Chapter Text
One remembers the tale of an omega slave that escapes but falls into heat before he can cross the monster-infested forests. Lured by rumors of a different world past the looming trees and unforgiving dark, he sneaks books into his designated place under the master’s office desk. Most are beyond his knowledge of business and worldly matters, but his heart rocks in his chest as he reads deep into the demonology texts. Summonings, contracts, promises for the price of a soul. Right there, under his owner’s desk, with his lips still stained by hours of usage, he draws his shaky ritual circle and begs for absolution. Give him a few years of freedom from his Alpha masters, and then he will gladly give up whatever the demon wished of him. The demon unfurling from the smoke threads a gentle hand through his hair, offering a kind smile as it repeats the boy’s words back to him. To his ears, battered for so long with orders and variations on whore, slut, fuckhole, it sounds like salvation.
On the contracted day, he shoves himself and the barrel containing him over the side of a wagon, tumbling free as the wood splinters on impact. The bruises and wood chips are mere pinpricks as he runs, with growing excitement. It takes some practice to get used to his legs again, after so long on all fours or tucked away for storage, but he relishes even in the brambles bloodying his feet. Never thinking of the scented trail he left behind. The demon threatens to make an appetizer out of his pursuers, and after one victim, the rest turn back. It’s only for his own amusement that he snaps branches and illusions footsteps behind his true meal, to let that anguished scent perfume the night air. And fill the senses of every creature waking at this hour.
It takes but a single proactive vine to trip him, another to lash his hands to his ankles when he tries to untangle himself. He growls weakly-- as omegas do, despite their best efforts-- but his pulling only tightens his binds and distracts from the forest’s movements around him. Werewolf noses tip up at the scent of something, as bright and promising as the full moon above them. The dirt shifts as slimy things enjoying the damp hollows of soil sense prey worth hunting. Above it all, the demon whispers his guidance, conjuring breezes to carry that aroma of heat into nests and lairs all over.
Tens of monsters end up fighting over him, swarming every hole and wrestling for dominance as he trembles around them. He’s seated in the lap of a werewolf, with the knot locking in place not just the wolf’s own cock but a mass of slugs and different creatures’ tentacles. His cock is slowly stuffed with two kinds of slime, depositing eggs making the eggs and bloating them up so he’s plugged too tight to cum.
His nipples are suckled to painful, swollen nubs by all the smaller monsters who couldn’t get inside him but still wanted to mark their territory. Milk gushes out as everything else thrusts in, which leaves him running like a tap. After all, there’s always something pulsing up inside, nestling deep, twisting deeper. For every white-hot explosion of seed, there’s a steady pumping of eggs into his increasingly heavy womb. For every teeming clutch of eggs, there is the ribbed member of some snarling reptile catching the folds of his fragile insides. The tentacles squirm and fight for room alongside lumbering slugs, making visible bulges dance across the omega’s skin. But even he howls and shrieks for help, the load of cum and eggs rounding out his middle keep him pinned and secure, while his heat works its natural magic.
It means his hole drips, wet and eager, and expands for each egg. It softens him, opens him up, body clamped greedily around the tentacles, milking them for more. He’s stretched well beyond his limits, but the base part of him tells him to be flattered by the attention. He is fine breeding stock, and so many mates have deemed him fit for their young. When an ambitious slime loses its grip on his breasts, he instinctively lowers his chest to ground, grinding into its maw with his face in the dirt. What would his master think of him now, arching and writhing beautifully in this squelching mess of monsters?
The demon presides lazily as the orgy escalates, keeping the man’s mouth stuffed drooling around its thick cock. It’d watched the dark fear in the man’s eyes fade to empty resignation, barely reacting when the demon emptied its own load right down the man’s throat, so deep and so tightly plugged with cock that not even a moan could escape. As its aphrodisiac cum began to work through the man’s system, those eyes widened just for a second, a pretty sight above pink, tear-stained cheeks. It wasn’t much, just enough to keep the heat going even after the body was certain it was impregnated. There was still the rest of the forest, waiting their turns, and it wouldn’t do for the boy to lose his spark.
It took weeks. That tiny body was thrown in every position, invaded every which way, and occasional mouthfuls of demon seed kept him mindless and needy through it all. Some births happened while fresh eggs were being pumped into another hole; others through the same hole, with small hatchlings slithering out around the latest cock slamming into the battered, oozing mess. His slick, mixed with countless species’ cum, kept him slippery and spread open for any passing monster. His breasts made a public milk fountain, his cock a public nesting ground, his cripplingly huge tummy a public plaything. They smeared cum into every part of him, inside and out, while his body gorged itself on every monster it invited.
