side. He was easily above six feet tall, likely even more than six and a half. He threw his arms behind his head, kicking his large feet onto Douglas' armrest. Outwardly, he seemed like just another good looking guy- one he'd likely see on his granddaughter's TikTok. But his guard remained on high alert.

"Just keep driving, brother. I'll tell ya when to turn off." His velvety voice was disarming, a carefree confidence just wafted from him alongside the strange heat which seemed to emanate from his muscular body. For about an hour, the two sat in silence as they rocketed down the highway. Each glance he shot into his mirror, Douglas would see the man smirking- his gaze never meeting the old man's. Thus, as the road veered to the left in the distance, their silence was broken. "Don't turn, just keep going straight." He carried a tone of authority in his voice, a natural command that would be highly unlikely to be ignored.

"There isn't a road straight ahead..." The hitchhiker finally stared into the mirror, his eyes locked on Douglas' reflection.

"Go straight."

As if of their own accord, the old man's hands kept steadfast on their trajectory. As the road began to curve, the Cavalier shot in the commanded direction, straight into the sands of the desert. They swerved, avoiding large rocks and towering Saguaros, before the foothills of the mountains started to come into view. Through the mirage before them, Douglas could see what looked like a campsite ahead, just beyond the thicket of green brambles. A crowd of maybe 50-70 people had gathered in the bowels of the desert. For what purpose, Douglas did not yet know. But as he slowly began his approach, the entire crowd had turned their eyes toward the car. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd split in two; leaving a clear straight shot toward a makeshift platform right at the base of the mountain.

"Thank you for the lift, brother. Do me a favor, will ya? Stick around. I have a feeling you'd love what we have going on today." Again, his timbre was less of a request- and far more of a demand. The tone was never raised, nor was it ever aggressive. However, he felt as if one would be wise to heed his instructions. Douglas simply nodded, turning the car off, and opening the door.

The crowd was filled with a diverse cast of people, all of which were fit, energetic, and young. Not a single soul had seen a day over 30, no less than 21. They stared with vacant expressions in silence until the hitchhiker exited the backseat, at which point they erupted in cheers and applause. Douglas watched with confusion and shock as the young man walked toward the platform, shaking hands, playfully punching shoulders, giving out high fives like condoms at a clinic. Who the hell had he picked up? Where the hell was he? As he hopped atop the wooden structure in one single leap, easily five feet off the ground, he shucked the grey tank top and tossed it into the crowd. A young woman caught it, tenderly holding it against her chest as the onlookers admired his chiseled build. Raising his arms, the crowd went silent.

"Brothers and Sisters, today is the day! Are you ready? Are you rearing? Tell me!" The crowd erupted, Douglas stared around the transfixed athletes, feeling entirely out of place- as if he wasn't meant to be there. "For one full year, you have trusted me to build your bodies into machines: daily training, nightly runs, some of y'all are out there doing some of the hardest workouts we have to offer. Look at you now!" More cheers. "When I told you that your bodies were temples, to treat them as such, each and every one of you took my words seriously. I said that each of you had the potential to become something incredible. You said, but Cameron, I can't ever get to where you're at! But guess what? You followed the regimen, you became part of our family, you became a part of something so much bigger than you even knew. And we are here today, your induction into our movement, the final hoo-rah!" Mimicking the leader, every single one of the parroting people began to chant hoo-rah, once... twice... thrice... like a warcry on the battlefield. Douglas turned, searching through the sea of people to find an escape route. Instead, he only saw five men of the same jacked physique of the leader handing out what looked to be bottles of water. Peering closely, the unlabeled bottles carried a milky white liquid.

"What sort of Jonestown shit is this..." The bottles were disperse quickly amongst the crowd, the cheery if not dim young men had seemingly finished in minutes as the leader droned on. Douglas took the opportunity to make his way back toward the car, only for a moment of dread to wash over him. It was gone. In it's place, a line of tire tracks came to an abrupt end, no vehicle in sight. The old man felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to be face to face once again with 'Cameron' himself.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me, Douglas. I'm more than happy to reimburse you, you've saved the day." Whispers again started to rise around him, incoherently babbling a language far outside of his own knowledge. "Today, my friend, your journey begins." Douglas tried to pry his eyes away from Cameron to no avail. The deep brown eyes seemed to swallow any thought, any desire, any need. Cameron's pupils started to pulse, mimicking the old man's heartbeat, growing larger and larger, until the inky blackness had swallowed his entire iris & sclera. Cameron smirked as he watched the old man's posture fall forward, his shoulders drooping and his jaw hanging loosely. "Mmmmmmm. Good, fall deep, vessel. For your assistance today, your reward is to be one with me, just as all in my inner circle have done."

