Touch of the Infinite Ch. 01

A/N: This story contains some uncomfortable content such as ear-fucking and nonconventional penetration. Notably, despite his fear Ashley is at no point in any actual danger of *dying* (just of being turned into the broken fucktoy of an eldritch being intent on making him its bitch). Please do not complain about Ash having a cunt ffs.

This isn't the first time that Ashley Locke has found himself trapped, suspended in the choking, ink-black darkness of an infinite void. In fact, he's been here many times -- nearly every night for the past six months, in fact. This empty dream-scape had become as familiar to him as the back of his own hand, though its familiarity did little to lessen the dread that accompanied his visits there.

For his entire life, Ash had suffered from insomnia and the lingering sense of fear and the unshakable sensation of being watched when he awoke from these dreams had only contributed to his long hours of tossing and turning in bed, waiting for sleep to come.

Though he thought of the darkness as "choking" when he awoke, Ash had never been aware of his body in these dreams, he had always been nothing more than a consciousness floating in the endless expanse of black nothingness... Tonight, however, things are different.

He feels the darkness as it presses in on him -- feels it thick, slick and clammy against his skin. It feels almost hungry for him as groping tendrils tighten around his body and with a shock, he realizes that he's completely naked. The darkness rubs against his bare skin, oozing over him like viscous tar, coating every inch of him. It wraps around his arms and his waist, it wraps around his thighs and slowly, it prizes his legs apart, exposing his cunt. Ash tries to pull free, a powerful mixture of fear and sudden arousal overtaking him now.

His heart hammers wildly in his chest as the darkness slides over him. It presses against his nipples, grinding against them as they stiffen in response and it rubs against his clit -- which responds in kind, throbbing and hardening as sudden shocks of pleasure roll through his body. The darkness tightens its grip and Ash cries out in shock as it begins to slip inside of him.

It isn't just his achingly eager cunt that the darkness claims -- though it certainly claims him there: splitting his lower lips open, drawing another cry from his lips and surging forward, shoving an impossibly thick, impossibly huge tendril into his quivering hole, bigger than anything Ash has taken into himself before. It pries open his asshole, pushing past the tight ring of his sphincter and Ash can feel the darkness searching its way through his body, feel it writhing in the depths of his guts...

And as he cries out, it takes advantage of Ash's open mouth, gliding past his teeth and over his tongue, invading his throat and leaving behind the taste of sulfur and charcoal. His throat bulges with the size of it and Ash gags helplessly as the darkness continues its journey down ever deeper inside of him, as it continues to fill him as full as it can.

Tears spring up in his eyes. It hurts -- the darkness's probing tendrils inside of his guts and his cunt and his throat is more than his body can take, he feels the way his lower lips are spread wider and wider, feels his belly distending as the darkness floods his innards. He can hear the wet, sucking sounds as it thrusts itself into him, feel the spiderweb lines of stretch marks as they ripple across his belly. He's spread so wide and filled so full that he can barely even think.

He wants to scream but his mouth and throat are full, he wants to escape but he can't free his limbs from that choking grasp...And even if he could, where would he go? The darkness that surrounded him was endless, there was nowhere that Ash could run from it. He whimpers, squirming as his insides are ravaged by the void.

Even the holes which could not normally be taken in this way are violated by the ever-hungry tendrils of shadow -- the darkness slipping into his ears and up his nose, pushing its way into his skull, making his head spin and his thoughts grow fuzzy. Ash knows this isn't possible -- not without killing him and yet, it happens and it almost feels... No. No, he won't let that thought take root...

The darkness pushes into his urethra and fills his bladder with its dark ichor and it even slips into his tear ducts and into his nipples and into his pores -- sinking into Ash in such a way that makes his entire body one with it.

The darkness surges within him -- its thick tendrils thrust wildly into his mouth and his cunt and his ass, stretching him, filling him, breaking him. His insides pull out with them as they withdraw, pulled into open air and Ash tries to scream. It's going to tear him apart, it's going to rip him open! This is going to kill him! It pours itself into him, flooding into where his breasts once were, causing his chest to swell and grow heavy with it, heat pooling within his newly remade breasts as the void changes him in accordance with its liking.

