Chapter 13

Red Light District

Chapter 13: Vertical chamber apparatus

Sans took one shaky step into the dimly lit room. He didn’t see the slug at first, and had a brief, crazy thought that this was all some joke, some incredibly cruel prank on Muffet’s part to get him to behave better, and get a video of some juicy reactions she could chuckle over later as a bonus.

A snotty tendril dripped onto the floor. Sans looked up.

The slug was on the ceiling.

A trail of mucous shimmered from where the slug was hanging to where ceiling met wall, and now Sans noticed that the walls were shimmering as well—the slug had coated nearly every surface of the room in its slime.

The slug was somehow bigger than he remembered, or the room was smaller than expected—the slug’s amorphous body covered an alarming percentage of the ceiling. Dark shapes moved under the surface of its skin, oily globs in a murky pool hovering above.

The writhing wormy feelers on its head abruptly clamped together and moved as one to turn and face the shadow of the door, where Sans’ comparatively tiny form was hunched.

Sans let out a long whimper and fell back towards the door, trembling. When his body made contact with the door, he heard the lock mechanism click, like the final tick of a time bomb before the end.

Sans jolted at the noise, abandoning reason and turning his back to the slug to put his hands on the door. The creature was absurd, so it made just as much sense for absurd laws to come into play: if he wasn’t looking at it, if he stayed tightly wrapped under the covers, if he didn’t open the closet door and look in on the darkness, it wouldn’t…

How could he possibly do this?

Sans felt crawling on his hands. The surface of the door was sticky, and slime was running through his fingers and over his wrist bones, clinging between gaps. Sans almost lost the balance of his feet; he could already feel tears tightening his throat, forcing him to whisper.

“Muffet, Muffet please, don’t make me. Not this, let me out, please.”

Something tickled the back of Sans’ neck, making his knees give way. His hands were still stuck to the door, pulling his arms up over his head even as his feet slipped out from under him.

“I said I’d be good but I can’t. I can’t be good, I can’t do this, d-don’t let this…happen…to me…please…”

There was a wet plop from behind. Sans turned his head to see the slug landed on the floor on its side, and a slow, suspended rain of mucous trailing after it.

If only he’d kept facing the door, he might have been able to pretend the slug out of existence.

It lurched toward him. Somehow, he had to escape this. Sans yanked at his hands, pulling them out of the sludge on the door, and fell over to his hands and knees. He started on a crawl to the other corner of the room, but it felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere. All of his limbs were heavy, moving like he was underwater, the other side getting further away instead of closer the faster he tried to go.

Feelers wrapped around his ankles and dragged him upside-down, the slug’s tail curling around to catch his head and cushion his fall.

He’d actually made plans. Treat the slug like his other clients, fake it til he made it, and try to take initiative, because most times that made things go less painfully. If he could manage to act like he was seducing them, his clients usually got too into it to pause and think about punishing him. After all, if Sans was already begging to be pleasured, rutting on them eagerly, it would be too much of a waste to change tack.

It had taken Sans about this long to realize that the last rule he’d been given in training, to beg for more but never beg them to stop, had been the most merciful thing Onion had tried to drill into him.

The slug stretched upright, and Sans stretched with it, his back stuck to the slug’s body with slime. The horrible member, with its umbrella-shaped cap lined with hooks, poked out of the slug’s lower body and sat between Sans’ legs to rub against his crotch.

Sans couldn’t beg for this.

He gave a full-bodied shudder, a miserable cry coming out of his mouth. The slug rubbed back and forth on him, and Sans felt the shaft of the member sliding against the lips of his pussy through his pants. He hadn’t made any special effort to summon it, but his magic had already formed without him realizing it, probably triggered by the familiar abuse. Apparently even the threat of pain was no longer enough to stop it.

Feelers tugged at his pants. Sans whimpered again, each noise that came out of him after that choked and uneven. It was going to do it. Right now. It was going to rape him like this, the same position as last time, over and over until he passed out, and that’s when it would start to hurt even more. Because Sans would wake up with it already working on him again, exacerbating the previous torture. Paralysis spread through Sans’ body like a sluggish venom.

The slug was pulling on the front of Sans’ pants, harder now, and briefly stopping to pummel its feelers on Sans’ groin like tiny whips. Sans gasped, but couldn’t move his hips one way or another. Why was it taking so long. Why was it drawing this part out.

The feelers gave another hard tug on the waist of Sans’ pants, then the slug bent itself in half, stretching its head down to meet Sans’. Sans made desperate wet murmuring noises, not sure how to handle the feelers approaching his mouth. His eyes were roaming over everything without looking at anything, unable to focus or take anything in. He barely noticed something waving in his face.

