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[Fic and Podfic] To Come

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Podfic available here (MP3, 13:28 | 12,3 MB).

Dorian wakes abruptly, confused that he seems to be lying on a smooth tile floor. He fumbles around in the pitch darkness, his heart racing as he finds nothing within reach, his brain struggling to recall what brought him to wherever he is.

A blinding light suddenly illuminates him from above, and Dorian groans as he covers his eyes. He yanks his hands back abruptly when they meet the strange stickiness of his face; they come away smudged red and white. His eyes trace up his arm, over the strange red and green harlequin pattern covering them, and memories of the previous night return to him, of joining the traveling band of entertainers, playing the jester to infiltrate the Venatori.

A cold prickle of fear runs down Dorian’s spine as a smooth, cultured voice suddenly calls out of the darkness. The words are in Tevene.

“Altus Dorian Pavus, how kind of you to join us. We’ve been planning your capture for quite some time, but to have you walk into our web of your own volition was quite fortuitous for us, don’t you think?

Dorian rises to his feet and slowly spins in a circle, eyes straining to see into the darkness. “It appears you have me at a disadvantage, Ser. If you would be so kind as to step into the light so that I may look at you, I’m sure we can work out this misunderstanding. I am but a poor traveling jester.”

The man makes an amused sound. “Lie all you want. It matters not. Now, ladies and gentlemen, let the show begin.”

Before Dorian can speak again, the Veil abruptly draws so thin that it steals Dorian’s breath. “No! You mustn’t—!” He breaks off with a startled yelp, heart racing as something wraps around his ankle and lifts him into the air easily. Reaching for his magic, Dorian’s panic grows as he finds his mana completely depleted.

Dangling upside down by his ankle, Dorian tries to struggle, but he has no leverage, and all he manages is to swing himself from side to side. His eyes go wide in terror as he takes in the sigils on the floor. He opens his mouth to shout, but before he can make a sound, something invisible presses against his lips, then slides inside, forcing his mouth wide enough that the corners sting and his jaw aches from the strain. He reaches up, wanting to yank it out, but his hands slide though it as though there was nothing.

A thick, bitter fluid suddenly fills his mouth, and Dorian has no choice but to swallow, grimacing at the texture as he feels it slide down his throat. More and more of it fills his mouth, and he gulps it down as fast as he can, barely able to keep up.

Dorian’s brain runs in circles, trying to find a way out of this, his terror continuing to rise as no answers present themselves.

When his stomach begins to ache, uncomfortably full, Dorian is certain that it has to almost be over, that it’ll finally stop, but it doesn’t. The word goes blurry as tears prickle at his eyes, and his hands scramble to undo his belt then the fastenings of his pants, loosening the laces and groaning in relief as the pressure again his growing belly is removed. His fingers tremble as he feels the way his stomach strains, bulging slightly, abnormally, from the amount of fluid being pumped into him.

There’s no warning before Dorian unexpectedly finds the world spinning, something slimy wrapping around his wrists and unsecured ankle, pulling him spread-eagle in the air. His face burns as he hears murmurs of appreciation all around him, wonders just how many people are watching him. There’s relief, though, when the fluid filling his mouth slows to only the slightest trickle.

Hysteria bubbles up as the creature holding him begins to take shape before Dorian’s eyes. It’s still more transparent than not, barely the faintest hint of shadow, of writhing smoke, but it’s enough to freeze his blood. Nearly the entirety of the illuminated space he’s in is filled with squirming tentacles. It’s them that hold him and fill his mouth. They range in size from thinner than a quill to thicker than his own body.

Dorian’s brain stumbles as the creature seems to read his regard and several thick tendrils reach out. One snags onto his shirt, tugging until it rips from neck to stomach, and leaves it hanging from him as it exposes his bare front. Two more slip into his open pants and yank, the material splitting with a horrible sound as seams pop and cloth tears. He wants nothing more than to cover himself, closing his eyes in an attempt to hide himself away from the feel of the cool air against his soft cock.

He wheezes and his eyes go wide as a sudden heat explodes from his middle, radiating from his stomach outwards, making his body tingle and his hair stand on end, sweat breaking out across his skin. He tries to shake his head, deny it, but the tentacle is still wedged firmly in his mouth. He feels his nipples peak, his cock slowly rising as a greedy lust fills him. He doesn’t want—he doesn’t want—he needs—

Dorian finds his body folded abruptly by the creature, his flexibility sorely tested as his knees are bent, his legs spread high and wide, his hips protesting the strain. His arms are raised above his head, pulled high, and a knot of tentacles presses against the small of his back, forcing his body to curve backwards over it, his body exposed in a lewd arch.

Just as suddenly, the tentacles converge on Dorian, covering him so completely that had they not been transparent no part of him would be visible to the audience. Dorian’s mind goes fuzzy as his sensitive body is overwhelmed by their touch. Thin tentacles wrap snugly around his nipples and pull them away from his body, then start a rhythmic tug and release, as though they’re trying to milk him.

