Get The Hell Out Of There

You have no business being here, and you'd really rather not face the fate of that other guy, so you decide to do the only rational thing: get the hell out of there before they notice you. Without a second thought, you turn away from the wolf and panther men and rush back to the window where you'd climbed in, jumping right back out and running down the street as fast as you can.

After a few minutes spent moving at that feverish pace, you find yourself standing by a small park, to worn out to continue. Deciding that you've put more than enough distance between yourself and that nightmarish house, you wander over to a red bench, sitting down and reclining on it, trying to relax for a few minutes after what you've been through, you'd say you're entitled to at least a little rest!. You calmly tilt your head back, looking up into the open sky and gazing at the stars, and can feel yourself beginning to calm down... until a green, broad-faced, black-eyed monster moves its head above you!

Your immediate reaction is to try and escape, but it has the jump on you, and before you get the chance you feel long, webbed fingers wrapping around your wrists and holding you in place. When you note how rubbery they feel, you almost groan - haven't you had enough of this rubber stuff tonight? - but you're far too afraid to do much of anything but screaming. It becomes even worse as you feel another set of rubbery digits wrap around each wrist, the frog holding down your arms with its legs as it climbs up further onto the bench, grabbing both of your shoulders with its "hands" and preventing you from struggling at all. Its strength is startling, and under its grasp, you find yourself unable to do anything but look up into its ugly face. The monstrosity soon moves its fingers to your throat, tilting your head upwards and holding you there. You're completely at its mercy.

It opens its mouth, and you expect its tongue to dart out into your face. Instead, the slimy red tongue slowly snakes its way between the frog's "lips", slithering through the air like a snake approaching its prey. As it inches closer to your face, you try harder to pull away, but the more you struggle, the more tightly it holds you down. Soon, the tongue is mere inches from you, still slowly wriggling its way down, suspense building as it comes ever closer. Then, with a quiet wet slap, you feel it gently smack into your left cheek, feel the viscous saliva covering it all over your skin. You almost vomit from the feeling, but barely manage to hold it back as it continues to move its tongue, wiping it across your chin, then up your right cheek, over your nose, and then over your mouth. When it reaches your lips, it stops, and you can feel it beginning to pry at them. You close them tightly, but as always your efforts do no good - he presses until he finally pushes between your lips, meeting your clenched teeth. At the very least, he won't be able to get through those. At first, it looks like you're right, as he tries to push through the solid teeth and simply fails to do so.

Of course, expecting this minor victory to last is wishful thinking. You feel the tip of his tongue start to fall apart in your mouth, the individual bits wriggling frantically, independently. A few squeeze through your teeth, and a few fall from your mouth, little red tadpoles wriggling down your chin before falling to the ground. Just the thought of some of them getting into your mouth is enough to make you gag... and in doing so, you open the floodgates. The entire tongue, at least two feet long, collapses in an instant into a mass of writhing red tadpoles, and the ones that manage to land in your mouth flow straight down your throat as smoothly as a glass of water. You eventually **** on some of them and stop yourself from swallowing half of them, but you're still left with a belly full of tadpole... things. Its work apparently done, the frog lets you go before making a giant leap into the nearby trees, quickly escaping from view.

Looking around, you find yourself quite alone, aside from the tadpoles that remain on the ground, dying and shriveling into nothing as they're exposed to the cold night air. Soon, all that's left is you and your full, jiggling gut.