Chapter 3

Red Light District

Chapter 3: Doesn’t do any of the work

“You know, usually the old doctor is the only one to fall asleep to his own stories.”

“I sleep a lot, sue me.”

Sans and Cecil sat in the cafeteria together, munching on breakfast. Cecil made a face when Sans licked the butter off his toast, so Sans spread more butter on it and did it again, because the little mouse was growing on him.

Shyren stopped by their table.

“How are you doing? Things work out last night?”

Sans shrunk from the show of genuine concern. In public, no less. He forgot how to say words like yes and no, so he made his answer by buttering his plate and focusing intensely on chewing a muffin.

“If you eat all carbs, no wonder you’re sleepy all the time.”

“Shut the fuck up, twerp.”

So far Red City wasn’t as harsh and desolate as Sans had been imagining, at least as far as the other workers were concerned. Quite the opposite from what Sans had seen in the rest of the Underground, it seemed that in order to survive inside the brothel, the monsters there had developed habits of openness and community.

Both of those things threw Sans for a loop, especially when no less than half a dozen monsters on the way to breakfast had asked him personal sexual questions, and hadn’t looked like they were making fun of him. After the third ‘are you a virgin, will you be okay’ and the fourth ‘ice it after using the pudding,’ Sans had walked to the cafeteria with his hands blocking his face like horse blinders.

Despite feeling unsettled and a little distrustful of the friendly behavior, Sans was comforted that both Shyren and Cecil walked with him out of the cafeteria. Shyren was met by Muffet in the hall. Muffet tried to speak just to her, but Cecil hung around, so Sans did too.

“They want to change it to ten of them tonight.”

Ten of what?

Shyren looked irritated.

“Ten is a lot.”

“I know, dearie. But honestly I think about half of them are only going to watch.”

Ten…ten monsters?

“You think? But you don’t know. It’s a lot for me to—”

Both of them turned to look at Sans when he let out an involuntary noise of distress. Muffet studied his face for a moment, then put on a sweeter tone. Her coddling made him feel even more sick.

“Don’t you fret, Sans, no one’s going to ask you to do that.”

Cecil snorted at her words, and Muffet threw him an annoyed glare. Sans looked between them.

“That’s…a tricky way to put it, considering you’re not ‘asking’ me to do anything at all.”

Muffet waved two of her right arms dismissively.

“No need to be difficult. Nobody’s going to want a tuna for a gang bang.”

“No one’s going to want…a what, sorry?”

“Don’t worry about it, dearie.”

What the fuck did the sushi pin mean.

Muffet took one of Shyren’s fins in her hands.

“I’m going to talk with her a bit. Cecil, why don’t you take Sans on that tour? He needs to learn where everything is.”

Cecil looked spiteful.

“Yeah…I guess I will.”

As Sans followed the mouse away, he looked back at Muffet. Her head was turned, but he felt her many eyes anyway.

“First stop on the tour is the rest of Living Quarters B, just like Muffet wants me to show you.”

Sans looked forward at the mouse. They were leading him past the workers’ sleeping rooms and towards the front entrance to the complex.

“Okay…so why are we heading to the foyer instead?”

Cecil turned around and gave Sans an intense stare.

“We are going on an official tour with no unusual sidetracks that you would feel the need to mention to Muffet for any reason.”

“Right, legit, totally above-board tour with nothing remarkable, starting now.”


“What’s the big secret about the foyer?”

“Well, this isn’t really the shadiest part of the tour. Anyone can come in here.”

“That’s some disappointing rule-breaking.”

“I just figured I’d show you this first. You may have noticed that Muffet doesn’t really like…explaining things. I guess she feels like we can pick this stuff up along the way. But I think it’s better to know everything going in.”

Once in the foyer, Cecil went up to the front counter and climbed up onto a tall stool, then directed Sans to do the same. Unlike the deeper rooms of the complex, the foyer was shabby and looked abandoned. Once Sans was up on the stool next to Cecil’s, he could see that the counter had menus and a bell for service. He was stupidly tempted to ring the bell. Cecil picked up a menu and laid it out in front of Sans. It was covered in colorful pictures of foods.

