The Many Deaths of Samish 1.14

He felt it right away when she began to swallow. She’d just moved his head to the back of her mouth, behind her tongues, and for the first time it was pressed up against something other than the slick palette wall. This was plump and blubbery, and it opened just a little as her tongues rolled him into it. It quivered and constricted, and one gasp proved it to be the source of her intoxicating breath. Then her tongues curled between his legs and pulled him deeper, and the blubbery bulb rolled over his head, squishing past his face and ears, and squeezed.

Her mouth shuddered, and, of their own accord, his cock and hips began thrusting into the crevice of her lower tongue.

She swallowed again, and the sphincter slipped another few inches up his neck, stopping at the ‘T’ of his shoulders. She began gulping, squeezing with her whole mouth, and working with her tongues to coat him thoroughly with saliva. Still, his shoulders were a piece of work for her – she had cough and gargle and gag to force each arm through, one at a time – but once they were inside he continued to slip quickly into her throat.

He was finally allowed his orgasm as his hips and erection were drawn through the fleshy bulb, and he spasmed and went rigid with the pleasure. She responded with a wave of convulsions and an exultant, ecstatic moan as his legs and feet slipped down into her gullet.

Beyond the mouth was an utter darkness. It felt like a fleshy pocket – wet and warm like her tongues but blubbery like her throat – and it began to squeeze him as he plopped fully inside, as though it meant to knead him to a pulp. He could feel her moaning vibrating through him, and her orgasmic spasms and swaying translated into a tighter, twisty squeezing of the flesh around him. The sticky moisture surrounding him had begun to turn into a thicker, more viscous goo; where it touched him, his skin tingled and went numb. Her stomach wasn’t loose or open – he was enveloped, and there was little air for his lungs; every time he squirmed another air-filled gap closed against him with a squelch. That sense of dread had built until it was a clear voice in his head, and it was telling him that he’d just traded away the rest of his life for that last orgasm. He took one long, gasping breath, impossibly thick with her perfumed breath, and the little consciousness remaining to him was drawn from his lungs.

END CHAPTER 1

Illustration at DeviantArt – login required for mature content

Chapter 2

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.13

Her jaw snapped, catching him at the waist; she gummed him as her lips pulled him in further. Each bite was eager, delighted, and accompanied by an enthusiastic “Nyum, nyum!” The monster didn’t seem to notice or care that her chewing was ineffectual; she gobbled him up like she had been starving – gnashing and chewing and slurping while she gummed around his hips and belly. His feet sunk into the slick flesh behind her palettes while her tongues lashed between his legs. She moaned, and her whole head shivered with delight; Sam shuddered as her tongue-tips pulled at his erection. She seemed intent on bringing him to orgasm, and herself with him, but just as his breath began to deepen and become loud, just as he began to feel the hot rush between his legs, she flipped him around to begin again.

She took her time chewing him over, turning him around, masticating him thoroughly, and sighing her approval. He took gasping breaths while struggling to pull himself free, but her rubbery lips, her tongues, her jaw were far too strong – they flipped him around effortlessly, moving him from one cheek to the other. She clearly enjoyed teasing his erection – she took the time to push a tongue up between his thighs, or to spit out his legs and suck him back in slowly, so he humped up against the rubbery flesh of her lip. While she refused to bring him all the way to orgasm, she seemed to have them as regularly as waves on the sand – small shudders and a tensing in her tongues followed by a delighted moan. Nothing excited her more than giving him an opening, a brief glimpse of the basement beyond her lips, a foothold to push away from, then chomping him back in before he could escape.

Not that he was really trying any longer. By now Sam was woozy from her breath and limply submissive to her mouth. A vague sense of dread lingered in the back of his mind, behind the overwhelming onrush of sensations. His brain was empty of conscious thoughts. He saw little, but he heard the smacking, sloshing sounds of her mouth all around him. He smelt only the mind-numbing flower garden, but the taste when he opened his mouth was like the excitement of a first kiss. He felt everything, even as thoroughly basted as he was in her hot, sticky saliva.

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.12

But she just laughed and cooed, “Oooh, poor dear. You’re so bad at begging! You’re supposed to give me a reason not to eat you. Like you taste bad – which is completely untrue – or that you’ll cry and scream – which would just turn me on. But you don’t really have a good reason, do you?”

Sam thought desperately.

“Something to live for? Someone?”

