Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen: Saurians Bequeath Charnel Bliss

(Kairliina, higher pitch)

The esteemed listener is reminded that the Analogue Ruins podcast does not contain content warnings. Please stop listening immediately, and look to your own mental health if at any point you feel discomforted. No story is worth sacrificing your well-being.

Much as it saddens me to break the facade, lovelings, I want to appraise you all of something. It’s hard to gauge how much change this’ll make for those of you that listen to the series. For those that read it, well: I’ve decided to switch formats when I return from my three-month break. I’ll write each episode the same way I’d write a chapter in a book.

For now? Enjoy this final pair of entries in the old style. I wish to be clear that I do not want to write or record any more back-to-back entries. But as a one-time only special to tide you all over until I come back from my fall-and-winter reverie… yes. I think I can manage that just this once.

Episode Thirteen: Saurians Bequeath Charnel Bliss

(Aekarii)

I face the old shadow-demon Enrazhug in a green-carpeted hallway of Metronome House, between phantasmagoric busts of many monstrous figures. Soft lighting, like the amber glows of early dusk or a fine seaside morning, pours down upon us: two jet-black forms, one catching the light in herself and tinting it to purple iridescence, the other swallowing it entire.

(Seductive)

“Alright, kindred. It seems we’ve some time to kill before my infernal elder sister arrives…”

I step closer. Enrazhug unwittingly obliges me by bunching up bashfully and backing away. Glows, cherry reds and golds, build deep within his umbral hide as I walk him into the nearest wall. It’s still a wonder to me how well I flow with my desires. I’ve never touched a form like Enra’s before, yet my talons find their way to the nearest hard patch in his miasma and tease it with the faintest push.

(Enrazhug, audibly squirming)

“Gotta be frank, I’m stunned you… uh… acknowledge her… as a fellow succubus, I mean… you know she won’t acknowledge you.”

(Aekarii)

“I know.”

I explore the old shadow-demon while I gather my thoughts. Pushing my paws into his warmth. His form tends to gather into these dense pockets, just slightly squishy. They feel a lot like humanoid testicles. And I’ve always loved toying with testicles.

“What else am I to do? She and I exist on several continuums with each other. I have to accept that I could become like her, or she could be come like me, if I want to remain a complete being.”

I work my claws into the sensitive subsurface bulges. Squeezing, kneading, absorbing tickles of shared pleasure through my pads. His warm essence calls to me. The urge to drink, drink, drink with manic abandon, to ride his convulsing form with my claws hung over my drooling jaws as I giggle and jiggle like the basest whore in the universe… but I’ll be a good girl. I would hesitate before draining mortals without consent. I certainly won’t drain kindred when they’re in a vulnerable place.

Even if the temptation is sweetest agony.

(Enrazhug)

“This is, uh… this isn’t the response I expected. You being, what’s it, abyssal, and all? Is that stuff really accurate? Never played those human RPGs, but I’ve… okay, whoa, hold on, that spot is…”

(Aekarii, lustful)

“Shall I stop?”

I squeeze smoldering shadow-masses between my thighs, creating a little ink-black ridge to grind on. The old one’s undulations, his every quiver, kiss my bud and dripping folds with a flurry of tiny vibrations. My eyes roll back for the first time and I whimper with need, losing my composure for a moment. Oh, how I love it! How I love it when control and seduction slip away, and I expose myself as a shameless harlot. I want his dark matter deep inside me!

A shake overtakes me, from my head to my shoulders right down to my tail, and the facade returns for now. How many little slips before I forget how to fake it anymore? I’m so wet….

(Enrazhug)

“Just… slow down a little, that’s… I can’t remember the last time I… you know.”

(Aekarii)

“I’m sure.”

(whispering)

“I’ll be gentle.”

(Returning to normal volume)

“Here’s my hypothesis: Hell is merely another region of Abyss. Abyss is an infinite medium like many overlapping dreams, and dreams are very malleable to outside influence. True freedom includes the freedom to reject freedom, yes?”