“I don’t know if you know any of Red City’s history. Muffet usually likes to tell at least a bit of it. Before Queen Toriel left, she hated these kinds of places. She banned them, and Asgore didn’t fight her on it. Muffet managed to nudge her little establishment under the radar by disguising it as a restaurant at the time. Nowadays Asgore doesn’t bother us, but Muffet kept some of the old mystique around…as kind of a cutesy nod to making it through the prostitution dark ages, I guess.

“So, we have lounge nights a few evenings a week. It’s cheaper than buying a session with a worker, so we get a lot of customers those nights that we don’t ever actually end up with as private clients.

“But it’s really meant as a sort of…window shopping for the clients to pick out who they want to sleep with later. They’re not allowed to touch the workers in the lounge, only look at them, talk to them, you know, get a bit of an idea if they like their personality. Get their egos stroked a little as a bonus.

“There are some things you can’t uh. Tell just from looking, so Muffet has a menu system for customers to figure out what they’re really looking for. Restaurant theme, you know. Our pins match the uh…the menu.”

“And that means…what?”

“They describe what we’re like in bed.”


Sans bent over the counter and puked onto the tiled floor.

He stayed half-bent on the counter, arms over his head. He heard Cecil leaning over the counter to look.

“I appreciate you missing the carpet.”

Sans gave a wet snort, then coughed and spat some remaining puke out of his mouth.

“How do skeletons even—sorry, not the time.”

“So what does tuna mean.”

“You sure you…uh…”

“I don’t have anything left, trust me. The floor got it all.”

Cecil pointed to the picture of tuna sushi on the menu. Underneath it, a description in elegant type read: ‘soft and still. Delicate taste.’

“What…the fuck—?”

Cecil pointed to a small asterisk by the description, then flipped to the back of the menu, which was covered in boxes of much smaller, messier hand-written font.

In the tuna box, it said: ‘doesn’t do any of the work. No initiative. Will do as told, but must be directed. Low energy. Weak and fragile.’

Sans had underestimated the capacity of his stomach, but he kept himself under control.

He had a flashback to a tall monster ordering him to ride a tentacle, and Onion saying he’d expected Sans to be bad at it. Sans felt a little surprised that ‘doesn’t do any of the work’ was already a part of this disgusting menu before he came along. He almost wondered if the tuna label had been invented just for him.

“Does Onion decide what we are?”

“Yeah, when we train with him.”

“So what was that Muffet was saying about…no one asking for me? For a…”

“Theoretically, a big group of monsters and a ‘tuna’ wouldn’t work, because if the worker isn’t really, well, working, there would be a bunch of monsters just standing around waiting for a turn. They’d all get bored.”



“How about practically?”

Cecil looked to the side.

“We do get a lot of uh…rougher types. Monsters that like to make us suffer. And honestly, giving you a label that says ‘I lay there and take it’ is like an invitation for the more domineering clients.” The mouse rubbed their arm. They looked up at Sans, and they looked almost jealous. “But as for pain, as for ‘gangs’…I gather that’s not something you’ll have to deal with.”

Oh. Right. 1 HP.

“Do you really think Muffet wouldn’t make me do that?”

“Her empathy may be a little lacking, but she’s not stupid. Groups of monsters get dangerous, period. Even if they all promise to be ‘good,’ you have to take their word with a healthy amount of skepticism. Hell, even if they don’t think they’re lying, their word may not match up with how they act in the moment.”

Cecil slid off the stool.

“Listen, this is uh…this is probably a lot all at once. Let’s take a break before I show you the next thing.”


Cecil took Sans into a cozy room lined with bookshelves where a few other workers were napping or reading. Cecil went in such a targeted beeline for a chess set that Sans thought it might belong to them.

