Star Fox: Humiliation - Ravaged By Tentacles
"So, what is space?"
Fox sighed. It wasn't from frustration or annoyance, but contentment. It was a simple question, but he enjoyed talking about simple things.
Space meant a lot to him.
"It's nothing, Krystal," the vulpine explained, lying next to his love, naked on her comforter, staring out the window into the inky black void. He inhaled sharply as he felt a graceful blue hand slip from his bare chest to his bare abdomen, fingers tracing his musculature. "It's pure nothing."
The bed shifted beneath him as a gorgeous, blue vixen shifted her weight, rolling over and straddling Fox's waist. She took no shame in being just as naked as he, bending down and gently nipping at his neck. "Go on."
"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled. _The Great Fox_might have been Fox's ship, but when he assigned Krystal her own quarters, Fox made doubly sure to let her know that her room was her domain, and she was free to give orders as she saw fit. The captain was hers. "You have never experienced nothing. Neither have I. Very few have been exposed to absolute nothing and lived."
"Mm-hm?" she beckoned him to continue, starting to take slightly larger, slightly stronger bites at his neck. She was doing her utmost to arouse him and was succeeding superbly, lowering her feathery tail with bold dominance and brushing it over Fox's groin. The motion caused the fox to choke up and squirm before he brought it under control. She smirked. "You're ticklish."
McCloud's ears reddened, barely pinning back on his head. "Don't tell Falco."
"He doesn't already know you're ticklish there? Figured he of all people would know by now."
"Oh. Funny."
Any attempt at further barbed reply stopped once Krystal let loose her disarming smile, the one she always had when on the verge of laughter. They had to be quiet. Everyone else was asleep. As if in an effort to muffle herself, Krystal pressed her muzzle to Fox's, letting herself lightly moan as his hands did with her body as his tongue did with her mouth.
For a solid few minutes, they simply kissed and groped at each other until Krystal came up for air. She gently lowered her head next to his, letting loose a long, loving lick to the inside before whispering. "Sorry I interrupted you." It was obvious that she didn't mean it.
"I'm not," Fox replied, rolling to his right, vixen in tow, and pinning Krystal to the mattress. He continued, punctuating every few words with a tender kiss, nip, or lick. "It was a damn fine interruption."
"Keep talking," she ordered, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying his muzzle against her collarbone. "If space is truly nothing, then how is nothing made?"
Fox had told her about this before, but he knew why she kept asking him to explain. She loved the way he talked about it.
"Nothing isn't made. Everything else: planets, stars, asteroids..." he paused, giving another long kiss to her luscious lips. "people... We're all pulled together, and 'nothing' is what's left outside," he said, tucking his head down and fitting an erect, soft nipple into his mouth, nibbling and sucking until she gasped again. She reached down and took hold of his muzzle, guiding him back up to look into her turquoise eyes.
"Gravity."
"That's right."
"But what is gravity?" This was her favorite part. The way Fox explained gravity was the first step the two had taken toward falling in love. She lifted her head, bringing their lips together until they were barely touching. Her sumptuous legs lifted, wrapping around Fox's hips. "What attracts us?"
"It's because we are. Our existence attracts us. Real things. Everything. They all come together. That force is weak. It's the weakest force in the universe, but it's there." Emotion swelled within Fox's heart. Jubilation flowed in his veins as he spoke. "It can hold the planets together. It keeps planets flying around the sun. It holds it all together because all things are attracted to one another. The planets are attracted to each other. The stars..."
He reached down and picked the vixen up off the bed. He kneeled, sitting on his ankles, with Krystal's legs wrapped around his hips.
"Our bodies are attracted to each other."
"I could have told you that."
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
They kissed. One of Fox's hands reached up and took a fistful of her beautiful hair, while the other reached down and took hold of her wondrous, voluptuous thigh. It was right. It was carnal. It was perfect.
It was round four.
All pretense of sophistication was discarded, thrown out into nothingness, as the two ravaged each other. Fox found himself instantly erect as the vixen in his arms writhed and moaned at his every touch. The two dropped back down on the mattress before he entered her and kissed her all in the same moment.
He rutted against her like a savage beast, burying his screams in her mouth as she did the same with his. Claws dug into his back. Muscles clenched. Limbs froze as the two rode to a mutual climax...
Fox sputtered and coughed as he stirred, awoken by a sharp jet of fluid to the face. It clung to the side of his muzzle as he quickly realized, to his embarrassment, that it had all been a dream. Complete darkness surrounded him, and for a brief moment, he didn't remember where he was. Hoping to get a bearing on his surroundings, the vulpine tried to sit up, only to find himself completely immobilized.
His body was bare, stuck in an open, spread-eagle position, a viselike grip holding each limb, even his tail, in place. Pinned down on what felt like a bed, Fox had no option but to follow his instincts.
"Lights," he ordered. At his command, light filled the room, forcing Fox's eyes shut. He tried to protect his eyes, but the cold, metallic grip redoubled its efforts to hold him in place. As he struggled against the bindings, he heard the sudden start of a high-pitched, mechanical whir, mere inches from his body. Before the sound could even register, a coarse circular brush pressed against Fox's lower abdomen, rustling his fur and grinding against his skin.
"Stop that! Bad touch!" Fox screamed, but nothing stopped. In fact, as soon as he had spoken, a dozen smaller brushes pressed down on every inch of Fox's torso, neck, and face. The rough treatment made him thrash and squirm as much as he could, which wasn't much at all. After a solid minute of being forcibly rubbed-down, Fox came back to his senses. His eyes managed to take in the light. He could see his assailant.
"ROB!?"
The brushes stopped, but didn't lift.
A tall, wiry robot lay on top of the vulpine, its single, wide scanner of an eye pulsing as it analyzed its nude owner. Each of Fox's limbs was held down in a circular vise, each attached to the end of a mechanical arm originating from the robot's opened chest compartment, same for each of the circular brushes.
"ROB, what the hell are you doing?"
The android leaned down and placed its scanner directly in Fox's eyes.
"What are the last three digits in the serial number of my CPU?"
Hesitantly, Fox racked his memory. "Four... U... zero?"
"Correct," the robot answered, releasing Fox's limbs and rolling off of his bed. It was Fox's room all along. As Fox sat up and turned to perch himself on the edge of the bed, he kept a close eye on his robot as it quickly, with measured precision, retracted its vise arms and dripping-wet brushes back into its chest compartment. "Now I know you are awake."