The slug knocked something against Sans’ skull insistently, then shoved it in front of Sans’ eyes. It took a moment for Sans to become aware enough to send the information his eyes were receiving up to his brain.

The slug was holding a cell phone screen up to Sans’ face, and the text on the screen read:


Sans almost responded out loud, but only a hiccough came out.

The slug beat Sans over the head again, and Sans cringed into himself as much as his position allowed.

“I—gk…you want…?”

The feelers shook the cell phone with more vigor. Sans reached his hands up, slowly, like they were being held back by invisible ropes, and fumbled with the buttons of his pants. With much shaking, he somehow managed to get his hands into the automatic pattern of unbuttoning. The slug impatiently yanked the undone pants up until they were scrunched at Sans’ knees.

The member rubbed at the lips of his cunt, and this time he felt it directly, its skin on his magic.


Sans reached his hands up again, but he didn’t know what he was reaching for.

“…nuh…nuh…nuh-ohh…d-d-d. Ssst—ugk—”

As the member slid back and forth, Sans felt the hooks brushing on his pussy, like the tiny grasping legs of a spider. His abdomen convulsed in panic, and watery, sobbing words came out his mouth before he could think.

“Please don’t f-fuck me!”

The slug paused. Was it…

Looking at him?

No…oh no.

He wasn’t allowed to say that. He was never supposed to say that.

Sans’ soul contracted in terror.

“I d-…” he gasped, automatically trying to close his legs, then forcing himself to keep them spread. As if the submissive gesture mattered. He couldn’t do anything with the dick between them. “I d-didn’t…I d-d-didn’t mean…I’m…”

But he couldn’t even finish taking it back. It was the one thing he wanted more than anything right now. His whole body tensed, and he shut his eyes tight, tears leaking continually down his face.

oh my god please

The dick rubbed on him again, slime dripping over the lips of his pussy. Sans coughed out another sob. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to shut himself up.

“please this…hurt so m-much please don’t hurt me, I can, I can do whatever, I could—please it’s g-gonna hurt it’s gonna hurt please

He was dropped onto the floor. He opened his eyes, and the slug was squirming around him, its dick retreated back into its abdomen. It couldn’t be…it had listened to him?

Sans got himself up onto his knees, gripping his own arms tight like he was reassuring himself that he was still whole. The slug stopped in front of him, raising its tail to touch under Sans’ chin, tilting it up. The gesture was familiar.

Did it want him to keep pleading?

Sans hunched his shoulders, but couldn’t bend forward with the tail lifting his head. He took the less desirable option of looking at the slug head on. Its size overwhelmed him, bearing down on him like the approach of an insurmountable wave. Sans didn’t need to fake his petrified gaze.

“Please…go easy on me. I. I-it hurt so…much last time, please I. I’m really s-scared.”

The tail pet Sans’ cheek, then dropped.

Sans shivered there on his knees. The slug was squirming over to a basket on the floor in a corner, ducking its head to reach its feelers in. What would happen now? It wouldn’t really stop. It wasn’t going to let him go.

The slug came back with something tangled in its feelers. With its tail, it pushed Sans in a sit against the wall, his legs spread out in front of him. Sans allowed himself to be shoved with no resistance. It should have been because he was being obedient, but it was really because there was a tingling numbness running through his body.

The feelers came close to Sans to put something around his neck. Sans’ hands reached up jerkily to feel over the object. It was a strap with hard chunks of metal on either end, like an undone collar.

If the feelers didn’t have the dexterity to undo pants, they probably couldn’t fasten a collar. Sans made to attach it himself, feeling for the ends without taking his eyes off the slug.

The slug dipped its head toward him again, feelers running over the metal pieces like they were kissing it. Sans’ hands froze as he felt mucous drip over his fingers. Suddenly, there was an irresistible pull backwards that trapped his neck against the wall. Sans leaned forward slightly, and he was met with a magnetic resistance from the collar. The metallic ends, now covered in a layer of goop, had apparently been attracted to the wall.

Sans’ fingers curled lightly over the top of the collar. He’d thought it might be some kind of statement, just a fetish accessory, but it was a restraint.

Sans started trembling harder, looking up at the slug. It closed in on him.

Something was poking out of the slug’s thick neck over its head. There was a whoosh past Sans’ temple, and a splat. In his peripheral vision, he saw a long, sharp dart, now embedded in the wall right next to his head.

Had. Had the slug meant to pierce him with that?

Sans’ eyes snapped back to the slug.

“No please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I tried to run, I’m sorry I asked you not to, I was—s-scared, please don’t please d-don’t—!”

The slug’s head lurched forward, locking onto Sans’ face with its feelers. Another dart started to peek out from the head, the feelers steadying Sans’ trapped face so that the dart aimed straight at the center of his left eye socket.