I work my fingers into Enrazhug’s melty masses until I’ve kneaded patches fine enough that I can twine them around my paws. They throb like a living heated fingersleeve. When I push them into my folds, I take it slowly so we both feel each wound-up ring of shadow stroking each trembling trickle-streaked fold of vaginal demon-flesh. Still licking him, I offer up my first moan, letting the fingering find its own pace as I become a castaway in the stream of my own lust.

(Enrazhug)

“I think I f-follow? You’re, uh… you’re a lot, Carag. Guess maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Outer succubus, right? That cosmos brain is weird to watch in action.”

(Aekarii)

“Awww, thank you! (Moan) I’ve worked really hard at it. (Slutty sigh) Chaos in self-rebellion manifests as order. Hell is a portion of Abyss touching Earth and humans, so Hell’s order imitates Earthly order. At its most—aaahn!~--basic, Hell is is the very act of giving a demonic realm fixed borders and naming it Hell. As for the kind of abyss I imagine when I say ‘abyss’… immerse yourself!”

(Growing quickly more fervent, oddly preacher-like. Its voice trembles as much with religious as sexual ecstasy… but then, for a succubus, aren’t those exactly the same thing?)

“The best way to comprehend chaos is to dive in, and mutate until you thrive on its flow!”

I stretch my psyche into him, gently, breathing that burning-oil smell. I’ve always loved that smell. It speaks to me of grime, of lived-in places, of cluttered tables at dusty restaurants where birds nest in the rafters, and the food tastes like afterglow. For vessel, burning oil meant carcinogens.

For me, it means lust.

I open my drooling maw and scoop a flesh-like mass of shadow inward on my tongue, mouthing and moaning.

(Aekarii, with a fleshy pop of shadow-sucklings falling out of her mouth for a moment)

“It’s fun to play clever for a little while. I thank you for the chance, but I’m tired of lore and cosmology. C’mon, I’m right here—ravish me!”

(Enrazhug)

“What, right here in the hall?”

(Aekarii)

“Yes!”

An illustrative lick of my fangs. Diminutive as I am, still the same five-foot-six height as my former humanoid form, somehow I’m the one that seems to tower over Enrazhug. Sex appeal is my favorite force multiplier. I rub harder against him, letting my gown fall apart, letting little trickles of purple milk squeeze out of my nipples and make my fine, short breast-furs shine.

How sweet, how salacious, how profane! Stolen moans and baited breaths, all the more urgent from knowing some stranger could come upon us at any moment.

“Come now, kindred! The stars wheel and the stars die! Let’s make love, for we’ve already ended!”

(Enrazhug)

“W-what is this?”

(Aekarii, euphoric with abyssal derangement)

“Annihilate me in the entropy of our climax! Let’s become one for an infinite heartbeat!”

Visions of distant lights glittering like deep-space gemstones, one by one going dark, and still of we two convulsing, squirming, writhing together. I pour my visions in a telepathic wave. Enrazhug’s aura answers with fear and arousal. My psyche renders it as pale blue and red blending into purple.

(Easing down, gentle, even nurturing)

“Oh… you’re fearful, too? Then let’s be gentle with each other, darling. I’m sorry for coming on so strong. It’s instinct, and I do like that sometimes, but… you’re right. It feels like too much right now. I’m prone to PTSD, so, um… let’s make each other feel safe, okay?”

(Enrazhug, tearful)

“I-I’d like that. Sorry, it’s just… it’s been such a long time since anyone was kind to me…”

(Aekarii)

I open my arms, eyes sad and sweet. The old udug pours into them, pours over me, enveloping me in a slow shuddering tide of umbral being. Sharing warmth, his tentative tendrils draping themselves over my chops and playing across my tongue. Jet-black feelers wrap jet-black wrists. Now he’s the one that pushes me to the wall, and lifts me high, and forms lapping false-tongues to rove over my vulva like a tangle of slickened streamers tied to a fan. A beautiful torrent of ardor-stoking licks, spiced up by sudden teasing pushes deeper into my secretion-soaked love-tunnel.

