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Hunted. When there is no ground to stand on, in a forest of no trees or life, the futility of escape will eventually settle.
How much control one retains, determines one's fate.
A story focusing shifted from the erotic, towards the emotions.
Support on Patreon. Gain SepTia Silver in rewards over time, to purchase commissions with.
With your support, stories can keep coming, and you can influence what stories are written.
Large sized Icons will be available as Patreon Rewards.
[Quick guide:
Thoughts and ponders, running from an inevitable present.
After 1st: The lumber nears, hunt, relent, giving up.
After 2nd: Folding to the whim of the beast, undefined vore.
After 3rd: Relinquishing grasp of self. ]
[Legend:
Cent: short term for centimetre.]
A sleek, pleasing, .docx version of this story can be downloaded by clicking this text.
New uploads every Friday.
Available for commissions.
[Story Preview:
Visual senses forsook me. Unknowable was its cause: did it lay in the events that had transpired; my apathy for the physical, and thus visible, plane; or, for the fact my world view had truly been cast into the abyss. One thought haunted me, that perhaps it was not my perception that had left me, but the world itself.
I banished this notion, treading forwards – always forwards – for stopping meant I had given up, and hope is last to leave, as the fleshplanelings say. Yet, what was hope on the precipice of an abyss without measure, of a mind without rest, a thought with no perspective?
I scream in my head, quenching all thoughts, perhaps this will allow me to get a bit farther. Another stretch of abyss, my destination lies forgotten in my footprints – just another thing I flee from. Yet, I have to keep going; to stop is to give in, to continue will lead me forwards, towards my goals.
‘To stop is to give in.’ I chanted the mantra in my head helps, but I scream it now, hollering out into the depths with my lungs bellowing out enough air to inflate a pair of whales. There is no echo... There is not even an echo.
Continued in the story above. ]
How much control one retains, determines one's fate.
A story focusing shifted from the erotic, towards the emotions.
Support on Patreon. Gain SepTia Silver in rewards over time, to purchase commissions with.
With your support, stories can keep coming, and you can influence what stories are written.
Large sized Icons will be available as Patreon Rewards.
[Quick guide:
Thoughts and ponders, running from an inevitable present.
After 1st: The lumber nears, hunt, relent, giving up.
After 2nd: Folding to the whim of the beast, undefined vore.
After 3rd: Relinquishing grasp of self. ]
[Legend:
Cent: short term for centimetre.]
A sleek, pleasing, .docx version of this story can be downloaded by clicking this text.
New uploads every Friday.
Available for commissions.
[Story Preview:
Visual senses forsook me. Unknowable was its cause: did it lay in the events that had transpired; my apathy for the physical, and thus visible, plane; or, for the fact my world view had truly been cast into the abyss. One thought haunted me, that perhaps it was not my perception that had left me, but the world itself.
I banished this notion, treading forwards – always forwards – for stopping meant I had given up, and hope is last to leave, as the fleshplanelings say. Yet, what was hope on the precipice of an abyss without measure, of a mind without rest, a thought with no perspective?
I scream in my head, quenching all thoughts, perhaps this will allow me to get a bit farther. Another stretch of abyss, my destination lies forgotten in my footprints – just another thing I flee from. Yet, I have to keep going; to stop is to give in, to continue will lead me forwards, towards my goals.
‘To stop is to give in.’ I chanted the mantra in my head helps, but I scream it now, hollering out into the depths with my lungs bellowing out enough air to inflate a pair of whales. There is no echo... There is not even an echo.
Continued in the story above. ]
Category Story / Vore
Species Exotic (Other)
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 8.4 kB
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