More tentacles surge around his face, and a slash of panic strikes through Dorian’s heated haze as they poke curiously at first his eyes—luckily after a brief exploration they leave them alone—then his nose—pressing so deep that he can feel them wiggling down his throat, the world going soft as his chest grows tight from lack of air—before they abruptly pull out and seek out his ears, muffling the sounds of the crowd.

Even as he pants heavily through his nose, chest heaving, Dorian’s face goes slack as the tentacles probe deeper, his eyes rolling and twitching as each muscle in his body goes tight before relaxing suddenly. A part of his mind is screaming as he feels the tentacles pressing deeper, worming their way through his brain, but the larger part, the part in control, is focused on the way that his cock throbs hard and leaking between his thighs, as tentacles wrap tightly around it, slowly sliding up and down.

A thin tendril teases at his dripping piss slit for a moment before it surges inside, deeper than Dorian had ever imagined possible, his cock burning as it’s forced to stretch to take it. He chokes then on the fluid filling his mouth, teeth clenching against the intangible tentacle stretching his jaw, yet the action does no damage. His balls draw up suddenly, and the mix of pleasure and pressure is intense, his body trying to expel his seed, but his cock is well and truly plugged.

So lost in it all, Dorian doesn’t notice the tentacle that presses against his exposed asshole at first. He can’t see what’s between his legs in this position, but he can certainly feel the size of it, knows it’s far too big, larger than any cock he’s ever taken. The pressure increases, and Dorian does his best to relax. Oh so slowly, his body opens to accept it, but it’s not enough, and with a surge of strength, it punches into him, deep enough that his bloated belly grows larger, swelling large enough that even in the position he’s in he can see the movement of it beneath his skin as it begins to fuck him, hard and fast. His body jerks from the force of it, but he’s held tight.

The tentacle that’s remained motionless in Dorian’s mouth until now suddenly mirrors the one in his ass and plunges deep, sliding down his throat, causing him to choke and gag. A part of him buried deep wonders what he must look like, his body bulging with tentacles, wonders what the audience thinks, seeing him stretched so impossibly.

Dorian’s lost to a sea of pleasure, and just when he’s certain he’s going to lose his mind, the tentacles suddenly dissipate like smoke, leaving him to fall onto the floor with a thump and grunt as he sprawls inelegantly. Despite their disappearance, Dorian swears he can still feel them crawling through his brain.

There’s a hush around him, the crowd going startling silent for the first time since he realized their presence, and Dorian makes a startled sound when something brushes against his leg. Oh so slowly, Dorian turns his head to look at it, afraid of what he’ll find. His brain isn’t certain what he’s seeing. A swirling, oblong mass of green and purple that shouldn’t be solid, small tentacles wrapped about his leg as it crawls up his body.

Dorian tries to scramble back, hands sliding in the slickness that covers the floor now, but it doesn’t let go. “Please, don’t—”

Relax. Give in. The voice is ghostly, far away, just all consuming.

When it moves between his legs, Dorian can’t help but spread them, burning with shame as he exposes himself, his hole swollen and inflamed from its rough treatment, gaping slightly. The creature slides several short tentacles inside of him, and Dorian can’t help but groan, watching with half lidded eyes as it begins to pull its bulk into his body.

Dorian wants to scream, wants to fight, but he finds himself frozen, a passenger in his own body. Sprawling back, he moans as he tugs on one abused nipple, the other hand going to his dripping cock, teasing the slightly gaping piss hole, as the creature works itself deeper and deeper into his body. His stomach grows the deeper it gets, and Dorian can’t help but pet it, the coils of the creature clearly visible through the stretched skin.

When it finally settles deeply in him, a sense of overwhelming peace and happiness hits him. He orgasms, his cock spurting untouched, painting him with cum as he continues to rub his belly.

Slowly Dorian rises to his feet, the scraps of his ruined pants sliding to the floor as he steps out of them. His eyes flash purple, seeing easily into the darkness. Some of the crowd are fucking, while others are masturbating to the show. His nakedness no longer bothers him, though he finds his unkempt state distasteful—his jester outfit ruined, his body and face smeared with the remnants of his makeup and other fluids—but fixing it will have to wait. A strange smile stretches across his face as he takes in the offering. “These will do.”

With but a thought, Dorian slashes through the containment circle as though it didn’t exist and is greeted with a few screams before the entirety of the crowd begins to panic, scrambling over each other towards the exits, without a care for anyone but themselves. With a wave of his hand the doors seal shut. A few brave souls attack, and Dorian’s smile grows wider, revealing sharp teeth as his swollen stomach visibly writhes. He rubs a comforting hand against it. First, they’ll feed.

Dorian’s hand drops to his hard cock, groaning at the pleasurable burn as he sinks a finger in. His groan turns to a growl of annoyance as he easily bats away a firefall with the other hand, yanking the offender to him with but a thought. Yes, first, they’ll feed.