With his mouth gripped tight in the feelers, Sans couldn’t yell or plead, but a high keening noise came out of him and vibrated the thin air between them. The slug’s head punched forward.

The second the dart penetrated Sans’ eye, his body convulsed in a huge spike of pleasure. The slug and the collar kept his head pinned, but the rest of Sans reacted, flailing around. His hips bucked up, his pussy squirting in climax. The slug held him trapped like that for a moment, then eased away from him.

Sans collapsed limp against the wall, feeling the dart begin to dissolve into the magic swirling around his socket. The substance mixing into his magic caused a few more spasms of ecstasy before Sans’ body was too tired to display pleasure.

“I’m…oh-h…” Sans belatedly and dizzily attempted to announce his orgasm.

The arousal dissipated, and then Sans was left with only the hot, weak feeling, like he had a low-grade fever. An icy sweat was already gathering to run down his spine, the strength draining out of his bones in syrupy drizzles.

“I d-don’t…feel good…”

The dark form shifted in front of him. Sans looked up blearily, his vision clearing enough for the color and size of the slug to come through, but not the depth. It was holding a glowing square in front of Sans’ face that Sans took a moment to register as the cell phone screen. Sans raised his hands to hold it and bring it in front of his right eye.


Sans shook so hard he dropped the phone, then scrambled his hand around to try to pick it back up, tears burning the corners of his eyes. The collar strapping his neck to the wall prevented him from looking down at it, and he only managed to brush against it and knock it away.

Half-blinded and terrified, he couldn’t put together what he’d seen. He didn’t get it. He didn’t get it, he wasn’t going to get a break, just because he didn’t understand—

“Wh-what are…what are you asking for? I—I’m s-sorry, I—”

The slug snatched the phone up and typed more, painstakingly slowly, then showed it to Sans again.


“O…oh. Yeah I. Yeah, of c-course”

Sans hurriedly spread his legs out more, lowering one hand to open the lips of his pussy so the slug could watch. There was a coughing, gagging sort of noise, and a lumpy ooze splattered onto the exposed cunt. Sans shivered hard and looked up.

The slug was drooling something from out of its feelers, sticky tendrils still dripping onto Sans as he watched. Sans’ body locked up, and he kept staring at the slug, the goop on his crotch cold and unpleasant.

The slug showed Sans the phone screen again. It still said ‘TUCH URSELF

“With…with this on…?”

The slug made a nodding motion.

Sans hesitated for a second longer before stretching the lips open wider, feeling over his pussy with his other hand. He dragged his fingers up and down over the lips, grazing a finger down to swirl around the opening. It was still slick and dripping from the orgasm the dart had induced, now even wetter with whatever the slug had expelled on him. Sans hoped his tremors of disgust could be taken for arousal.

He used some of the slick to rub over his clit, raising his hips so his cunt pressed into his finger with each motion. He wasn’t managing to excite himself, but his body was getting hotter, sweat prickling over more of his bones and making him shiver.

How long would the slug expect him to do this? He glanced up. It hadn’t gotten closer, but it was writhing around in excitement, the capped member just starting to poke out of its midsection again. Sans had to force back a sob and keep rubbing himself.

He slid his finger down to dip into the hole, pushing in and out and slowly rocking on the finger with his pelvis. Some of the slug’s expulsion slid inside him too, an awful, chunky texture that made him gag and yank his finger out. He tried to get moving again, but a tight-mouthed whimper from the back of his throat turned into a wet cry, and tears were already falling fast again.

The tail whipped toward him, batting the collar easily off Sans’ neck as if nothing had been holding it on. Then in a flash, Sans was grabbed, tossed up, and flipped onto his stomach. The slug repositioned Sans so his elbows were on the floor and his hips were up in the air. The feelers tugged his pelvis up, causing Sans’ chin to hit the floor like a broken seesaw.

“A-! Wha-what’re—”

The feelers dug into the opening of his cunt, stretching and squirming around the inside. Sans’ words cut off with an airless squeak.

The slug grabbed Sans’ thigh bones and stretched them out behind him so it could dig deeper, holding him like a wheelbarrow. More of the feelers slithered in.

“O-oh!” Sans’ back arched at the feeling. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t completely horrific. “That feels g-good, that feels really good,” he said the words in one breath. Maybe if he kept saying them, he’d convince himself and get into the mood, too. “M-more, please more, it feels so good…”

The feelers stretched him, and something long and flexible poked in. It didn’t feel at all like the slug’s member. For one, it wasn’t hurting him, and it was much thinner. Sans looked over his shoulder as best he could.

The slug still had its face buried in Sans’ crotch, and didn’t seem positioned to get its dick in there. Sans caught sight of a tube-like appendage coming from where the darts had shot out, running along the side of the slug’s head and disappearing between Sans’ legs. It was making pumping motions that pulsed on the slug’s head like a giant, aggravated vein.

