Chapter 1: The Summoning
The fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling buzzed with a cheap, persistent hum. Bree stared at them, one knee bouncing endlessly, her phone a dead weight in her hand. The lecture notes on her laptop screen blurred into meaningless glyphs. Everything was so… boring. Classes were boring. The guys in her poli-sci discussion group were boring. The unopened textbook on her floor was a monument to boredom.
“Screw it,” she muttered to the empty room.
She scooped her platinum hair into a messy bun, the motion brisk and decisive. The impulse had been itching at her for days, a secret thrill buried in the deep, weird backchannels of the internet she wasn’t supposed to know about. She’d found the forum by accident, a place where whispers about things that werlked in the spaces between streetlights were typed out in earnest, chaotic threads.
She’d bookmarked one. For the curious and the desperate, the tagline read. Bree figured she was a little of both.
She cleared a space on the scuffed laminate floor, pushing a pizza box aside with her foot. The candle she’d nicked from the campus metaphysical shop—a joke purchase, really—stood in the center. She lit it. The flame didn’t flicker. It just… pulsed, a deep, steady ember that cast long, grasping shadows up the walls. The air immediately smelled different. Less stale sweat and old coffee, more like the sharp, clean scent of ozone before a lightning strike.
“Okay, okay,” she whispered, a giddy smile playing on her lips. She pulled up the image on her phone: a complex, interlocking spiral of lines that looked less like a symbol and more like a lock. Or a key.
Using a stick of charcoal, she began tracing it onto the floor, her tongue poking out in concentration. It was weirdly absorbing. The lines seemed to pull the charcoal along, as if they wanted to be drawn. A shiver, one part nerves and three parts pure anticipation, danced down her spine.
“Here goes nothing,” she giggled, the sound too high, too bright for the thickening silence.
She read the words aloud. They were clumsy on her tongue, syllables that felt greasy and wrong. The pulse from the candle flared, syncing with the sudden, heavy thump of her own heart. The neon fairy lights dimmed, their cheerful pink and blue glow snuffed out as if by a deep, indrawn breath.
The shadows in the corner of the room began to drip.
It was the only way to describe it. Darkness pooled, then flowed, viscous and heavy, onto her floor. The charcoal lines of the sigil she’d drawn ignited with a cold, violet light. A squeak escaped her, the giggle finally dying.
It oozed into the center of the circle. A mass of shifting, liquid darkness the color of a deep-space nebula, shot through with a shimmering, iridescent sheen like oil on water. It wasn’t shapeless. It was a coiled knot of potential. And it was… beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.
She stumbled back, her calves hitting the edge of her mattress. “Oh, wow. Okay. Hi?”
It didn’t have eyes, but she felt its attention like a physical pressure on her skin. A single, sleek tendril, as thick as her wrist, peeled away from the main mass. It moved with a surreal, graceful slowness, extending toward her. It wasn’t aggressive. It was inquisitive.
The tip hovered just before her trembling fingers. It was warm. And smooth, like polished stone warmed by the sun, yet utterly pliable. The bioluminescent sheen pulsed gently.
Tentatively, she reached out. Her fingertip brushed it.
Sensation exploded up her arm—not pain, but a cascade of pure, harmonic feedback. A low, resonant vibration filled the room, thrumming in her teeth, in her bones. It felt like a question. An offer.
All her fear melted, burned away by a curiosity so fierce it was hunger. This was real. And it was looking right at her.
“Yes,” she breathed, the word barely audible.
It understood.
Another tendril joined the first, sliding around her waist with a gentle firmness that stole her breath. It lifted her off her feet as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, her hands flying to grip it—solid, warm, alive. It cradled her in the air, suspending her above her own messy world.
She felt a subtle tug at the hem of her crop top. A different appendage, slender and deft, slipped underneath. The material slid up her torso, over her head, and was discarded somewhere in the dark. The cool air pebbled her skin, followed immediately by the enveloping warmth of the entity. She was being undressed with an expertise that was clinical and worshipful all at once. Her shorts, her lace panties—everything vanished with soft, whispering touches.
