They're all short stories. The first four are canonical, and the last one isn't.

Reposted to keep it up front.

I really want to continue the first story featured here, but as always, there are several elements - all honestly random - that should be in order before I ever continue any WIP of mine. That one will require proper characterization of Chanda and the young version of Nigel, as well as some hearty prose in between dialogue moments, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to come out of "Gamer X FA Lurker" status to be up to the task of providing that story's beginning and further fleshing it out towards its end, because I loooove my Dissidia 012 [duodecim], among other very much so "pick-up-and-play" games of mine... XD



Enjoy! =3

---

Why Am I Trapped In This Dream? - Part 2 (Followup WIP) (Mature/Adult)

( http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/3786632/ )



Previously unmentioned author's note

I had lots of fun coming up with the general ideas behind this one. The majority of what takes place in this story, I still have in mind. But not everything of it is finished.

I stopped writing when I lost the inspiration to continue from a point where Chanda begins to treat a human woman sacrifice as a sex slave. I was stumped on where to lead Nigel's reactions to seeing such a sight, but the events concerning the woman and Chanda, not so much.

Knowing me, it may end up being an adult story, if not one more suited to bear a "Mature" label for lack of any deeply involving sexual activity ("tasteful nudity" isn't necessarily "adult," and there are many other events present here that would lead the story forward. Or maybe I won't WANT that kind of direction, so I can just proceed to focusing more on CORRUPTING YOUR SOULS instead? ).

It will be all too "BOSS" once it's completed regardless.

Still needs proper balancing concerning character references throughout its progression.



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[Not the actual beginning]



He awoke abruptly, his chest tightening so rapidly that it caused him to scream aloud. This ceased, but only momentarily, as he had freely expressed his terror in yet another scream that was soon muffled by his blanket. A third cry had escaped his mouth, silenced when he sat up straight to look forward. He saw the dancing shadows of something near the fire of the next room. The usually soothing sight did nothing to calm his mind, as within but a brief moment did he silently declare all around him to be both dismal...and frightening. It was an akward moment, where all his beliefs turned against him, threatening to twist him unto the amusement of forces unseen, or so he supposed. Though he sat in his room in seclusion, he could not help but direct his attention wherever he suspected a demon might be hiding; this, in the world he supposed had turned to meet him to his face, only to rend his innocence in twain. And then came a soulful reprieve, his racing heart slowing. But the image returned to him. Those unusually explicit, brightened eyes, gazing upon him so intently. That face, horrifically unsound. He could not have expunged the thought from his mind had he tried, so he did not move. And he did not speak nor think to speak. All the inclinations of his psyche did nothing but recreate his fear at ever having seen that face. And he cried, desperately praying in his mind for a source of divine protection; perhaps even some form of intervention. He didn't speak using such complex words. All he knew was to beg. But only time would bring the comfort he desired.

He turned his thoughts to the fire in the other room. He remembered it, as well as the crimson room of his past dreams that he could never seem to find. His adrenaline had begun to thin, his body then comfortable. Gazing forward, he knew not what to think or suppose. A peace swept over him. He wrapped himself up in his blanket, rolling over onto his side to rest. But with the natural thought that sleep would bring him release, his thoughts turned to that nightmare yet again. "Nightmare?" his mind echoed. No longer did he see those moon-like eyes, which gazed upon him without relent. No longer did he hear the screech that came from that thing's mouth. He could hear the faint kindling of the fire. And with it, the chirping of the crickets. "Crickets!" he thought in bemusement. Whether he had been awake, or wrapped in the throes of his supposed 'dream world', he remembered them, those small, noisy creatures. He remembered a night where one had found its way into his room, chirping noisely. It was a small fiasco that had managed to pique his feline fancy more than what was comfortable, as he had spent the brunt of that night chasing the creature. Such a simple thought, carried on a kindled flame, buried within his heart. "I hope I meet it again someday!" he thought, the smooth flow of remniscence just enough to lull him to sleep. He listened for more of them. He could hear them chirping. It brought him a smile, just before his eyes had closed. But soon there were other sounds, the audacity of which disrupted his thoughts.

"What, another one?!"
"Where...is she?"

The urgency of these voices caused him to stir.

"Pull yourself together woman!"
"Is she coming? Is she?"
"Leave her."

Nigel's ears perked up.

