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"Hi Rose!" John says. He's smiling. "Wow, I did not expect to find you here!"
You don't smile back. John's smile is easy and naïve and innocent, as if he thinks you are the Rose Lalonde he knew, but he is wrong. So very wrong. You are one with the darkness now, and your old self is like a fading photograph in your memory, a past state much inferior to the present. You give him a guttural greeting in your native tongue, half expecting him to go away.
He giggles nervously. "What? Also, why are you all gray like that? You look weird."
So innocent. He looks at you and tries to fit you to an image of a person who is already gone. You open your mouth and describe to him what you are. The language of the horrorterrors is like a nail scratching the surface of reality.
"Uh..." He hesitates. "Rose, I can't understand a word you're saying. It's a lot of sillyspeak and gibbledygook."
He hears you but doesn't listen, doesn't understand. His innocence is shining brightly, almost threatening your darkness, as if your kind of being doesn't exist in his reality. A perfectly innocent creature like that is rare, but the old Rose Lalonde never understood what kind of a treasure she held. But you do, and understanding awakens a heat, a need deep inside you. He's here, within your grasp, and he doesn't even know what he is seeing. You can't stand it.
You'll explain it to him. Yes. You forget what you originally came for – something irrelevant, a remnant of your old self – but as it turns out, you're here for him. You're going to break him. You'll break his trust and his spirit and his body until he can take no more. You'll rip that innocence from him until he can see you for what you are. You're going to destroy something beautiful.
You smile and tell him so, tentacles of darkness rising around you.
"Wait," he says, frowning. "I think I know what's going on here. You—" He's interrupted by two of your tentacles reaching him, edging in under his shirt. More are on the way. You take a step closer to him yourself.
"Hey, what are you doing?" He squirms, trying to stop the tentacles from wrapping themselves around his chest under his shirt and trying to shirk away as more of them touch his ankles and proceed upwards inside his pants. But you're stronger – he's nothing compared to the power of the dark gods. "It really happened!" he concludes, but he sounds quite nervous now. "You've gone all grimdark!"
You smile and nod. He gets that one. He also gets that your tentacles aren't letting him go; especially when you let a few of them wrap around his arms and lift him off the ground. He starts struggling in earnest, kicking helplessly with his feet.
"Rose, stop it! What are you doing!? This isn't funny! It's a horrible prank, and I know about these things." He writhes as your tentacles slither over his skin, but he doesn't see what it means. "We'll find the cure for your stubborn throes, I promise, just let me down and we'll work something out!"
One of your tentacles under his pants slithers up between his buttocks, another tangles itself around his genitals. You study his face when he feels it. Oh, yes. He's tensing, scared now. But not scared enough. "Rose, no! I'm— I mean, I'm not really into tentacle stuff, and this is very sudden I think you should let me go. Please?"
He feels betrayed, but an involuntary part of him enjoys the stimulation, and he's almost convinced you're only messing with him, expecting you to stop. You haven't even begun.
You add more tentacles, letting them slither in under his clothes, from waist to sleeve, from sleeve to neck, from belt to foot. "Rose!" he yells, squirming and struggling against the growing mass of blackness around him, though the more tentacles you add, the less he's able to move. "You can't do this! I'm telling you, it's not funny. We'll fix this grimdark tentacle thing! It's top priority, but you have to—"
You tug a number of tentacles simultaneously and rip every piece of clothing he's wearing to shreds. For a moment he just hangs there, hanging by your tentacles around his wrists, deliciously naked. His body is as sugary pure and innocent as his mind.
"You can't do this," he says, eyes wide with horror but refusing to understand. "You can't. Seriously, Rose. This isn't you, you're being possessed by some horrible monster! We have to find a way to turn you back! Listen to me, you can't..."