I’m torn between nerves and need. I’ve never made myself this vulnerable for an unfamiliar partner before, never spread my legs without a screen of mischief or power to make me feel in control. My arm comes up to cover my panting mouth, even while Enrazhug eases himself past my uvula and down my convulsing throat, then rises higher until it hides my eyes from sight.

(Enrazhug, playful, kind)

“Hey, pretty girl. May I see those shy eyes of yours, just for a moment?”

You are reading story Analogue Ruins of a Girl I Once Gutted at novel35.com

(Aekarii, very shy indeed)

“Mmm…”

Quivering and anxious, a succubus with the shapes of a wolf lets her shaggy arm drop. It eases lower, until the violet fires pouring from mazework patterns circling her forearms cease to obscure the brighter glows in its wide, needful eyes.

(Enrazhug)

“Look at you. Look at how sweet you are. Any being in their right mind would give anything for a kiss from a girl like you.”

(Aekarii)

My tail begins to wag. A high, keening whimper slips out. Yearning with every strain, every flex in my thighs that sends me rocking up and down in the dear old one’s embrace.

(Enrazhug)

“Would you like me to cover up those eyes for now? Will that help you relax?”

(Aekarii)

“Y-yes, please…”

Soothing darkness wraps across like a moist hot compress. It undulates and squishes against my fur while I sink into the sensations of our sex, while I let my pinned arms fall slack in Enrazhug’s grasp aside from off-and-on flexes of my claws—the kinetic twins of easy, pitchy gasps that burst out of the blazing desire in my core like lightning from a teeming thunderhead.

Aching frissons gather around the swelling clit Enra teases out of its hood. He wraps my button with shadow-threads so fine I can feel the individual strands tremble. A sudden quickening of vibrations and I’m panting, swaying slow and hard against his grasp, only to fall limp again as I melt.

(Enrazhug)

“Not bad, huh? Might not be a bespoke lust-demon, but an old timer learns the steps pretty well.”

(a chuckle)

“Timer as old as me, anyway!”

(Aekarii)

The old one’s murky morass envelops my feet and creeps up my legs as far as my thighs. My nose overflows with his smells: of Archean stone and old temples, a sweetness as of cloves seeping into that first burning oil odor. Denser torrents splatter and babble like a backwoods brook, seeping down between the fur on my belly and my breasts until they reach the bases of my hairs.

Then they pull taut, pull back, pull until I yelp and writhe and whimper. Each flash of pain spikes my touch-sense. Each flash leaving me all the more vulnerable to the suckles and licks the shadows lavish on the tender hidden flesh, and the roots of fur-strands standing straight up with excitement. I jump in Enra’s grasp each time, tail wagging ever faster against the wall behind me.

Lapping waves of atramentous pseudoplasm engulf one dark and shining nipple. Creeping into the milk-stream, lavishing the areola with wet strokes in circles and abrupt upward twists, then plunging in, deeper, until a pining bound wolf goes briefly taut. I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so close! Udug darkness courses into my salivating slack jaws and plays with my tongue, laying whispering lines of pleasure across the sensitive flesh of my gums and jowls.

(Enrazhug)

“You about ready for the last push?”

(Aekarii, whimpering, muffled)

“Ymph! Plth!”

Shifting heat and force from shadow-lashes assailing my pussy with a wondrous agony of lust. First, most withdraw, leaving only a few temptuous tendrils to prod and throb against the slavering caverns of my passage. Then they swirl, cycling irregular oval tracks along the slickened crevices blacklit by the violet light of my insides, as those hard masses under Enrazhug’s skin bunch up against my maw and fill out a broiling pleasure-spear, stiffened, insistent, to press tight to my folds.

As I dangle between the hot-spring embrace of the udug and the humid hardness of the wall, awaiting penetration and so far in suspense that I cease breathing, umbral gobs bubble up over my clit and encase it in a steaming, reverberating cocoon. One buzz to knock me out of my wits with wracking delight, and Enra slides his newly-solid shadow-cock into me. Another buzz to drive my fangs down on his encroaching other-flesh in an involuntary bite, and send trickles of lilac love-nectar gushing out of my cunt to aid his entrance.