"What's your major malfunction?"
ROB froze, staring blankly ahead.
"Scanning... Scanning..."
Fox shook his head. "No. No. No. No! Cancel scan! I mean, what were you doing to me?"
"I was patrolling and security feed showed you thrashing in your sleep. I restrained you to make sure you did not harm yourself."
"Then what was with the brushes?"
"You made a mess of yourself; I cleaned you. Nocturnal emissions are not unprecedented, Fox. You do not need to be emba-"
"Okay," Fox leveled a finger at the robot. "Shut up."
"Affirmative."
"Now," Fox grunted as he stood up and made his way to the head. The bathroom door slid open as he approached. "ETA to destination?"
ROB stayed silent, frozen to the spot as if on standby.
Fox rolled his eyes. "Speak."
"-rassed. ETA, less than an hour."
"Thank you. You're dismissed. Notify me when clear for takeoff."
"Affirmative," ROB confirmed as it started rolling back into the hallway. However, in the doorway, the android froze, turning around and asking a question of its own. "Fox?"
Fox leaned against the bathroom bulkhead. "Yeah?"
"Do you remember your dream?"
Fox paused, curiously peeking his head out of the bathroom door and staring back at ROB. "Yeah, I do." He ran a hand over his forehead and sighed as the robot continued to stare. "It was a good dream."
ROB may have been no human being, but it was fully capable of noticing Fox was becoming upset. Without another word, it left, the bedroom door hissing shut behind it.
Since when does ROB care about people's emotions? Slip would understand him better...
Fox shook his head in disdain as regret flowed through him. He needed a distraction. Any kind would have helped.
"Water, please," Fox spoke into the shower.
At his voice command, a hot spiral of moisture and steam jettisoned from the rather crude showerhead on the ceiling. He stepped inside and let the water wash over him, but it didn't help. It was just Fox McCloud and ROB64 on board The Great Fox now. It had been that way for almost two years. The aparoids were gone and his team had left. Nothing was ever going to help that.
"Water, off."
The spigot stopped, leaving the room in near silence, only broken by the pitter-patter of the vulpine's drip-drying.
"Thanks," he whispered. Utterly pointless. No need to thank a machine, but Fox hadn't seen another organic thing in months. He just needed to treat something like it was a person.
I don't even treat people like people...
Fox shrugged and tapped his fist against the small, blue button jutting out of the shower bulkhead unleashing a torrent of wind from above, drying him almost instantly. Once the blow-dry had stopped, Fox stepped out of the shower, walked back into his quarters, and proceeded to dress himself.
He laid out his standard attire on his bed to make sure nothing was missing. Red and black combat boots, white socks, black briefs, green flight suit, white vest, and his lucky red scarf. While the scarf was his prized possession, strangely enough, Fox knew that the briefs were truly the most important part of his entire wardrobe. As he slipped them on, he could feel why.
The garment was expertly crafted from a nearly-indestructible, featureless elastic that reacted to its own electric field, and once Fox pulled them tight, the briefs shrank around every contour of his crotch, hips and buttocks to form a seal that stuck tighter than any glue, tight enough to indirectly detect the pressure in his femoral artery. If his G-Diffuser failed and overexposure to G-forces resulted in blood starting to accumulate in his legs, and away from his heart or brain, the briefs would tighten further, cutting off blood flow to below his waist and helping to keep him conscious. Since its implementation, it had prevented countless blackouts and saved hundreds of test pilots' lives.
Falco had always referred to it as the "vacuum-sealed package".
The recollection caused Fox to let out an annoyed sigh as he twisted his torso left and right, testing the snug fit. Due to their nature of providing a vital safety measure, the flyer-wear was designed to cling with an unbreakable grip, almost impossible to remove unless by slowly peeling off with the wearer's own two hands. The impeccable design still fascinated Fox every time he put them on.
That being said, they also made his ass look incredible.
After jumping into his flight suit and boots, the vulpine tore out the door and down the hallway, tugging his vest around his shoulders with scarf in hand.
"Arwing status?" he called to ROB; the robot was probably set on the bridge already.
"Still fueled and ready, Fox," the monotonous, buzzing voice crackled over the intercom. "Your headset is there as well."
"Good work."
"I... did not do anything. Everything is the way you left it."
Fox stopped at the end of the hallway, directly in front of the elevator that descended into the hangar. It had recently been repaired and renovated, but a few weeks prior, it had failed, with the cable snapping and the car crashing to the bottom of the shaft with Fox inside. It had been a close call, and worst of all, neither ROB nor Fox could figure out what caused it to fail in the first place.
"Right," Fox mumbled, forgoing the elevator in favor of the backup stairs. Five levels in the cramped passageway took a while to navigate, but it didn't fatigue him, which made what happened at the bottom of the stairs all the more unsettling to him.
The moment Fox's boot met the bottom step, an explosion of pain flashed behind his eyes; it was one of the worst headaches he had ever felt, causing him to yelp in pain and slump against the bulkhead, clutching his forehead with a shaky palm. His eyes watered and quaked. His ears rang. Words simply failed until they floated forward from the speakers in the hangar.
"Fox, are you hurt?"
What felt like feedback in his brain quickly faded as he trudged into the hangar, leaving him with only teary eyes and throbbing temples. As if on instinct, Fox spun about, glancing out toward the crackling, transparent blue force field that served as the only barrier between him and deep space. He didn't know why. The action came to him with the wordless necessity of swatting a mosquito.
"I'm fine, ROB," he shouted into the air. "It's just..." He had no idea. No clue what had just happened.
"If you aren't feeling well or are hungry, I'd recommend postponing or cancelling-"
"-the mission? Not happening," Fox snapped, finishing the sentence at the same time and shaking his head to clear his thoughts. The robot's words still held some weight, however; Fox couldn't recall the last time he had eaten. He made his way to the equipment locker, his being the only one currently in use, and flipped the door open. To his luck, there was a small stack of nourishots left inside. The compact, lightweight nourishot needle, each half as long as Fox's forearm and as thick as his wrist, served as a portable, lucrative source of vitamins, minerals, and proteins, with a single shot providing enough sustenance to last the user an entire day. It was almost insultingly convenient.
Taking a needle in hand, Fox took a seat on a nearby bench and tugged upward on the leg of his flight suit until it bared his thigh, at which point, he jabbed a claw through the cap on one end and stuck the other end into his leg. The needle itself was tiny, almost invisible to the naked eye; injection was nearly painless, however, a dull ache spread throughout Fox's leg as the nourishot's chamber began to buzz and vibrate, shaking itself as it delivered one-hundred percent of its payload.
