Chapter 83: 12.1.3
koen arrives home. the tentacles not only fucked koen but also changed his body. he now has a pair of huge tits, wide hips and a fat ass. his cock is much smaller, now the size of a big clit, and instead of balls he now has a cunt. koen tries to tell gabriel no sleep sex but he’s so drugged and fucked out that he can’t form any words. gabriel helps koen to bed but after an hour is no longer able to hold himself back
The door didn’t open so much as it gave way, wood groaning against stone as a weight slumped against it from the outside. Gabriel was at his desk, a cold cup of tea beside a ledger detailing the metaphysical tariffs on blessed weapon imports. The sound was wrong. Not Koen’s usual clumsy entry, but a slow, wet slide.
He was on his feet before the second thud.
He wrenched the door open. Koen fell inward, collapsing into Gabriel’s arms with a heavy, boneless finality. The smell hit him first—ozone, dank pond water, and the thick, cloying sweetness of exotic pheromones. Then the sight.
“God almighty,” Gabriel breathed, his arms automatically locking around the form to keep it from hitting the floor.
Koen was drenched, his clothes clinging to a silhouette that was… different. Profoundly, irrevocably different. The familiar, lean-muscled lines were gone, replaced by a lush, heavy curves. Through the soaked linen of his shirt, Gabriel could see the full, heavy swell of breasts, their weight straining the fabric. The hips that Gabriel’s hands gripped were wider, rounder, flaring from a newly narrowed waist. And the ass pressing back against Gabriel’s forearm as he struggled to hold him up was impossibly full, a soft, generous handful that hadn’t been there that morning.
“Koen? Talk to me. What happened?” Gabriel’s voice was sharp, cutting through his own shock.
Koen’s head lolled back against Gabriel’s shoulder. His orange eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the irises, swimming with a drugged, helpless haze. His lips, usually quick to smirk or snarl, moved soundlessly. A line of silvery drool traced from the corner of his mouth. He tried again. A gurgling, wet sound rose in his throat, but no words formed. Only a pained, desperate whimper.
His body was a map of violation. Bruises in the shape of cruel suckers mottled his throat and the visible skin of his wrists. His trousers were torn at the seams around his new hips, damp with more than just swamp water—a slick, translucent sheen coated the inside of his thighs.
Gabriel half-dragged, half-carried him to the settee by the fire. “Where are you hurt? Let me see.”
Koen’s hands fluttered weakly, trying to push Gabriel’s away, then trying to gesture toward his own head. His fingers tapped his temple. Head. Can’t think.
“Alright. Alright, I’ve got you,” Gabriel muttered, his celestial mind already racing through bestiaries. A pit of tentacles. Phagus Mutandis. A rare, vile thing that fed on life force and seed, and had a secondary, chaotic magic that rewrote physical forms to better suit its feeding. It didn’t just fuck its victims. It redesigned them.
He needed to see the full extent. With clinical detachment that felt like a layer of ice over a roiling sea, he began cutting away the ruined clothes with a small knife from his desk. The fabric fell apart.
Koen’s chest was heaving, two full, heavy breasts rising and falling, their tips a dark, pebbled rose against his tan skin. A tracery of delicate blue veins mapped their new fullness. Gabriel’s gaze travelled down, over the soft swell of his belly, to the place between his legs.
His cock was gone. In its place was a small, desperately swollen nub, the size of a large clit, weeping a thin, pearly fluid. Below that, where his balls should have been, was a slick, puffy cunt, glistening with the same iridescent slime that coated his thighs. It was swollen, used, the lips parted slightly as if still aching from relentless invasion. The flesh around it was bruised a deep, angry purple.
Koen made another sound, a strained, guttural ‘nnngh’. He managed to shake his head, a short, jerky movement. His eyes pleaded.No. Not that.
Gabriel understood. After such an assault, the last thing Koen would want was to be touched there. Especially in the vulnerable, sleeping state he was rapidly succumbing to. The plea was clear, even voiceless: No sleep fucking tonight.
“Shhh,” Gabriel soothed, stroking matted black hair from Koen’s forehead. “I know. I understand. Just rest. Let your healing handle this. I’ll watch over you.”