She was naked, cradled in a nest of shimmering, living darkness.
“You’re… Vexx,” she whispered, the name from the forum suddenly in her mind. The vibration around her deepened in affirmation.
A tentacle, blunt and velvet-soft, brushed her collarbone, trailed down between her breasts. It cupped one, the touch reverent, then circled her nipple. She cried out, back arching, as it tightened just so, a jolt of pure electric pleasure spearing straight to her core. It did the same to the other, and she was already panting, her head lolling back.
It was learning her. And she was learning it. Every gasp, every twitch, was data it absorbed and responded to. A thinner tendril, slick with a cool, shimmering fluid, traced the line of her abdomen, dipped into her navel, and then moved lower. It found her already wet, aching.
It paused. The entire entity seemed to hold its breath, awaiting her final permission.
Bree looked down at the magnificent, alien thing holding her. This was it. The line between her old, boring life and… whatever this was. A wild, ecstatic grin spread across her face.
“Do it,” she said, voice ragged. “Show me.”
It did.
The tentacle at her core pressed inside, and her world shattered into pure sensation. It was thick, filling her utterly, but it moved with a slow, sinuous patience that made her sob with relief. It wasn’t just moving in and out; it curled, stroking places inside her she didn’t know could sing. A second pressure, insistent and careful, pressed against her other entrance. She tensed for a second—a fleeting spike of this is new—but Vexx simply waited, throbbing gently where it was already buried inside her, until her body relaxed and opened.
It slid in, a slow, incredible stretch that burned so good. It didn’t stop. It kept going, deeper, a profound, full feeling that shifted her reality. It wasn’t violating; it was connecting. She felt it moving within her, a slow, relentless glide, until she felt the strange, pressure of its tip nudging the back of her throat.
Her eyes flew wide. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream. She was full, utterly and completely, a perfect circuit of sensation. Vexx held her there, suspended, impaled, for an eternal second. The low vibration running through its forms became a purr of profound satisfaction.
See? the purr seemed to say. We are one system.
Then it began to move.
The rhythm was impossible, inhuman. Each thrust was a coordinated wave through her entire body, the tentacle in her ass and the one in her pussy moving in counterpoint, while the one in her mouth pulsed gently, coated in the same sweet, electric fluid. She was an instrument being played by a master. Pleasure wasn’t a peak; it was a plateau, a sustained, screaming chord that went on and on. Orgasm ripped through her, a convulsive wave that made her clamp down around the thick intrusion, and Vexx reveled in it, its vibrations escalating into a resonant hum that shook the room.
It didn’t stop. It guided her through the crashing waves, into the next peak, and the next, until she was a shuddering, mindless creature of pure feedback, tears of overwhelmed joy streaming down her temples into her hair.
Only then, as she floated in the aftermath of a third, soul-detaching climax, did she feel the change. The core of Vexx, the great knot of it, began to pulse with a faster, urgent rhythm. The tendril deep inside her womb softened, dilated, and something new pressed against her deepest opening.
A smooth, oval pressure. Then another behind it. A clutch.
It pushed the first one into her, a full, profound weight settling low in her belly. Then another. And another. Each one was accompanied by a hot, flooding rush of that same shimmering fluid, filling her, sealing them in. The sensation was deeply primal, a completion that made her whimper around the tentacle in her mouth. It was possessive. It was a gift.
With a final, shivering tremor that ran through every tendril holding her, Vexx stilled. The vibrations softened to a contented, resting frequency. Slowly, with infinite care, it began to withdraw. The tendril slid from her mouth, leaving her gasping for air that tasted of lightning and sea spray. The others retreated, leaving her feeling empty, hollowed out, and profoundly changed.
It lowered her gently onto the sweat-dampened sheets of her mattress. She was boneless, every muscle liquid. She could feel a faint, warm weight lodged deep inside her, a secret she now carried.