As they played and Sans started cornering Cecil fairly effectively, Cecil’s furious expression telling Sans they weren’t letting him win, Sans felt some relief. Compared to everything else that was going on, it had been a rather small worry, but he’d started to think that the oppressive situation had made him permanently stupider and slower. It was nice to see he still had some sharpness at his disposal, at least when he could relax a little more.

After grumbling about filthy cheaters, swearing they weren’t talking about him but some other, totally unrelated filthy cheaters they were just remembering now, Cecil took Sans down a hallway for the rest of the tour. They made a turn into a narrow hall and revealed a door that was partially camouflaged into the wall. As Cecil held the door open, they put a finger to their mouth and whispered.

“Here’s the room I’m…not supposed to take you to. Don’t come in here at any other time, okay? You just need to know it’s here.”

Screens covered an entire wall. All monitors taller than a monster’s head. And on those screens were monsters in various states of undress, various stages of indignity, and various expressions ranging from blissed out to pitifully pained.

Then Sans saw that there was a monster sitting in front of the huge screens, shifting focus from one to another, toggling an audio feed so that different voices and noises could be heard that appeared to be coming from different rooms to match the videos. The monster at the screens didn’t look excited by their peeping, just intense, like a video editor making an appropriate cut with each toggle of the audio, apparently making some meaningful choice each time they switched.

Sans whispered to the mouse.

“Do they know we’re visiting?”

“No, but they’re in the zone. They’re not gonna notice us. They do usually have headphones on, though—that’s kind of what I expected, but oh well.”

“What would happen if they caught us looking in?”

“They’d have to report me, and I’d get sent back to Onion again.”

Cecil slowly and softly shut the door, and led Sans to quietly sneak away down the hall. They stopped in an unoccupied area, and Sans noticed that Cecil was leaning against the wall in the blind spot of the closest camera. Sans followed suit.

“They’re just a worker like us. Muffet watches some herself when she can, and she has security, but that’s just one of those kinds of rooms in Red City. It’s not even the only one in the B section. That room used to be my job, or my side job at least, before she put me on probation.”

Sans stared at the little monster.

“They’re there to make sure the workers don’t get hurt, right? Or hurt too bad. But Muffet has a different idea about what that means than I do. I let too many out easy, and I pissed off too many blue-balled customers. And, well…you saw how that stunt turned out for me.”

“So…when you were in the cage in Waterfall…”

The mouse looked down at the floor.

“Ha. Exposure therapy. They figured if I went back to square one and saw a training session, I’d get used to the way things are again.”

They looked back up, their eyes full of intensity. A kind of raw power you wouldn’t expect to fit into such a small package.

“Joke’s on her. She’s going to let me back at the monitors eventually because I know all the equipment so well. And then I’m just going to do the same damn thing again.”

Sans didn’t know what to say to that. He felt like the comic relief witnessing the protagonist’s journey from the sidelines.

Cecil looked at their watch.

“We gotta go in for lunch. I’ll show you the normal stuff after. Or I won’t, you’ll see it all eventually, hell. Tours are fricking boring if you’re not sneaking around.”

Sans decided that the mouse was definitely growing on him.

They looked sideways at him.

“Oh…one last thing about this while I’m thinking about it. Don’t try to open the doors when you’re in there with a client. They’re locked with a magic signature, and Muffet gets really mad at you if she catches you at it. She doesn’t want us talking to the cameras at all, either. You get…sent back to Onion for that, too.”

Sans tried not to picture the tiny monster clawing at a door, pleading with a camera to let them out of a room they didn’t want to be in, but it was too late. He tried to replace the image as quickly as possible with their indignant expression by responding to their heartfelt revelations and advice with a long raspberry blown into the heel of his hand.


As Cecil was dutifully showing Sans one of the empty private rooms meant for entertaining clients, pointing out the locking mechanism on the door and cautioning him not to close it when the room wasn’t being used, Muffet came in and touched Sans on the shoulder.

“I’m going to talk to Sans now, Cecil. You go on.”

