The Saanth and Sir Malin

This story contains dubious consent, corruption, a male character, a tentacle creature, and breeding.

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Sir Malin should have already been the bridegroom to Princess Helena. He was one of the most accomplished knights of the kingdom, he was an elf of noble lineage, and his willowy frame moved with grace and poise. He had been raised alongside the princess, and they had explored the secrets of the castle and of love together. Malin had been promised her hand in marriage umpteen times, and the two had fostered a tender, quiet romance for years, praying that soon they would be brought together by the emperor.

And yet now an impossible barrier was being placed before Malin.

Emperor Grout sat on the high throne while Malin knelt. The elf could feel his face burning and pointed ears buzzing.

"The Sakanth, my Lord?" Sir Malin asked. His mouth was dry as he asked.

"Yes, Malin," the emperor answered. He was short and round, and the clothes he wore were dyed with cinnabar and other expensive pigments. His cheeks were rosy as he sipped from a silver goblet.

"The Sakanth," Sir Malin said, "is beyond the Kingdom's capabilities, your highness. You said as much a week ago."

"And you believed me then, apparently," the emperor slurred, "so believe me now. You *will* get the Sakanth's head." The king turned his gaze to a servant. "More wine."

The servant scurried off.

"I would need reinforcements, intelligence, and potions, of course," Sir Malin said, "not to mention more firepower. Even then, I would have no idea what kind of power I'd be going up against, your Excellency. I want to be smart about this."

"So you're questioning my power of mind?" The emperor asked, tense fire rolling under his voice.

"Of course not, your Highness," Sir Malin quickly said. "I just would need more resources."

"Well, you will have no such thing," the emperor said absentmindedly.

The servant returned and poured blood-red wine into Emperor Grout's goblet. He sipped, not noticing when some dribbled down his chin and stained his ruffled collar. The emperor was not only a fool; he was a drunk fool.

Malin let his blood boil silently, and he checked his tone before he spoke. "I don't question your reasoning, your Highness, but perhaps I may ask the purpose behind this strategy."

The emperor sighed and leaned back. "If you really are to wed my daughter, Sir Malin, I need you to be otherworldly in your abilities. *This* is your final opportunity to prove you are who others say you are. Now go, and let me enjoy my drink."

Malin left, and he prepared for his journey.

Only a day later, Malin was on his way, riding his horse and daydreaming about Princess Helena.

The couple's goodbye had been gentle. They had a midnight tryst assisted and expedited by handmaids and servants empathetic to the lovers' situation. Malin had used a secret tunnel behind the first emperor's portrait to leave the first guard's room--the passageways through the castle were familiar. The two met in the garden beneath a fig tree, holding one another close.

"You just cannot leave me, Malin," Helena said. Her eyes were wet. "You--well, you just *can't*. I don't care what my father says."

"You may not care, darling," Malin said, "but your father's word is law, and if we are to finally be--*when* we are to finally be together, we must have been following that law to its letter."

"But what if that law is ridiculous as this?" Helena asked.

"We are both well aware you can't say such things," Malin said, looking around sharply. "Anybody loyal to the Emperor could call you forward for treason."

"Treason it is, then!" Helena yelled. "Killing the Sakanth is a mountain nobody can climb--nobody! He takes life as much as he takes breath, and you'll be next if you leave."

"Hush, dear," Malin whispered. "I can do anything--take on any enemy--if it means coming home and returning to your embrace." He wove his fingers into hers and soothed the princess more, but his resolution and confidence was dishonest. In his stomach, Malin had held doubt.

Now, as he rode on horseback through a barely-charted mountain pass, that doubt returned. He knew where the Sakanth was, and he knew how to enter his lair--that part was easy. Nearly anyone could have come face to face with the Sakanth if they so wished. What Malin lacked, along with every other human, elf, and orc, was the ability.

A voice rippled through his chest, begging him to turn back, admit cowardice, and deny the emperor. Many knights and nobles would understand, to be sure. To not be consumed with terror in the face of the Sakanth would be sheer stupidity.

Yet Sir Malin's hands refused to waiver. His body was too cowardly to admit to being scared. He pushed his fear into the recesses of his mind, and he rode on.

The route to the Sakanth wasn't a particularly hard one, but it was traveled so infrequently that many times, Malin had to resort to following the stars and his gut to decide where the road was supposed to lead. He found himself traveling around collapsed walkways and rotten bridges, each left to the choking grasp of time. At these moments, his map was useless. It seemed that at every turn, he was delayed.