He doesn't want this! He doesn't want to be changed like this -- made into the living flesh-light of some insatiable astral void...

But as more of the darkness pushes its way into his skull, as it begins to thrust into his ears in much the same way that it thrusts into his other holes, the feelings that fill Ash's body begin to shift and change. The pain remains, of course it does, but it begins to feel good. He feels his body stretching to accommodate it, feels the darkness surging within him and he feels terror and bliss filling him in equal measure. The darkness ebbs and flows like waves breaking on the beach and Ash feels his body tightening, feels heat growing in his belly and between his legs, spreading through him.

Dread fills Ash's chest. He can't. He can't possibly cum from this... If he does that, if he lets the pleasure get to him... Ash is terrified of what that might mean. In response to his approaching orgasm, the darkness that fills him seems to swell -- stretching his insides beyond any possible limit that they might have had...

Oh God -- the pleasure is unbearable -- the feeling of oneness with the endless darkness is more than Ash can bear and despite the ever weakening pleas of his mind, despite Ash begging his body not to cum, his body gives in to the feeling.

The orgasm smashes into Ash, crashing over him and sending him into a bliss like he's never experienced in his life. A desperate scream of climax vibrates in his throat, his back arching and his toes curling. The darkness sinks into a space inside of him that shouldn't be there -- pushing past his cervix, prizing the tight ring of muscle open and curling into a uterus that had been removed over a year ago. And even that, even that impossibility -- that change which should have been horror to Ash -- is yet another source of bliss.

Oh God! Oh FUCK!

The darkness swells ever more, pounding his holes with a violence that drives thoughts of anything but pleasure from Ash's mind. The darkness pours itself into him, filling his mind with itself, filling his body with itself -- pouring thick, sticky ropes of itself into his guts and his re-made womb and his stomach and his re-made breasts and his head and oh GOD! He doesn't want it to stop! Ash screams and writhes and moans in delirious pleasure. Please, oh please, let it continue! He wants more and more and more! Oh God, let that darkness fill him full to bursting!

Is this not what he was made for? Is this not his purpose? The darkness has filled him so truly and utterly that Ash's world has narrowed to nothing but it and the way it fucks him and fills him and he cums again. And again. And again.

His body is past the point of over-stimulation, past the point where pain and pleasure are anything distinct and every sensation rolls together into unbelievable bliss. Again and again and again and again the darkness brings him to climax. Again and again and again and again Ash cums and is filled in turn with more of that wet, sticky ichor. Over and over the cycle repeats until he feels as though he has been dissolved into the darkness that surrounds him and he is nothing more than the faintest speck in the face of infinity within it...

And all that there is within that speck is the desperate, aching need for more.

Just before the dream ends, just before the very list bits of Ash's consciousness dissolves, he feels a sense of approval. That whatever intelligence controls this darkness, whatever being it is attached to is pleased with his response and a voice that would shake him to his core if Ash still had a core, rings out, filling his senses with its presence:

"GOOD BOY..."

----x x x----

Ash's eyes shot open as he bolted awake. His body was covered in sweat, his heart was bounding wildly and... fuck, the space between his thighs was sticky, hot and throbbing. What the hell was that? He shook his head, trying to clear away the...

Well, they weren't exactly images, now were they? The dreams had never done that before -- he'd never had a dream that intense before, either. It was un-fucking-believable. It was almost as if it had actually happened, he felt swollen and raw -- like he'd gone one too many rounds with one of his biggest toys. He peeled the sweat-soaked sheets off of himself, sitting up and looking around his bedroom.

The sunlight that streamed through the cracks in his blackout curtains didn't seem as bright as it should have and the sensation of being watched which always accompanied the dreams where he was lost in that infinite shadow-scape was stronger than ever. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw the faint outline of...something writhing across the floor. He jumped, blinking several times and trying to make sense of what he'd just seen... Or not seen.