The mouse gave Sans a wave and Muffet a calculating glance before leaving them. Being alone with Muffet in a plush room that two or more monsters would be having sex in within the hour made Sans suddenly feel very insecure. Muffet wasn’t doing anything intimidating, but Sans shivered anyway. Her touch on his shoulder was so light he could barely feel it. For some reason that bothered him even more.

Will do as told, but must be directed. Weak and fragile.

“Don’t…treat me like I’m made of fucking glass, jesus.”

Sans boldly shrugged away from her hand. Muffet didn’t move to touch him again.

“It’s showtime tonight, dearie. Your first client.”

The floor dropped a few inches.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. I always personally watch over the first session with new workers.”

From what Sans understood, being under Muffet’s watch for this wasn’t the optimal situation.

“I’ll make sure things go smoothly, but honestly, I’ve talked to this client and you don’t have anything you need to concern yourself over with him. He’ll be gentle with you.”

Muffet stood at the door and waited for Sans to walk through it. He did so slowly, forcing every step.

“I picked out an outfit for you again; it’s folded on your bed. I’ll show you to the room once you’re dressed. Just do everything he says, he won’t ask anything impossible, I promise. Be good and do your best and you’ll be fine. All right, sweetie?”

Sans allowed himself the small rebellion of not answering her. He didn’t look behind him to check if she was annoyed as he marched back to his room.


Sans stood frozen in front of the door to the private room. He had a tray with drinks—apparently they weren’t exclusively for lounge nights. Most customers, if they didn’t want to get down to business right away, ordered some drinks to be taken and served to them beforehand. To loosen up, maybe.

It sounded like a terrible idea to Sans. It was more time for it to sink in what he was doing, more time to treat these clients like they were monsters he wanted to be around, too much time to try to pretend he liked their presence and wanted anything to do with them.

Sans opened the door with one hand, balancing the tray on the other. He went into the room backwards and heard the door give a click of finality.

When he turned around and saw the other monster sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, he dropped the tray and heard the glassware shatter, the drinks sloshing on the floor. Every joint in his body was freezing up. He leaned back against the door, taking heaving breaths.

This was so stupid. There was nothing particularly scary about the other monster in the room. It was the devil-horned scarecrow monster he’d seen in the lounge. It looked to be only about a head and shoulders taller than Sans, which wasn’t all that big for a normal monster, and it didn’t have any otherworldly anatomy that Sans could see. It didn’t even look especially mean. The face that Sans had taken for a mask made subtle expressions, and when Sans dropped the tray it didn’t look angry, just surprised. There were no signals that should have made Sans afraid.

But he was terrified. This was really happening. Before now, he’d been nervous, unsettled, but there was a part of him that didn’t fully believe what he saw. Some part of him that thought everyone here was playing pretend, an intricate game of house. Sans had been dressed up like a doll, there were colorful characters like the awkward janitor, the sweet-talking madam, the brave little mouse…the hidden rooms and crazy pudding had been some excessive touches just to add that certain je ne sais quoi, but Sans was ready for the game to be over now. Cue laugh track, close curtain, roll credits.

He was really doing this. He was really being forced to go to this monster on his own two feet and have sex with it, let it treat him however it pleased. Regardless of how threatening the monster looked or didn’t, Sans would have to do everything it told him to do. Otherwise he’d be punished. Or Papyrus would be punished. Or maybe they’d tell Papyrus what Sans was doing, and that would be punishment enough for both of them.

Sans slid down into a sitting position on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. He heard a crunch where his shoes scuffled on glass.

Then there was more crunching. Sans looked up to see the scarecrow monster standing over him, offering him a hand. Sans didn’t take it.

The scarecrow hooked an arm under Sans’ knees and his other arm supported his shoulder blades. He lifted him up and carried him over to the couch, then lowered him onto it in a reclining position. The scarecrow crawled on top of him, his arms boxing Sans in.

“You don’t need to be scared of me. I’ll take good care of you.”