"But, you can't mean... This is so~"
"And it's what she's chosen. Who are we to interfere?"
"That's insane!"
"And I don't bother with the specifics. Besides, don't you think this'll keep her out of YOUR hair?"
"THIS WOMAN IS A CITIZEN OF SHARAMIK! And as per my duties..."
"Take the pay, end the discussion."
"...You're no better than that monster."
"And I also know when I'm in over my head. What's the loss of a few crazies gonna do, huh? Less chance of that thing turning on US, ha!"
"Get out of my sight."
"Right, right. Well then, enjoy your burial!"

Unable to percieve what he had heard, Nigel became concerned. Curious, he wrapped his blanket around his back and stood up, padding his way towards the firelit room. What he then heard was like the coming of thunder, drawing nearer in a slow but forthcoming manner. His mind lackadasiel yet his hearing keen, he drew nearer to the entrance of his home; that place against which he held a handful of taboos. He saw a man clad in drab looking armor, who stood next to a fit, long-haired brunette with pale, dirty skin, who was clothed in tattered rags. Seeing humans who looked like this - fallen to their knees with lowered heads - would always become a deeping concern of his. But he did not dare to go near them. The very sight of them was disturbing. The distant thundering became louder; clearer. Within seconds it became as definable as the sound of his own voice, and this startled him. But nothing startled him more than the massive figure he had begun to see in the distance, which drew ever closer at an alarming rate. And with a timid squeak, he ran back to his room, burying himself in his bedding and his dusty blanket.

A sporadic entourage of pitched, heavy winds began to sound out, rising and falling, as a long shadow was cast over the gravely concerned man, the moonlight making out a huge figure that he dared not approach.

"Please, this woman has done nothing to you!"

A female voice as deep as the passage of sound through a large horn then began to articulate its words, fleeting as it was, but most powerful in the depth of its tone.

"And yet she comes of her own will."

His blood curdled, uncontrolled in its rushing. He motioned his hand downward towards his sword. But he did not unsheath it nor grasp its hilt. He watched the large fingers of her massive left hand curl in a subtle way, their claws wicked-looking. His strength failed him. He could not find it within himself to act on faith in his ability alone, as without thinking did he back away from both the titan and the woman, backing down.

"Please, consider those who~"
"I consider what I choose to, and man can dictate nothing more. If her sacrifice is of deathly concern to you, perhaps you would feel better in her place?"

Her simple words urged him to make even more room for her, as he backed away even further. Angered as he was, he yanked his sword from its sheath...

"No..."

...but his quaking legs served to do nothing but amuse her as she then raised her voice, standing tall as if to present to him a challenge, or so he percieved it as such.

"But an adoptable for the fallen of Heaven, standing a ground upon which he has no place! You appear healthy. Perhaps you would like to join her? I posess room for you both..."

Watching that hand of hers motion as it did when she spoke, he could not help but imagine what it could do to him should he have provoked her to wrath. Sparing only a brief moment to decide upon whether to fight or flee, the guard dropped his weapon, and fled for his life. Seeing him do this elicited a peculiar reaction from Chanda, as she growled in a monstrous depth, looming over the solemn woman as if she had just bested a contender who formerly meant to do battle with her. A smile stretched across her feline muzzle, she slowly crouched down near the despairing woman, who then lifted her head up to look upward towards the face that drew closer to her. Her eyes widened, as she became horror-stricken at the feeling of hot, rank breath blowing softly against her face. Her heart sank, as she watched a row of cruel teeth slowly unclench just before her face. She could smell the stench of death now more than ever before. But in knowing the reasons behind why she had come to rest on her knees where she lay she simply watched, shivering, her deepest fears assaulting her mind, debilitating her bones. She was sure she would die, and soon. And with that assurance came defeat, as she lifted her head up in concordance, wanting to stare into the amber eyes that fell upon her, though she couldn't so very close. At the very least, she wanted to see the face of her new slave owner. She had thought herself prepared for this meeting, having huddled up to where Chanda resided. She thought herself ready to make such a sacrifice, that the lives of her children might be spared. She thought wrong. In every second that she had surveyed more of the body of her new master did her resolve falter, until she finally broke. She fell back. This isn't what she wanted. But now, she had no say in the matter; no choice. What may would come, and in knowing this did she pull away in disgust, cringing. She knew better than to run, at least, this was her knowledge of animals. All the more imperative that she would not hastily depart from the likes of a titanous dragonborn well in her prime. To escape was madness in her mind. And to resist, insanity.