It was just a hypnogogic hallucination, he doesn't feel completely awake just yet, the world around him distorted and dreamlike... That was the only thing that made sense. It didn't have the... quality of the real things he had seen. No tingling fingers, no hairs raised on the back of his neck. It was just the remnants of sleep still clinging to his mind making him see things.

The glaring red display of the alarm clock beside his bed caught his eye and anything that was left of sleep quickly fled from Ash as he swore loudly.

"FUCK!"

The bright digital numbers informed him that he was thirty minutes late for his shift at the bookstore where he worked. Ash dressed quickly, cursing the fact that he didn't have time to shower before he left. Sure, he could have just said "fuck it" and been an hour late but he didn't feel like dealing with the scolding that would've come with it.

As usual, work was nothing but tedium. The bookstore rarely had customers and those it did have were usually dumb college kids, trying to get into Wicca or Reiki or some other new-age bullshit and Ash had neither the time nor the inclination to explain that no, they do not carry books on ' Angel Tarot', they only carry legitimate occult literature so unless they were looking for reprints of the 'Ars Goetia' or collections of Gnostic Heresies, they were out of luck. He was, of course, forced into doing so. He couldn't just kick potentially paying customers out of the shop.

Not that they kept the shop in any sort of condition that would be appealing to customers. The books within Locke & Keye were kept in such disarray and arranged in such a haphazard manner that, were it not for the fact that the sign read 'Open', most passersby would assume that the shop was long abandoned... And those few customers who did come into the store would often be completely unable to find the specific book they might be looking for -- and Ash wasn't usually able to find it either. Locke & Keye gave up its treasures only as it deemed fit and any attempt to find a book that the shop wanted to keep would be utterly impossible.

Which wasn't something that Ash minded all that much. He hated the idea of the books which the owners had spent their lives collecting disappearing into the hands of some dabbler who would abandon their dedication to the occult within a few months, once some new trend came up...

It was just after lunch -- a blissful thirty minutes where he could flip the sign on the door to 'Closed' and forget that the rest of the world existed while he worked on his research and slowly nibbled at whatever sandwich he'd brought with him to work that day. Today, he didn't have any sandwich. So it was just research...

Lately, his research had involved the founding of Shady Glen -- the town that he had been born and now, once again, lived in -- and its connection to several other towns and cities across the United States. His mother, Agnes Locke, a well-renowned parapsychologist had discovered that, scattered across the US, there were several places which seemed to have had disturbingly consistent populations... One of which, was Shady Glen.

Originally built by the future founder of a massive mining company, Shady Glen had ballooned to nearly ten-thousand people between its founding in the late 1700s and 1906... When the population abruptly ceased growing, stagnating at just over nine-thousand, five-hundred inhabitants. After that, ever census showed the population of Shady Glen hovering at a number somewhere between nine-thousand and ten-thousand people. Even after the mine had disappeared, even after the logging companies had cleared away every tree worth felling, Shady Glen just kept going...

Of course, these days, with the Shady Glen University being founded in 1918, just as the Spiritualism movement came roaring back into existence and now, as the Satanic Panic was finally winding down, there were quite a few newcomers moving into the city. But even with the over-all growth in population, the number of true locals never really changed. It always hovered between nine-thousand and ten-thousand. For every person born, someone would die. For every person who died, someone was born...

He flipped through the pages of the history book in front of him, one of at least six that were spread out across the check-out counter and examined the information... It looked like, prior to the arrival of European colonizers, the area had been largely uninhabited, as even back then, strange things and disconcerting things happened on this unhallowed ground on a regular basis.

Which was why his mother had wanted to live there in the first place. Oh sure, there was Santa Marta in California, Fall's Hollow in New England and there were similar towns in Louisiana, New Mexico, Washington and Minnesota... But Shady Glen wasn't too far from Agnes Locke's birthplace of Charleston.