Vexx’s main mass had receded to the center of the circle, smaller now, its bioluminescence a soft, sleepy glow. One last, slender tendril extended. It brushed the damp hair from her forehead, a touch so tender it made her eyes well up again.
Then, with a soft, sighing ripple, it began to dissolve, flowing back into the shadows from which it came. The candle flame guttered and went out, a wisp of normal smoke rising. The fairy lights flickered back on.
Silence. The normal, dull silence of a messy dorm room late at night.
Bree lay there, breaths slowing. She pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. A slow, blissful smile spread across her face. The boredom was incinerated, ash on a cosmic wind.
“So,” she whispered to the empty air, her voice hoarse but brimming with wonder. “When can you come back?”
“When can you come back?”
The silence that answered was absolute. The room just looked… dumb. A mess. A normal mess. She stared at the spot where the shadow had pooled, the now-inert charcoal sigil smudged by her own frantic movements. A wild laugh bubbled up in her throat and she let it out, the sound echoing off the bare walls. She felt insane. Wonderful.
She spent the next day in a dream. Lectures were a distant murmur. The eggs—she’d started thinking of them that way—were a constant, warm presence, a secret she carried between classes. She’d press a hand to her lower stomach in the cafeteria line and shiver. She googled things like “bioluminescent entities” and “extradimensional contact” on her phone before deleting the search history with a giggle.
The sun set. Dusk bled into proper night. Her dorm room, once just a pit, now felt like a sacred space. She didn’t bother with the fairy lights. She just lit the candle. The flame caught and held, that same strange, steady pulse.
“Okay,” she whispered to the empty air, kneeling by the sigil. Her heart was a jackhammer. “I’m here. I’m ready.”
She didn’t have to say the words this time. The air compressed, grew heavy, charged. The shadows in the corner didn’t drip this time—they burst. Vexx manifested not as a slow ooze, but an eruption of shimmering violet-black force, filling the center of the room with a coiled, powerful mass. The vibration that hit her was different. Deeper. Hungrier. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of intent.
“Whoa,” Bree breathed, scrambling to her feet.
A tentacle, thicker than her thigh, shot out and wrapped around her waist before she could take a step. It yanked her off her feet, the motion so swift it knocked the breath from her lungs. She was dragged through the air, not cradled, and pressed against the main, pulsing bulk of the entity. It was warm, almost fever-hot, and the slick surface hummed with raw power.
“Okay, okay, someone’s eager,” she gasped, but her smile was wide, feral.
Her clothes were not removed with patient care. Tentacles, slender and wiry-strong, slithered under her tee and shorts. Fabric tore with sharp, satisfying rips. In seconds, she was bare, pinned against Vexx with two thick coils around her thighs, holding her open. The clinical worship of the first night was gone, replaced by a palpable, greedy need.
The first touch was a slap—a broad, flat tentacle-tip smacking against her pussy, making her yelp. Then it pressed inside, a blunt, demanding invasion that had her seeing stars. It was rougher, deeper from the first thrust. She cried out, nails digging into the slick appendage holding her.
“Yes! God, like that!”
It was as if her approval unleashed it. Before she could adjust to the one filling her, a second, similar appendage, slick and relentless, pressed against her ass. There was no gentle coaxing tonight. It pushed, stretching her with a burning, glorious pressure that stole her voice. It didn’t stop at one. As the first tentacle in her ass began a ruthless, pounding rhythm, she felt a third presence, thinner, probing at her already-stretched entrance alongside it.
A broken, ecstatic sob ripped from her throat. “You can’t—oh fuck—”
It could. It did. The thinner tendril forced its way in alongside the thicker one, a dizzying, impossible stretch that felt like her very bones were bending. The sensation was beyond fullness. It was rewriting her. The twin intrusions in her ass moved in a sinuous, scissoring motion, while the one in her pussy curled and throbbed. The entity held her immobile, a puppet strung up on pillars of exquisite, rough pleasure.