The black-eyed stud gently guided Douglas away from the crowd, who were busy downing the contents of their respective bottles just as moans and groans started ringing out from the poor fools. The five members of Cameron's inner circle followed suit, their eyes flooding black and mouths curling into devilish grins. The group soon arrived in a clearing of the thicket, circling around a pile of filthy clothes strewn across the dirt. Douglas was slowly guided to them, entirely unwavering in his stonefaced obedience.

"Well, my children. You continue to serve me well. I admit, this body must be hard to say no to. He is a joy to wear." The five goons chuckled menacingly, one or two of them groping at their bulges through their running shorts. "Today, as you all did before him, Douglas aided me in my time of need. On a momentous day as this, such acts must be rewarded. Today, you welcome your new brother." With a swipe of his hand, Douglas' corporate clothing dissolved into thin air, burnt ash flying into the desert wind. He stood there in the nude, the group watching in anticipation as Cameron simply pointed down to the pile of reeking clothes, and Douglas could do nothing but obey.

One by one the articles began to tremble, before sliding across the sand toward their soon-to-be owner. Cameron snickered, snapping his finger. A sweaty jockstrap quickly flew into the air, levitating for a moment before shooting toward the old man's groin. Like a liquid hitting a solid, the grimy fabric collided with Douglas, warping and wrapping around his legs and package until it had settled into it's new home. The brothers grinned, as they watched the old man's admittedly humble bulge swell rapidly. It expanded outward, his balls dropping like ten pound weights as they grew, and his cock elongated and widened until it peeked it's head out from the bottom of the sweat stained pouch. Douglas moaned as his ass swelled thick and bulbous, the formerly wrinkled and smooth skin sprouting dark brown hairs as his bush followed suit. Cameron grinned, strutting over to cup his hand over the musky horsecock and balls that had sprang from his jock.

Another snap of his fingers, and the shorts shot upward, wrapping around Douglas' legs, quickly inflating them with thick mass. His hamstrings widened, his quads becoming hard as iron while his calves tightened. The chicken legs he used to possess now were two massive slabs of hard meat. Cameron continued to grope and massage his prey's bulge, the fabric of the jockstrap growing sticky with his pre as he moaned. The five grunts slowly lowered their own shorts and jockstraps, releasing their sweaty dicks into their waiting palms.

"You humans are so... simple." *snap* The socks slithered like snakes across the ground, surrounding Douglas' toes and sliding around his heel and fastening around his ankle. "All it takes is slipping into some attractive male, and you'll be worshipping at my feet. As will you." The old man's feet cracked and stretched wide, his soles growing soft and sweaty as the stinking running shoes melted around his gigantic feet. The rubber and fabric contorted and stretched, the funk of a thousand runs in the desert heat wafting from within their confines as they reformed into a perfect fit. The group started to stroke their cocks, small droplets of black sludge seeping from their slits. Cameron grinned, sliding his hand into Douglas' jockstrap and wrapping it around his throbbing member. "You, however, will be a prince among men."

*snap* The pot belly which had plagued Douglas for 30 some odd years slowly receded, fading into obscurity as if it had never been there to begin with. His abs tightened, his pecs became lean, his waist slimmed quickly with powerful obliques and cum gutters pointing toward his hose. Whispers started to echo in the wind as the five cultists stroked their cocks, streams of black, tar-like slime coalescing into pools at their feet.

"You will be a father of my spawn, a carrier of my seed." Cameron continued to pump the massive dick, watching with malicious glee as his arms grew sinewy and lean, his hands large and wide, his fingers long and slender. "Today, our army is founded." The possessed stud placed his hand on the balding head of the former salesman, pushing him to his knees; his mind blank as his master's shorts slid down to his thighs, releasing a grotesque sight. Whatever his host's member used to be was long gone, now corrupted with demonic seed. It stood upright, intricate black symbols wrapping around the foot long shaft all the way to his foreskin. "Receive my blessing, mortal. Be one with me." The ripe rod inched forward, dripping thick globules of the black sludge onto Douglas' thighs as it pressed against his face. His mouth opened, and it was over.

