Obliee: Plague Horror

     This universe was different.

     It responded to the visitor, individual person.

     It gave birth to realities, multiplying.

     It shattered time.

     'I walked the hallway, seeing the walls shifting around me. It knew I was here, this place, this reality. It acknowledged my presence.

     The plague was spreading. I was meant to stop it. Did I make it? I don’t think I did.

     A shadowy painting with a naked woman in it, she seems like she was posing for sex, making out with some enormous worms. The picture was dark. It’s as if the world has ended. It reminds me of the plague.

     The plague worms. She is copulating with plague worms.

     On the second thought, maybe the worms are forcing themselves into her. Those worms look like they’re holding her arms and legs spread apart while the others played with the rest of her freely. She seemed surrendered to it. Rather intoxicating imagery. Could she be enjoying it?

     Could I be enjoying it?

     The body of the woman looked like me. I can almost imagine myself in it.

     I can almost remember being in it.

     She is me.

     The way they tied me, how I felt defeated and thrilled to feel those tongues in my…

     But how? What happened? Is it from the past that I can’t remember? The plague hasn’t taken over this place yet. Is it how it’s going to be? How it wants it to be? Or was it me, how I want it to be?

     The answer came to me, not by a voice or a thought, but as a realization, a reality.

     This has already happened. Trapped in a reality swallowed by the plague, being persuaded to give in to embody their corruptions. I have failed in my future.

     It didn’t make sense. But in this place, that was expected.

     The closer I look at the picture, the more I can remember. I wonder what would happen if I touch it. I don’t know if I should touch it. But I want to remember what happened, what led to it. I want to know what it felt like. I can almost feel it, almost see it moving. I think I enjoyed it. I can’t deny that I’m intrigued. It does look like it could feel good. A bit gross and weird. But just a little bit, it can’t hurt…'

     'A worm retreated from my crotch, squirting its ejaculation one last time, exhausting itself, satisfied, only so that another one could take its place, starting with me fresh and hungry. I tried to resist. But my arms and legs were tied by other worms, spread apart and being snuggled. I swallowed more of the fluid in anticipation of the one kissing me through my mouth when the new worm started licking my labia. There was nothing I could do to fight it. Soon I felt its whole mouth gums and tentacles wrapping around my groin, slipping two of its tongues into my vagina while the one on its tip licked my clitoris to finish me again. The vile and warm flesh made me retreat my groin from it. But I still wanted that orgasm. It just needed a little nudge. So I kept grinding on it until I reached another climax. I could feel the worm sucking my fluid, almost milking it, drinking from me. But the worm wasn't done. Still pumping its tongues, this one was only starting. So my torture continued.
     All this happened before. Then the painting showed it to me, made me relive it again. Would this have happened differently if I didn't know what was going to happen?
     The plague knew. Perhaps they remember this too. How else would they know that I'd enjoy this?
     Or perhaps this is just their primal instinct, feasting and breeding, spreading their plague, corrupting me into their vessel, torturing me for being the only one who could have stopped them, savoring their last meal left in this reality, and just happens to be touching all the right spots. And I'm the naughty one enough to enjoy it, a primal instinct of my own, to be wanted, surrendered, letting loose my dark and dirty thoughts, somehow still made to orgasm again.
     I wonder how many times the plague has done this with me before. The worms are taking turns even now. Maybe they'll all get their turns with me eventually, if not in this reality, in the next one, or the ones to come after.'



     'I managed to pull myself away from the painting, still shocked by what I just saw, what I just experienced. Is that how it's going to happen again? It was terrifying, but somehow arousing, enjoying it.
     I looked around the hallway. There were three more paintings hanging on the walls.
     Well, of course. What have I done now?'




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