Knowing her place, believing she was doomed, she slowly brought herself to face her captor again, crawling under her gaze to make her way towards a furred digitigrade leg as stout as a young soldier, desperate to enact what she could to somehow ease the monster that breathed its hot breath down upon her naked back. She took a moment to give the toes of that foot a once over, guaging just what it was that she had so haphazardly decided to approach. And thus did she reached out with her right arm to stroke the extracted talon of a single hinddigit, as blood rushed through her body with all too much ease. It was beautiful to her. Never in her life had she seen an appendage so endowed with strength; so capable of rending flesh in twain. Watching how it eased its way forth from the toe only to retract naturally had deadened what little of her resolve remained. Slowly but surely, she allowed her head to fall low, petting over the hindclaw that she supposed could end her life. Delerium took her, as she rose to her feet to then fall upon the claw, lavishing it with affection. As she began to eagerly run her hands through the fur of the monstrous left foot where she could, Chanda began to speak, comforted by these sullen gestures that the gutteral flow of her vocal cords only served to prolong.

"There is time for you..." Chanda released sighingly, her tone nonchalant. "Have your manners about you, and you will last."

Chanda made her way to the open door of her abode. As she advanced, she then began to ravel the end of her long, thickly soft tail around her victim, who then fell limp in its grasp.

Nigel could hear many noises, some of which sounded like that of a weeping woman. Deeply concerned, he got to his feet, walking towards the fire's light. But then did he see a much larger shadow upon the walls of his room. It seemed to shuffle and motion, the darkness of its shape thickening; nearing closer to the doorway of his room. Seeing this he backed away, retreating to his bedding yet again. But eventually, he saw something portrude its way into his room, falling over to flop upon the ground. What it was he did not know, but it looked rather interesting from a distance. He made his way towards it. But then did he notice it shuffle in but a mild motion, which caused him to believe that it was some form of furred snake. Daring not to go nearer to the wall it lay near, he made his way around the corner, just enough to see where the furred appendage had come from. And at the sight did his heart stop...

Towering before him was a massive and most unusual nephar, who sat almost motionless, her legs crossed. Her attention seemed to be focused on a woman who stood near the claws of her outstretched foot, petting over its thick soles in a hurried manner...

"So you are taken with the daemons..." said Chanda. "You are fair; perhaps even suitable for their kind." She lowered a massive hand. "Such a lovely creature..."

What Nigel saw was almost too much for his young eyes to bear. A middle-aged, human woman, resting upon a massive thigh beneath the clutches of an outspread, lethal hand. It slowly petted over her naked body, its claws kneading her hair. The woman appeared to be running her hands through the fur of this massive leg, rubbing her fingers all around. Nigel did not know what to make of what he saw, and simply watched from a distance. And after a moment of gentle carressing, the titan turned her gaze to him, staring directly into his eyes. Nigel then began to feel very, very light-headed. The feeling came with such an intensity that he could not even keep his balance, falling on his rump. Strangely enough, amidst all of this sudden disorientation his focus seemed to remain tightly transfixed upon Chanda's amber eyes. He could not stand nor flinch, as his gaze remained forward. For some reason he could feel his blood curdling



[My current stopping point]

---

Something Massive (Unfinished) (General/Mature)

( http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/3808362/ )



The title is temporary.

I wanted to convey what it might be like for other people to face Chanda in a heated battle. It's passive narration of such an event, given the delicate kind of prose I am well known for.



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The projection of imagery in an as yet unspecified theme



The more confident of passersby would think her to be a lazy giant that could easily be overpowered with large numbers. She considers this of their thinking, and is verily amused. She knows that her massive blade weapon is a sort of diversion from more daunting truths. She's frighteningly strong, but it would take a considerably long duration of time to hack through a smaller opponent who might easily dodge the incoming swing. She prides herself more on unarmed combat, and would crush a man beneath a single massive hand. An apt enemy won't be fooled by the blade's mere presence alone however, since if it is not drawn then there is no fear of being cleaved apart by it. But to imagine taking her down at all can be a newling's worst nightmare, and even an experienced hand would fall if they were to underestimate her speed.