He fetched warm water and a cloth. He cleaned the silvery slime from Koen’s thighs with a tenderness that felt sacred. He dabbed the sweat from his brow. Koen’s eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open in panicked confusion, over and over, until finally the drug and the exhaustion won. His breathing evened into the deep, slow rhythm of forced restorative sleep. His new body, soft and expansive in the firelight, was a landscape of profound violation and stranger beauty.
Gabriel wrapped him in a thick blanket, lifted him with ease—the new weight was considerable, a lush, feminine heaviness—and carried him upstairs to their bed. He settled him on his side, arranging the blankets. He sat in the wooden chair in the corner, intending to keep his vigil.
For the first hour, it was easy. Concern held desire at bay. He watched the bruises on Koen’s throat fade from purple to yellow, the demonic healing working its magic on the tissue. The swollen lips between his legs grew less puffy, the angry color softening. The transformation, however, remained. The wide hips. The heavy breasts that spilled from the blanket with each deep breath. The perfect, fat curve of his ass under the wool.
The cottage was silent save for the crackling fire and Koen’s breathing. The ledger downstairs waited, untouched. The only thing in the world was this bed, and the transformed man in it.
Gabriel’s own breathing began to change.
He remembered the feeling of Koen, pliant and trusting against the wall. The absolute surrender. The words Koen had spoken: My body knows you. It trusts you.
This body was different. But it was still Koen’s. It still knew him. It still, even in this shattered state, had trusted him enough to go completely unconscious in his care.
A heat, familiar and monstrous, uncoiled in Gabriel’s gut. It was worse now. Sharper. The temptation was layered with a forbidden, shocking novelty. He had never seen Koen like this. Never touched him like this. The new flesh was a secret, a forbidden frontier.
He shifted in the chair, his own arousal becoming a demanding, painful throb. He tried to think of tariffs, of scripture, of anything else. His eyes kept returning to the dip of Koen’s waist, the dramatic flare of his hip, the shadowed cleft of his new ass. The blanket had slipped, revealing one rounded breast, the nipple dark and soft in the dim light.
He said no, a last shred of decency insisted.
He tried to, the hunger argued back. But he couldn’t form the words. His body is healing. It’s sinking into the deepest trust it knows. With me.
The internal battle was short, brutal, and utterly one-sided. The acceptance he’d forged in himself weeks ago had become a pathway, and now desire stormed down it, unchecked.
He stood. The floorboard creaked. Koen didn’t stir.
Gabriel approached the bed like a man approaching an altar. His fingers trembled as he pulled the blanket down, revealing all of him. The firelight danced over the new slopes and valleys, painting him in gold and shadow. He was magnificent. A ruined, remade god.
Gabriel’s hands were not clinical now. They were possessive. He palmed the full weight of one breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple. It tightened instantly under his touch, even in deep sleep. A low, hungry sound escaped Gabriel. He leaned down and took it into his mouth, sucking deeply, his tongue circling the pebbled flesh. Koen sighed in his sleep, a gentle, yielding sound.
He explored every new inch. The sensitive dip of his waist. The incredible softness of his inner thigh. He cupped the full ass, kneading the generous flesh, spreading it to reveal the tight, hidden pucker behind. Koen was so deeply under he offered no resistance, his body a feast of passive acceptance.
Gabriel’s own clothes felt like a prison. He stripped, his cock springing free, thick and achingly hard. He positioned himself on the bed, pushing Koen’s legs apart. The new cunt glistened, healed now to a soft, pink flower, utterly defenseless.
“It still knows me,” Gabriel whispered, a feverish mantra. “It still trusts me.”
He rubbed the head of his cock through the slick folds, groaning at the wet, hot feel of it. This was different. This was new. This was a tight, virgin heat that belonged to Koen.
He pushed inside.
The entrance was tighter than he’d ever felt, a velvety, clutching vise that made his vision swim. Koen’s body, deep in its healing sleep, instinctively relaxed to accommodate him, the muscles fluttering weakly around the intrusion. Gabriel sheathed himself to the hilt in one slow, relentless stroke, burying himself in the new, perfect warmth.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his hips flush against the soft swell of Koen’s ass. “Oh, fuck, Koen… look what it did to you. Made you this perfect fucking hole for me.”