You lower him towards the ground as he struggles, frantic and on the verge of panicking. You wrap tentacles around his shins and spread his legs apart, putting his feet down to touch the floor. You let the tentacles around his arms hold them out horizontally in either direction. Keeping his limbs out of the way, so to speak. The other tentacles leave him, and he's now fully exposed and visibly helpless before you. When you touch him he shudders, feeling your dark gray hand brush against the pale peach of his hairless chest.
"You can't... You really can't..."
You circle a finger around his nipple. Of course you can.
"Rose, no...!" There are tears in his eyes already. He's starting to learn something. "You have to listen to me! You have to stop this and try to remember who you are! You're—"
This time he falls silent from pure shock. You've slipped a large tentacle around his back, dipping it between his buttocks, and now it's slithering into his anus. He's never had anything enter him that way before. His mouth is opening and closing in helpless disbelief. "No," he manages after several seconds, his face dipping as if he can't look at you anymore. "No, please, no..."
Oh yes. You put your hand under his chin and force his face back up. He's closer to utterly terrified now.
You slowly pull the tentacle out of his ass. He makes a sound like something between a sob and a moan, which is exactly what you want to hear. "Don't do this, plea—"
You don't pull the tentacle out all the way, and when he starts begging you, you put it back in. Not a slither this time, but a shove, tearing him open and not stopping until a good foot of it is inside him. He screams well.
There are tears dripping down his face in earnest now. You wipe some off his cheek with a finger and put them in your mouth, tasting his terror and pain. The tentacle inside him pulls out again, then back in. It moves, squirms, tears at him. You keep at it a few times, savoring his screams and gasps and sobs and his quiet whispers for you to stop. Of course you won't stop. This is barely the beginning.
The pain and humiliation makes him confused, but he's not broken yet. This is not something that ever existed in his cognitive universe, and the one doing it to him is one he thought of as a close friend. He's still trying to deny it, still trying to see his friend in you. He won't find her, but you're going to confuse him further.
You make a another tentacle slide up between his legs, caressing his thigh before reaching his ass. The first one is still pumping in him making him shudder and sob at each thrust. "Rose, just sto—"
His voice reaches a new high note when the second tentacle pushes inside him beside the first. His ass was never meant to open that wide, of course. But you never meant for him to be whole when this was over. That wasn't the point. However, you don't push in very far with the second tentacle – instead you let it wriggle around and explore the immediate area inside him until the look on his face tells you that you've found the sweet spot.
"What are you... what...?" He's gasping the words, barely able to talk. He's still in pain, and you're not going to let that end, but now you're touching a few nerves that his body enjoys. You're touching them very efficiently. His penis is hardening, and you let him lower his head enough to see it, then lift his chin again with a pleasant smile. He's weeping, each thrust making him gasp and shudder. His cries are indefinable sounds of pleasure and pain and pure horror. This is proceeding well.
It's still not enough, though. The sight of him like this is appealing, but not nearly enough. You let several more black tentacles slither up his legs, rubbing his skin where it is the most sensitive, though you make sure to avoid his erection. He moans protests at you, but you're not sure he expects you to listen anymore. "Please... Rose... No... Stop... Please stop..."
It's getting tedious. You let the tentacles climb his torso, reaching his head, slithering across his face. "What... No...!" Then he speaks no more, because a thick black tentacle slips into his mouth and proceeds down his throat.
He retches, but the tentacle blocks his mouth, so all that comes out is a thin line of drool. He's trembling wildly, whimpering against the new violation, but the other tentacles are still working in his other end, and even if he had possessed the strength to begin with, he wouldn't have been able to get rid of you now. He tries biting the tentacle, but it isn't made of vulnerable flesh and nothing happens.
You start pulling out of his throat, though not out of his mouth. It moves and undulates, filling his cavities until he chokes, then retreating a bit. A smaller tentacle slips in through the corner of his mouth and wraps around his tongue, squeezing, and then you thrust the larger one down his esophagus again. You time it with the movement in his ass, sending him a shock of pain and discomfort as tentacles squirm inside him from both ends, partnered with a thick sensation of unwanted pleasure from his prostate. He spasms, unable to protect himself, unable to sanction the boundaries of his own body, unable to do anything. He can't process what is happening to him in any other terms than pure horror. As you keep it up, his face runs wet with tears and drool, and you can see blood running down between his legs. Blood and drool helps lubricating the orifices, making it easier to continue. And you do.