To move so slowly and with caution is as sure a bluff as any from a creature like her. The lazy motions and the appearance of labored breathing are nothing but ploys, being that she is much healthier than one would like to believe. She is disciplined; a born killer. Someone well armed might only inflict the shallowest of wounds upon her body, subsequently killed either by accident, or by a tactful motion not having appeared to be a very violent maneuver at first. Her very weight is a weapon, and anyone finding themself pressed beneath it won't likely walk the same ever again should they survive being crushed by it. She enjoys portraying herself as a half-aware and dimwitted beast, drunken in the stupor of her own bodily composure. In actuality, there isn't much that's so very false in that front. But the smallest exertion of hers could send a man flying; him, and possibly others as well, shattering much of the pride of many an unknowledgeable foe within mere seconds. Seeing such a horrific event on a battlefield is enough to send a younger combatant into an awful state of shock, suspending the very heartwork of onlookers, even unto their abandonment of the battle in progress. Cowards fooled and dazed, even if these men and women of weak spirit were not the ones who found themselves amongst the scattered bodies of those who suffered any manner of lethal doom due to a sudden blow.

This atrocity of slaughter, a bloodsport in her mind. Her opponents aren't unwary of WHAT she is, though many don't understand the whole of her being. However, her work would still be cut out for her if those numbered among her adversaries were cut of a more weathered cloth. Some, whose skill in the killing arts excel far above others, could fell her easily. But such warriors are far and few in between, requiring some manner of trump card to even stand on proper ground in a battle with her. Naturally, they would need ample room to confront her with any robustly destructive ability, ensuring the safety of comrades nearby. Though it is a natural mystery to many, others are well learned in the use of magick - a much needed talent if at all they hope to keep her at bay. If at all possible, it would better serve them if they were skilled in the more practical uses of it, since she herself is well capable of employing it in such a way as to gain higher vantage over those who think to hide behind its flair and flash. One who would stand a contestant against her in this may very well place his faith in the 'bolts' of his mental capacity rather than the bolts of something like a crossbow, conjuring up a volley of them to send at her, as if to signify that they meant business, and were not to be trifled with. However, her body is durable enough to sustain many blows, the majority of which can be quickly healed both by her natural blood rights, and through the subtle application of restorative magick. Normally, such would prove to be a failed attempt to soften the pains of coming defeat. But that she is well versed in the combative applications of destructive and restorative magick should not be a warrior's only concern when facing her, as she is naturally adept in the ways of "thought-branching" - the art of telepathic communication that all of Heaven's afflicted share, the varying degrees of which can serve as a natural means for simple conveyance or even, as higher skill would allow, directly manipulative trickery, the faulty 'conduits' of another's mind the way to their own demise. One should pray that their very sanity would remain intact if the distance between her and themself were to be drawn fatefully short.

---

Lost Amongst The Den Mothers (Unfinished) (Mature/Adult)

( http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/3839099/ )



Title is subject to change.

Didn't sleep the night before I originally posted this, couldn't shut down long enough to be mindfucked into my own subconscious Heaven, got bored, and felt like detailing the nature of a random event in Parasympathy where a group of angel hunters are tasked with rooting out a particularly troublesome infestation of "Heaven's rejected."

Written from the 1st-person perspective of a particularly high ranking individual, the event conveyed in retrospect.



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We were in fact surrounded. Had a poet belonged to our troupe, the fool would have gone blind with inspiration. The infestation entailed far more than what any of us were told, hence why I had turned a deaf ear to our reconnaissance. I didn't know if whether it was that they had done an exceptional job, or if what we heard was nothing but threads of madness imposed upon their trains. Those people weren't prepared in the least. But then, since the end was so then perhaps the blame rested with us? I may have lived to tell of this dark venture, but deep down I regret ever having put my faith into those brave souls...

Yet another damning revelation, and how often has this been prevalent? Maybe the wroths have stolen my sanity as well, selectively plucking from me my dearest memories. I've as much scruff as before we attempted that suicide run, so there is still that, ha ha. At the very least I have retained a record of this event - too much, I say, to expect from a newling jackel. Those lads didn't seem to have their heads about them before our unit had even come together. Typical, of young, hot blood seeking fame and glory. Lose your ability to follow the simplest of orders given you, and you're about as useful as a curseborn halfling. Bloody rookies...

Enough that the signs of sentient life became increasingly scarce the deeper we had gone. Daemon fodder? Common. But the den simply reeked of Heaven. Mindless droves wholly taken, given to forbidden practices. The sight of them alone turned my stomach in - even better a time to have been accompanied by a poet! These...clutches of weak-willed abominations, clinging to their own as we passed. If ANYTHING my boys could have made short work of them. But they found themselves far too enamored to have been of any use. Beligerent scoundrels. We were come to CLEANSE, not to rove for naught but the wanting of loins!!! Why do I put my faith in humans again? Perish the thought...