Once the chamber went dead, Fox set it down on the bench next to him and slapped at the injection site. He tapped at the near-microscopic wound with his thumb before he started massaging the muscle from hip to knee, then back again, spreading the serum through his circulatory system.
As the ache slowly ebbed away, he leaned back against the lockers, soon realizing that he was breathing heavy at the pain that was now long gone. Nervously, he rubbed at his neck and shoulders as his mind raced to find an explanation, finding none.
Wet dreams, thanking robots, and now random bouts of pain? Fox thought to himself.
The odd occurrences of the last hour seemed as odd as they were unrelated, but were too close together to be coincidental. Perhaps the problem wasn't physiological, but _psych_ological.
"ROB, am I... healthy?"
"Affirmative. Five feet, eight inches; one hundred seventy-six pounds with six percent body fat is proportionally-excellent physical condition," the robot began.
"Not what I-!" ...meant... Fox choked his own words down as he let ROB continue. One of the android's most pronounced design flaws was the inability to stop speaking mid-statement.
"The results of your physical last week displayed exemplary physical strength, speed, stamina, and joint flexibility. Many fitness publications have unlawfully exploited candid photos of your bare upper body in hopes of persuading readers into buying exercise holorecords claiming to assist in mimicking your physique--"
"I already knew tha-- Wait. What!?"
"--and, on a more candid note: while still members of Team Star Fox, First Officer Krystal and First Mate Lombardi would regularly comment to themselves specifically on the shape, condition, and tone of your gluteal muscles."
"Uh... Hmm... Wha...?" Fox uncomfortably stammered. "W-where did you learn all that?"
"The statistics were found in Great Fox's medical records, the tabloid articles through an extranet search," There was a pause before ROB continued. "and your former teammates' remarks from reviewing archived security footage."
Fox froze where he sat, blinking repeatedly as he processed the information himself. "Even Falco?"
"Especially Falco."
"We're done talking about this," Fox sneered as he stood back up and made his way to his Arwing.
"Affirmative."
The notorious three-pronged command headset sat on a plastic box full of spare parts. With a rehearsed motion, Fox stuck a finger inside the curved plastic, flicked his wrist, and set the helmet flying and flipping with such fervor, it blurred and briefly appeared as a flickering sphere before his eyes. Both hands darted forward, catching the headset, perfectly lined up to be placed on his head.
"Start a scan of the perimeter," he spoke directly into the headset mic as his Arwing canopy eased open with a confident hiss. "Four hundred meters. Tell me if you see anything."
"Roger."
Basic intercept mission. That was all. The target was some undesirable that simply needed a message sent to him, followed by a slap on the wrist and being sent back to the client. The contract was hardly exciting, but the proposed pay was inordinately large. The hardest part Fox anticipated was the waiting.
For anyone else, four hours in an Arwing cockpit would have been excruciatingly boring. Fox sat still, staring intently at the stars that seemed no closer than when he first saw them on Corneria. They were all aligned differently. A different vantage point would tend to do that.
Less than twenty meters off to the port side of The Great Fox, the Arwing itself wasn't necessarily cramped. Fox easily had enough room to recline his seat, stretch his legs, and even leave the chair in which he was sitting, though it would require crouching. However, with this comfort came the danger of falling asleep. Every so often, Fox would sense his consciousness beginning to fade. His eyelids began to droop. To combat this, he'd sit himself up and repeatedly pound his fist into the vitroglass canopy above him, the only thing between him and vacuum. He scared himself awake.
"Fox, I do not recommend that," ROB snapped in on the com, its whole form revealed in a hologram as it materialized on the Arwing's dashboard. ROB had switched out its lower body, replacing tank-like treads with spindly, humanoid legs. Treads were better for saving energy and processor space, as balance was no issue, while legs were more well suited for overall movement. "Perhaps a long period in a confined space has rendered you restless. Do you need time to dock?"
"I'm fine," Fox objected, hand darting down into a pocket on the side of his seat, producing a nourishot and canteen. "I've got enough air, food, and water to last me a week in this thing. Anything on the scanner?"
"Negative. Nothing on radar, save for your fighter." As the droid spoke, a star just above Fox's head slid a bit too quickly to the side. Fox squinted at the dot, eventually differentiating numerous spacecraft. Four fighters, and they appeared to be escorting a sphere-shaped mothership.
"Then what's at coordinates X-16; Y-0; Z-300-plus?"
For almost a whole minute, there was no response. It never took ROB so long to complete analysis.
"Error."
"Crap," Fox muttered. "They jammed our scanners." He turned his attention to ROB once more and started giving out orders. "Keep locked on me. If you don't see a target, prepare to fire where I fire."
"Affirmative."
With a calm, smooth grip, Fox eased back on the joystick and eased forward with the throttle, pitching the Arwing "up" and slowly easing it toward the group of potential bogeys. With ROB's scanners jammed, it would be impossible to hail them. Hopefully, with Fox simply flying out to confront them, they_would hail _him.
The wait was the most torturous thing by far. As the two parties grew closer in the sterile silence of space, Fox started sensing an itchy trigger finger, mainly because he was sure the other fighters felt the same. The enemy fighters flew in a steady, squared formation, with the round mothership radically far behind. While the far off, metallic sphere appeared to move at a sluggish pace, from Fox's estimate, the ship was massive, given its size and perceived distance.
The formation broke, sharply and with enough suddenness to cause Fox's pulse to jump and his hand to jerk his joystick to the side and begin targeting one of the fighters. However, the fighters didn't break to attack, but to retreat. Each ship swept upward, pulling a textbook U-turn and heading back from which they came, but the mothership kept coming. From what Fox could see, he could easily assume the high-value target was at least half a kilometer out. Once more, Fox stared out at the distant, metallic construct, which started appearing much less like a ship.
Soon, his suspicions were confirmed, as the metal plating on the "mothership" started chipping away like old paint. Shards of armor broke off the globular UFO until none remained, revealing a small, blood-red ball.
Fox's heart started to race as he estimated actual distance and size. The weapon was obviously far, but had to be easily larger than The Great Fox, big enough to encapsulate it from stem to stern. With assumedly only a few minutes left until contact, Fox started planning out how he could analyze the strange object, considering ROB was having trouble locating it.