Sans faced his head forward and rested it on the floor, allowing himself to concentrate on the pumping inside him and let that feeling work him up, if it could. His body gave a fevered shiver. Sweat was dripping heavily over his eyes. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his arm, but it didn’t feel like that helped at all. His sweat was oddly thick and ropy.

Sans was flipped onto his back, and the pumping inside him got faster. Was the slug trying to get Sans to cum? Unsure how long that might take, Sans did his best to simulate the response, clenching the artificial muscle and tightening his breath, then going stiff with a high whine. He bucked his hips a few times for good measure.

The slug actually seemed pleased with that. It was slowing, and it appeared to be reaching a real climax of some kind. Sans wasn’t sure how many of the organs the slug had used on him were genitals. Was it the umbrella-shaped one? The feelers that expelled what Sans had taken for sludgey cum? Was it the long, grasping appendage in him now?

Was it all of them?

The thing inside him gave a spurt of release, then began pouring cum into Sans’ cunt. It didn’t feel like the way most monsters came—it was less like a squirt and more like a torrent, and it reminded Sans a bit of Woshua’s hose, or the way the dogs would flood into him. That thought alone got a real gasp out of Sans, his eyes closing a little and his pelvis lifting up into the sensation.

Sans couldn’t resist the intense wave of relief that broke over him. Maybe the slug could finish in him like this, without using the painful member at all, maybe he could be out of here soon.

Something was strange about the liquid flooding inside him, though. Instead of moving as one, some of it seemed intent on going in slightly different directions, pressing into the walls of the cunt as much as it was flushing to the back. Like the fluid itself was swimming.

A tiny squirt of it spat out from between the appendage and the opening of his cunt, about as much liquid as one of Sans’ fingers.

Actually, it kept a shape like one of Sans’ fingers.

When Sans squinted at it, it hadn’t splattered on the floor, it was still nearly solid, tossing around like a—

Sans made a heaving motion before he registered what he was seeing. Then he was letting out sharp, punctuated screams of mortal terror, each one clenching in his gut with the force of it.

The slug yanked him closer—apparently Sans had tried kicking away in some split-second fugue—and Sans saw a flood of worms spill out from him. The spilled mess made an effort to return to darkness and warmth inside him, like salmon fighting upstream.

His shrieks came out several pitches higher than his normal voice, his legs jerking in fits, a toppled wind-up toy trying to walk.

“NO! NO! NOO! NO!”

He was pressed forcefully back onto the slug, and the renewed gush from its appendage came with the unwelcome knowledge of what was actually being put in him. The frenzied wriggling was so sickeningly obvious now. Sans let out a long wail of distress. The slug continued rolling into him to encourage the emission deeper, but it was also stroking Sans’ side with its tail. Like it was, what…consoling him?

It wasn’t like before, when the slug had melded into him down there—Sans didn’t feel the worms melting into him. He actually felt them burrow, burying inside him. His body gave an instinctive twitch like this should be hurting badly, but instead it felt like he was accommodating it, like his cunt was opening tiny perforations to make way for invasion. It was ten times more vile than feeling pain.

The one familiar part was that the awful itching was back. It made Sans want to wash with bleach—maybe fire. Anything that would totally obliterate what was in him and make the sensation end.

The slug finally, finally pulled out, and Sans could feel strings of mucous clinging between them from his groin. The way Sans’ sweat mixed with the slug’s slippery coat made his bones tingle, like a chemical reaction. Sans tried wiping his forehead again and gave a frustrated yowl at the sweat still oozing steadily over him. He just wanted some part of him to be dry, to burn off the itching and the prickling and the wooziness—

He froze with his arm out over his eyes, watching the heavy secretions dripping from his bones.

Sans wasn’t sweating. He was exuding slime just like the slug’s.

He felt panic bubbling up like thick, hot tar under the surface.

“What’s happeni—wh-what’re you…d-doing to…me?”

The slug slowly set him down, and Sans laid out limp. His legs weren’t moving at his command anymore, as though his body finally felt too betrayed by what he’d let happen to it to obey him. He let the rest of his body give up too, wondering distantly if it was possible to stop existing just by no longer putting in any effort into functioning at all.

He immediately failed his attempt not to feel or react when the slug held the tube appendage over his exposed pussy and spat a few straggling worms out onto it. Sans cried out and gave a weak spasm as they slithered into him, too.

The phone screen was held in front of Sans’ face again.


Was that a statement of function, or a command? Sans’ mind went blank, a hiccoughing noise coming from his throat.

How could Muffet let the slug do this to him? There was no way another customer would want to touch Sans or his pussy ever again. She wouldn’t really leave those in him. It was just the slug’s revolting version of dirty talk, right? Like when Scratch baited Sans, back during their first time, when he threatened to take Sans home with him.