In a single thrust, the monstrous cock pushed past his lips and deep into his throat as Cameron began to face fuck the old man. The pools of black sludge from his minions writhed toward him, engulfing his legs in their glistening form before slinking toward his tight hole. Cameron threw his head back in ecstasy, howling a thunderous and unnatural roar as his underling's seed seeped into Douglas' rear. The sounds of squelching, cracking, suction rang out as the roars began to grow louder. Each slap of his face against Cameron's bush reformed his aged face. New hairs sprouted on his scalp, a thick forest of black spreading across his head. His lips plumped as they slurped on the smelly cock, his skin tanning and all wrinkles disappearing. The last vestiges of the black sludge squeezed into his hole, and with a wicked, fiendish grin the possessed stud cursed out into the open desert air:

"WE... ARE... ONE!" 'Cameron' released his gift down into his new son's throats, a torrent of black seed rushing out of his length and into Douglas' transformed body. His veins started to flush dark, until an inky blackness had sprawled across his lean, taut figure. Whatever remained of Douglas sunk into a void of darkness, only to be encompassed by the viscous corruption. 'Cameron' grinned, his will quickly overwhelming the spirit of the old man before slipping his demonic essence within it. More and more of him flooded into the body, squeezing into the soul, until it was unclear where Douglas began and 'Cameron' ended. Dismounting his new creation, he watched with glee as the convulsions died down, and it's eyes opened, revealing an endless inky black as it grinned.

"Yes, my master, this vessel shall fit our needs quite nicely." As his eyes slowly started to return to their normal hazel, the corruptive sludge within his veins reformed, pushing upward through the capillaries and into the skin, now little more than tattoos to the naked eye. 'Cameron' grinned, another human ensnared into his dark consciousness, little more than a husk to house his essence.

'Dougie' smirked as he pulled up his fetid shorts, quickly masking his cock dripping the black sludge of his master and brothers as he threw his sweaty arms around his new family, walking toward their new army.

---

"Alright, Santa Fe! Are we ready to get fit?" The crowd erupted as Cameron stood before them, his arms raised on the roof of the building, grinning over the 200 new disciples he was prepared to imbue with his gift. Those who had been with him at Socorro stood silently amongst the unsuspecting enthusiasts, ready to 'assist' their 'ascension' should the need arise. Just beside the building, his sons had gathered behind the truck in a circle, chanting words beyond our most vivid imagination as they stroked eachother's musky cocks into the large vat of water. 'Dougie', now a favorite of Cameron, devilishly grinned as he felt the first torrent of his corruption spew into the clear water, the thick black sludge slithering about before dissolving into the liquid as if it were never there. Round after round, they shot their father's seed into water, until there was more of the seed than there was of the water.

"Alright, brothers. I think that should do it." His deep, bellowing voice brought each of his brothers attention on him as they put their cocks back into their shorts. "Hah, and not a minute too soon." The crowd of feckless initiates began to line up, in desperate need of hydration, of which 'Dougie' was more than happy to provide. He hopped up onto the bed of the truck, as his brothers ladled their refreshment into individual bottles. Snatching one, 'Dougie' snickered. "Who's thirsty?"

#male transformation #body transformation #original #male possession #transformation #jockification #musk #body possession #demonic possession #male corruption #corruption #corruption kink #mind control #gay transformation #male tf #male takeover #slime possession #age regression

410 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 20 days ago

Text

🟩 A SHOT TO REMEMBER

slime x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 2.8k

After you drank a mysterious green jello shot, you don't feel so good. But don't worry, you'll soon feel a lot better...

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Slime monster! Tentacles! Triple penetration! Aphrodisiacs! Mind control! Overstimulation! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: This is part 3 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7 This is OPTION 2/PART 3 - but can be read individually, let me just set the scene:

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and on your search for the bathroom because your stomach is acting up a little, you come to a long hallway full of doors, and you decide to go through the door a few feet away.

ADDITIONAL WARNING: If you're a little squeamish, you should probably pass on this. Mentions of vomiting and slimy things and orifices being filled with the hint of dubcon.