“Muffet told me I was going to be your first customer here. Are you nervous?”

You asshole.

“She said you had a really bad experience with another client. But I’m not going to hurt you.”

You fucking asshole.

“I’ll make you forget all about that time, all right?”

You can play knight in shining armor all you want, but you like me like this.

“You’re really shaking. Just take it easy. Open your legs for me. That’s it. That’s good. It’s okay.”

You like me powerless.

“You look so cute right now.”

You like me scared.

“I’ll make you feel really good.”

I hope I don’t come and it makes you feel like you’re a limp-dick piece of shit.

The scarecrow dipped a hand into Sans’ pants, not removing them yet. He traced a finger down the crest of Sans’ hips, then brushed against his tailbone. He thumbed the pubic bone.

“How about you make a little something fun for you and me?”

At least Sans might not have to worry about being forced to come, because he didn’t think he’d ever been less turned on in his life, and at this point that was saying something. He considered pretending he didn’t know what the monster was referring to, but didn’t want this to be drawn out any longer than necessary.

“Could you…move your hand first? It’s right in the way.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Heh, first time with a skeleton.”

Your last too, hopefully.

The scarecrow moved his hand away from the pubic bone, pressing up against the crotch of the inside of Sans’ pants. When Sans formed his cunt, the hand settled back down to cup it, middle finger stroking between the lips.

A shudder went all the way up Sans’ spine. His soul felt like it lost sync with gravity for a moment. Sans hadn’t been touched like this since the slug raped him, and the direct touch to his magic sent him spiraling through memories and phantom sensations. A sharp member prodding at him and forcing its way in too fast. Being painfully spread out from the inside. Slime everywhere. An overpowering sour smell mixed with rotten eggs, almost drowning even though he didn’t need to breathe, a thick sludge filling his throat and not stopping. Not even stopping when he pleaded for all he was worth.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m not hurting you, see? Shh, shh, shhh.”

He couldn’t fall apart this fast. Not in front of this little puke of a monster. But instead of pulling back, the monster was rubbing more insistently at the lips of the cunt. Sans reflexively tried to curl into a protective ball, but since the monster was crouched over him, that meant curling into his chest.

The scarecrow wrapped one arm under Sans’ back, clutching Sans to his chest while using his other hand to dip a finger gently into the opening of the cunt. Sans scrabbled his hands against the other monster’s chest, then gripped the fabric of its coat.

“Shh. You’re being so cute.”

He was being pathetic.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. No no no, don’t cry. Shh.”

The other monster needed to get this over with. It was all taking too long. There was too much time for Sans to remember everything that had been done to his magic before this, and exactly how it all felt.

The monster added another finger, scissoring into him and massaging the inner walls. The magic had started lubricating in reaction, but Sans couldn’t relax. He still felt tight, even after another finger was added to tenderly stretch him further. Sans mistook the light scratch of an unclipped nail for the stab of one of the slug’s hooks, and he yelped like a hurt animal.

“Shh. There we go. You’re going to be all ready for me, see? Nothing’s going to hurt this time.”

The monster removed his fingers and laid Sans back down on the couch. He unzipped Sans’ pants and pulled them down, then got up on his knees and undid the buttons of his own pants. He pulled his dick out. It had the glow and slight translucency that meant it was also conjured from magic. He was going to put that inside him, it was going to go in him—

The entire inner lining of Sans’ pussy felt unbearably itchy. There was an echo of wormy magic melding with it, slithering into him and making a home there. It felt as though some parts of the slug had been left behind, still owned him, wriggled in grotesquely separate bits like the still-scuttling body of a headless cockroach.

Sans scrambled onto his front and tried to scurry away. The scarecrow grabbed him by his waist and flipped him onto his back again.

“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. You can trust me.”

Sans couldn’t hold onto his dignity for any longer.

“No, no, no, no, I can’t do this, please don’t make me do this.”

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s not going to be the same, I promise.”