After taking its time with the phone, the slug showed a new message to Sans. It seemed it had figured out the caps function, which made the dimly glowing words on the screen somehow more chilling.

hold still.’

Sans whimpered, his trembling body tensing into a pose like a flat, stiff board.

This was it. He couldn’t plead out anymore.

He should have sucked it up and let it fuck him at the start without complaining, instead of sitting back and letting it take its time playing with him…mutilating him, only to come right back to this in the end. Sans had never felt quite so humiliated and used in all his time here.

The slug squirmed over him, its body flush against him. As it inched forward, there was a tightening at Sans’ waist; the thick muscles rolling on top of him were gripping around it to hold him in place, as unnecessary as that was.

Something poked between Sans’ legs.

Nothing was even in him yet, but Sans’ hands flew to cover his face, and he sobbed into them. He kept sobbing in wet, shuddering cries, unable to control himself.

The member entered him. It punched in, knocking the air out of him for an excruciating half a minute. When he was finally able to gasp, the cap started to spread his cunt, as though the slug had been waiting to make sure he experienced every moment of this fully.

Sans clenched in anticipation. He could feel the hooks grasping inside him, curling out with a life of their own.

The slug humped his waist once, the member jerking in him as the hooks found a spot to sink in. This time, though, the scratching inside the walls of his pussy sent a tingle of euphoria up Sans’ spine. The persistent itching made each scrape of the hooks over the worms’ burrows feel incredibly gratifying.

The hooks found purchase in the burrowed holes, locking into him with a tug.

That felt incredible. A thrilled moan escaped Sans’ mouth with the same force as a scream. His hips bounced up, already close to orgasm again. Just pulling up like that and stretching the punctures inside him was absolute bliss.

How could this possibly feel that good. The slug had done something to him, had changed him. There shouldn’t be any gratification in his pussy turning into swiss cheese.

The tugging started to make the perforations inside weep something sticky, and the oozing, opened-sore sensation was almost exactly like the aftermath of scratching a bug bite. The continued grating inside him was beginning to make him nauseous.

He wasn’t going to stay like this? This wasn’t permanent? The mucousy sweat, the worms wriggling between his legs, his pussy being warped to accommodate the slug’s sexual needs—Sans’ whole body being modified just so he’d make a better toy for it?

Sans needed to ask Muffet, now, before this ended. He needed to know there was a way to reverse this and make him normal again. For all the times he’d wanted to never make a pussy again, the thought of never being able to use it like before, of it being like this the next time he summoned it, made him want to bawl like a baby.

But none of that made it out of his mouth.

“M-muffet I’m gonna puke.”

The slug made no reaction. Something spiraled out from the member, painfully stretching the walls of Sans’ cunt. Sans couldn’t even feel relieved when the pain disappeared, though, because that meant the magic the slug was injecting was beginning to meld with him. Sans gave a fearful whine, his pelvis bucking from the stimulation.

The slug humped him again, and Sans came. It was a dizzying, weakening feeling, like just feeling pleasure in any of this was a surrender.

Sans was afforded a small break to twitch on the slug’s member, and then the slug got moving again. It stretched its head, the thinner appendage peeking back out of its neck. The mouth of the tube hovered over Sans’ face, already starting up a pumping motion as it came closer to his closed teeth.

Sans shook his head, speaking through a clenched jaw.

“N…no, you…wouldn’t, not those-”

Not that he’d been given any reason to believe that it wouldn’t.

The tube forced its way into Sans’ mouth. Sans gave a hoarse cry around it, body convulsing, only to be met with resistance from the member dug in between his legs and the feelers holding his head in place. He was pinned down from both ends, skewered like a spit roast.

The tube started pumping into his throat. Sans moaned out a plea, drool escaping his stretched jaw. The pumping only got faster, culminating in a veiny pulsing he felt on his tongue a second before he was made to swallow an expulsion of worms.

It kept going, kept making him swallow, filling him until there was a backflow from the excess. Without a way to escape his mouth, the worms overflowed through Sans’ magic, falling into his ribs. Sans felt itching and wriggling all through his chest, latching into his spine.

He didn’t know from where, but Sans felt a sudden, overwhelming urgency for the slug to do something to him that would fix this. He desperately needed it to ease the unbearable itch.

He needed hooks scraping in him.

He needed it to drag its member through his chest, rough and steady.

Like it was reading him, the slug slipped its tail under his shirt and pulled up. Sans was so eager to feel alleviation that his hands reached up to hurriedly help unbuttoning, and the slug snapped the rest off with a quick tug.

Sans’ soul came forward on its own.

That wasn’t where he needed it, was it? The slug lowered the underside of its head onto the soul, something grazing over the surface a second later.