She came almost immediately, a shockwave that ripped through her with violent intensity, her body clamping and fluttering around the impossible girth inside her. Vexx vibrated, a sound like a contented predator, and didn’t let up for a second. It drove her through that peak and into another, the pace relentless, the stretch relentless. She babbled, nonsense praise and pleas, her head thrown back.
Then, the rhythm changed. The movements inside her became deeper, more purposeful, less about friction and more about… placement. She felt that familiar, soft pressure, the yielding dilation at the tip of the tentacle buried in her womb. The first egg was pushed into her, a deep, weighted kiss. Then another. The clutch from the night before was joined by a new, settling weight.
But it didn’t end there. In her ass, she felt the same profound shift. The thick tentacle knotted slightly, and a smooth, oval shape travelled its length. Her eyes flew open in shock. The sensation of it being deposited deep in her bowels was bizarre, profound, deeply invasive in a way that made her moan around a mouthful of air. Another followed. And another. She was being filled in both channels, packed with its otherworldly progeny, a vessel being claimed in every possible way.
The climax that built in her this time wasn’t sharp. It was a tectonic rising, a suffocating wave of pleasure so intense it tipped toward pain. As it crashed over her, Vexx shuddered. The tentacle in her ass plunged deeper than ever before, locking, and a torrent of its shimmering, electric cum flooded her colon with such violent pressure it shot upwards, a reversed geyser through her insides.
The force of it hit a wall inside her—and reversed. A gurgling, overwhelming sensation climbed her throat. She gagged, coughed, and a warm, iridescent trickle spilled from her lips, dripping down her chin. The taste was lightning and honey and deep, dark salt.
It held her there, utterly spent, utterly stuffed, for a long moment. Then, with a softer series of vibrations that felt almost like apology, or perhaps praise, it began its careful retreat. The tentacles slid from her ravaged body, leaving her feeling hollowed, gaping, and profoundly seeded. She collapsed onto the floor, a boneless heap of tingling nerves and trembling flesh.
Vexx lingered, a single tendril stroking her heaving side. Then it dissolved into the gathering dark.
Bree lay on the cold laminate, coughing once more, the strange cum slick on her tongue. She felt the heavy, dual loads within her. A slow, delirious smile spread across her face.
Nothing would ever be normal again. She’d never wanted normal anyway.
She’d never wanted normal anyway.
The thought was a smug mantra in her head as she shuffled to her tiny bathroom the next morning. She felt heavy. Deliciously, profoundly heavy. She flicked on the light and caught her reflection in the mirror.
A sharp, breathy “oh” escaped her.
Her stomach, normally flat and toned from haphazard yoga, was distinctly rounded. A soft, firm swell pushed out from her pelvis. She ran her hands over it, pressing gently. There was a density there, a fullness that was more than bloat. It felt… alive. A current of pure, electric thrill shot through her, settling low and warm between her legs. She was carrying them. Last night’s clutch, and the one from the night before, all nestled inside her.
She skipped her morning class. The pressure was a constant, tantalizing reminder. She walked across campus feeling like a secret god, the weight in her belly a hidden crown. Every step sent a little jolt through her. By afternoon, it had become an ache. A deep, hollow need that her own fingers couldn’t hope to touch. The fullness wasn’t enough. She needed to be filled more.
The campus library bathroom was brutally sterile, all white tiles and harsh fluorescent lights. It was empty, silent except for the drip of a faucet. Perfect.
Bree stumbled into the last stall, locking the flimsy door. Her hands shook as she fished the nub of charcoal from her jacket pocket. No candle, no circle. Just desperate need. She crouched, ignoring the cold floor, and sketched a hurried, simplified version of the sigil right there on the grout between tiles.
“Come on, come on,” she whispered, the words raw.
The air in the stall thickened, pressing on her eardrums. The fluorescent light above her buzzed wildly, then blew out with a pop. Shadows erupted from the corners, not oozing but exploding, violating the clean white space with violent, shimmering purpose. Vexx manifested not in the center of the stall, but around her, enveloping her in an instant cocoon of living, heated darkness.
