Beg Pan to bring the 'friends' she promised — you need to be filled NOW.

Pandora's Box Costume Shop, Birch Street, at 12:06 AM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

"Please," I gasp. The word tears out of me like something primal. My tail is thrashing behind me, curling and uncurling against my thighs, and every brush of fur against my soaked skin sends lightning through my nervous system. "Please, Pan — bring them. Bring your friends. I need — I need to be filled, I can't —"

I'm on my knees on the fitting room floor before I realize I've dropped. The tile is cold against my bare skin but it feels like a lover's hands, every texture amplified beyond reason. My pussy is gushing — I can feel slick running in hot streams down both inner thighs, pooling beneath me. The thong is ruined, transparent with wetness, clinging uselessly to my swollen lips. My breasts heave against the bikini top, nipples so hard they're visible through the glossy fabric like two dark stones.

"Please," I beg again, pressing my forehead to the floor, my tail lifting involuntarily, presenting. "I need it now. I need all of them. Please, Pan, please —"

The fitting room door opens.

Pan stands in the doorway, blazer gone, corset loosened, her violet-black hair cascading over bare bronze shoulders. Her amber eyes are incandescent with triumph. And behind her — beside her — two shapes slither into the room.

They're not human. They're masses of glistening dark-purple tentacles, each appendage thick as a man's forearm, covered in a slick translucent membrane that catches the light. They move with horrifying grace, their bodies undulating, tentacles reaching and coiling. One is larger — its central mass about the size of a beach ball, with a dozen prehensile limbs tipped with rounded, pulsing heads. The other is smaller, more agile, its tentacles thinner but no less numerous, each one ending in something that looks disturbingly like a mouth.

"Oh, kitten," Pan purrs, stepping into the room. Her skirt is already hiked, and her cock — that massive, veiny, impossible cock — springs free, fully erect, the head glistening with precum that drips in a long silver thread to the floor. "You didn't even make me wait. Good girl."

She kneels in front of me and cups my chin, forcing my face up. Her thumb traces my lower lip and I open my mouth instinctively, tongue extending, desperate for anything.

"These are my pets," she says casually, gesturing behind her. The larger creature — she calls it Sable — wraps a tentacle around my ankle. The touch is warm and wet and my entire body convulses. The smaller one — Ink — slithers closer, its mouthed tentacles exploring the air around my trembling form. "They're going to take such good care of you."

Sable's tentacle slides up my calf, leaving a trail of warm slick. Another wraps around my waist, lifting my hips from the floor with effortless strength. My tail curls frantically. Ink's appendages find my arms, coiling around my wrists, pulling them above my head, stretching me out.

"Every hole, kitten," Pan whispers, positioning herself between my spread thighs. Her cock presses against my soaked thong and the fabric disintegrates at her touch — just dissolves into nothing, leaving my dripping pussy exposed and desperate. "Just like I promised."

A thick tentacle from Sable presses against my lips. I open willingly, and it slides into my mouth — warm, pulsing, tasting of salt and something sweet. It fills my throat and I moan around it, my jaw stretching wide. Another tentacle probes at my ass, slick and insistent.

Pan notches the head of her cock against my entrance. She's enormous — bigger than I remember, or maybe I'm just smaller in this form, tighter, my new pussy clenching with desperate anticipation.

"Ready, kitten?" she asks, her voice thick with arousal.

I can't answer — my mouth is full — but I push my hips toward her, begging with my body, and she slams home.