As soon as you pull open the door, you know you're at the right place. The bathroom is huge, though. Dark tiles all the way up to the ceiling, a fancy chandelier in the middle, its light warm and not as bright as you'd expect from a bathroom, a large floor-to-ceiling window showing nothing but darkness beyond the thick red curtains pulled to the side a little. There's a fancy bathtub on clawed feet in one corner, a more modern shower nook with a wide glass door opposite it, large enough to at least fit five people, and then you have a long vanity sporting two sinks and a giant mirror, and a fancy looking toilet on the other side.

The perfect mixture of vintage and modern – but you only have time to look at it for so long before your stomach starts churning badly once more. You stumble to the toilet, its lid opening automatically as you approach, and before you know it, you're hugging the bowl and dry-heaving into it, your whole body shuddering under the exertion. But strangely enough, nothing comes out, despite the feverish attempts of your convulsing body. All you can do is gather the saliva in your mouth and spit it into the porcelain, before you stand up on shaking legs and walk to the vanity, rubbing your hurting belly.

You feel full (and you wonder why). Seeing your messy reflection only makes it worse. After washing your hands, then your face, you decide to wash up completely, and a few moments later you stand in the shower, stark naked as one should, and marvel at the fancy apparatus in front of you. There's a rain shower, but also several nozzles embedded in the wall, and you have no idea which of the many buttons you have to press for it to do something, so you just press them at random, yelping in shock when a few of them send their hard jets straight at your cramping stomach.

You bend over, leaning away from the harsh water spray, and this time you feel something moving up your esophagus as you retch violently. Your head is spinning as you put one hand on the tiled wall, trying to steady yourself. Your lips part as you squeeze your eyes shut under the strain, and it's the strangest sensation when something slimy rubs along your tongue before it falls from your open mouth and right between your feet, splashing down.

The cramps are gone, but the sticky feeling in your throat remains, and when you straighten up and open your eyes, looking down, you almost slip when you try to get away from the little green thing on the floor. At first it looks like the jello shot you forced down earlier, but then it moves, changes form, becomes more rounded before little antennae spread across its body. You stare at it in sheer horror. That thing was inside your stomach? You feel as if you're going to be sick all over again.

But it gets worse. It grows. As you press your back against the shower wall, unable to move or look away, the slimy thing gets bigger, those little protrusions growing longer, thicker, its round form swaying under the constant spray of water from above. It looks almost see-through, the green shimmer growing fainter the larger it becomes. There's an eerie squelching sound as it rubs itself against the opposite shower wall, stretching, moving upwards, using its countless appendages to carry itself higher – until it stands at your height, a shapeless almost-transparent green blob with swaying tentacles, staring at you without eyes or even a face.

And you're frozen in shock, unable to process what is happening, what you're seeing. You must be drunk or high or completely out of your mind. This isn't real. You are not standing in the shower with a strange slime monster. No way. Fighting the reality of it, you don't even move or make a sound when the thing reaches out to you and brushes the tip of one of its tentacles against your leg. The touch is cold and wet, testing, careful. Your eyes follow its many movements, but you soon feel dizzy trying to count its tendrils or make sense of its shape.

More tentacles move towards you, and you stay completely still as they coil around your ankles, your wrists, seemingly holding you in place while others slither up and down your body, exploring every inch of it. It's when you feel them rubbing against your shamefully erect nipples or between your wet folds, that your heart beats faster. You struggle against the soft looking tentacles, but they're stronger than they appear. As the first sound escapes your mouth, a weak little whine, another tentacle rises and quickly pushes between your lips, forcing your head back as it pokes straight at the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex, causing your body to convulse violently.

Desperate muffled whimpers try to choke past the tendril in your mouth, but that only makes more spit gather on your tongue before it drips past your lips and down your chin. You are utterly helpless, held in place, and all you can do is watch the slime thing come closer until it presses against you, from head to toe, its texture cold and sticky as it engulfs you completely. The strangest thing is that you feel eerily calm as that happens, all panic gone in an instant, and you can even breathe as it closes around your head. Maybe it's that tentacle that's forcing its way down your throat, maybe you are dreaming this after all.