He began to move. Short, deep thrusts that rocked the entire bed. Koen’s new breasts jounced with each impact. His smaller cock, that little nub, was stiff and leaking against his belly. Gabriel reached around, his hand sliding over the soft stomach, and wrapped his fingers around it. It was tiny, a pathetic, sensitive little thing in his grasp. He stroked it in time with his thrusts, a cruel, possessive parody of pleasure.
“You take it so well,” Gabriel grunted, his pace increasing. The wet, slapping sounds filled the room, a obscene counterpoint to Koen’s even breathing. “Even remade, you’re mine. This cunt is mine. You hear me? It was made for this. For me to fill.”
He was losing himself, the novelty and the raw taboo of it driving him to a frantic edge. He fucked into the limp, pliant body with a savage hunger, one hand mauling a breast, the other working the tiny cock. He bent forward, biting at Koen’s shoulder, marking the newly soft skin.
“Gonna breed this new cunt,” he snarled, the filth pouring out of him. “Gonna pump you so full of come it’ll never wash out. You’re a fucking she now, and you’re still my dumb, sleepy slut.”
His orgasm ripped through him, violent and consuming. He slammed deep and held there, his body convulsing as he emptied himself in hot, pulsing jets deep into Koen’s uncharted depths. A final, ragged groan was torn from his throat.
He collapsed forward, his weight pressing Koen into the mattress. He was panting, spent, the fever breaking. He slowly pulled out, a mix of his own spend and Koen’s natural slickness following him.
Koen had not woken. Not truly. A faint line of tension had appeared between his brows, a ghost of discomfort in the sea of drugged sleep. His breathing hitched, then evened out again.
Gabriel rolled to the side, staring at the ceiling, the cold reality of what he’d done settling over him like ash. He had taken a ‘no’ communicated in the only way Koen could manage, and had steamrolled over it. He had fucked a transformed, traumatized body deep in unconsciousness. The trust had been a bridge, and he had burned it.
He looked at Koen, at the beautiful, alien curves, at the peace that was slowly returning to his sleeping face. The shame was back, but it was a different flavor. Colder. Heavier. It tasted like a point of no return.
He cleaned them both in silence. He pulled the blankets back over Koen. He did not climb into bed. He returned to the chair in the corner, and watched the rest of the night pass, waiting for the dawn, and for the consequences he knew were now inevitable.
late in the afternoon koen finally wakes up but the tentacles had rewired part of koen’s brain before koen managed to kill them. now koen is stuck in a constant state of dripping arousal, he’s stupider, extremely horny, unable to properly think or form words
He returned to the chair in the corner, and watched the rest of the night pass, waiting for the dawn, and for the consequences he knew were now inevitable. The sky outside the crooked window bled from black to a sour gray. Gabriel’s wings ached from being held stiff and close all night, a self-imposed punishment. Koen slept on, his healing metabolism smoothing away the last bruises, etching the new curves into permanence. The blanket rose and fell with a rhythm that felt like an accusation.
Gabriel must have dozed. A sound pulled him from a thin, terrible dream. Not a word. A wet, choked mewl.
He opened his eyes. Late afternoon light, thick and golden, cut across the bed. Koen was awake. He was on his back, the blanket tangled around his waist. His orange eyes were open, but the sharp, loyal light in them was guttered. They looked cloudy, confused, like pond ice just beginning to form. He was staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling as if he’d never seen them before.
His hands were moving. One palm was clumsily kneading the heavy swell of his own breast, pinching the nipple. The other was shoved between his legs, fingers working in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm against his new cunt. The sheets beneath his hips were already dark with a spreading stain of slick.
“Koen?” Gabriel’s voice was gravel.
Koen’s head turned toward the sound. His eyes struggled to focus. Recognition flickered, but it was dull, slow. A messy smile spread over his face, saliva glistening on his lower lip. He let out another sound, a long, plaintive “Mmmmmm,” and rocked his hips up against his own hand. His back arched, pushing his chest out. An invitation. A demand.
He wasn’t just aroused. He was drowning in it. His entire being was reduced to a single, dripping need.
Gabriel crossed the room, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. Koen immediately grabbed his wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, and tried to shove Gabriel’s hand between his legs. His skin was fever-hot.
“Koen, look at me. Can you understand me?”
Koen blinked, his brow furrowing with immense effort. His mouth opened. “Guh… Ga…,” he slurred, a thick drool of sound. He gave up, frustration flashing in his dulled eyes. He thrust his hips again, rubbing his slick cunt against Gabriel’s thigh through the blanket, whining high in his throat. The plea was primitive, physical, absolute.