His mind spun, but there was nothing but this moment – no history or future. No one but himself, and the big gaping mouth of the Monster beneath him.

“In fact-” she began to smack her lips and tongues while the vines twisted around him, turning him and guiding his feet down toward her waiting mouth. “In fact, you want it.” The tip of one of her tongues was idly circling his toes. Her breath was heavy, hot, and the room practically dripped with her overwhelming scent. “You want nothing more than to disappear into my mouth.”

“Wait!” He took a deep breath when she stopped to suck on his feet. “Wait. Will it hurt?”

Her laugh was deep, and her mouth opened wide, providing him a full view to the back of her throat. Then the vines loosed their hold and he fell.

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.11

Her laugh, so familiar now, was becoming both more sexual and more sinister. “Aren’t you forgetting something, dumpling?”

“What?” His voice was a cracked whisper. One of his eyes opened, then the other.

“Shouldn’t you be begging me for your life? Some pleading, maybe a few sniffles and tears?”

The idea hadn’t even occurred to him. This whole thing seemed so inevitable. Somehow he knew, even last night, there was a monster waiting in the basement. He was – and always had been – monster food. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try.

“Please?” He didn’t try to hide the wavering in his voice. “Please… I don’t know what your name is, but I don’t want you to eat me.”

“Mmm-hmm. Yes you do!” Her tongues reached up to slather over his bare stomach. “Don’t try to tell me your arm didn’t feel like heaven inside my mouth. Don’t think I didn’t notice what was happening here-” she tugged at his erection “- while I sucked on your face. You’ll have to do better than that, dumpling.”

“But I don’t want to die!”

“Everyone’s got to die, Samish – some sooner than others. Would you really rather wither away from a heart attack or cancer than feed me?” Her lips pursed and kissed the air.

“I’m scared to die.”

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.10

His lungs surged with air, and his eyes narrowed at her. “How do you know my name?” Even Social Security didn’t know him as anything but Sam Brown. He couldn’t remember his parents, he couldn’t remember growing up, but he could remember that his name had always been Samiszch Braun. Not Samuel. Lara was the only other one who knew his full name, and she only used it when he annoyed her.

“All of this spectacle, and that’s what you ask? How I know your name?” The big head shook. “You never cease to amaze me, boy. One of these days I’m going to leave you with a little more memory, so we don’t have to keep going through this. But that would spoil all of the fun, wouldn’t it?” She lunged and smacked her lips just short of his face, and laughed aloud when he went completely limp in her tendrils. Still smiling, she began her hypnotic sway again.

Sam gathered what little resolve he had left and tried to force the fog from his head. He had to make a break for it. Now. It was his last chance, or he’d be devoured for certain. He wouldn’t even be to tell… He couldn’t remember her name! No – Lara – that was it! (Lara! Lara! He had to hold on to her name!) He had to tell her ‘I told you so.’ Maybe he could squeeze past the monster to the stairs…

But the tendrils were writhing over his whole body now, over and beneath his clothes, and without a sign of effort they lifted him from the ground and squeezed. “Your last opportunity for escape was long ago, dumpling. Mmm. I’m so hungry now, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to play.” She licked her lips, but they were dripping with saliva again the next moment. Her tongues flicked anxiously against her gums. “Let’s get you all the way unwrapped so I can taste that sweet flesh of yours, okay?”

The vines untwined from his skin and stretched his jeans out from the inside, pulling them taut. For just a moment their seams held. Then, all at once, his jeans, his undershorts, even his shoes and socks tore away, tossing him naked and flailing into the air. He arced high, nearly somersaulting into the joists before new vines whipped in from the ceiling and wall to catch him by each ankle and wrist. One thin tendril found its way up between his legs to squeeze him back to an erection. He dangled above her now, helpless over her eager, drooling mouth. He closed his eyes, clenching against the fall into her gullet.

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.9

Sam pulled back urgently, tugging against her. Even swamped in her saliva his arm wouldn’t budge. Her lips, so close, were curved into a grin. She slurped noisily, as if to tease him, and laughed.

Then she sucked harder, rolling her jaws and tongue back into her mouth, and he was pulled forward again as his elbow disappeared between her lips. He felt her teeth brush dangerously against his skin, but she didn’t bite. The whole time he struggled, she moaned and laughed and sighed deeply, contentedly. She relaxed her tongues just enough that he began to slide free, then slurped him back in and held him even tighter.