“I-it’s not about. It’s not about pain, it’s. I can’t do this, I c-can’t. Please don’t do this to m-me. I’ll do anything, please, I’ll d-do anything else you w-want.”

“Shh, you’re all right. You’ll do just fine. There’s nothing wrong with this, see?”


“There, it went in easy, didn’t it? Mmm…you’re doing good. You’re doing really good.”

“No please I…please please please, why won’t you listen t-to me? Please. Please don’t—AH!”

“Shh. Doesn’t that feel nice? The way your pussy hugs onto me? You were hurt really bad, but sex is a beautiful connection between monsters. I’m going to show you how to feel good again.”

The scarecrow rut its cock into him by rolling his whole body, his hips bouncing up and down on top of him. Half of the time Sans felt the giant body of a slug writhing around him, cold and suffocating.

“Shh, it’s okay it’s okay…”

Sans gulped back sobs. “It’s not okay! I-it’s—hk–nuh-not ok-kayy…”

The other monster swooped its head down to lick and nibble Sans’ jaw. Sans fell to pieces under him. He babbled out incomprehensible pleas.

“You’re okay. You’re so good. It’s okay, you can cry, I’m not mad—just let it all out. Ohhh, just…just hold onto me, that’s it, hold tight.”

The scarecrow swept its arms under Sans’ hips and drove into him faster.

“Wrap your legs around me. Good, good, that’s right. I’m gonna come…I’m gonna come inside you, hold on tight to me, yeah…yeah, ohhh fuck. Yeah, let me make you mine. You’re gonna be mine. You’re being so good.”

Cum shot into Sans in a few hot squirts. The other monster panted heavily and pressed his forehead against Sans’. He moved his hands to Sans’ wrists, pressing his thumbs into the palms of Sans’ hands and shifting them over his head, pinning them to the cushion beneath. The monster’s mouth spread in a mischievous grin.

“Were you that good for that slug?”

Sans squeaked. The monster crushed Sans’ mouth with a kiss—or the impression of one. Sans had seen the mouth move, grin, but as it was pressed against him he felt a stiffness that made him even less sure of what the monster’s real face was.

The monster reached a hand down to rub Sans’ clit as though he were helping him through an orgasm, apparently mistaking the desperate quaking of Sans’ lower body as spasms of ecstasy.


The monster took its hand away and cooed soothingly in Sans’ ear. Sans almost preferred being rubbed raw.

It was over. The monster had finished. But Sans had thought that before, and sure enough, the monster hadn’t gotten off of him even though it had pulled out. It was slowly stroking itself over him. Sans let a whimper escape.

“N-no more, please no more, I can’t take any m-more, please please please”

The monster leaned close to Sans, and this time a truly wicked grin overtook its face. It kept stroking itself, and its voice came out breathless and rough.

“Keep begging.”

“wh-what…what do…you…”

Keep begging me not to screw you again.”

He touched Sans’ cheek with the back of his free hand.

“And maybe I won’t.”

Sans shuddered and choked. “Please.”

The monster pressed its erect dick hard onto Sans’ pelvis. Sans felt the phantom crawling sensation again.

“Or maybe I will.”

“Pl-please don’t.”

“Maybe you need another hard fuck. Maybe you need to learn a lesson.”

“no no no please”

“You really do want it, don’t you? You just need to get skewered a few more times to get you good and desperate for it.”

“No. No. I d-don’t want to d-do this, I want to go, please let me g-go”

“I bet if I stick this back in you, you’d change your tune real quick.”

“please no”

“I should talk to Muffet about keeping you.”

“No! No!”

Then you could take my cock all night.”

Sans covered his face with his hands.

“….d….on’t….n-not…again pl….ease…oh please…oh g…od oh p-please…please…please…”

The monster over him breathed hard.

“Ohhh…fff…nn. Yeah. Yeah. Ohh.”

Sans felt cum spurt on his cunt, felt in too much detail each drop as it slid stickily down him. The other monster kept stroking and quivering, hips jerking with each release of the hot fluids. His breath was ragged.