It doesn't feel real, and how should this be real? You are being absorbed by a large slime monster, turning into a blob yourself, even though you feel more like an insect being encased by sap, soon to turn into amber, frozen in time, preserved for all eternity. It's the last conscious thought you are able to think before you feel your body being moved, and you end up on your back, suspended in the air, held up by the large translucent mass around you. It's taking up the entire lower half of the shower now, the pitter patter of the water against its wobbly form almost soothing, with how distant it sounds in your prison of slime.

Even though your mind is empty, spinning slightly in place, you can still feel everything that's happening to you. Despite being enveloped by a firm and wet substance, with the consistency of jello, you don't feel restrained, not that you want to move anyway. You're floating, body reclined, legs hanging in the air, wide open, arms extended in an almost T-pose, but you are relaxed, swimming inside the gelatinous body of the slime. The tendril in your throat is just resting there, supplying you with oxygen, seemingly, it's not even a bad pressure, it's just there.

Just like the other tentacles that push out of the mass and into any orifice they can find. It's literally filling you up, stuffing your ears, leaving you deaf to your own sounds except your steady heartbeat, poking at your nostrils until they join the larger thing in your throat. Somehow you're still able to see, even blink, as you watch what's happening to you in a deep daze. You've never been this calm before, even as you watch more tentacles form out of the unassuming mass that are clearly bound to fill up all your other holes.

You still flinch a little when you feel two of them poking between your ass cheeks, like tiny fingers, pressing against your sphincter before they breach the tense ring of muscles, but they don't push in, they only hold your hole open, stretching it gently, before you are being moved a little lower, allowing the slime to press its form into you. You moan around the tendril in your throat as you feel it hardening against you, assuming the shape of a very thick tentacle that is eager to invade every available inch of your ass – and beyond.

You feel it pushing in, first in little undulating motions to ease your muscles, before it presses harder, forcing its way deeper. You can't fight it, and you don't see a reason to do so either, and it's not as if the monster gives you time to adjust to the sensation anyway as it focuses on your last hole next. A deep thrumming motion goes through the wobbly mass, causing you to shiver and your thighs to twitch, and all you can do is watch with hooded eyes as not one but three tentacles glide against and between your folds in a dizzying rhythm.

Your head is swimming, eyes threatening to roll back, but you want to keep watching as they stimulate you, rubbing and rolling, it feels so good, so gentle, like waves lapping at your skin, a cool sensation against your heated flesh. You'd moan and mewl, buck your hips against them, but you're immobile, gagged, unable to do anything but watch and feel.

Luckily the creature seems to sense what feels good to you (maybe it can read whatever lurks in the depths of your empty mind?), and it starts moving exactly like you want it to move. It lifts your hips, up and down, in tandem to the strokes of its undulating appendages, causing your wetness to gather between your folds, and you wished you could hear the squelching sounds or at least be able to moan properly without anything blocking your throat. No matter. It still feels too good to be true, and when one of the tentacles slips beneath the hood of your throbbing clit, a deep shudder crashes through your body as you convulse on the waves of bliss.

The slime seems to feel your ecstasy and doubles it efforts, rubbing and prodding harder, firmer, faster, until you come properly, your eyelids fluttering shut as lights explode behind them, your thighs twitching, your still empty cunt clenching around nothing. You do squeeze around the thick tendril in your ass that stopped moving when it reached your bowels, just resting there now, deep inside you, filling you out, holding you up as if you were a mere doll impaled on a ventriloquist's fist.

Your orgasm subsides slowly, and when you open your eyes lazily, you notice just in time how the tentacles between your legs meld into a particularly large one before its tip presses right between your puffy labia, poking at your entrance, and you'd scream if you could as it plunges into you, forcing its soft form into any crevasse it can find before pulling back and impaling you again, and again, until your tense muscles give way for it to penetrate you deeper.

It's a strange sensation. It's clearly a heavy mass inside you, pushing against your squishy walls, pressing deep until your cervix stops it, but it's also soft enough to mold itself to your shape, filling you out, and in doing so stimulating all the sensitive spots deep within you. You are a writhing mess as it starts moving inside you, pulling back and pushing in, in and out, back and forth, moving alongside the tendril in your ass as it guides you into its thrusts, and you're like a boat in a storm, pushed and pulled, that way and this, unable to do anything but feel.