Until it touched his ship. Immediately.
Fox yelled and stumbled back in his seat as the red orb collided with the Arwing's windshield, echoing with a moist splat throughout the cockpit. It had appeared--no. It had been hundreds of meters away, but had somehow snapped forward like an optical illusion. While Fox's estimate of the object's distance had been completely off, the object's perceived dimensions remained; leaving a red lump of... something spattered across the screen, roughly the size of the vulpine's head.
It didn't seem like a solid object, but a big ball of liquid fighting desperately to keep its shape. It quaked like mad with a grotesque, rhythmic pulse, drawing Fox's attention through what felt like hypnosis until his Arwing came to panicked life. The cockpit shook, jostling Fox back to total awareness. Alarms blared and instruments lit up in erratic disarray. First, there was the screeching, almost whistle-like blast of sound that announced how shields had failed, then the bass-heavy, swooping tone, meaning damage to vital systems. This thing was definitely a weapon, and Fox needed to destroy it.
With no further proof needed, Fox snapped the joystick to the left, pitching the Arwing into a barrel-roll. The energy produced in the electromagnetic gimbal surged through the shield projectors, coating the exterior of the fighter in iridescent blue plasma plating. It was the right move, instantly dislodging the strange weapon and knocking it free into space. It slowly floated and tumbled through the void, every "drop" still stuck together in the fluid mass.
The object was a very dangerous weapon, but unfortunately, it was still very small, too small to hit easily with twin lasers. With this in mind, Fox reached down and slowly flipped a lever on the bottom of the instrument panel, sliding from Hyper, down through Twin, and settling on Single, shutting down weaponry perched on the wings, but priming the cannon set on the nose. It was the weakest attack in the Arwing's arsenal, but it was the easiest to aim.
No need to request permission, so Fox simply opened fire, holding down the trigger and firing a single bolt. The green beam lanced out through space and hit the red ball dead-center, heavily misshaping the target and causing its surface to ripple like water. On top of that, the ball seemed... bigger.
"ROB, did you see me open fire?"
"Affirmative."
"Did you see the thing that I hit?"
"Negative."
Fox froze, taking a moment to process his situation. Something was heavily wrong with ROB, but the threat was still very present and needed to be exterminated. He had expected the red blob to simply explode when he had blasted it, but it easily withstood the force of the attack.
This thing's pretty tough, he thought, finger still on the trigger. In that time, an bright, green ball had formed at the tip of the Arwing's nose, the charged shot begging to be fired.
Try this.
Fox released the trigger, unleashing the hellish attack and hoping, yet again, to obliterate his target. However, as the pulsating orb collided, the red ball didn't budge, simply shifting with the force of the shot and metamorphosing to compensate. When the surface of the alien object stopped rippling, it was obvious. It was increasing in size.
Is it... absorbing my energy?
Before, the blob had been the size of Fox's head. Now, it had a diameter roughly as long as the vulpine's height. The radical hypothesis needed a test, so Fox tipped the Arwing back and retreated, increasing his distance from the target until roughly twenty meters away. Confident that he was free from further danger, Fox changed the laser setting to Twin and let loose three shots in rapid succession. All three pairs of green laserbolt struck the target, changing its shape and structure even more radically than before. Again, Fox waited, hoping he wouldn't find the results he was expecting. Once the orb finished wobbling, the pilot spat out the harshest curse he could muster.
His hypothesis was correct. His shots were being absorbed. The thing was growing.
"Scanners clear. Target confirmed," ROB cut in. From behind, Fox could sense a striking gold light emanating from the charging energy on The Great Fox's guns.
Oh, shit.
"Locked. Firing on TSF-1's target."
"NO!"
Too late. Completely silent in the deep reaches of space, two golden lances of pure, crushing force blasted out of_The Great Fox_'s twin cannons. Each alone was powerful enough to bisect a Venomian Battle Cruiser. If the unidentified object was capable of absorbing such energy to a similar effect as before...
I need to pull ba--
Before Fox could even finish his thought, the gold lasers struck, flashing into a blinding light before instantly muting out in a way that made Fox's heart freeze. The crimson ball was perfect still for a moment, as if it couldn't comprehend the enormous power that had just been spoon-fed to it.
When that moment passed, Fox could tell his life was over. The object cratered, then ballooned outward with a speed and force inescapable, even in an Arwing. The surface of the sphere fired toward Fox like a shot and collided with the nose of his fighter, instantly encapsulating the entire ship. The fluid latched on to all sides, overloading the Arwing's shields in seconds. Computer function soon followed, rendering all instruments dark before something made Fox cry out in terror.
With a force and application that easily implied extreme intelligence, the liquid surrounding the ship shifted. The boiling, bubbling broth above and below lurched upwards, while the substance to either side lurched down, hurtling Fox to and fro inside the cockpit and snapping the ship's wings like twigs.
"MAYDAY! MAYDAY!" Fox grasped at his emergency beacon and shouted his message, hoping ROB would hear. "ROB! Someone! Anyone! Get clear! This is Fox McCloud. Arwing-One is down. Repeat. DOWN! Code Black! I--"
It was all he could hope to get through before the object shorted through his remaining systems, plunging Fox into darkness.
For anyone else, four hours in an Arwing cockpit would have been excruciatingly boring. For Fox, it was hopelessly terrifying. This thing had swallowed his ship whole. The _Great Fox_was clear and hopefully escaped, but Fox didn't have a very good chance at survival, not with no one around to back him up.
Fox was afraid. He tried to fight it, but the feeling of utter helplessness took its toll, so he decided that if he couldn't make the feeling go away, he'd channel it into something else. He was filled with anger. It was the kind of anger that made his hands shake and heart pound.
Whatever this thing is, I'm gonna kill it.
There was no plan; plans required information, and currently, there wasn't much he could do to fight back. With only the help of the flashlight in his headset, Fox could see out the canopy and see the inside of the red prison in which he found himself. It was hollow. When his ship was absorbed, the sphere's exterior appeared to have reached a diameter of approximately thirty meters, and the interior looked to be almost twenty meters across. That meant the skin on this creature was ten meters thick.
No way I'm cutting out of here...
The Arwing was completely dead. All electronic systems burned out almost immediately on impact. When that happened, emergency airflow protocols had activated, opening all air reserves to be methodically fed into the cockpit, dictated by a manual barometer that ran completely independent of any computer. Enough food to last five days and air to last seven.