Tired from fighting her, Sam slumped and took a moment to breathe. The sensations from the flesh of his arm began to register. It felt like… it felt just like he’d imagined it would. Her tongues sloshed around him like a mermaid orgy, but oh-so-pleasantly warm. Her lips were so plump, so inviting, so close now that he had to shake the urge from his head to throw himself against them. Her breath, which now soaked the air around him, was like a garden. The vines in his jeans had tightened around his cock and were squeezing, pumping as deftly as any hand. More tendrils had slipped beneath his beltline, around his ass, and up his shirt. His eyes rolled back under his lids, his knees slackened, and his groans began to echo hers.

Until he felt another brush of her teeth. He had a sudden, clear vision of his arm as a chicken bone from which she was sucking the flesh, and he started from the stupor. With a shout he began to twist and yank and pull on his arm again. Chuckling, she unclenched her mouth enough to let him drag his arm free with a long and noisy slurp.

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The Many Deaths of Samish 1.8

Then she sucked harder, rolling her jaws and tongue back into her mouth, and he was pulled forward again as his elbow disappeared between her lips. His arm slipped between her gums. The whole time he struggled, she moaned and laughed and sighed with deep contentment. She relaxed her tongues just enough that he began to slide free, then slurped him back in and held him all the tighter.

Only a few moments passed before he tired from fighting her, and he slumped against her to breathe. The sensations from his arm slowly began to register. It felt like… It felt just like he imagined it would in her mouth, like his arm was thrust into the middle of a teeming orgy of eels – but warm, very pleasantly warm. Her lips were so plump, so inviting, so close he had to restrain himself from throwing himself into their kiss. Her breath, which had saturated the air around him, was like a garden. The vines in his jeans had tightened around his cock and were squeezing, pumping, as expertly as any hand. More tendrils had slipped beneath his beltline, around his ass, and squirmed over his shirtless chest. His eyes rolled back under his lids, his struggles lessened, and his groans began to echo hers.

Until he felt her swallow. He had a sudden, clear vision of his arm as a chicken wing from which she was sucking the flesh, and he startled himself from his stupor. With a shout he began to twist and yank and pull on his arm again. Chuckling, she unclenched her mouth enough to let him slowly, forcefully reclaim his arm. It finally slipped free with a wet and noisy slurp.

“You said just a taste! That was— It was more!”

“And what were you doing, trusting a ‘Monster’? Not too smart, Samish!” Without warning, her mouth opened wide and her whole head lunged toward him. Glistening red flashed toward him, darkness enclosed his head, and her lips sealed around his shoulders and slipped back to his neck. Once she had him firmly caught, she chuckled deep in her throat and began to suckle on his head.

Now he fought fiercely, pushing back against her, even punching at her lips, but the tendrils tightening on his body gave him no leverage. His blows glanced harmlessly off her.

She ignored his struggles. Her two huge tongues rolled around his head, slathering his hair and washing over his face, pressing and probing; they fought each other to open and push into his mouth, to pry under his eyelids, even pressing against his nose and ears. As big as the tongues were, they were amazingly agile, and their tips were as strong as fingers. What little breath he managed inside her mouth was heavy and thick and sedating, and his limbs became weaker and heavy. His head began to buzz. It wasn’t until he slumped against her that she spat him free. He drooped, held only by the support of her vines, while her warm, gooey saliva dripped down his shoulders. With a delighted laugh she pronounced him, “Delicious!”

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.7

The monster cooed reassuringly, and the tendrils around his ankles twined further up his calves, beneath his pant legs, and soothingly stroked his skin. “What are you so afraid of, dumpling? Not me, certainly? Oh, I just want a little taste of you. Be a dear now and hold out your hand for me.” Her tongues flicked out to wet her quivering lips. “Come on. Just a little taste.”

Sam clutched his arms to his chest. “I’m no fool! I won’t let you chomp off my hand, Monster!” But a new tendril had traced its way up his body, beneath his arm, and had begun to tease his elbow away from his ribs. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he wasn’t struggling. Her florid breath filled his nostrils and his thoughts blurred.

“Monster? Oh, I’m hurt. I don’t have teeth, Sam – I can’t chomp. Just tongues and these luscious lips to slurp and suck.” She giggled, then pursed her lips to show him just how luscious they could be. “You know you want to…” The vines in his trousers had already snaked further up his legs, squeezing beneath the denim until they found the bulge of his cock. It was earnestly hard already, and not only because the tendrils had begun to stroke and tease it. “See? You can imagine what it feels like in my mouth, can’t you?”