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Sudden Expectance (Unfinished) (Adult)

( http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/3843929/ )



I like the current title, but I might change it later on.

The entire idea of this story is finished. I just haven't finished writing it out yet.

It's an adult vore story that takes place in the "Waring Angels" world in Nigel's half of Parasympathy. It doesn't include any of my main characters. It centers around a random nephil, and his perilous encounter with a female broken angel.



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The lone nephil simply partook of his surroundings. And he remained silent, simply because he did not have words for the magnificence of beauty that surrounded him. He squatted down to sit, and ponder his thoughts, unaware of the shadow that had begun to loom over him. In that moment he became light-headed, unable to gather his thoughts. His senses had dulled verily, and even his mind had become a blank slate. His heart slowed in its beating, as it was suddenly overtaken by an obscure feeling of sympathy so profound in depth that he found himself unable to refrain from weeping. And before he knew it, he found himself plunged into an elastic chamber of flesh, his entire body repititiously caved in on from all angles. After much greedily apparent contraction and unimaginably carnal suction, he came to rest in a flaccid pocket of flesh, violently spat out from a tightened oriface that remained widely open after this ejection, only to quickly cave shut. Somehow, his senses were so dulled that none of this phased him in the least, as he tumbled softly downward towards the bottom of the warm, moist chamber.

His new mother didn't seem to mind this at all though, a massive paw gently placed against the outer pouch of her throat. The lady resolved to swallow with pride, the glutching of her massive gullet's musculature producing an entourage of loud and slurpy sounds, which had in fact succeeded in piercing through the nephil's deadened conscience well enough that all of his senses came rushing back to him. He jerked his limbs about violently, which caused quite a stir within the flabby tissue. He kicked and screamed, which tickled the sensitive flesh so much that it began to shiver, all of its own accord. And at this sudden taint of stimulation did the proud matriarch resolve to produce a deep, fluttering inhale, her throat pouch repititiously clamping inward against the hapless feline as she began to burst out in laughter, her vocal chords producing a cacophony of high pitched and chirpy giggling that descended into low-toned, sonorously velvety chuckling.



"Hurrrrlll..."



The proud mother bore an expression of genuine happiness on her patterned face, her huge maw having yawned wide open to allow for the long wisp that was her slick, black, serpentine tongue to flail about in its wild freedom. She produced a low-toned series of hurring sounds from within her neck, the depth of their fluttering trill serving to confound the poor nephil within the pouch, who felt the subtle vibrations of it. He was mortified, unable to discern between fear and trust as the daunting waves of uncertainty enveloped his heart. The lady continued her ecstatic discourse, always expressing her happiness in ways much like the cheerful glee of heartfelt chirping from a massive avian den mother. Wanting desperately to stand to his feet but wholly unable to do so on his soft footing, the nephil slipped and tumbled, falling upon his back, which lay comfortably nestled in the shifting folds of pliable flesh. He wept to himself, unable to understand what was happening all around him. But in spite of the chaotic heartwork that raged miserably within his chest, he resolved to listen to the sounds of the beast. And this had effectively twisted his heart, and in many ways. Between being helplessly tossed about to and fro from one nestling of the pouch to another, and being subject to the unimaginable beauty of the aural chaos that that never failed to fill his sensitive ears and drown out the sound of his thinking, he wept, having fully realized that he was far away from the sanctity of his home, damned to this capricious hell. But this particular nephil happened to be an avid lover of wildlife, the past forrays of his dangerous field of study coming back to haunt him in full force. Terror stricken by what was unfolding all around him - or, in a rather literal sense what would 'fold' around him as per the lady's passively endearing jest - his thoughts began to formulate, though all of them were wholly fragmented due to the wanton hormonal chaos welling up within his loins.