I'm screwed.
Just as Fox made the observation, a loud pop on the outside hull made him jump. Before he could process what was happening, the temperature inside the cockpit skyrocketed, quickly making the vulpine break out into a profuse sweat.
That's just great, I only have enough water to last five days without sweating it all out, thought the canid as he calmed his breathing and tried to sit still, hoping the heat wave would go away. It never did. For the next hour, the cockpit had reached and stayed at a stifling temperature that drove Fox nearly mad. To try and combat the head, Fox shed his helmet, scarf, boots and socks, letting them float around him in the zero-g and letting his bare feet rest on the instrument panel.
There was nothing left to do but think. All he could do was analyze and figure a way out. Detaching the flashlight from the inside of his headset, Fox turned on the light and pressed it against the canopy, once again trying to understand his surroundings. Words failed him as he bore witness to something completely new.
The interior was moving.
Before, the inner wall of the sphere simply resembled the surface of the average brain, moist and slippery ridges and valleys that sat as motionless as the Arwing sat embedded in the side. Now, each of those ridges had just unpeeled themselves from the interior and had started slathering all over each other. Some were short, only reaching out around one meter, while others appeared to have enough length to circumnavigate the sphere a few times. Scores upon scores of tendrils squirmed about in the silence of vacuum as Fox watched in fascinated disgust.
I'm guessing it's intelligent, Fox thought, setting back in his seat and crossing his arms as he thought. I doubt the Arwing just happened to fall into place so that the canopy is in the interior while the fuselage just happens to be stuck. It wants me to see this.
The heat picked up again, causing Fox's breathing to pick up and making the vulpine instinctively take off his white vest, leaving nothing but his green flight suit. For a moment, he considered stripping down even further, but immediately decided against it. If this thing was intelligent enough to position the Arwing so that the canopy faced the inside...
It was watching him.
"I get it," Fox sneered, hoping the creature could hear him. He raised his middle finger at the writhing masses of tentacles anchored to the interior wall. "Enjoying the show, you bastard?" he taunted, briefly unzipping his suit from collar to groin and letting the last of his decency fall to the floor, leaving him only in his flyer-wear. In a flash of unhinged contempt, Fox reached down toward the base of his tail, stuck both of his thumbs inside the waist of his featureless briefs, and slipped them down to his knees. He pressed his exposed rump against the window, flattening his cheeks against the vitroglass.
The creature immediately reacted. All tentacles within the interior sprang to even further hysteria, the fleshy shafts sliding, beating and slapping against the Arwing's canopy. Fox must have made it angry.
"Yeah, that's right," Fox smirked, slipping his briefs back on place before giving his own ass a hearty slap. "Screw you. I'm in here, and you can't have me!"
Fox finished his insult by zipping his flight suit back into place, spinning about, and practically jumping back down into his seat, which had grown so moist, he had almost made a splash.
"Have I been sweating that much?" Fox thought to himself, grabbing his flashlight and directing toward the sides of the cabin. It wasn't sweat.
Somehow, the creature had found its way inside.
Fox gasped as he saw the red, translucent flesh seep in from between the canopy and fuselage, seemingly unhindered by the airtight seal. After it had immediately worn out its welcome, a half-dozen flattened tendrils squeezed their way through the seal, slowly reaching forward before easily sliding over Fox's body.
Each tentacle was flat like a sheet of paper, and as a result, was much slower and weaker than the ones sliding around on top of the ship, but as they soon started to slip inside of Fox's flight suit, he realized that they were just as malicious.
Just as he thought the situation couldn't get worse, each tentacle instantly popped back to its original shape.
The force of the motion broke the seal between the canopy and the rest of the ship, popping the top off like the cap off a milk jug. With no time to properly react, Fox could only hold his breath and cover his ears as the cabin rapidly decompressed, the air pressure rocketing him deep within the creature's spherical interior.
He didn't hit the other side.
Before he had flown five feet, a clutch of tentacles had immediately caught the vulpine and manhandled him until he found himself in the exact center of the hollow, fleshy sphere. The Arwing had reacted to the breach as designed, opening its air reserves and flooding the entire interior with the same air pressure as that of the cabin before the breach.
So much for dying a dignified death...
Given the sweltering heat inside his ship, Fox had assumed that the tendrils slipping and sliding over his body had to have been excruciatingly hot, but as a lucky handful entered his suit through the collar, arms and legs, he found the opposite to be true. The tentacles were barely cool, almost lukewarm.
He was... comfortable.
Fox screamed as he struggled against the tentacles, tucking into a ball, thrashing about, even trying to claw at a few before his arms and legs were restrained, coiled around and tugged apart.
It's gonna tear me limb from limb... I'm gonna die...
The pilot had no way of knowing if the creature could understand him, but it didn't stop him from trying to communicate.
"I-I didn't mean to insult you," he stammered, cringing as he felt a particularly cool tentacle wrap around his ankle, then continue to wrap around his leg, under his suit, and continue upward, around his hips, then his torso, then his neck. Fox sucked in a long breath through clenched teeth, which soon chattered at the sensation of the moist flesh sliding under his clothes, through his naked fur, over his twitching, toned flesh and muscles. Before long, that same tentacle emerged from the flight suit's collar, pointing its tapered end at Fox as if listening to him. "J-just... p-p-please don--uggh!"
The plea was interrupted and denied as the tendril darted into his mouth, quickly forcing itself between his teeth and doing its best to conquer his tongue. Fox tried biting down on the invader, but to no avail. The tendril was just too thick and tough, with enough lubrication to easily disregard his teeth and slid through until the tip rested on the back of his tongue.
With enough dominant force to make Fox's eyes roll back in arousal, slippery, odorless, colorless, and tasteless fluid, the same kind that gave the tentacles its slick surface, started to lazily roll down his throat, not caring whether or not he swallowed it down, which he did. By his third swallow, Fox lethargically rolled his tongue along the underside of the tentacle, which responded in kind, shaking and shivering of its own accord, all the way down the fox's body.
The tendril jerked out of his throat, leaving Fox gasping and sputtering for breath. If his arms hadn't been bound, he would have tried to wipe his muzzle clean of the slimy gunk.
"I can't believe I just did that," Fox groaned at himself, though he wasn't left to contemplate his own actions for long. As if on cue, dozens of other feeling tentacles closed in. The feelers hooked into his suit, tearing away every strip of fabric they could reach. The first to go was its right leg, then the right sleeve. The left sleeve came off partially and the whole green jumpsuit fell away in one last lucky tug, leaving Fox exposed in nothing but his flight briefs.