Eventually, the demon wanders away in boredom, and the boy awakens again, staring blearily then screaming at the sight of himself. Nipples bulging obscenely in the mouths of tiny werewolves, hanging by blunt claws on heavy, swinging tits. His belly dragging on the forest floor beyond that, alive and roiling with a mix of so many shapes. His cock thumps heavily on the unseen side of his tummy, jolted around by the larvae inside, with one squeezing out the tip just now. It falls out and lands with a splash, in a puddle of different colors and textures mixed together, all reeking of sex. A wet glob sits, snug at his swollen entrance, waiting for the internal pressure to push it out since his hole was fucked too loose to push it out properly.
His brief, startled attempt to escape ends with him realizing he can’t get up. Not after crawling for so long, and with such a belly. With so much unborn life inside him and recently born life clinging to his breasts, he moves slower than the laziest of slimes. The monsters let him roam freely through the forest, but only so they can fuck him full at their leisure. Every time he neared the edge of forest facing outward from his home nation, a little of this pollen and that goo muddled the directions in his head and steered him right back. In his tortured imagination, the forest was endless. The stories were lies. There was nothing beyond any of this, besides more monsters to emerge from the treeline and take their pleasure without a care for his screams.
His master finds him, one day, just stares down coldly as the omega lays before him, reaching up weakly and begging to be taken back. His voice breaks, too hoarse to even scream as the contractions tear through him. The very shape of him warps as the eggs hatch inside, and the man looks rightfully disgusted when fluid splashes between lopsided thighs. Thin, slimy tentacles slither out and slap onto his rim, his taint, whatever offers a gripping point to pull itself out. With a handkerchief over his nose, the master kicks the crowning monster back into the hole it came from, shoving until his shoe plugged the birth canal.
But when he tugs his foot free, the whole creature follows, emerging with a messy pop. It’s just enough for his poor cock to twitch back to life, answering the rough handling of his prostate. The omega tries to reach down and cover his arousal, but it is too late. Master had an eye for lack of discipline, and besides, there is no reaching around his gravid form. The malfunction further down remained helplessly exposed, and a boot nudging aside his belly bared everything for the Alpha's evaluation. And that's the end of it. Any chance for pity is dead and gone. If the filthy slut likes incubating monsters so much, then he is welcome to do just that.
The master, being a man of taste, leaves damaged goods to be damaged goods. The werewolves pass by soon after, rolling over the sobbing omega so they can go in order. From the leaders down to the fledglings, the oldest of the omega’s litters. They leave him, tits leaking, stomach squirming afresh, hole frothing so much that he could not tell what slick was his own. Eventually, another batch of larvae wriggle to life, crowding around the larger broods to slime his passage and worm their way out. The beginnings of exoskeleton tug painfully at his inner walls, and he screws his eyes shut, knowing already that when the contractions hit, it'll squeeze him tighter against them. But he screams when it happens anyways, and even with both hands over his mouth, the scent of omega in distress rouses every monster lurking nearby. Tall shadows loom over him as they descend upon him, soothing his pain as they always do.
How could they possibly know that moans of pleasure did not erase the wrenching pain in his gut? That the sweet orgasm they coax out of him only tightens his passage and draws the process out for hours longer? They don't understand his delirious murmuring when the last of the hatchlings simply settle as they are, enjoying his internal warmth while orgasm rips through and scrambles all his senses. Between the healing magic of some sires and the dark arts of others, he has no doubt he'll survive even this.
“You asked me for years,” the demon says when it checks in later. It has other projects, but this one does beautiful things to its ego when those lips spill over with sobs and shameless begging. “I never break a contract, sweet boy. And besides, this lifestyle has done wonders for your figure.”
Helpful as ever, it conjures a mirror and helps the boy raise his chin, angling so that the moonlight leaves nothing obscured. A tired face stares back at him, eyes duller than the claws that raked appreciatively around them. The tears and drool not licked away by one of his cycling mates left tracks over ruddy cheeks, still warm with arousal despite all this horror.
Fresh tears well up as his gaze travelled lower, seeing the morbid growth of his torso. Breasts obscenely large to support the needs of countless growing litters, and his belly swollen beyond that with eggs padded in slime cushioning pups wriggling among slugs and other unmentionables. He could not see the state of his hole and his egg-swollen cock, but he could feel it clearly now, no matter how his various mates fucked him numb. Wide open, plump folds reddened by traffic both ways, oozing endlessly for lack of any strength left in the muscles. The slave-- that’s what he is, isn’t it?-- is thoroughly deformed, looking almost as monstrous as the creatures that did this to him.
Damaged goods, beyond repair.