He could. His heart still pounded, his head swam, but he could almost feel the warm, wet fleshiness between those tongues. He could imagine the sticky, rubbery lips closing over his skin.

Her lips separated slightly, and she blew a wet kiss at him. His knees wobbled as the perfume washed over his face. “Just like a big, wet pussy, you think, engulfing your entire body. Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe better. But you won’t know until you let me taste you, will you? Just a little taste, I promise. Stick out your fingers for me. Yessss. There you go.”

Her tongues reached out again and enfolded his fingers the moment they were within reach. She moaned and swayed with obvious pleasure. Then the two tongues lapped over his hand, and she slurped hard. His arm was sucked in, past his wrist, and her lips closed on his elbow. The suction yanked him forward, and he would have stumbled right up against her if she hadn’t rooted his feet in place.

Sam pulled back urgently, then yanked harder. Even swamped in her saliva, his arm wouldn’t budge. Her lips, so close to his face, were curved into a mad grin. She slurped noisily, as if to tease him, and laughed.

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The Many Deaths of Samish 1.6

It was a monster. A grinning, drooling monster. It’s head was a seed-shaped pod the size of a small car, without eyes or nose or ears or any other significant features besides a pair of huge, red, rubbery lips. The lips parted to reveal toothless gums that dripped strands of thick, goopy saliva when they separated. A wide tongue, big as a sofa cushion and as pink as the lips were red, slipped out to swipe away the saliva from the upper lip and was joined by a second, just as large, that ran over the lower lip. The tongues made a slickery sound as they passed each other.

Sam was transfixed. He thought at first the monster looked familiar – like something he might have drawn long ago and forgotten about. Then he realized what it was the monster remind him of: Lara had brought home a DVD of The Little Shop of Horrors just last month. He almost laughed – or rather, he almost closed his gaping mouth.

Suddenly both tongues lunged out toward his face, stretching and grasping. They waggled in the air several inches short of his chin.

Sam was too shocked to recoil. The tongues retreated sulkingly behind the lips and left him trembling.

“Almost! Just a little closer, dumpling, and I would have had you.” The mouth spread into a broad, pink smile and returned to its eerie sway.

The rest of the head wasn’t rubbery, like the lips – it was fleshy, but soft-looking and shiny like satin, and covered in an organic pattern of light pinks and pale purples. The head rested on a broad stock, which branched into a convoluted, writhing mass of viney tendrils of the same pinks and purples. The tendrils were visibly growing as they twisted around each other, spreading out through the basement, growing across the floor, up the walls, even along the ceiling. The monster was surrounding him, trapping him. Panic clutched again at his chest. He should run.

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.5

The dark faded, and Sam definitely saw something now – a shape looming at the foot of the stairs. A very big shape. “I can’t see you! Who are you?”

“Come closer, dumpling, and find out.”

There was something about the voice – something familiar and compelling. His feet betrayed him, and despite his intention he stumbled a few steps forward toward the shape. Whatever it was, it was huge, much larger than any person or costume – big enough to eclipse most of the staircase. It swayed slowly, hypnotically, like a belly-dancer or a cobra about to strike. The top of it bobbed just inches beneath the beams of the floor above. He could hear it moving, rustling, writhing incessantly.

“Closer,” she urged, and he heard what sounded like lips or a tongue smacking wetly.

“No. I don’t think so!” But his feet were moving again, bringing him just a yard or so from the shape. A sweet, heady, floral scent wafted into his nostrils.

Something silky slipped around each of his ankles. He flinched and tried to shake it off, but the thing twisted and spiraled tightly up his calves, rooting him in place on the cement floor. He heard the tongue again, much closer now, and felt a long, warm breath coursing over his face. A concentrated dose of that floral perfume filled his nose. It made him dizzy.

Even as close as he was, even with his eyes continuing to adjust to the dark, he couldn’t make out the details of this thing in front of him. “I— What are you?”

Her laugh was light, playful. “See for yourself, Sam. But I hope you’re prepared.” Somewhere in the joists above his head, the flashlight clicked on. What he saw-

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The Many Deaths of Samish 1.4

He strained for the sound of her breath, or maybe the jingle of keys in her purse. She wasn’t supposed to be home this early. But if it was her… Of course it was her, and this was just the kind of trick she’d pull. Especially if she’d already changed into that new costume in the closet.

