The Great Writhing Thing

"Drink it," Kieran grunted as he came. Marc made an affirmative noise followed by deep gulps.

***

Cephal wandered the place for almost a minute before they found the exit. The building was much larger than any house Cephal had been to before and had an unconventional layout; a short distance from the lounge, there was a massive, tiled kitchen, and beyond that a bathroom which reminded Cephal of the showers at their school gym. It had clearly been a facility rather than a house before this. That was long ago, as the paint which had all-but-peeled off the walls attested too.

Neither Marc nor Kieran followed Cephal out of the facility. They'd made their departure as casual as they could--although they'd said nothing to the couple. Kieran seemed to fall asleep almost instantly while Marc continued sucking on his flaccid dick which he could finally fit into his mouth entirely.

Even if they didn't know where they were going, they couldn't let that happen again.

It was the worm, wasn't it? The Great Writhing Thing, a segment of which they could make out curving around a distant, fog shrouded hill. They'd never felt anything like what they felt in that room just moments ago. They'd seen porn (straight, gay, bi, lesbian, and more) but nothing had had that effect. Nothing had made them want something before. It must be pheromones or mind control. It must be substances in the fumes the thing emitted leaking into their brain. Maybe that's what happened to Marc and Kieran too.

The sun was still rising so they'd have plenty of daylight. If they just kept going down the hills, they'd eventually find the remnants of a road and could follow that to a city. They wouldn't take Cephal, especially now that they were so thoroughly infected with Lazarus Rose pollen, but so long as they hadn't Bloomed, the slums outside would take them. They'd eke out a life there using what they learnt from their almost complete electrical engineering degree. Well, that was if they didn't die on the way back, of course. It would be a hard life, but it would be better than being pumped full of worms forever.

Right?

Cephal came to a steep drop. It was climbable. The problem was that beyond it lay a steaming segment of The Great Writhing Thing. Their eyes traced its body as far as they could among the hills, mountains, and valleys. They saw no gap through which they could pass. Cephal swore. The meal had at least given them strength to make it this far, but they would have to conserve their strength and to go backwards would potentially add hours to their journey. They might be able to live on insects and berries at least long enough to get near a city, but they also might die from exposure only hours away from somewhere hospitable.

It was also possible that the worm surrounded them entirely; that it had encircled them while they lusted over Marc and Kieran. If that were true, there would be no way around and they'd just waste energy trying. They would have to climb over it. Surely something so massive as it would not notice them? They'd be a passing ant, a tickle upon its terrible bulk.

They descended the drop along the most suitable path.

A familiar sweet-metal scent invaded them again. Cephal took a deep breath--better now than when they were even closer--and approached it. The heat pushed back at them, and they ran through. Once at its body, they had no choice but to inhale the thick air. It reminded them of the locker room in high school, only much more potent.

Again, their head became light, but they had been fortified by their meal, so it did not bring them to their knees. They searched along The Great Writhing Thing's side until they found a slit which seemed as good a handhold as any and tried to pull themselves up.

It was no use; there was at least half an inch of thick, slippery mucus. They tried to first wipe away the mucus, discarding it to make a little pile to their side. When the area was reasonably dry, they pushed their hand into the slit--

--and the slit sucked. Within a moment, they were arm deep into the hot wet crevice of The Great Writhing Thing and their shoulder was being taken in too. Cephal screamed and pulled back against the insistent suction. Somewhere, in the back of their mind, they were thankful this hole did not have teeth.

There was, however, a kind of tongue which coiled tightly around their arm and pulled them in again. Cephal screamed more, some half-dead survival instinct igniting. They tried beating against the thing's side. It released Cephal, who backed away, gasping. They didn't stop until they were several meters away, out of reach of the longest of the thing's tendrils.

An uncomfortable pressure made itself known in their loins. The pheromones. Again. The Great Writhing One was turning them into another hole for it to deposit its spawn. They'd have to try again and before the fumes numbed them and made them pliable.

"Do you not like it here?" a voice called behind them.

Cephal spun around to see Marc descend from the ledge. They waited until he was on the ground then said, "I ... do not want to be made into a breeding slave for this thing."

"Then you won't be. No-one said you had to give your body to The Great Writhing Thing." Marc dusted his clothes off and kept his distance. "Is that why you ran off? Did you think we would force you?"

"No." Cephal glanced back at the worm--saw the subtle expansion and contraction of its body. "The pheromones. They're getting in my head and giving me visions of things I would never think about."

Marc walked past Cephal to The Great Writhing Thing and placed his hand into the hole that had almost sucked Cephal in before. "I've studied The Great Writhing Thing for a while now. The composition of its secretions is still something of a mystery." He removed his hand now coated with slime and then licked along his wrist and between his fingers.