He recalled having placed his ear against the soft belly of an expectant angel, the subtle tone of her deep breathing a calming lull. That profound meeting between a full mortal and a well developed, well endowed broken angel, the loud, wet sounds of 'wombwork' within her truly a thing of a whole other kind of carnal beauty that was unnatural of most feral beings. Placing a hand against her pelvis, feeling the sporadic movements of tentaclework press outward and sweep across his palm. The sheer realization of what was actually going on within that creature caused his blood to curdle, his excitement mottled with fear, causing his hormones to rage. He was alone during that time, unaccompanied. And in that moment, he had thrown his duties to the wind, making his way around her legs, and within her thighs. He wanted badly to fuck her, and began by thrusting his hips into her vulva. Or rather, at it. The angel was a particularly large lady, and he couldn't accomplish much more but simple thrusting at the warm air between those furred lips. Eventually, he resolved to reach an arm into her. The lazy whore of a remnant cared very little for what was done within her nether regions, but was grateful, as her cunny then vibrated in appreciation, gripping ever so lightly around his fist. That too was a trait of her anatomy that the studious nephil did not understand, and the discovery of it was so calming to him that he released his fingers, gliding them over the soft labia. Encouraged, he had reached into her more deeply, and the soft vibrations continued. He was a very happy feline, petting the inner walls of this magnificent beast. But soon, the gentle caress of delighted cunny became a more vigorous glutching of monstrous greed. He could feel the angel's grip becoming stronger, as within seconds of his deeper plunge did he both feel and hear the loud, strong clenching of her cunt upon his flattened hand. But for her size he was only able to reach so deep, and could only feel what was a more 'merciful' glurp just away from the true terror. And at that did his heart stop. The strength of her cunt's grip seemed to increase with every clench, even so much that for where his hand rested within her he then felt a grip so strong, he swore that his arm had to be much, much too deep inside her. He was wrong. And the realization that he WAS in fact wrong began to horrify him, his heart already having sunk when he first realized that she was tensing up even more.



[My current stopping point]

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The Lady Who Considers Me (Unfinished) (General/Adult)

( http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/3871096/ )



Title is subject to change.

This will be a M/F fetishized story narrated from a 2nd-Person perspective, which will be based on a "half-aware dream" that I had the morning of the original post. It will feature a human man and a very large, mostrously implying female reptile. So far, nothing NSFW has been added yet, since what currently exists expounds more on the backdrop of the story than an encounter.

I started writing this just earlier from when I originally posted it. Also, I intended to finish it very soon, but I was tired at the time, and needed rest (I spent all night playing Puzzle Quest 2 and Dissidia 012 the night before... XD).

Possible suggestions for the nature of the interaction between the human and the reptile have been included, just for the sake of keeping a memo.



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The idea, he had. But his execution of the concept was still in its experimental stages. Every last possible moment during its presentation was ruminated over, and repeatedly. Nothing was set in stone. But all the details were plain, and easy to understand, at least for him. He had only to impliment. But the spirits that predated his soul directed his concern elsewhere. Everything all around was so very dark; so very dim, with only the low leveled light of adjacent rooms present, which gave off reflections on the marble floor that were rather humbling. The ceiling was far above, unvisible at first glance just beyond the upper curves in the surrounding architechture. It could not be seen, even though it seemed that a reflection should give away where it was to be located. The corridors were very dark, and largely uninhabited, but they were reminiscent of the likeness of the interior design of a mansion present on a massive estate, their walls a comforting enclosure being that the place was thouroughly furnished. It was simply a joy to be here, as well as a privledge - somewhere where the imagination may run wild.

However, his mind was not at rest within these walls. Ever busy trying to perfect that creative idea, the repeating event of contemplating the idea had become both a source of frustration, and even unease. For who he was, and for what the idea entailed, to remain in such deep thought about it was as theraputic as it was damaging. His vision entailed something of a very brief presentation fraught with spontaneous occurances throughout. In the beginning, the idea's breadth was very brief; simple. Iconic. It would be both eye-catching and ear opening, leaving those who beheld it in much suspense. But then there was the consideration to both lengthen and shorten its duration, for marketing purposes. To allow abrupt graphics to steal the show, or to prolong the presentation to allow for more questions to rise? He had his credentials about him concerning this, and had not lost sight of a single detail in the presentation's possible methods of execution. The idea was meant to frighten; meant to confound. And for what the entailments of its most prominent moments were - they being the main topics of interest - he was proud of his idea, if also blindly ambitious concerning it. "This thing will raise more eyebrows than questions!" he supposed, as he continued to mull over the concept in its entirity.