Sam grinned. “Lara? I know it’s you…” She had seemed so innocent, in his oldest memories: almost two years ago now, before they had married. She still seemed innocent, when she wasn’t in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the closet, or the back of the movie theater, or apparently the basement.

“No.” The voice drew the syllable out, and there was a hint of playfulness in her tone. “It’s not ‘Lara’.”

Sam stiffened. He didn’t doubt the voice – it was too deep, too throaty to be his wife’s, even if she had been in character. “Who is it, then? I can’t see anything with the light out.”

He waited a moment, clinging to the post, but heard only scraping and shuffling from the stairs.

“Can you help me?” he tried. “I— I don’t like the dark.”

“Oh, no?” The voice laughed again. “That’s too bad, dumpling, because what I have planned for you is very dark.” Something inhuman brushed against his hand.

With a yelp he pushed back from the post. His eyes widened in the dark, but he couldn’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inky blackness.

“Scared already? Of me?” There was a low chortle. “How exciting!”

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The Many Deaths of Samish 1.3

He was startled by a loud crash, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut and the crunch of breaking glass. His eyes opened to darkness, and in one quick shiver his sweat went cold and fear grabbed him around his chest, clenching at his stomach and heart.

It took Sam a long moment to take control of his breathing and realize the flashlight was still on, if pointed uselessly at the wall. He squinted; a curtain of pinkish, ivy-like vines clung to the slab wall of the basement where a leaky pipe had stained it dark. They seemed to rustle and writhe, but that was ridiculous. This basement really did need a good cleaning, and a treatment with weed poison besides.

Focusing on the beam of the flashlight instead of the darkness around him, Sam kept his breathing steady and reached out for the flashlight’s handle. It was strange that he hadn’t noticed the vines before, but wasn’t Lara always warning him about his grasp on reality? He shook his head to concentrate. The flashlight was too high; he had to get to his feet to reach it—

And then it was gone! He hadn’t even touched it, but it slipped from the post, clattering to the floor and going dark before rolling away. Sam clutched awkwardly at the post as the total dark left him off-balance.

He heard a movement. His eyes swept the blackness uselessly. “Hello?”

From across the room, from the direction of the stairs and the broken bulb, he heard a low, sultry laugh. A very feminine laugh.

“Who’s there?” He heard fear in his voice and swallowed it down. He tried again, his voice an octave lower. “Lara?”

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.2

One dark and dirty hour later, Sam set the flashlight in the crook of a support post and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hands and arms were even grimier than his face, so he shrugged out of his t-shirt and used it to wipe his eyes. He left the flashlight on, even though he didn’t know how much longer the batteries would hold out, because those 35 yellowy watts didn’t seem like much when they were clear on the other side of the basement and hidden behind stacks of boxes. He hadn’t found any monsters yet, or snakes, or spiders, or even many cobwebs, but neither had he found the easel Lara swore she saw down here.

He didn’t think any of this stuff was theirs – there were piles and piles of boxes that looked at least a decade old, and all he owned was his clothes, his computer and a few art supplies. And soon an easel, if he ever found it. He’d knocked over one of the teetering stacks and National Geographics from the 70’s spilled out and made an even bigger mess than he’d found. Everything he touched fell apart or threatened to. At this rate, he’d be down here until evening. He was tired and frustrated, and when he sat back on an old wicker chair, it collapsed and spilled him into the avalanche of old magazines.

A stream of curses ran through his mind, but instead of yelling he just lied back on the dusty pages and closed his eyes. Calm down, he told himself. They were only magazines. Dusty, dirty, worthless magazines. What was he doing down here with them? The easel wasn’t even for Lara, it was for him, and if she thought he needed one that badly he could just go out and buy one – and a new one, too, not one that’s been sitting in this dank, moldy, rotten— No, calm down. He took a deep breath, like Lara taught him, and waited until he could feel his heart slow down. He wouldn’t give up until he was done. He wouldn’t. And not because of Lara’s new costume upstairs. Well, not only because of that.