With nothing left to protect his decency, Fox's tail instinctively tucked between his legs, only managing to cover his buttocks halfway before another feeler shot forward, latched around his fifth appendage and pinned it to his back, coiling around his abdomen like a half-dozen others.
Fox was completely exposed. Escape was physically impossible. His dignity had been shattered, and the creature was far from finished. In the corner of his eye, Fox caught something that stood contrary to all the other surrounding color: a small patch of pink that hadn't been there even a minute prior. He twisted in the tentacles' grip to catch a better look, only to find, to his surprise, another tentacle.
A slender, pink tentacle spiraled, with prolonged cruelty, out of the interior wall, delicately, erratically reaching out toward Fox. It was different from all other tentacles in every way imaginable. It was noticeably slimmer than the others. While others ended at a point, the pink tentacle ended in a plant-like bulb. The many, dark-red tentacles had a texture, slick and slimy, while every six inches or so, a ring-like notch circled the circumference, uniform like a bamboo shoot. The single tentacle was completely featureless, only covered in stretchy pink skin which looked almost... dry.
By the time the dry, pink tentacle made its way to Fox's bare thigh, the pilot had a vague idea what it wanted. The tentacles were hardly holding him in place. The G-Diffusers had died with the Arwing, leaving Fox floating in zero-gravity. The slimy feelers had been feeling every inch and crevice of his body only because they wanted to.
Fox shivered at the thought of the violation, and his shivers doubled as the loose-skinned tendril slid under the slick tentacles that coiled around the helpless vulpine's body, parallel to his pinned tail. The movement slicked the shaft as it twisted in the confines of the slimy coil before eventually emerging over the cleft of Fox's rump. Smoothly sliding between, over and around his rear, even pausing to confidently poke at the perineum, the member-tentacle lovingly frisked against the neglected, rounded bulge at his groin before nestling itself along the chiseled crevice of Fox's linea alba.
From that moment onward, Fox only breathed through shallow, rushed breaths as he quickly realized that any notion of personal privacy or allowed modesty died the moment The Great Fox had opened fire.
"Member-tentacle" proved to be an accurate descriptor in the young, defiled fox's mind. While the feelers that currently bound him were easily recognizable as tentacles, the shaft placed snugly on his abdomen more closely resembled an uncircumcised penis.
In an attempt to appear slightly less vulnerable, Fox inhaled deeply, and then held his breath, tensing up his chest and abdominals in the process. The maneuver had an effect opposite that for which he had hoped, apparently pleasing the member-tentacle, causing it to become rigid and lightly vibrate, almost like purring.
It was a signal. As the vibration continued, almost all slime-tendrils receded, only six remaining to restrain the nearly-naked vulpine. One held each wrist, one held each ankle, one placed a placid, yet firm belt-like grip around his hips, and a particularly amorous intruder held his tail, wrapping around like a corkscrew with the tapering tip tenderly probing the dimples in his back. The member-tendril took initiative once more and turned about, slithering and snaking around Fox's bulge once more before curving back over his perineum before placing its head between two toned and unresisting cheeks.
It slowly pressed into his sphincter, through the last remaining clothing on his body, and managed half an inch of entry before meeting the resistance of the elastic. It paused, confused, before resuming its efforts, lightly, briskly, and repeatedly jabbing at the vulpine's twitching asshole, drawing out numerous full-body spasms and tormented, falsetto groans from the ashamed fox. Only managing scarce millimeters, the member decided to pull away from Fox's body, both to rest and to wait on the actions of its equally-depraved brethren.
In flawless coordination, the remaining tentacles manipulated the pose of Fox's traitorously-relaxed form, with the hips pulling back and each ankle forward, bending him forward into a forty-five degree angle. The member pulled back, a decent handful of meters away before it turned about in the air, pointing directly at Fox's eagerly-presented rump, and with little suspense or fanfare, fired at him like a bolt of lightning.
"YEEE-OOOOOWW!!!"
Something broke...
The penetration was as quick as it was shocking, and surprisingly painless. Much to Fox's relief, the secure, nigh-unbreakable flyer-wear managed to hold, yielding the exact same distance as before, less than an inch. Immediately following the collision, however, every single tentacle inside the creature had a reaction much more unnerving than any Fox had anticipated.
Nothing.
Each and every one of the scores of tentacles currently either groping, molesting, or simply observing Fox had ceased all movement, holding completely still, forming a moment of idle anticipation that chilled Fox to the core, and as if adding a punch line to a long, heavy pause, each remaining tentacle pulled away, leaving Fox floating alone.
The member had pulled out from just barely penetrating the vulpine, slinking away as it was soon crowded by several standard feelers. The others refused to touch the member-tentacle, simply giving it space while still staying relatively close. The member was not in good shape. Instead of slithering through the air with the fluid grace it had before, it simply swung about, completely rigid, rapidly whipping back and forth, like treating a jammed finger. Out of annoyance, anger and discomfort, the member fell back with the pink sphincter from whence it came with a fervor that would have fit perfectly with a piercing wail from its pain.
Floating in his brief moment of respite and minimal privacy, Fox looked and felt about his own form, checking himself for any sign of injury and finding none. After his own self-examination, he turned his attention to his own incredible flyer-wear, which showed no sign of damage, itself. It had saved hundreds of test pilots from blackouts and redouts, and had saved _one_particular pilot from being brutally raped.
With a somewhat absurd sigh of relief, Fox slipped his hand down his back, under his briefs, and parted his glutei with his thumb and ring finger. In hopes of being evermore thorough in his self-inspection, he quickly dipped his forefinger inside himself, checking for any bruising or irritation potentially caused by the now-damaged member. There was none. Fox had endured the experience so far completely whole. Luckily, for his cleanliness's sake, the index finger came back entirely clean. Due to Fox's extensive recent use of nourishots, he hadn't physically eaten in weeks, rendering large segments of his large intestine, colon and rectum completely free of waste.
These things could have ripped me apart ages ago. They want me alive, Fox reasoned, cringing at what he figured next. They wanna... fuck me. As long as I keep these on, he processed, adjusting the waist of his briefs as they snapped back in place. That isn't happening.
Fox let out a sigh of relief at his newfound safeguard. It could temporarily hold up against the average molecular blade, much less whatever the tentacles could muster. Just as Fox had allowed the thought to cross his mind, smoothed out his fur, and attempted to make himself comfortable as he floated in nothingness, he saw what had happened to the other tendrils.
All active tentacles had formed around where the member-tendril had retreated, as if conspiring on their next move, each tip pointed carefully at Fox. The one that had forced its way into his mouth earlier had broken away from the others, and slowly snaked its way over Fox's legs and around his hips. It squirmed its way around, tracing every ridge, nook and cranny, analyzing him. Alarmingly gentle, it seemed to come to the realization that the elastic protection was impenetrable, having quickly taken to Fox's form like a second skin.
"Yeah, that's right, you son of a bitch," Fox sneered with a smirk, slipping a hand under each of his knees and tucking into a ball, mockingly displaying himself as his tail swished left and right under his upturned ass. "If you can't have this, what're you gonna do abou--"
SMACK!
"AAAAUUGH!"
In blinding speed and shocking brutality, the tentacle flung around in a wide, circular arc and cracked forward, like a whip, striking squarely on Fox's scarcely-clad left cheek. The blow sent the pilot tumbling, lazily twisting and rolling while barely moving in any real lateral direction. The tentacle only struck once, leaving Fox even more disoriented than if he had endured a full assault of strikes. He froze, trying to get his bearings and find the aggressive feeler, absentmindedly nursing his stinging buttocks as he looked.
Down and to his left, Fox found the attacker. Poised, alert, and ready to strike, the tentacle didn't appear intent on hitting the vulpine again. The blow seemed, in hindsight, to have just been a reactionary measure, like it was putting Fox in his place.
Fox didn't like being put in his place.
"Aren't you at least gonna buy me dinner firs--" he continued to taunt before another tentacle lashed out from behind him and whipped around his hips, binding his wrists to the sides of his pelvis. "Hey!"
Before the pilot could come up with another quip, the prime tentacle zipped toward Fox's struggling hand, the moist, odd arm showing explicit interest in his fingers. It wormed its way around in Fox's limp grip, tugging on the thumb and attempting to angle it into Fox's waist strap.
It had figured out how to remove Fox's flyer-wear, his last defense.
"Woah!" Fox nearly squealed out of urgency, tucking both thumbs inside a tight, enclosed fist. Fortunately for him, he hadn't closed his fist around the tentacle, which would have proved fruitless. If he was unable to _bite_through one of the tentacles, he surely couldn't crush one in his grip.
The prime tendril backed away, temporarily defeated. A dozen others burst forward, three instantly strapping tightening around his ankles and neck, while the others went to work battering at his helpless form like an army of whips.
He bucked, he writhed, he yelped, but the beating failed to cease until long after Fox had run out of breath due to his cries of pain. Once the barrage _had_stopped, it had stopped all at once, each tendril slathering over the area it had been striking with loving meekness in total contrast to their previous, brutal action. Each muscle twitched and stung from the attack, but as the cool, slick tentacles continued in their ministrations, the pain ebbed away with surprising speed, having completely disappeared once the tentacles receded, leaving Fox with nothing but the feeler binding his arms to his hips.
Fox had been so shocked at his pain's sudden treatment, he didn't notice that a single tentacle had returned, to its previous position, rolling and slipping over the sole of his right foot.
It felt good. It even tickled, but Fox kept his entire leg still, for fear of provoking another attack. Then, as nonchalantly as it had returned, it left again, before it struck his sole with enough force to make his entire body seize.
Fox screamed, from both shock and the force of the blow. Completely unable to reach down and attempt to restrain the rogue feeler, Fox could only watch as the tentacle repeated the treatment, this time on his calf. It gently slavered over the taut, tense muscle before flipping back and lashing at his lower leg. The strike there stung even more so than the one on his foot, but Fox was better prepared, biting down on his lip and only letting out a brief whimper.
And so, the process continued, the tentacle starting a slow, torturous climb up Fox's right leg. Next was the back of his knee, then the back of his thigh, then the inside of his thigh.
Slather, smack, yelp... slather, smack, yelp...
Before long, Fox was getting used to the rhythm, preparing and steeling himself to eventually take the abuse in total silence, however, before long, the errant tendril reached its preferred target.
The tentacle slicked over Fox's sealed rump with a fervor greater than it had shown over the rest of his leg. It made Fox groan in embarrassment as he understood why; however, as the tentacle fell away, the vulpine let out a simply pathetic yelp as he understood what was to come next.
SMACK!
Fox let out the most disconcerting scream he had ever screamed in his entire life, the shameless strike forcing his buttocks to quiver like gelatin.
Before his body had even stopped quaking, the tentacle relocated again, this time, nestling in an even more intimate spot: directly against Fox's perineum. Dotingly circling about, even taking a moment for its tip to grace the back of Fox's bulge, the tentacle slowly receded, preparing to strike again.
"No! Not there!"
SMACK!
Fox shook, grunt grinding in his throat before surging forward in an enraged roar. He kicked with his legs and thrashed in place, never once edging closer toward freedom, and the feeler refused to stop.
As if it hadn't done anything remotely egregious, the tentacle made its way to what had to be its final stop. Slowly, two tendrils reached out and grabbed Fox's ankles, spreading the vulpine's legs out wide and leaving him hopelessly exposed, and gently, with tender loving care, it graced over Fox's constrained bulge.
"ALRIGHT!" Fox shrieked, panicked beyond measure. He knew what it wanted, and it couldn't possibly hurt more than what he had just experienced.
Before the tendril had its chance to strike, Fox dug his thumbs into the waist of his flyer-wear. Slowly, with measured hesitation, Fox pulled his thumbs apart, stretching the material and willingly unsticking the last of his clothes. The creature took notice, both tentacles previously holding onto his ankles eagerly snapping upward and latching onto his now useless briefs. They took over, carefully slipping the elastic down, over his legs, making sure not to let the material touch his body.
Once the creature had successfully yanked away at Fox's last line of defense, the four active feelers promptly fell away, letting the briefs float aimlessly, well out of the pilot's reach, and with a frustrated groan, Fox lay suspended, completely utterly naked in the presence of a monster that wanted no more than to thoroughly, viciously defile him.
Alone, helpless, and with no other course of action available to him, Fox closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and waited.
But nothing came. Nothing reached out. Nothing penetrated the defenseless fox. For some reason, it waited. Fox's eyes snapped open in newfound panic, hoping to anticipate the creature's next move. It always seemed to remain one step ahead.