It feels too good to complain. Head empty, just bliss. You can't even focus on your orgasms because they just come like you do, gentle at first, a soft wave crashing over you, then getting more intense, more and more, until your whole body is spasming in the slime's hold, your juices seeping into its body, getting absorbed, and it seemingly feeds off them, grows bolder in its movements, faster, harder, more relentless.

And it never stops, or so it feels. You are floating on that incredible high, disconnected from the world, it's just pleasure, no pain, orgasm after orgasm, and you'd think you'd faint from the exertion, from how your heart pounds in your stuffed ears, but somehow the slime keeps you conscious enough to feel it, over and over again. And how you feel.

All its tendrils move in a synchronized rhythm, in and out, the one in your cunt hammering into you, the one in your ass undulating as it feeds more and more of itself into your body, and the one in your throat moves as well, gently up and down, like little vibrations that thrum down your esophagus, and you'd think it would reach your stomach soon, to be met by the other one pressing from the other side, but you can't think about it, can't think anything, just feel...

You're drifting, slipping in and out of consciousness, but you always come back to another wave of pleasure, held up by the slime's mass and its unrelenting tentacles, head spinning, eyes hooded, drool dripping past your lips and right into the gelatinous mass encasing you. The same happens every time the thing in your cunt makes you squirt by pummeling into your g-spot with vigor, when the heat from deep within pushes out of you with force, only to be absorbed by the monster holding you captive.

It's an endless cycle of coming and being let down only to be propelled back up again, over and over, and every time you orgasm the thing around and inside you moves faster, vibrates more, seemingly grows stronger and bigger, putting its new strength into ramming its tentacles into your holes more fiercely, and it's when it finally reaches what can only be its max capacity that a sudden jerk goes through the wobbly mass.

It's only a second when it pauses, but it's enough to allow you to watch out of tired eyes as its massive body presses against the glass door of the shower, spilling over it, losing some of its dense form, and you feel yourself slipping in its hold, its tendrils impaling you but unable to hold you up any longer. It even slips from your ears, unplugging you, and the first thing you hear is the shattering of glass as it pushes out of the shower, making the door explode into tiny shards that get stuck in its outer shell.

It slips through the large opening, pulling you with it, and you glide out of its mass like a newborn calf, wet and slimy all over, shivering as the cold air of the bathroom hits your exposed skin. Its tentacles withdraw from your holes, and you feel strangely empty without them, your muscles still trying to clench back into their original form. The one in your throat is the last to leave you, and once it does, you feel the sudden urge to cough, to inhale sharply, to get as much air into your burning lungs as possible.

With the need to breathe comes the need to think, and when your mind restarts from its forced slumber, you blink in confusion, trying to make sense of your position on the floor, why you're so wet, why the shower door is broken, why you feel so weird all over. Weird, but also... good? Filled even though you're empty? Satisfied beyond belief?

Slowly you sit up, wiping at your face, pushing a strand of hair out of your forehead. As you scramble to your feet, which proves difficult with how much your legs are shaking, you see something out of the corner of your eye, a motion, something green disappearing out of sight. Frowning as you turn your head to look around the bathroom, you wonder what happened, having no recollection whatsoever.

Apparently you slipped in the shower, broke its door and woke up after who knows how long, just lying on the floor? Perhaps. Doesn't explain the sticky feeling between your legs, but maybe you just had a wet dream, stranger things have happened. Nothing to worry about. Let's wash up and move on, hm? you think to yourself as you step back into the shower, not even wondering where all the glass shards of the broken door have gone.

After you cleaned up properly, you dry off with the provided towels and get dressed again, before you check your reflection in the mirror one more time. Looks good enough. Time to get back to the party. Because that was why you came to this house. Where they gave you this strange jello shot... Before your memory comes crashing back down on you, you turn to the door, shaking your head to clear it, feeling as if you were in dire need of some fresh air.

Because whatever you think to remember happened, could have never actually happened. Nope. Not in a million years. You just have a very big imagination.

So you slip out of the bathroom back onto the hallway, hoping nobody would notice the missing shower door or the mess you made on the floor.

1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7

YOUR NEXT OPTIONS ARE:

reach for the door opposite you

good to the end of the hallway

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

#x reader #x reader smut #monsterfucker #slime x reader #choose your own adventure #part 3 of 6 #monster smut #monster x human #original fiction #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #f!reader #fem reader #monster x reader #terato #teratophillia #slime #tentacles #consentacles

308 notes · View notes