Cephal became lightheaded and had to look away.

"It is primarily mucus, within which live the same kind of bacteria that live on human skin. These coexist with unique species I've never seen before." Marc sucked the last of the secretions off his fingers. "There are also traces of the same components in human sweat, and other organic compounds whose origin I do not know. Among all these compounds, I do not believe there are any that are mind-altering. Look at me, am I deranged with lust?"

It was true that Marc was not. He licked a bit of worm-slime from his lips, calm as ever.

"Do you want to leave?"

"Yes," Cephal said. Marc reached for one of The Great Writhing Thing's overlong arms and beckoned it down where it stayed with its hand open. Marc gestured towards it and Cephal sat down in the open palm. It closed around them before lifting them up and over the side of the worm.

"I wanted to learn more about you, but I understand if this is not for you."

***

When they reached the edge where the mountains turned to forest, Cephal realized that they had not cried since leaving The Wash. Their eyes were wet when they met Kim for the first time, and their tears flowed freely when they kissed her, and they sobbed on and off in the days following. Cephal was familiar with crying. Only now that hot tears once again streamed down their face did they thought it was strange that they had not done it in so long.

The hollowness, which had for the last few hours been filled, returned to their chest, and enlarged as they descended. If they left these mountains, it would consume the last morsel of their being. They would become their hunger.

It was transformation either way. Breeding stock or empty void. They understood which they preferred.

***

By the time they'd reached the worm again it was almost dark, but even so it was unmissable. They pressed their body against it, letting its heat warm their extremities.

They breathed it into their lungs. Into their brain and into their genitals too, perhaps. Cephal lapped at The Great Writhing Thing's mucosal coating, rubbed their naked body against it. The warm metallic fluids sent their dick into a pleasurable spasm and made their asshole clench. It was so close to an orgasm and left them eager for the something more complete.

"I'm sorry." Cephal pushed their hands through the folds in its body, and applied the fluids they gathered to their neck, joints, and face, as they saw the others do in the valley. "I want to go back."

A hand lifted them up while another caressed their spine. One of its fingers slit down between their ass cheeks and poked at their hole. It carefully pushed some of the mucus against Cephal's entrance. They shivered as it teased them open. When they were relaxed enough, it slid in to the first knuckle (a length comparable to Cephal's own dick).

"You're welcome inside me." They gazed upon its glistening grey body and let themselves acknowledge their longing for it; the longing they had felt since they first saw it, but which was so foreign a feeling that they hadn't known what it was. "If my body is all you want, it's yours. You want me, don't you?"

The hand passed him to another and then another until they were tens of meters from where they started. It placed them down, in front of a wall of penises. The space in the rectum seemed at once like an unbearable void that needed filling lest they go insane.

"I'll take care of your children," Cephal told it, gripping the nearest organ. It was fever-hot and almost too thick to get their fingers around. They wondered if, and hoped that, Marc or Kieran had been impregnated by this exact one. "As many as you want, as long as I can be with you and the others."

Cephal kissed and lapped at the tip like Marc had to Kieran. The organ grew stiffer and long in their hand, as did the ones adjacent to it. Each rubbed itself against Cephal's thighs and hands, demanding attention, and Cephal did their best to provide it with firm strokes and the grinding of their own body. The Great Writhing Thing wanted to touch them, and they wanted to be touched.

When a salty substance, like viscous seawater, began to spill into their mouth they reluctantly withdrew their head. It was time. The Great Writhing Thing wanted to fill them, and they needed to be filled.

The impregnation was gentle. Cephal merely had to lower their face to the ground and raise their rear to the reproductive organ which eagerly entered them. Even after the relaxing effects of the fluids and preparation by the hands, it was a pleasantly tight fit. They whispered words of approval as it pushed and weaved deeper into their bowels. Cephal meant what they said about giving The Great Writhing Thing their body.

The Great Writhing Thing began to pump more of the slimy substance into Cephal's colon full. Their belly grew heavier. It was all their muscles could do to maintain their position. Fortunately, The Great Writhing Thing kindly supported them with its other tendrils. It wanted to hold them, and Cephal wanted to be held. After some minutes, once they were so full that they could feel their skin stretching, once their intestines were prepared, the reproductive organ pushed something heavy into Cephal, who howled with pleasure as it passed their anal sphincter and compressed their prostate.

Once it had completed its task, its wriggling load deposited deep into Cephal's intestines, the first organ popped out of them, and was at once followed by another. The next load was pushed through faster than the first. Cephal came onto the ground, a measly splatter lost in the puddle of fluid and stray wormlings already spilled by the creature.

A smile formed on their lips as the third bundle pushed into their overfull body. Oh, how pleased Cephal's new friends would be to see them come up that hill, belly swollen with the holy substances and spawn of their most benevolent god.