“Ha. Heh heh heh…you’re adorable. You’re so gullible.”

Sans lowered his hands slightly and peeked out at the monster. It kept chuckling, wiping its dick on Sans’ leg.

“You really don’t know anything about how this place works, do you? I love screwing newbies. ‘Keep you.’ Ha!”

Sans took his hands away from his face and gripped the cushions underneath him. He squeezed his legs together.

He must have known the monster had just been egging him on. He wasn’t an idiot. But once he’d started panicking, all he could think about was the slug raping him again and again, until he passed out, until he’d woken up again, and after that too…

Sans got the idea that the night with the slug had been something of a fluke, that his session would have ended much earlier if Clarence hadn’t ditched him. Not that that behavior would have surprised Sans if he were in Muffet’s place. So maybe the “mistake” wasn’t so unintentional on her part, either.

So even if this monster wasn’t actually supposed to keep Sans all night, or…take him home…how could Sans even tell for sure?

The monster nuzzled Sans’ neck. It was sickeningly gentle.

“Shh, I was just playing with you, you cute little thing. You did do such a good job of begging for me. I should really finish this up by being nice to you. Let’s give you a reward.”

The monster sat back on its haunches. It grabbed Sans’ knees and spread his legs, pulling Sans’ crotch up to its stiff mouth. Then it reached to a fold of fabric around its neck and rolled it up to its nose. The face was some kind of mask after all. And underneath that mask, a toothy, bifurcated jaw opened up and a long tongue flopped out. The tongue looked hollow like a tube, some kind of proboscis, with its own little flat teeth lining the hole at the end.

Sans gasped and tried to back away. The monster held fast to his legs. With the mask off its mouth, its speech came out garbled and raw.

“Just relaxxx, and I’ll take care of you, okay?”

Sans gave only a petrified sob in response.

The monster lifted Sans’ legs higher up and dipped its head down, its long tongue licking at Sans’ clit. Nibbling, somehow—

Sans reached one hand out to the other monster and forced words out of his mouth.

“W-wait, I could—I could d-do you inste…instead! I c-could s-suck you off in…stead…”

The monster looked up at him with its strangely still eyes. What did its eyes look like under that mask?

“That’sss sweet, but my dick’ss tired now. We’ll do you.”

This was too much. Sans had hit a wall, mentally and physically drained from being toyed with, from terror gripping his body so completely. Muffet had said this monster would be gentle, and maybe she’d really meant it, despite its eerie appearance.

If Onion’s tentacles felt good, then maybe this could feel good, too. Maybe if he could act like he did when he was aroused, he actually would be, and then this wouldn’t be the most horrific thing he’d had to endure.

At least he was getting used to feeling like loathsome garbage.

As the tongue lapped up and down the folds of his cunt, Sans found himself calling back the feeling of tentacles stroking him in an attempt to relax himself. He almost wanted to ask the monster to stroke him, to soothe him, but couldn’t quite bring himself low enough to get the words out.

He spread his legs open wider and pushed his hips up as the tongue slipped in, encouraging it deeper. He let out a breathy moan like he did when Onion had licked him.

The tongue slowly pushed deep inside. As it went further in, the monster pressed his face against Sans’ groin and clamped its jaw down around his pelvis. The sharp teeth didn’t hurt him—the jaw was clutching Sans delicately, like a crocodile carrying its eggs in its mouth.

The tongue pumped in and out, and Sans made himself buck his hips. The friction caused a tingle, and Sans experienced the first thing that resembled arousal since he’d entered the room. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling, taking small hitched breaths that made his cunt contract and built up the pressure inside him.

With his eyes closed, he automatically pictured what aroused him the most, hot shame flushing through him when he realized he was imagining the tongue as tentacles thrusting inside him. Sans supposed that out of his limited sexual experiences so far, sex with Onion had been the most physically satisfying, as terrible as that was.