The tentacles hadn’t just reshaped his body. They had scorched his mind, leaving only the basest wiring intact. Koen was gone. In his place was this beautiful, stupid, desperate creature, leaking and wanting.
All of Gabriel’s planned apologies died. They were words for a man who could understand them. This creature needed something else.
“Shhh,” Gabriel said, his own voice rough. He let his hand be guided. Koen’s fingers, clumsy and urgent, wrapped around Gabriel’s and mashed them against his swollen folds. He was sopping, dripping, his heat a palpable force. Koen threw his head back and moaned, a raw, unfiltered sound of relief at the contact.
“You can’t even think, can you?” Gabriel whispered, more to himself. “It just… took everything. Left you like this.”
Koen responded by bucking against his hand, his new breasts shaking. “Fuh… fuck,” he grunted, the word a mangled ruin of his old voice. It was the first clear word, and it was a command.
A dark, possessive resolve hardened in Gabriel’s chest, colder and sharper than last night’s hunger. Last night had been theft. This was something else. This was stewardship. If this was all that remained—this raw, hungry need—then he would meet it. He would own it completely.
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, his fingers pushing inside the tight, clutching heat. Koen screamed, a short, sharp cry of pleasure-pain, his body seizing around the intrusion. “I’ll fuck you. That’s all you know now, isn’t it? Just this.”
He withdrew his fingers, slick and shining. He pushed Koen’s legs apart, his gaze fixed on the glistening, pink flesh, already fluttering open for him. There was no negotiation, no trust to consider. There was only a void of need, and he was going to fill it.
He didn’t bother undressing. He just unlaced his trousers, freeing his cock, which was already hard and aching. He positioned himself, the head nudging against Koen’s entrance. Koen was babbling now, a stream of “yes, yes, please,” each word smeared and sticky.
Gabriel shoved in. Not with the slow, claiming pace of before, but with a single, brutal thrust that buried him to the root.
Koen’s body arched off the bed, a soundless scream on his lips. His cunt clamped down in a violent, rhythmic spasm around Gabriel’s length, milking him instantly. He was already coming, his smaller cock pulsing a weak, clear stream onto his belly, his eyes rolling back in his head. The orgasm wrecked him, leaving him twitching and gasping.
Gabriel didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Seeing Koen shatter so easily, so mindlessly, lit a fuse in him. He pulled back and slammed home again.
“Is this it?” he growled, setting a punishing rhythm. The bed slammed against the wall. “This all you are now? Just a wet, stupid hole?”
Koen could only sob, overstimulated, his hands scrabbling at the sheets. His broken mind had no defenses, no capacity for anything but sensation. Every brutal thrust sparked a cascade of helpless, shuddering responses. He came again in minutes, a weak, dripping pulse, his body going limp as a ragdoll.
Gabriel gripped the soft flesh of his hips, fingers digging in, and fucked him through the sensitivity. He was chasing his own end, fueled by a terrible mix of grief and dominion. He leaned over, his mouth against Koen’s ear.
“You’re mine,” he hissed, each word a punch of air. “My dumb, broken thing. My perfect, fucked-out slut. This is all you’re for now.”
His climax was a tectonic rupture. He drove in deep and held, grinding as he emptied himself into that welcoming, thoughtless heat. His vision starred at the edges. For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths and the wet, spent silence between them.
He pulled out. Koen’s cunt gaped slightly, a mix of their fluids seeping onto the ruined sheet. He was conscious, but his eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. A line of drool ran from his mouth to the pillow. He was wrecked, used, and still, a faint tremble of need quivered through his thighs.
Gabriel cleaned them both with a cold, methodical efficiency. He righted his clothes. He looked down at the creature on the bed, at the beautiful, empty face. The consequences had arrived. They weren’t Koen’s anger or betrayal. They were this: an eternal, hungry present.
Koen’s hand flopped out, fingers weakly curling. A low, wanting hum vibrated in his chest. The arousal, it seemed, was a constant tide, already returning.
Gabriel took the hand. He sat on the bed beside him, watching the late afternoon light begin to fail. “I’m here,” he said, to the empty room, to the broken man. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was a sentence.