He's almost lost. The despair in his soul is feeding your darkness, giving you joy. But this is John, after all, and he's always thought everything could be laughed away and forgiven. He's never known violation before, much less anything close to what you're doing to him, but you can see it in his staring eyes. Somewhere beneath all the terror and agony and shame there's still a spark of hope. He hopes that you'll come back to him. He hopes that you'll stop and become the Rose he knows again. You touch his wet cheek, then run your hand down his neck and his chest and his loins, feeling muscles all over his body work and twitch involuntarily in response to your movements inside him and out, and you know this isn't enough. He needs to break further.
Another few tentacles slide up the inside of his thigh, settling themselves around the parts of him that used to be private. He's too overstimulated already to react much. One tentacle teases his penis – it is still hard, as the focused stimulation of his prostate trumps both the pain and his own will. He's not coming, though, and he probably won't.
You split the tentacle over the tip of his penis, wrapping it in smaller, wriggling black hairs. His muscles in the area tense further. What you're doing is adding to his uncomfortable pleasure, but not for long. You let one of the hairs inch itself down his urethra, and there's a very satisfying whimper from above. He'd scream again if he could, but there's a tentacle moving in his throat to stop him. He can only whine and tremble even worse as your hairlike tentacle goes all the way down his erection before the next one enters. And then the next. If the experience was hellish to him before, you just upped the ante.
You manage to get about thirty of the tiny tentacles – one by one – down into his penis. The rest of them you keep wrapped around it, caressing him to encourage the continued erection. When you start squirming and pumping inside his cock in time with the thrusts in his ass and throat, his body is more or less vibrating. The sight is amazing, and the choked sounds he makes are incredible. You allow it to go on for quite a while.
The innocence and integrity of his body are long since gone. His naive, innocent mind is shattering. You look for it, but you can't see hope in his eyes anymore. He doesn't believe you'll stop. He believes you'll kill him, and all he wishes for is that it will be soon. You won't do that, of course – you want him destroyed, not dead. Instead, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder and feeling through your own body how he trembles and shudders and moans and weeps. You're more turned on than you've ever been.
The tentacles can go further. You start letting every thrust sink deeper inside him, exploring his intestines, going further into his throat towards the stomach, penetrating his urethra beyond the penis. You fill each of them up with black matter, making them thicker and stronger, reaching even deeper. He is broken, and his body is like a hole to be filled.
You reach climax with a scream of your own, letting the tentacles burst inside him, spilling the blackness you're pumping into them as a liquid in his body. He's tense as steel and shaking like an engine, drool bubbling around the tentacle in his mouth, but the black liquid fills him as up if he was a soft bag. It goes into his guts and his stomach and his bladder and fills them up, and you can actually feel his body expanding to its very limits.
You pull your tentacles out of him, satisfied. He's still conscious, but his eyes are dull. Black liquid pours out of his anus and penis, and he only groans before his head falls forward and his stomach turns, vomiting more black fluids. You let the tentacles holding his limbs lay him down on the floor, almost gently. He keeps shaking, his body emptying itself of the fluids you filled it with, and you can see how every spastic movement hurts him. He's spent and broken, physically and mentally. You've done a good job.
Sitting down on your knees next to him, you can't help smiling. You have accomplished something the old Rose Lalonde could never have done. You've ruined her treasure. You stroke John's hair softly, happy with him. He looks up at you, but there's nothing but despair and dread in his gaze. He makes an attempt to move, to get away from you, but what you did to him used up every ounce of his energy and more. He can't make his muscles work.
You tell him in the language of the horrorterrors exactly how much pleasure this brought you, and you think he understands.