There was no gentle inquiry this time. The entity vibrated with a resonance that felt like shared hunger.
“Yeah,” Bree panted, fumbling with her jeans. “I need it. I’m so empty.”
She wasn’t empty. She was swollen with its offspring. But the need was a bottomless pit.
A tentacle, thick as her forearm and gleaming with slick iridescence, wrapped around her throat, not choking but holding, anchoring her head back against the cold stall partition. Two more coiled around her thighs and wrenched them apart. Her jeans and panties were shredded in one concerted pull.
Then it began.
Three primary tendrils, each massive, each tapering to a blunt, seeking tip, presented themselves. They pressed against her simultaneously—one at her dripping entrance, one at her tight, furléd asshole, one against her parted, panting lips.
They pushed in as one.
Bree’s eyes rolled back. The stretch was catastrophic, impossible. Her body screamed, a white-hot撕裂 of pure sensation that instantly morphed into blinding pleasure. She was packed, stuffed beyond any human limit, the three thick columns burying themselves deep, deeper, until she felt them press against each other inside her, a knot of impossible fullness crowding her very core. She gagged violently around the intrusion in her mouth, her throat convulsing, tears streaming down her face.
She couldn’t scream. She could only take it. A shuddering, euphoric moan vibrated around the tentacle fucking her throat. She came, a sudden, brutal seizure that made her entire body clamp down on the violent invaders. The vibration from Vexx was a roar of approval.
It didn’t pause. It began to move. The three tentacles established a ruthless, piston-like rhythm, sliding in her choking throat, her packed ass, her overfilled pussy with synchronized, driving force. The sensation was beyond anything. It was being used, rebuilt, turned inside out with pleasure. She felt another, thinner tendril probe at her ass, finding a space beside the monstrous one already there, and then push in alongside it. The stretch became a burning, sublime agony. Then another at her pussy, forcing a second thick column into already-devastated space.
She was being split open by six thick, pulsing lengths, three in her ass, three in her pussy, her mouth stretched around the third. Her belly distended further, visibly moving with the internal violation. She could see the shape of them through her skin.
The orgasms came in unending waves, a continuous electric current that locked her muscles and stole her breath. She drooled around the tentacle in her mouth, her body convulsing in the stark white stall.
Then, the deep, internal pulses. The familiar, yielding pressure. It started in her pussy. The central tentacle there dilated, and she felt the first heavy egg slide into her already-crammed womb. Then another. And another. A fresh, deep load being deposited atop the old. Hot, liquid cum flooded after them, a searing gush that made her feel impossibly full.
The same process began in her ass. A deep, internal clenching, and the sensation of smooth ovals being pushed into her colon, one after another, a heavy, claiming weight settling deep in her gut. Another torrent of release followed, hot and copious.
Finally, the tentacle in her mouth throbbed. She gagged, trying to swallow, as a rush of the same shimmering, electric cum filled her mouth and overflowed, dripping down her chin and neck. But then, more than liquid. Smaller, smooth, marble-like eggs pressed from its tip onto her tongue, spilling from her lips. She choked, swallowing some, others falling to the floor of the stall with soft, wet taps.
It withdrew, slowly, from her ruined, gasping body. As the tentacles slipped out, a flood of mixed release followed—iridescent cum and small, glistening eggs oozing from her ass and her pussy, dripping down her trembling thighs. Her mouth dripped with saliva and shimmering seed. She was a leaking, overfilled vessel, her belly a taut, rounded dome under her rucked-up shirt.
Vexx lingered for a moment, a single tendril wiping gently at the mess on her chin. Then it dissolved into the returning shadows.
The fluorescent light flickered back on.
Bree slid down the stall wall, collapsing into the cold, wet mess on the floor. She was broken open, oozing from every hole, her stomach swollen to a ripe, heavy curve. She pressed a hand to it, feeling the immense, shifting weight inside. A slow, dazed smile spread across her bruised lips.
She wanted nothing more than to be fucked and filled. Again and again. Forever.