Toybox

She spread the map on the floor and marveled at the intricacies of the circles interlocking. Each and every one lined with letters that could not be read, shapes that could not be drawn, colors that could not fade. They had been treated for that. Circles tended to fade after repeated use, but there were ways around that. Always were, and always will be. And the tricks will be found to cause more problems and then new tricks will come forward.

The mat settled and stilled and it came alive with another touch. Blue light this time, tinged with the same violet indigo as the night sky on a full moon. Starlight shimmering and moonlight spinning. She left the music off. She left the music silent. There would be music soon enough.

"Oh, the deepest night and the deepest stars," she sang in the deepest the voice could go, "Oh the bottomless sky and the bottomless sea. Accepting of all that there is and all that can be."

Eric shut her eyes and let the light bloom. It hurt, even through the shut lids and the scrunched face. Always did and always was the worst part of this particular joy.

"Oh, the darkest black and the darkest void. Oh, the shimmering light and the shimmering glow. From the desires I live and the desires I sow. Come."

The light pulsed one last time as the words shifted and came to life in the circle. It's what they said after all and the circle, once read, made the words come to life.

The stars opened in the circle of ink and out flowed the void of star gap between.

"Come on," she huffed, "I haven't used you that much. Shouldn't be out of juice just yet."

The product was not out of juice, just slow to start. The void portal shimmered one last time and opened in full. Tendrils, myriad tendrils, smooth and glossy and lined with the same blue violet light of the deepest stars, wormed out of the cold void to lay across her hard wood floors. A selling point of the place, but it just resulted in her having to buy a rug.

The tendrils snaked and coiled and looked for anything to grab onto.

"Gentle," she said and the tentacles stopped. It would be cold. It always started cold and muscly and scaling. That was the worst part and it would definitely take her out of it for a bit. But she stepped forward and nudged the still muscle with her foot. Her underwear was left in the corner with an errant sock. She would get those later, when she actually did the laundry. That would come later.

It was cold. It was colder than she thought it was as it started the hug and climbed up her leg. As it rose, she shed her shirt and let it join the corner of the lost and damned. It wasn't quite as good as it felt to take off the bra, but it was still wonderful. Chilly, but wonderful. Before the tentacles found her other foot, she saw that there was a gap in her window, leading to the city outside. That was fine. Erica found a smirk on her face as she realized it. Someone might be in for a show. Lucky them.

The tendrils writhed in rapturous union. They formed a lattice just tight enough to make movement awkward enough to prevent moment. A bit of pressure on the joints and they forced her to kneel and she allowed them to force her. Still a bit of fight to it though, just so that the entity beyond knew that it was something conversational. The hands found the floor and the tendrils found the hands, slowly tying that same lattice to her arms.

Each mote of her heartbeat gave the creature from beyond the stars, tinted the color out of space, more and more of her warmth reflected. The lights in what might be veins pulses stronger and stronger, holding her down in hypnotic patterns.

"None of that," she hissed as the grip tightened, "Just the touch. Give the light show to someone else."

The tendrils sent a pulse that could be a shrug and a nod and the lights just settled into a soft octarine glow. She liked that color. Good choice and it felt calming to stare at.

Pulse and shift and tighten, tighten, tighten. It broke the wall and brought back the glow in her core. The portal beast was good, very good, just as practiced as the self was. More so, but Erica did not admit that. She was the master here, even though tentacles lifted her and pulled her spread and open.

Her spine curved and arced as the wonderful tentacles did their job. And they were good. Smooth and slick and pulsing light, finding the soft patterns and traces she laid out beforehand. Practiced ease and routine act, that's all this was. Summoned and beckoned, heeding the call of the light kissed sigils and its prices was suspended on its alter. Erica squirmed a bit, trying to force the path that it would take. She couldn't but the hint was taken and she sighed as the act began in earnest.

"Not too high," she hummed, "ceilings are low."

The being of pleasure nodded as best it could with the color of no hue. Erica was still a bit too close for her liking. The exploration made her think of other things.