Ash flipped another page, eyes scrutinizing the grainy black and white photograph emblazoned on the paper in front of him. Try as he might to focus on the paper, however, he felt as though something was tugging on him. Some hook buried deep in his chest trying to pull him from his seat behind the counter and into the stacks. A faint voice in the corner of his mind, barely more than a whisper, that called his name insistently. Ash frowned, shutting the book abruptly.

"What the hell do you want, now?" He asked aloud -- speaking both to his own wandering mind and whatever genius loci was in charge of Lock & Keye... Or maybe, whatever book it was that wanted his attention.

There was, of course, no audible answer, only the continued whispering pull to wander through the rows of bookshelves until he found the tome which called to him. Ash heaved a deep sigh and rolled his eyes as he stood. He only had five minutes until he needed to re-open the store, hopefully this one wasn't too hidden. He could find it, pocket it and read it after work if it wasn't.

He slipped out from behind the counter, walking into the mis-managed stock of Locke & Keye, fingers running over the spines of the books as he went. Every now and again, Ash would feel a sudden shudder pass through him, or feel the tingle of pins and needles in his fingers as he touched on one of the more powerful occult texts hidden away in the store. But none of those were right.

The tug grew ever more insistent and he knew that he must be getting close to it -- that it must be somewhere nearby. He couldn't see the door of the shop anymore and had rounded one of corners, wandering into a dimly lit and rarely touched alcove. The books here were faintly dusty and had an air of abandonment to them. Ash almost felt bad for them...And then, he saw it.

Sitting on a shelf at almost exactly his eye level was a small black book -- its spine sticking out of the shelf, almost as though someone had started to pull it free and was distracted, leaving it half-freed from its neighbors as they walked away. It wasn't a large book, it was barely any thicker than a standard middle-grade chapter book, bound in what looked like black velveteen. That wasn't exactly a common fabric to bind a book in but he couldn't describe the material any other way. It was so black that the light seemed to sink into it, leaving a small, book-shaped void where it sat. Nothing was written on its spine at all, no publisher's mark, no title, no author. Nothing.

Ash frowned, stepping up into the alcove and reaching out for the book. He wasn't familiar with every book in the shop, but he felt certain that if this book had been there before, he would've noticed it. It looked like it should have been in the glass case behind the counter where the rare and unique books were kept. Maybe it was some kind of journal? Research notes?

As soon as his fingers brushed against the book's spine, Ash was struck with a sudden and intense feeling of vertigo, the world spinning around him as he stumbled backwards, nearly falling into another one of the bookshelves. A surge of energy slammed into him, traveling through his fingers and up his arm, moving along the path of his veins like lightning until it hit his body and exploded through him. He gasped, legs buckling beneath him and fell to the floor, landing in an awkward sitting position, the book held tightly in his hand.

What...the hell...was that?

Ash tried to catch his breath and slow the frantic beating of his heart. Once again, that strange feeling of dread and observation fell upon him -- and this time, he was sure of it, he saw a thin black tendril, dripping shadowy ichor, withdrawing into the space where the book had previously sat. There was no tingle, no hairs raised on the back of his neck but... It was there. Clear as midnight, just as black a void as the book in his hand. He looked down at it and then back up at the empty space where the tendril had been only a second ago and all that Ash could see was the old, cherry-varnished wood of the shelf.

He looked again at the book. The front cover was as dark as the spine, but there was something engraved or pressed into the nap of the fabric. A large, open eye, surrounded by curling and dripping tentacles. The image swam in front of his eyes and he could swear he had seen this thing before but...When and where he couldn't quite recall. Faded and peeling silver letters beneath the image proclaimed what Ash could only assume was the title of the book:

"The Defiled Void"

Fingers trembling, Ash opened the book. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop, begged him not to look but he couldn't help himself. His mother had raised him to be endlessly curious, to always seek out occult knowledge in the hidden and darkened places of the world -- and he had never, ever run away from it. No matter how afraid he had been. So he wasn't about to let some book scare him into backing down, nor would he let that feeling of creeping dread stop him from figuring out just what this book wanted from him.

The inside of the front cover was blank and the front page had the following written on it in a sharp, looping script: