A sergal self love
I tested some of my limits with this story; enjoy the clonecest/vore :P
Synyn couldn't believe that he was lost... again. He always knew that he didn't have much orientation sense, but this was getting ridiculous now; he traveled for hours in the desert, an environment he was raised in, but was still able to lose his way... He wasn't the cleverest of the bunch, but at least he knew that following a path, without diverging from it, would bring him to a destination... he didn't know which one, but it could be used as a starting point for his return home.
Sand all around him; the dunes looked all the same to him, as if he never moved from his original position and yet, he knew that he had to find his way out; the desert wasn't forgiving for those that took it lightly. Either dehydration or the illusions would finish him off; maybe he would have a vision before dying, but would be the point of such a vision? Maybe the few moments of knowledge would be pure bliss, but what would the point of such limited knowledge? He placed his paws on the side of his head; thinking about these sorts of things made his head hurt...
He knew that he made a mistake, getting away from his clan and heading alone in the desert. The sandstorm that followed him and erased his path was the harsh reminder that his place wasn't alone here, on the burning sand, but with the rest of his people. He was a fool, but maybe a lucky fool; it seemed like there was something close to him, breaking the monotony of the desert sand and rocks.
It was some sort of monolith, dark as the night, half engulfed in the sandy dunes; it could have been a simple mirage, but a simple touch confirmed that his eyes weren't fooling him this time, information he appreciated. He tried lifting it, but it was buried too deep in the ground to be shaken loose.
Maybe it was even bigger than he thought; a pillar of some sort, or maybe the entrance to some sort of building that would have been sealed by the harsh winds. It was too large to be a pillar thought; he had the feeling it was some sort of entrance, but he couldn't tell since there was no way to see anything.
The only thing he noticed were the carvings on the surface, carvings that bore no meaning to him whatsoever; maybe there had a meaning for the people that constructed this monument in the first place, construction that stunned him. It was placed in the desert, far away from any source of water and without construction material near; it was too smooth to be built from several pieces anyway, observation that left him wondering how could they have carve something that big?
He passed a digit in one of the carvings; as soon as he reached the bottom, he felt his fur getting warmer by some sort of liquid. He removed his paw, only to see blood dripping slowly from a small wound; he must have cut himself on a sharp edge concealed in the bottom of the carving, causing the blood to drip in the carving.
He pressed the wound while watching the structure; there was nothing else he could really do with it without hurting himself again and he had no desire to do so. He could walk away from the structure... or he could stand there and watch the carvings produce light, as if blood was required to activate it. Or maybe it only needed a liquid; who knew?
He watched with amazement the structure rise from the ground, gaining in size and height; it stopped after a short while, revealing an entrance just big enough for him to slide in. He didn't know if he should trust it or not, but the desert sun and scorching winds helped him decide otherwise.
He thought the interior would be dark and dusty; he didn't understand how it could be lighted or in such a good shape, after a long time of abandon. There were tubes and strange roots hanging from the ceiling, all going toward one end, the center. It was not lighted enough for him to see the inside complete thought; all he could do was advance and pray that nothing would stand in his way.
He hoped that his fears would be unfounded and yet, he heard noises; it wasn't a falling object or the sound of water, but breathing and the soft scratching sound of claws against the ground. It was at this time that he cursed himself for his carelessness; he could have ignored the monolith, he could have not entered the desert and, most important element, he could have brought a weapon with him but he didn't. He could always fight with his own claws, but what if the being was stronger than him? What if cutting it would hurt him each time?
He sniffed the air; he apprehended an unknown odor, but instead, a very familiar smell came to back to him. It seemed impossible that such an odor would be present here, waiting for him, under the earth and yet, it was. It was... his own personal musk; he couldn't be fooled to think otherwise. How could it be present here? It was the first time he ever entered this subterranean domain...
When he saw a figure approach him, he started understanding more about the situation around him, but at the same time he had more questions to answer. It was another sergal, identical to him, to the last detail, from his fur color to the scar that marked his left leg. Could it be really him? A perfect copy of himself, brought to life by some obscure device and for some even darker reason? Or was it really perfect? It wasn't clothed, after all...
The more he looked, the more he realized that he wasn't so bad looking, after all; he always pictured himself as an average male, but the more he looked, the more he realised that he was more attractive then he though. It was a shame that he couldn't consider himself as a potential mate... or could he? This wasn't the same as solitary pleasure anymore; there was another being to pleasure, even thought it was an identical copy of himself. It was strange that it stayed silent, as if it had nothing to say... or was waiting for the original to make the first move.
He grinned; he knew exactly what he desired and this was the only opportunity he had to do so. He advanced toward his own copy, unsure that his plan could even work; after all, what if there was resistance? What if he had to subdue himself? And what if he lost? He would be his own victim...
And yet, it remained passive, as if it had no real mind of it's own; or maybe it's thinking the same thing, filled with the same desire as him. He stared at his own gaze, feeling his own eyes stare back at him while his paws were stroking what was supposed to be his own arms fur. It was strange to kiss himself, but it felt so good to do so at the same time. To feel his own paws, not controlled by him, caress him, while he was caressing what was supposed to be him back; there was no word to describe the experience, but there was no need for them. There was simply desire to fulfill and nothing else.
He could see his body react to the caress, his cock rising out of his sheath, rubbing against the other freshly erected cock. The same cocks, rubbing against each other, the sensation of the same flesh; it was beyond what he experienced before... and he was enjoying it. He grabbed them with his left paw, stroking them in a soft pace, hearing his own heavy breathing mixing with the same heavy breathing.
But this was too close to solitary pleasure; he wanted to make it unique, to make an event he would never forget. He pushed himself toward the ground, not too hard, but with enough assurance to let his copy know that he would be the one in charge. He kissed himself again, fingering the clone eager tail hole; he was probably as eager himself, he thought, feeling the warm flesh against his fingers, each trust eliciting more moans from him.
Mutual masturbation was one thing; it still could a form a self-pleasure, but this is crossing a line, Synyn thought while prodding his clone tail hole. He never knew that he was so tight; it was a delight to feel his cock penetrate himself, being the one taking his own anal virginity, making himself gasp as he delivered the first deep thrust.
The same flesh penetrating and receiving; he took his time to explore this pleasure, entering and exiting his ideal partner with care, not rushing his pace. Hearing his own moans, in response to his thrusts, made him accelerate his rhythm, adding force to his movement; he grabbed his partner erected cock with his right paw, stroking it in a delicate and yet firm manner.
He accelerated his pace again, feeling the familiar urge rising in him. His partner came first, groaning while his own seeds were coating Zynyn paw, chest and muzzle. He licked his muzzle, enjoying the taste of his own seeds; it didn't took long for him to feel his seeds filling what should be him, the confirmation that his body, even in multiple copies, was made to be reunited, as he held his own copy against him, feeling both breathing united.
He didn't panic when he felt his clone paws holding him tight; there was always a reason for such actions, and after the moment they shared, there was no need to worry. He started to panic when he felt pushed toward the head of his copy, seeing the clone maw opened. He tried to resist, but he realised that his strength wasn't enough to overcome his own power; it could have been a tie, both of them being of equal strength, but Zynyn was tired, exhausted from his desert trip and his experience.
It was strange to be eaten by himself, seeing the inside of his own body in a slow pace, feeling his clone tongue wrapping against his body, tongue that was moving down toward his legs and paws and he was being swallowed whole.
He was inside in his own clone stomach; there nothing he could do to escape, as he felt the vibration caused by the clone caressing his stomach. He was a good partner, and now he was a good meal; what else could he be more?