The tongue pushed at him, drew out enough to rub his clit on the way back in—Onion was teasing him, getting ready to pump into him harder. As the pace picked up, he felt a squeeze on his thighs, a reminder to speak up.

“That f-feels good.”

Thumbs stroked the inside of his thigh bones, and Sans jerked his hips involuntarily this time. The affectionate touch pushed a button he didn’t know he had. It stopped too soon. He wanted them to keep stroking him like that, it made him feel like he was doing something right, Onion was much more touchy than this when he did him.

The illusion was fully broken when the tongue’s little teeth lightly nipped inside him. Like dull hooks. The wormy, crawling feeling took over. Sans’ arousal extinguished, and the movement of the tongue after that made him feel raw and unbearably itchy. The thought of trying to work himself up again, of painstakingly getting himself off by fantasizing about a previous rape, crushed the last of his will.

“please take it out”

The tongue snaked around, pushing at the walls. Worms wriggled wherever it touched. Sans covered his mouth with a hand and hiccoughed, more tears rolling out.

please take it out

The monster pulled its face away, letting go of Sans’ legs. It looked at him.

“I’m not g-going to come.”

It turned to the side and spat on the floor, then rolled its mask down. It looked irritated.

“You could at least fake it, y’little cunt.”


Muffet was waiting for Sans when he came out. She draped a blanket over him and rubbed his shoulders. He wanted her to hold him, to pet him all over, he didn’t want her to touch him.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he? It didn’t look like he hurt you.”

Sans didn’t know how to answer that. When he forced himself to think about it for a second he realized that no, physically the monster hadn’t hurt him at all. It was only because of Sans’ weakness that the monster had been able to manipulate him so easily.

He hadn’t hurt him. He hadn’t hurt him at all, it was just sex, but Sans had reacted like he was being tortured. He’d broken down just from gentle touches and words. Shame bloomed inside him again.

“Why d-did you tell him all those things about me. About the s-slug.”

“Because he asked about you.”

Sans supposed that had been a stupid question after all.


Lounge night again. Sans double-checked, he knew the dogs weren’t here tonight, but still better safe than sorry. He made sure he got to the lounge early and grabbed for the tray he knew went to the table with the old crocodile.

A worker that looked like a giant cricket shook his head at him.

“That’s cold, taking old Dr. War Stories from Cecil, after they did you a favor the other night.”

Sans looked down at the tray, then back up at the cricket.


“Well, obviously Cecil had to entertain the dogs since you left your table. But other nights, Cecil always goes to Dr. War Stories, on account of Cecil’s not so sturdy anymore. They had a really bad client, haven’t been the same since.”

Sans clutched the tray possessively for a moment before letting it clatter back onto the counter. He grabbed another tray and stomped off with it, not bothering to check what table number it was.

He ended up at a table with an already inebriated client who, Sans gathered by his repeated slurred insistence, had a lot of gold. The monster must have gone on a bender through the capital before coming here. He switched sides of the booth to the seat right next to Sans and kept trying to touch him, but in his state didn’t seem to know where any particular anatomy was, so Sans didn’t fight him too hard. He slapped him away periodically, and the client looked confused every time.

Cecil came over.

“Sans, I have a table for you to—”

“Buzz off, twerp.”


Sans turned to Cecil, at the same time easily restraining the client’s wandering hands from touching him.

“Can’t you see I’m busy entertaining?”

Cecil looked at a loss. They put a hand up and opened their mouth, then closed it, stood there for a moment, and walked away.

“Yer a sassy little thing, arentchu? Come on, lemme touch you, I could get you off real good. I could buy this whole bar, I could buy you—next week, my nex’ big paycheck’s next week…”

He somehow successfully put his hands in Sans’ pockets, but leaned over to sloppily make out with the booth cushion. Sans dumped the rest of the customer’s drink on his head. The customer blinked.

“Damn cheap leaky roofing. Remind me t’get that fixed once I buy thiss place.”