Fox didn't have to look far. A single tentacle floated directly in front of him, posed with a clear level of alertness, tip held at waist level, and obviously pointing at the vulpine's hovering, drifting cock as it floated limp in the air until silently tapping against his cubed, toned abs.
It's intelligent, but is it... sentient_?_
"Geez, you don't have to stare," Fox scolded, sliding his hands down and concealing his groin. To Fox's embarrassment, he found his own shaft to be very much erect; covering himself proved much more difficult than he had hoped, eventually settling for palming his shaft with one hand and cupping over his scrotum with the other. He had anticipated abuse, but the specific attention toward his nudity only shook the pilot further.
The creature didn't take kindly to Fox's attempt at decency. Within seconds of the fox's recoil, a trio of visibly exasperated feelers whipped out of obscurity and lashed the pilot into a more humbling pose. The first two tendrils worked toward restraining Fox's legs, and did so by each coiling around his shin from ankle to knee. The third slipped in behind and wrapped around both of Fox's adjacent elbows, locking his arms together before tugging upward, forcing Fox's hands away from his body and binding them above his head.
The enamored tentacle that had previously been staring was now enraptured by the display, closing in further and watching as Fox's length began to harden to such a great extent, it began to twitch in time with the entangled vulpine's heartbeat.
It licked him. The tentacle prodded into Fox's furred sac and firmly, demonstrably, pulled itself along the underside of his twitching, sensitive, bare flesh, the motion drawing and shudder and gasp, along with a small spurt of precum.
You bastards can humiliate me all you want, Fox scowled, looking up and to his right, away from the feeler as it continued in its ministrations. That doesn't mean I'm--
Fox's very thought was cut short with a gasp as the cruel tentacle took its victory one step further, rapidly slipping past his groin, under his hip, looping around his thigh, climbing all the way up his back and laying on top of his shoulder. Slowly, yet surely, it descended down Fox's front, the rest of the tentacle's length sliding along the path made by its tip and causing Fox's body to seize and spasm more from the gesture of it all as opposed the sensual overload.
The sphere rotated around them, or rather, the tentacles rotated Fox in their grasp, repositioning him like a toy in a tyrant's clutches. The superior creature seemed to have some entirely relative perception of up and down. But to Fox, it seemed his body remained vertical, as if sacrificed in an alien ritual to some perverted god.
The true torment was starting. As the tentacle made its final turn between the fox's spread legs, into his rump, and just over his sphincter, yet another errant tentacle curled around Fox's throat, under his jaw, and pulled his head upward, not even granting him the dignity of_watching_ as he was penetrated.
He had hoped for pain. He had hoped for even a modicum of discomfort, but there was none, only a long, open exhale from the vulpine's lax maw as his defeat was rendered complete, and it felt wonderful. The entirely-frictionless intruder delved inside the fox with a slick squelch before pausing and letting the moment sink in. The entire experience had been nothing but a series of moments. A moment of hopelessness was followed by one of surprise, then relief, then respite, then pain, and then... more hopelessness. Fox wasn't given any time to truly contemplate as the tentacle began to move again and continued to enter him.
Smoothly and effortlessly, it continued to probe with the steadfast slowness of a setting sun. Fox did his best to hold still, but every few inches, he would take in another notch, causing him to spasm, gasp, or both. It occurred with regularity only contested by his embarrassment at his own involuntary enjoyment.
It's really that simple, huh?
The tentacle kept its speed. Rubbing it in as it used the fox's anus to rub one out. By the time it stopped again, it had to buried at least a foot of its length inside the poor vulpine. The pause barely lasted a second, as the feeler swiftly yanked itself halfway out before ramming back home. Fox squealed, jerking in place, not once experiencing pain, which ashamed him more thoroughly than any torture. Here he was, being held in place and made to scream like a whore, the pleasure was so great.
Fox's cries and moans doubled in regularity and intensity as the tentacle picked up its pace, lurching in and out with no effort whatsoever. Each rapid thrust made Fox's body writhe and contort until muscles cramped and weakened. Eventually, the spasms looked less like resistance and more like tamed, broad trembles.
As the creature fucked McCloud, it began to toy with him further, arranging limbs in various, lewd positions, obviously intent on debasing him further. The fox eventually found his elbows above his head, wrists pinned between his shoulders, with his legs spread wide, yet tucked into his chest, and even in such a pose, he still wasn't allowed to look down and witness his own breeding. A single tentacle wrapped around his neck and propped itself under his chin, prohibiting Fox from looking any farther down than directly ahead.
His breathing had slowed. Moments crawled into minutes, and in that time, Fox's squeals, cries, and whimpers had devolved into long, heavy panting. The massive, crushing wall of his impending climax appeared far, but approached quickly. Fox fought with every ounce of his will to keep that from happening. He would give anything to spare the creature that satisfaction. He closed his eyes; instead of trying to distract himself with a stronger thought or emotion, he just stared out into the empty blackness, replacing something with nothing in an attempt to keep his unwelcome libido under control.
For a brief moment, it worked. The crushing wall had halted on the horizon of his mind, still there, but not encroaching on what remained of Fox's shattered dignity.
That was until the creature began to truly show Fox the meaning of shame. With no warning or reason, the creature interrupted its pattern of steady, quick, deep thrusts and slowed down, taking time to jab into the front wall of Fox's passage before plunging even deeper than before. The motion brought out sensation that effortlessly pierced through nothing and made Fox scream anew.
The new pattern stayed, steadily increasing in tempo as it went. Attack the prostate, delve deep, then pull back. Repeat. The procedure constantly put Fox on edge as it hurtled him toward his orgasm, making his hips buck with each deep thrust and buttocks clench with each deliberate jab.
Was I really bested and taken so easily?
Fox didn't make a sound as he came. Throughout his long, terribly fulfilling crescendo, he simply shuddered, shivering in the cold shadow of his dead pride. The question had been entirely rhetorical, but as the vulpine watched a long, thin stream of ivory fluid jettison across his vision, shooting through the air for meters upon meters until it hit the interior wall, he received an answer.
Yes. Yes he was.
To be continued...
Next time, on Star Fox: Humiliation, Fox remains as the strange creature's bitch for roughly 85% of part 2, wherein he discovers new, perverted ways the monster plans, then proceeds to violate our intrepid (pronounced "_slut-_ee") protagonist even further, and then...
ENTER STAR WOLF