They certainly had more patience than she did. And they appeared to fixate on the legs most of all. The lattice pulsed. The lattice twitched. The lattice squirmed in a myriad legion of hands running up and down, fast and slow, side and side.

"I remember why I don't pull you out too much," she groaned, "too much of a tease."

The portal disagreed. It was not too much of a tease. The summoner was merely impatient and needy. Erica agreed, but that still did not excuse the sneaking grope crossing her chest and leaving it warm and slick with the tightness.

The tentacles danced on her skin, python grip to moth wing glance. The lights pulsed one more time and she felt the slick start to pour from the gaps in the muscles. Weird stick slicky, gliding over skin and setting it to tingle. Just some drops, just some streams to give her an idea of what it could do.

"That's good," she sighed, "That can stay."

She'd have to take a shower afterwards, but that was always kind on the docket. A nice sit with hot rain pounding down on her, it would all wash away. And it gave her more and more and more heat to draw from. A spark started a fire and the dancing embers lifted from the charcoal ricocheted back and forth until everything was roaring and burning.

More tendrils, a legion of slick muscles and slim fingers probed her, poking her, stroking her tickling her, and it finally started the act in earnest. Stroke and pull and teases, the line and fold and vein and spread. A map of the constellations and star lines, the way light travels when there is nothing to travel through, the endless cold of the void carved and woken. They all spread her legs a bit more and the burn in her joints almost made it uncomfortable. She should stretch more. Try some yoga or something. It would help her feel a bit better overall. Running, gym stuff, Brock knew more about that than she did. The tentacles found the thoughts pulling it did not appreciate that. It would do its job and do it well.

It found soft things and rolled them apart, pressed them together, lifted and dropped and shifted. Erica regretted the thoughts that took her way. She had her present, her wonderful toy to play with and break however she wanted. Slick discharge sparked the skin and lit the muscles and melted the bone. Heaven, she was in heaven and the tendrils muscled flesh writhe, that all led her up and down, up and down.

The strength and the writhe found more spread in her, taking her arms wide, and her legs wider and wider, teasing folds with the same lick, never entering, all in the tease. There were other places to go anyway.

"Hey," Erica said, "Where do you think you're going? Not there. Maybe mouth, if I feel like it. Just do it already."

Demanding little master, but it was fine. There was the act and the purpose and everything finally collected in a needle point nova.

Erica did not scream, did not yell, did not moan as the cosmos entered her. She just took a deep, deep breath and held it tight, smothered in its crib for as long as she could. Tense, she was tense and tight and fighting the intrusion for the token resistance. The gel and the muscles made it all futile anyway. She had given herself over willingly. She had summoned the stars to come to her and there was no resistance imaginable to actually stop it.

She sighed and hummed and broke the seal on her chest as the dance inside her started and grow. Full, she was full and slick and hovering in the air through lattice and scaffolding. Flying, soaring, simple tether to the clouds on a playground swing. Quiet, despite the joy, despite the weightless hang, she was quiet. Soft breathes and hums and sighs that played from her lips. She didn't want to be loud. It was the dead of night, the witching hour and the glow dimmed to pure void darkness. Rainbow at the corners still, but the vast space before her was inky dark. She closed her eyes and saw the stars for what they were. Dancing little campfires, wavering torches off into the world from the earth. Nothing of great import. She had her circle and her floors and the filling writing squirm.

Erica gasped and tensed as the shape changed, flared and wide and bumpy nodes. A word, she said a word and repeated, repeated, repeated it. She didn't know what it was. Probably a curse that was really a blessing. It was rapturous, complimenting the dance within.

"Oh, that's nice," she said when the sense and reality came back, "Do more of that."