Oh yes it was.

Just below the feelers, the slug had some kind of hidden maw opening up in the shape of a heart valve, and the scratch of the curved teeth on his soul was practically flooding Sans with relief.

“Ah- ha- ahhhh.”

Sans groaned, his eyes rolling up. His soul felt swollen with pent-up pleasure about to break—the reprieve from all the torture was too much, so intense it was starting to feel like another approaching sexual release.

The mouth squeezed around him, and Sans heard a series of snapping sounds accompanied by a spurting feeling. Sans came hard, the itching expelling from his soul and leaking away, replaced with dry convulsions that shook his whole body.

“A-ohh…oh god…oh-h…”

He was completely wrung out. He wanted to curl up and just experience this, allow himself to truly submit to being used and stop thinking about where he was or what he was doing, or why he wanted so badly to just forgive himself for giving in to a little pleasure.

The climax took its toll on his soul. It was as used up as he was, still dripping juices, feeling oddly naked where it sat on his chest.

The slug hadn’t pulled out, though. Without knowing what it meant for the slug to actually cum, to ‘finish,’ how would Sans know when this was done? Did it have any other ejaculating appendages it was going to use Sans’ body to service, ones even more horrifying than what he’d seen already? Did the next one shoot out, what, ants? Spoiled milk?

Sans’ side was being gently stroked. The slug was rubbing him with its tail, no longer thrusting in him. Even the scanty resemblance to affectionate contact made Sans want to cry hard, to plead to be comforted about everything that had been done to him, whether or not it made sense for that comfort to come from the perpetrator. A warbled whimper escaped Sans’ mouth.

Maybe there was an acceptable way for Sans to tell it that he was very, very finished. A way to play the game that wouldn’t get him in trouble. What was appropriate here? Some kind of pillow talk?

“Th-that was…really good for me…I…c-came really…hard…”

The tail ran over Sans’ stomach. Sans took a tight breath.

“Could y-you just-” He choked a little on the words, shutting his eyes tight to block out everything but forcing himself to say this, to admit it. “H…hold m-me? I’m-” His chest jerked with a hiccough, and some tears rolled out one eye. “I’m s-so ti-ired…I…p-please…”

The slug humped his waist, member tugging in and out.

It wasn’t done. Sans did his best to shut down everything—his renewed panic, his knowledge of what was coming, the ridiculous sentiment of betrayal, because what had he expected. Just shut down. Just get through it, and then Muffet would praise him, and maybe he’d even get a little break again. Maybe she’d have something new to test on him, something like that estrus thing, and she’d drug him into oblivion.

Just let it finish.

Sans stared blankly up at the ceiling as the slug repositioned itself over him. Some strings of mucous hanging up there looked a bit like a smiley face.

What was the cafeteria serving right now?

Sans felt a static tingle that meant foreign magic was close to his soul. Lowering his gaze from the ceiling, he had some trouble at first putting together what he was seeing.

The slug had manifested its own soul, and it was hovering it over Sans’ rib cage. It looked oddly overlarge, like it was some kind of bloated mutation. Then again, Sans had never seen another monster manifest its soul, so his only reference was the tiny one that fit in his own proportionately small chest.

Sans stared at it in dumb confusion.


The bulbous soul was perspiring, pure magic drizzling from it to pool on Sans’ soul, then seep in like ground water.

Magic directly from the slug’s soul going inside of him. Mixing with him.

“N…no…oh god…”

Sans went stiff, already feeling the influence spreading through him, somewhere deeper than he could hope to resist. Sans’ right leg tried to kick out, but couldn’t move.

“Oh my god…oh my god no-!”

He could feel the slug…thinking inside him. More than controlling him—it was taking up space that should have been him. Sans’ chest tightened as a welling panic seized his soul, making it feel even smaller than it already was.

The slug pressed its soul closer, the surface slipping on Sans’ soul like a bubble about to pop another. Parts of it already glommed onto his, sticky threads that sucked inside as though Sans’ soul was accepting this, wanted this.

“No, anything but that! Anything but that, please, oh my god please!”

Sans fought for all he was worth, abandoning caution, and his body gave a delayed struggle like it had to catch up to the orders to move.

It didn’t matter if he was bad. It didn’t matter if he got punished. Anything, absolutely anything would be preferable to the slug melding with his soul.

“Muffet! Muffet! Muffet, stop him, for the love of god don’t let him do this! Muffet please save me oh please oh please save me, save me, save me—!”

The slug kept…what felt like emptying into him, uninterrupted and unperturbed by his efforts. The culmination of Sans’ being—Sans should have known his soul was too weak to do anything but submit to what was done to it. After all, that was all Sans had been doing for a while now.

Sans’ voice broke on a sob as his motions slowed, movement hampered by the slime on the floor claiming his limbs.