He just wanted to make her smile, to make her proud. Lara was worth whatever effort it took to make her smile, even if that meant spelunking through the basement while she had cookies and punch at a subdivision meeting. She was a better wife than he deserved; he knew it because everyone told him so. She was smart: she had graduated “magna cum laude in psychology and pre-med from Urbana-Champagne” last year (he’d heard the phrase so many times that even he had been able to memorize it), but she passed on a dozen graduate offerings to spend a year in a lucrative advertising job. The pay was enough to support a failed artist like Sam, and the first bonus had been enough for the down payment on this house. So, she was smart and successful. Plus, she was beautiful and curvaceous and young – he was sure she had told him she was 22 at her last birthday, which was about the same age that Sam he figured he must be, give or take a few years. She looked like a Disney princess, but hidden beneath the taffeta gown her libido was voracious. She had an avid interest in rooting through his psyche and surprising him with his own half-forgotten fantasies. She read his writing fanatically, hung his unsold paintings in her office, and would sit and listen to him babble for hours when he was tripping. She liked him fucked up. She liked him, period. And she wanted him in this basement, doing manly things, working through his irrational fears—

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 1.1

Chapter 1:

Sam Brown flicked the light switch up and down, but nothing happened. Twenty feet away, hanging from basement joists, the old, brown-baked bulb remained dark. He could just make out a pull-string dangling beneath the bulb. Sam grimaced; maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

He turned away from the basement into the welcoming light of the pantry and saw the note Lara had left on the washing machine. The note read, Fear is not a defining quality in a man. The note was held down by a flashlight.

Sam set his jaw and flicked on the flashlight. Afraid! He wasn’t afraid, and certainly not of the dark. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he tromped noisily down the old wooden staircase, humming tunelessly – but loudly – and with bravado. Noise was supposed to scare away snakes, and critters, and hopefully other things. What about spiders? He swung the flashlight around the stacks of moldering cardboard boxes, and the shadows seemed to shift like restless monsters.

“Monsters!” Lara had scoffed last night, but she had been grinning when she poked his chest. “That’s your best excuse? In that case, once you’ve found that easel you’d better go ahead and clean the whole basement while you’re down there.” She had thrown a leg over his and pulled herself astride his lap. “I hear monsters abhor a tidy basement,” she said, and she tugged on his collar and rubbed his earlobe between her fingers. “But I tell you what, Sam. If you get that basement cleaned up without a single run-in with a monster, I’ll introduce you to the one that lives under our bed when I get home. I hear she has a taste for brave young men.” He could guess from the arch in her brows and her wicked smile that she had plans with a capitol ‘P’. They probably had to do with the costume hidden in the box in her closet.

Once he made it to the bottom of the stairs without disaster, five cautious steps took Sam to the pull string. It was only after 35 life-saving, yellowy watts filled the room that he released the breath in his chest and relaxed.

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Cheating Life – After

After

I WROTE THIS FOR HIM – his last few days and thoughts. Not online, of course – on paper. Perhaps someday, someone will read this, but it wouldn’t matter. Queendom come: it won’t matter then. It’s only a few years now, anyway.

I left his body in the room – Claire and Jolie are flesh-eaters, and I gave them their fill. The staff would come by later to pick up the remains for firing and to clean the room. I made him watch Claire pick over his meat through my eyes for a few minutes, and his reaction was cute. He burrowed deeper into me. It made me horny again, but I’m never in the mood for another job so soon after a kill. It’s still hard work for me to eat someone whole, at one time. I feel like a python afterward. I just want to go back to my room to masturbate and digest.

People are like a wonton in a bowl of broth.

No, they’re like lotus tea, with that one big blossom at the bottom of the cup. Usually you just drink the tea. It has the flavor and the essence of the lotus, and it’s warm and refreshing, and it’s what you’re used to. Maybe you play with the petals or nibble away a few of them if you’re feeling greedy. But you leave the flower in the cup, and it stays alive and someone puts it into a new cup until the simmering water’s soaked up the flavor and you have more tea. No one’s upset unless you really mangle the petals and shock the blossom. Everyone’s happy, including the flower. Mostly. Because you always want that flower, the quintessence of the flavor – the source of the elixir. You lust for it. You imagine putting the whole blossom in your mouth, rolling it over your tongue, crushing the petals between your teeth. Swallowing. And sometimes, when no one’s watching, you do it.

I am a well of souls – a well to which I add but let none draw. He’ll be in me forever, mine to keep even after I am also collapsed into the Queendom. There is no extinction of what is eternal. Eventually, after I’ve loved him and coddled him and had my way and my fill, he’ll be so much a part of me there will be no difference.

What he was will lose his memory and thoughts to me, but I think he’ll remember until the end what I told him there, in his last moment. As he begins to see things through my eyes, as he feels other souls settle in beside him – too far, too dark, too self-absorbed to communicate, but irrefutably there – that truth will be his mantra. I tell them all in the end, if I love them:

I’m a liar.

End

Cheating Life – After Illustration

Cheating Life – 20.7

My struggles faded with my small reserve of strength, and so did the pain. I caught short breaths as Jane began mashing violently; she had chewed deep into what now felt like some else’s leg; she was digging through the muscle with her claws, tunneling with her tongue into my veins; she was an animal in heat.

Inside my skin I felt withdrawn – shriveled like a popcorn in water – into my chest and head. I felt at once like an infant and a sage, free of the care of understanding.

I felt the drift of a tide – out, away, up.

But I was trapped.

My breath was stifled in the heavy, thrusting press of her flesh.

I couldn’t exhale.

I just wanted to exhale.

I…

There was a tug. Something warm and wet, soft and sharp, ravishingly hungry, had a hold of me. It pulled. My grip slipped, and it took more of me.

I couldn’t hold on.

I couldn’t exhale.

I was nearly inside of it.

I let go. I didn’t have choice.

She swallowed.

Next

The Many Deaths of Samish 0 (and a little rambling)

The Many Deaths of Samish is vore, and let this be your warning:

Vore is a paraphilia that sexualizes eating another living being or being eaten alive.

Don’t ask me! I can’t explain it, I just write it. Rarely it is what is called “hard vore” – blood and guts and pain and all the things that are real and terrifying about the food chain; much more often it’s the Playboy-Disney version, or “soft vore” – where the “pred” swallows the “prey” whole, alive and squirming, usually to the sexual gratification of at least one of the involved.

I have a hard time deciding if this is utterly bizarre or perfectly natural. Instinctually I lean toward the former – anything beyond vanilla penetration is a little kinky, and anything beyond a little kinky is taboo, right? Rationally I lean toward the latter – what is more reasonable than to combine the two primary carnal pleasures?

Okay, I know what you’ll say – vore means death for someone involved, right? Well, not always. But you do have something there. So vore isn’t for everyone. If it isn’t for you, you may want to move along.

I sometimes call Many Deaths my “omnibus of vore”. It’s a series of homages to favorite stories, authors, and artists from around the web, and it many cases it blatantly and shamelessly parodies their excellent creative work. I hope this story is received in the flattering spirit in which it was written.

The Many Deaths of Samish, 1: Audrey III begins!

Cheating Life – 20.6

She drew away slowly and sat back on my stomach. I heard her say something I couldn’t understand to the others, then she rotated her hips and slid back to settle over my face. She was naked. It felt natural; we fit together that way, like she had been molded over my features. I began to kiss her how she’d shown me the first day, the way that made her squirm, and she rubbed in circles until both she and my lips were slick. She lay down across my stomach and gripped my thighs. Surprisingly, I wasn’t yet hard, but it didn’t matter; she held my penis out of the way and bit into my inner thigh.

It hurt – for the first time it really hurt, like she was extinguishing cigarettes in my meat – but she crossed her calves beneath my head and squeezed, muffling my cry in her grinding flesh. Despite myself I writhed, struggled to breath and to scream, to tear my leg from her burning teeth, but she and the other four were stronger than I’d ever imagined – I was fighting silk-wrapped steel. If anything, my efforts only invigorated them – I felt fangs in my wrist, in the flesh of my thumb, the heel of my foot, my calf, my inner elbow, the balls of my toes. I was hot and sticky everywhere. Only my face was cool, trapped between Jane’s thighs; only my head didn’t like it was in hell.

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Cheating Life – 20.5

Then there was a new weight on the bed, one that settled over me. She lowered herself onto my chest and pressed a kiss on my lips – I knew it was Jane even before her barely-audible words. “Do you have any last requests, Cupcake?”

I shook my head, forgetting the dark for a moment.

“In that case, I’ll give you a kiss for your journey. And a truth for your love.” She kissed me again, longer than I’d ever been kissed before. It wasn’t forceful, like a movie kiss, but it was passionate. It was a kiss that told me she knew who I was, really. Finally, she pulled away, or I did as I sank back into the pillow in the paralysis of complete relaxation. She put her cheek against mine and whispered, “The truth:”

Then she spoke so softly I heard her only inside my head, and even the other four paused in their leechcraft, as if straining to hear. What she said… in the pitch black, I saw.

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