And more of that was done. Bumps and nodes, spiraling ridges that twisted and turned in her. Everything was everywhere, nerves alight in lightning fire. Riding spark and roaring flame, the erratic spike of chill from the new tendrils emerging. Shapes and forms, unknowable and alien, came from the portal and gifted her with their intrusion. Such a delightful clockwise writhe from the swirl beyond the stars, the color light from out of space. The tendrils came and tightened and vice gripped the small thing that called, opening and filling, beck and heel they were to each other. Full, she was full of shapes that had no form, no edges, no curve, but energy and tone and color. Weight, crushing spreading weight that had no mass, in her and ragging her down as the pressure lifted her up.

Her head spun and she opened her eyes to find the floor was on the ceiling. Or the ceiling was on the floor. She wasn't quite sure which was which. She was looking down into the portal and the stars and if she fell, she would fall forever and ever and ever.

The tendrils hit deeper. She could fall, she could fall and it wouldn't matter. The lattice of light would hold her in the slick net and take her into the void.

It hit a slide and slick. It the start of twitch and tense in her gut when the tentacles hit deep and shifted all the soft things inside out. It hurt, it hurt in the best way and it wouldn't stop and she didn't want to stop. She squeezed the ugly noise in her chest out to make more room for the sliding entity.

She tensed and slipped and dropped into the dark. The tentacles held her in place with the slick lattice. She was dripping. She was wet with the discharge that tingled and shocked and lit up with needle feet pricking the skin.

The seal broke and the strength of the abyss kept her in place as her own power failed her. She shuddered and spasmed and the bloom pale light made her think of nothing else. She wasn't breathing. She might be breathing. She was probably breathing. It was cold and icy and chilled fighting back against the infinite warm glow inside. Heat and cold, mixing and melding, right up against the skin of her being, piercing the veil of what is and what might be.

The tendrils drew it out, languishing attention and raw love onto the body of the host. Slick and light, pouring everything from its depths out onto and into. Flow, it was flow of energy that came from the being of soft dry skin, flow of the light and the warmth and inked runes that lost meaning. Glow and light and energy, peace and love and the stars dancing to a tune with no music.

Erica was laughing. She thought she was laughing as the folds shifted their grip and the nodes ran riot inside. She probably was. Happened most of the time she came. Other times it was hiccups, although that was mostly when she was with someone else. This was just giggles and snorts from the lubricant and the light, from the tight chest that finally relaxed. Her shoulders dropped down to her feet and her spine went slack, slacker than the tendrils still in her. It lifted her up as the slack still fell down and down into the gap between stars.

It ended and she hit the final dark once the light faded. It faded and she was back in the dim rainbow of crystal and ink. She sighed and the tendrils gave one final once over through her body. It seemed to really like her breasts, lifting and rolling and kneading. She giggled again and let it happen. Always, always, always, always the insertives like the breasts. And she did enjoy the continued use of her body now that she was hollow.

The latticed tendrils loosened into a hug. Legion arms, and loving embrace, myriad hands encircling. She was lost to the weave of slick skin. There were no boundaries, skin to skin, wet to wet as everything finally went slack. She sighed and hummed and left one last lingering laugh echo from her throat. The tentacles withdrew and took the laugh with it. Payment given and payment received, everything was in order.

Erica stayed still as the light slowly faded and she was back to the dim room with the mat on the hard wood floors. She sighed and stood and stretched. There was still strength there, still power to move and the will to make it happen whenever she so wished. The sweet burn in her muscles kept singing as she walked to the shower. It would be a shame to wash off the sticky slick spark in her skin, but it would dry in this weird gluey powder otherwise.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, billowing pillowy steam, all the lights in the sky had faded, save for the one on the horizon. A soft orange, bright, welcoming, infinite its incredible compassion for the things that came beneath, rose and beat back the dark. The blue bled to violet, bled to red, bled to the indistinct white.

Erica shut her curtains. She had her darkness, her covers, her locked chest and drawers never to see the light of day. She had her bed and a white mouse hidden away. She had her hat of patchwork flame, hanging on a hook near the door. She had a good day, all things considered. Still would probably quit if it came down to. That would be an even better day.