“Please no-o…”

Why had he thought this was off-limits? He’d never heard of any of the other workers being forced to meld souls, but then, that probably wasn’t something most clients would want to do with a whore. Sans was unpleasantly taken back to the memory of being on a table, hands strapped down and legs trapped in stirrups, the shadowy Doctor leaning over him with its horrible, artificial magic injecting device.

It surprised me to hear you had any experience at all. Monsters these days seem to think melding is too old-fashioned…too vulnerable to try.”

The slug had already tried a kind of melding with Sans, and faced little resistance. It probably wasn’t so much that the act was banned at Red City, as that this was one of the few times a client would be sure they weren’t…risking much.

That didn’t really explain why it would want to in the first place.

Sans choked, the only thing his body could think to do to react to being overfilled with the slug’s magic. He thought he could see lines in the slug’s soul stretching apart.

It was probably a hallucination brought on by the overload of magic, probably a similar reaction to Sans’ overdose on the pudding so long a while ago—but Sans was sure he saw the slug’s soul open up, drooling like a mouth, even taking the shape of the trifurcated opening under the slug’s feelers. With a terrible yawning gape, it swallowed Sans’ little heart whole.

Everything was blackness, the light in Sans’ sockets snuffed out involuntarily.

Something of the slug’s was hammering away inside him, calling through him in an echo. The slug’s intentions—thick and pervasive, like Sans was soaking in a bath of them. Pure in the way only something truly cruel could be, clear and cold as a crystal of glass refined to perfection.

It was going to rape his mind.

Sans tried to recoil, but his soul was securely in its hold, and his body wouldn’t move an inch but for the distressingly steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing should be picking up in a blind panic, but even that was beyond his control—the slug wanted him calm, so his body was calm.

Through the murky bath seeping into his marrow, washing into his soul, he was fed a voice he didn’t have to hear to understand, that he could perceive even above the deafening clamor of terror.

He’d been bad, and he deserved to be punished.

The room changed, from still, to writhing with life. Sans was falling through the floor, sinking into a bed of worms, body being kissed on every surface and in every crevice by the seething, living mass.

The world was rotting and folding away, caving in like a derelict house with only a shell remaining, the slippery white inner walls of overripe fruit. Sans was caught in a dip at the bottom of a pit, and clawing at the slanting walls resulted in nothing but fingers full of filth. There was no way up, no way out.

His hands hit something hard under the muck on the curved floor of the trough. A swipe over it revealed the white of a severed bone.

Something was dumped onto him from high above. Ducking and covering only resulted in the substance pouring onto his hands and neck from behind—something squirmy and acidic, burning through him and eating away until he was like the walls of the trough, sticky and slippery, some chewed bones in a pile of leftovers.

Sans gasped, eyes snapping open to the room in Red City coated in the slug’s slime, and the slug leaning heavily over him. Sans opened his mouth, but his chin trembled.

“Don’t…punish me anymore, please, I didn’t…mean to fight you, I was scared, please…”

The slug’s tail made a slime trail as it stroked his side, and Sans was overwhelmed with the need to please it. He had to do what his master wanted. He had to say—but his mouth was moving ahead of him, being puppeted.

“I’ll be good. You own me, Master.”

Sans’ body gave a shiver of disgust.

“Don’t—I can, I can say what you want, y-you don’t have to…make me, there’s no need to…you d-don’t need to do that…”

The slug grabbed Sans’ face, keeping his head still and looking straight up at it. He’d been bad, he’d disobeyed—

“I’m…sor-ry…I only…I only mean that…I’ll…obey y-ou…”

The tail wiggled under Sans’ chin, the closest it could get to scratching it. He was okay, that was good enough. He had to be good, because he and his master were the only ones. There was no one else. No one else around. If he weren’t owned, he would have no one. That was why he had to…

The words the slug wanted were already in Sans’ mind, like a script had been delivered.

“I’ll…be good. You own me, Master.” He was meant to be owned. He deserved this. “I deserve to be used.” He deserved this. “I deserve to be raped.”

The slug squirmed over him, holding him down as it pumped its member inside him again. At the burst of pain, Sans gasped, his legs twitching in protest. If only he could shut off every part of his body that wasn’t obeying his master. It didn’t matter what Sans wanted.

Didn’t I tell you before? No one cares what you want.”

That wasn’t quite right. Who had said that to him? If it was just him and the slug, then there was no one else who could have ever—

Images came flooding back in a sickening rush, of Cecil making a face as Sans licked butter off a piece of bread, of Papyrus proudly showing off his new Royal Guard uniform, of a human stuffing a grape in their nose and laughing, of Muffet fixing his tie.

He’d forgotten them all.

One flick of a switch inside, and everything had been taken away.