The idea in itself was something of a mixed jumble of things, none of which was any sort of explainable prelude for what was to follow shortly thereafter. The idea in its entirity was basically a crudely presented intermezzo wholly devoid of a larger spectacle to play a part in. There was to be a low-pitched, growly voice led on by a rather primitive yet rhythemic drum solo, which would allude to the most immediate thing of mention, only to conclude on a vague, incomprehensible note. It was in this that the idea was highly versatile, allowing for its possible inclusion in a multitude of things. What it would draw greater attention to, however, was still unclear, as only the nature of its progression was considered. But being that, for how complex yet simple that it was, it had great potential, the aspiring creator saw fit to suspend the matter, turning his thoughts elsewhere.

The darkness of his surroundings was comforting to him; serene, even. The few people present here weren't much of a bother, as they all kept to themselves well enough. Knowing that he wasn't alone was reassuring; that, because for what it was that permeated the depths of his imagination, the company of others was more than welcome. The man was somewhat of an unorthodox anthropologist, in that the main areas of his interest concerned the likelihood of beings that had either existed at some point long ago, or were merely figments of his imagination wistfully considered. As he made his way along through the corridors, ever imaginative of mind, his thoughts often rested on such beings - a thing mildly disorienting to him. He was a realist, for certain, prone to imagine what common men would not give much thought to. And as per the 'theraputic value' of his concerns, he was often troubled by his very own mind. To conceptualize something small and expound upon its potential was merely a passive joy for one such as he. But whenever his mind was not steadfast at work developing anything, it was even more busy imagining what very well could be. That imaginative depth, a thing which tore his frail mind in a multitude of directions, many of which bore down on his tenacity, leaving him a mess of worry and unwarrented panic. What was there to worry about; to fear? The walls of marble did only so much to comfort him during his brief moments of self-induced terror, for there was still a matter that never failed to grip his soul and pull him down, the subsequent loss of willpower not so very simple a thing. To an extent, he would actually enjoy these brief moments of distress, the reasons for which remained a passive thing of interest, even delight, in his mind. The dark environ was a sure influence for the thoughts that would come to him, keeping his mind thinking, but also his body, longing. Enjoyment of the likenesses of things beyond reality was a thing of his mind that he was always deeply infatuated with, the possibilities within such considerations limitless in his mind. But perhaps it was this issue of overthinking matters that served as somewhat of a conduit for otherworldly forces beyond his comprehension to tamper with his perception. Entities of the divine, perhaps merely passing delusions of his brooding mind? Regardless, he was a one susceptible to wanton maladies, the presence of which never failed to throw his mind into utter disarray.

He was indeed one whom the spirits predated, his mind rife with all manner of dissonant thoughts. Upon taking a moment to rest, he entered a room designed for rest and relaxation, which was laden with comfortable, well cushioned furniture, a nearby settee (couch)



[My current stopping point]



Suggestive Conveyances



Note: At this point in the story, I will convey that a massive reptilian monster spirit comes upon the man, which materializes somehow and relaxes with him. The story may or may not become mature at this point. But I honestly just want to convey a moment of safe touching, along with the nature of the reptilian's throaty, hurring voice, and the texture of her massive body, which the man finds to be very lovely; very delicious. Here, I want to convey things like her raw physical power, and the internal workings of her body, such as blood flow, and the deep sounds she produces that seduce the man as he lies down to rest with her - and maybe even fuck her or play with her vagina. Also, I may imply that she lavishes his genitals with her long, large, thick reptilian tongue, or that her tongue is serpentine, and may swirl and coil around his penis. I may also imply that she toys with him concerning the inner of her maw, and even her large throat, allowing him the full pleasures of her body; maybe even that she takes him into her jaws to slather him with her tongue? (For love of the nature of  rayverak's (link) Raptor Sit-In animation. <333). During this time, the sounds of her inner body would be much more prominent. I would want to convey the nature of her breathing, which would wash over his body...

3:49PM EDIT: Verily imply that around the time that he had become most aware of the reptile's presence, it began to advance upon him quickly, often trying to extend and ravel its tongue around his limbs, as though it intended to chew him apart. Imply that this terrifies the man yet, though aggressively done, the reptile does this with a considerable level of restraint, honestly not intending to harm the man so much as explore his body fully...

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The website's current journal format doesn't allow for indentation for some reason (but at least the submission format does.).

Also, if you're wondering "How the fuck can a story be both general AND adult?!?!" it's simply because in the beginning stages of "The Lady Who Considers Me," the story develops in a way where it gives off a MODERATE tone before things barrel forth into a 'Sexual Heaven'...



-  guzzlemuzzle9460