Then stillness, only slow convulsions in the clitoral graft to keep it stimulated, to keep those nerves firing non-stop impulses of mind-breaking arousal straight into my brain, while his bristle-studded tip grounds against my cervix. Enrazhug pulls on my thighs to grind me side to side and again, right as I’m about to crest, he eases off and lets me cool down in his snare.

I’m utterly non-verbal now, too wound up with lust to muster a sound. All I can do is beg with my aura, with the same pouring emotions he reads to know when to stop before I cum. Please, kindred! My violet fires cry. Please, I need it, I need it, I need to cum, I need your cum inside me!

In answer, his whole form ripples like an ocean wave underneath me, storm-surges of passion to plunge that vast cock in sinuous strokes all the way in, then so far out that only that ever-teasing bristled tip stays within my folds. All the while, circling shade-streamers spin to caress my velvety pleasure-petals. All the while, the darkness latching onto my clit rubs back and forth, sometimes loosing just a single buzz of vibration to taunt me with the promise of more.

Rhythmic, measured claps of cock-meat pounding the pussy of a desperate succubus. Every patient thrust is a mockery of my need, the cruelest humiliation—an abyssal whore deprived even of the power to make herself cum! It’s so sweet I’m going to die! I’ll die of desire, and only an echo of ecstasy will remain, just long enough to bring my fading form to orgasm before everything I was is washed away.

Faster, now, and as Enra quickens his pace his upper reaches force my mouth wider and plunge inward to fuck my throat. I slobber, gurgle, and gag while my blindfolded eyes roll back, unseeing and unseen. My wings would snap around to embrace him if they weren’t pinned to the wall. My tail would wag with mad excitement if he hadn’t just yanked it tight against the small of my back. From my folds and clit to my tunnel to the entrance of my womb and everything beyond, consecutive waves of raw passion pour upward to melt me down. I feel myself disassembled layer by layer until only overburdened nerves remain to scream that the end is nigh.

Here at the final hour, Enrazhug once more blesses my whorish form with mind-breaking vibrations drilling right into my button. He buzzes in countertime to his thrusts, drawing an arch out of my back and a muffled howl of rapture from my shadow-stuffed maw, but never gives me both at once. Leaping higher from one plateau to the next, chasing the burning promise of a climax that will unmake me, I stretch and shake and spasm. I no longer moan. The moans happen out of me, the moans use my body to manifest themselves, the moans seize control to share it with the wild twisting of my hips and the ever-faster contractions of this slutty cum-suckling pussy.

At last, at last, oh gods, at last we come to the final rush! Enrazhug escalates his pace to a fever pitch, a jackhammer of sweltering shade-cocks, and he lets my clit have it: a continuous bombardment of piercing vibrations so swift and fierce they spread to my metal bones and bring my horns to hum like tuning forks. I’m about to surface, about to reach the peak, about to explode upward out of being into the sacred depravity of death! I can’t wait but I don’t want this to end, I can’t control it but I have to get there faster, I, I, I--

(Aekarii)

“Ahl! Uhl! Ahhhhlnn!~”

In a green-carpeted hallway of Metronome House, between phantasmagoric busts of many monstrous figures, under gentle amber light now all but swallowed by surging shadow-masses and dark smoke with a faint violet tinge, the passersby see only a single writhing, moaning, convulsing mass of blackness. Two voices overlap, but only one shape condenses and draws taut with the telltale stillness of climax—still save for twitching, shuddering, a withdrawal and instinctive plunge.

Only these signs tell us apart: glowing lilac spit trickling out of my mouth, and glowing lilac girlcum spurting out of my hole to cover Enra’s shadow-cock, while he pumps molten red-gold rivers of udug sperm down my throat and into my womb. I twitch, soft and immobile as jelly in his grip, while he too relaxes and we slide down the wall together in a cum-soaked heap.