Sans opened his mouth before he forgot how to say what was happening.

“Muffet, he’s—”

Rewriting me. Destroying me. Erasing my life.

“—killing me, please, please don’t let this—you c-can’t want this, don’t you. Want to keep using m-me? I can still b…b-be useful please Muffet please please please”

The slug bore down on him. Sans’ legs kicked limply, making weak pedaling motions at the air. Sans shook his head as the slug’s feelers drew in closer.

“No…no…no…don’t take them away, please don’t t-take them, it’s all I h-ave, y…you can’t ple-ease…”

Sans felt a worm of magic tossing in his soul like it was baiting a fish. He sobbed.

“No I—! I’m n-not trying to disobey, please, p-please don’t put me back in there, please, I’ll d-do anything—”

The bottom of a trough with rotting walls. An underlying taste of motion sickness at the back of his throat—the whole structure was swinging, probably suspended on the outside, with nothing supporting the curving bottom. No one was there and no one was coming.

No one was coming.

Sans clawed frantically at the slopes.

“I’m a good boy! I’m a good boy! I’ll be good—!”

A tumble forward into a world with colors other than sickly white and gray, and Sans was huddling into himself, hugging his knees and pressed into the corner of a room in Red City. Sans’ formless whimpering turned into bawling, fat tears rolling down his face.

The slug stroked him.

Sans did some very fast rationalizations.

None of them needed him, not really. All of their lives were better without him. So it couldn’t possibly hurt if he didn’t…if he lost them, too.

And he really, really couldn’t handle being punished again. He had to submit to this.

“I’m…sorry I…I’ll be good.” He swallowed. “You…own me, master.”

The slug tipped Sans’ face upwards.


“I d-deserve to be used.”


Sans shut his eyes tight.

“I…deserve to b-be…r…aped…”

The slug was on top of him again, spreading his legs and shoving in, stretching him inside and the hooks didn’t feel good anymore, they didn’t feel anywhere close to good anymore, and Sans thought he could remember things once being more than just him and his master, but the memory of anyone else faded away like a breath of fog on glass, gone before he could trace the shape.

Sans didn’t notice when he’d started crying again, or when he’d started speaking even, but he became aware somewhere in the middle of his own babble.

“I don’t want to lose them I don’t want to, I did it all for him, I can’t take it, it hurts and I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it—”

At some point Sans had been lowered onto his back. He didn’t know how, but he curled into himself.

He was…there was nothing in him. He was on the floor, the slug retreating from him. People came back, smiling faces, frowning faces, a deluge of memories so sudden and complete it made Sans nauseous.  Something was dropped into his lap.

His soul. With something utterly repulsive dripping from it.

…no, that was just the way it looked, wasn’t it? With some swirling green shapes just under the surface, inky blots in a cloudy pool.

It fazed back into his chest, causing his body a convulsion like he was about to puke.

Then he felt it again, the slug entering him, filling him with writhing. Sans compulsively sent a hand between his legs to feel where it was worst, but it touched nothing.

Sans looked up, over at the slug that was still a pace away from him, its member retreated into his body. Then Sans looked between his legs, where there was nothing but his own hand clutching his groin in a pitiful play at protection.

The slug was squirming around to fit more easily in his line of sight, and Sans felt it again, a pumping inside him with enough force to make him squeal. But his hand hadn’t moved, and nothing had touched it.

Sans lay quaking on the floor, holding himself in a little curled up ball. He shifted only his head to stare at the slug, tears streaming down the side of his skull.

“D-don’t make it keep…please make it stop. It’s. It has to stop at…it can’t keep…”

There was a licking feeling that went up further inside his cunt than it should have been able to. Sans’ body made a dry heaving motion.

“Have mercy. Have mercy on me. Have pity, I’m so weak, I can’t do anything, I…”

Spreading his legs for it so it could pierce him, a hot, seeping feeling, a flood of cum that itched. His hand still between his legs and the slug still not touching him, somehow, just fucking in his head.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I want you so bad Master, I need you to use me, please use me however you want, I need you to own me completely—”

Sans scrambled up to his knees, reaching out for the slug.

“I’ll do anything for you Master, I belong to you, so please use me up, satisfy yourself with me, rape me ‘til it hurts—”

The first dose of reality returned as Sans began to come down from the high of the excess magic, and he caught himself out in one of Red City’s hallways in the middle of an outpouring of alien words, supplicating to Muffet to take him to the slug. When he came to he seized up and grabbed her waist, falling to his knees. Muffet sank down too and bent over him, allowing him to cry into her lap.

“Hush now. That’s all over. It’s over.”

“Muffet. Could I…could I go to Onion? I want to see Onion.”

Muffet must have been using three or four hands to rub his back in long strokes.

“Yes, dearie. You have the week off.”