His umbra plops out of my mouth, but for a long time, the only sounds I make are happy and exhausted pantings. At last, I remember words.

(Aekarii, euphoric)

“That was amazing, you… you dear old thing…”

I flop down atop him, arms and wings draped across what I believe to be his back, and I seek the mirror of his image in my mind to find the place above the snowblind impressions of his eyes. I place a lingering, loving lick there on his brow, and lie my head down atop his.

(Enrazhug, dazed)

“Hey, what can I say?… had a pretty swell gal to inspire me…”

The return of language means the return of analysis and mechanical memory. That means the return of sadness, and of fear, and as I stretch out my senses my worst suspicions are confirmed: outside the distant impression of Metronome House’s door, other-sight shows me the figures of an alabaster-skinned witch in a black gown, and a jade-flame succubus in a gown of lurid purple.

I’ve cut this as close as I can. I dare not wait any longer. My essence pours down the hallways from the point where I still lie atop Enrazhug, now coursing with regret that our bliss couldn’t last longer.

At least I’m experienced enough to have a quick answer. A spatial ellipse cut. Fine as a single atom, I’ll slice the fabric of Metronome House’s entry hall, then stitch in a pathway straight to the Abyss. I’ll have to go umbral, veil my aura, and if the arch-traitor Merovingia finds the spatial seam it’ll turn into a brute-force battle to stop her tearing it open, but--

Then, though it allows my other-sense to remain, some quiet and immovable force pushes my essences back in upon me. I watch with growing confusion as Merovingia rips the outer door off its hinges. Its plummet reveals a desolate space utterly disconnected from the cozy hallway where Enrazhug and I recline. I watch, first baffled, then overtaken by a strange wonder that I’m already afraid will turn yet again to disappointment, as Merovingia and Carrie comb the husk of Metronome House from attics to cellars, finding only dust and decay.

I watch Merovingia try, again and again and again, to find and force the spatial connection. There isn’t one. There’s no seam, there’s no gap… then I contemplate the galloping thoughts of my cum-brained bliss just a few minutes ago. Somehow, I am most myself when I am selfless in the throes of a psyche-shattering climax. Metronome House’s connection to its husk is the very emptiness that makes it a husk. The more Merovingia tries to destroy it, the more she reinforces it.

Scattered, frail, yet slowly growing hopeful, my thoughts find their way to my tongue.

(Aekarii, quavering)

“I d-don’t have to do anything? We’re protected?”

(Crying)

“We get to be protected?”

(Enrazhug)

“Hey, of course you do! Even us demons deserve a place to be safe--”

(Aekarii)

That simple decency devastates me in a way a thousand hateful words could never do. I’m reduced to a weeping mess of relief and pent-up tears, clinging to my udug lover and sobbing. All my life, the universe has been a place of such mad, unreasoning cruelty. Succubi like me just want to be happy, vapid sluts, and mortal worlds beyond counting hate us for it. Other demons hate us for it, calling us shallow, useless, selfish. They only acknowledge our existence to put themselves above us.

“I’m not like those weak sex-demons, I’m not like those cumbrained whores.” They say it most of all when they’re soliciting mortals for sex: even when they’re imitating us, our own kind want abyssal succubi to know how much they hate us.

But my people don’t hate me. My heap-siblings back home in the Abyss don’t hate me. My darlings, asleep in deep abysses of their own, don’t hate me. Moonsilver doesn’t hate me. Enrazhug doesn’t hate me. Metronome House doesn’t hate me. They all love me. I can be a succubus and still be loved.

So when my tears ebb, and I sniffle as Enrazhug brushes the last of them away, I manage a soft smile.

“Sweet kindred… since we’re safe, and protected, and I am free of fighting at last… may I ask you to stay with me a while longer, and comfort me some more?”

In answer, Enrazhug churns around so I’m lying on his belly with his snowblind eyes staring up at me, and he wraps himself around me for the next in many cycles of foreplay, fucking, and afterglow. And in some small yet vital way, the cosmos begins to feel right again.

(end)

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