As he approached the Sakanth, the sky darkened into a steel gray, and the little amount of wilderness around Malin--the singing birds and sparse vegetation--disappeared. The only trace of life was the occasional skeleton, sometimes humanoid and sometimes not. Sir Malin tried to give what rites he could to the expired creatures before burying them under piles of stones.

He arrived a fortnight later, and he was on edge simply from the sight of the Sakanth's lair. He had heard stories of it, but now, staring across the wide, bridged chasm, Sir Malin felt he was staring at the gate to the hell rings. To call this place a "castle' would be a misnomer. It was built from spires stretching into the sky, yes, and the spires were dotted with window-like holes, but ultimately, the structure was shaped more like a series of massive termite mounds, crooked and dirty, with no seams or brickwork.

Sir Malin decided to backtrack, set up camp in a small cave he chose earlier, and rest before the next day. At the moment of dawn, he would begin his assault. Hopelessness reared its head before Malin killed it. His life now was beyond hope.

After Malin brought out his bedroll and unlatched all of his supplies, he spoke to his horse and cast a simple spell he had prepared as soon as he had accepted his fate: he told the creature to go home. It left without looking back. If Malin was resigned to death, he didn't want to drag any other lives down with him.

He swallowed his despair, and he lay down, pulling a blanket around him without feeling its warmth.

He slept with his armor and sword.

When Malin awoke, he was surrounded by a darkness beyond night. A dreamy part of him wondered if he had gone blind with fear, but a feeling of warm moisture sliding across his eyelids snapped Malin back to the world around him. Wherever Malin was, it stank like spit and earth.

He heard a voice. It was gravelly and wet, spoken by something that was intelligent, but not well-practiced with language. "You have trespassed, elf."

Malin's skin erupted in goosebumps, and he tried to reach for his sword. He found that he could not move. A hot breeze hit him, and it felt as if his clothes had been removed as well. "And so?" He asked. "Why am I not dead?" It was, Malin knew, the Sakanth to whom he spoke.

"Because, unlike your 'emperor,'" the Sakanth said, his voice hissing and catching, "I recognize potential when I see it."

Malin brushed off the comment. He was tired of the emperor, but empty flattery was nothing. "I refuse to be of use to you. Free me, and fight with honor."

How had Malin been caught? Where was he? How could he free himself? These questions racked his mind as be tried to determine their answers. He slowed his mind, and he could tell that he was held in place by his hips, arms, and legs, and he could tell that he was nufe. Malin felt the chill of humiliation.

"You try to figure out where you are," the Sakanth said,"but *where* you are won't help at all." It was almost as if the demon was responding to Malin's thoughts. He had heard rumors and legends that the Sakanth had powers over mortal minds, but there had never been evidence. Malin hoped he was wrong.

Then Malin felt movement across his eyes and forehead as the wet presence withdrew, and warm light filled his field of view. He was suspended at least five feet in the air, which let him see almost all of the large room.

Sconces and candles illuminated the jagged walls and uneven floors. No furniture, save for stalagmites and stalactites, graced the room. There was a pool of cloudy water underneath Malin, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw the reflection of his own body hanging in the air.

Malin's naked body was thin, and his pointed ears were visible past his shoulder-length sandy hair.The tentacles of the Sakanth held him spread eagle and facing down; his lithe and hairless limbs were trapped in place, pulled away from his torso. He was stark naked, and his flaccid cock swung below him. It too, was hairless, and even for an elf, it was small. Malin felt embarrassed, although he knew more dire troubles were at hand.

There was a mass of shadows behind him, and Malin guessed that it was where the Sakanth was lurking.

"Show yourself so I may face you," Malin said, his voice cracking.

The Sakanth hissed and dipped out from the shadows.

Malin felt sick.

The creature was a mass of tentacle and muscle, looking like multitude of writhing snakes that towered ten feet in the air. At moments, Malin felt as if he saw eyes and mouths forming before they again disappeared. The Sakanth was a conscious, malicious mass of arcane flesh, spawned by some collective and ultimate evil, and Malin was now being restrained by him like a child's toy.

"Are you satisfied?" The Sakanth asked, almost annoyed.

"I would only be satisfied if I could be spitting on your grave," said Malin.

"That won't be necessary," said the Sakanth, tightening his grip on Malin's waist. The tendrilous limb was slimy against the elf's skin.

"So kill me!" Malin cried out! He was only going to escape this hell through death, so he decided to speed along the process. "Finish me and toss me to the side."

"I already told you," the Sakanth said, "I see potential in you. That potential cannot be reached by a corpse."

"Whatever it is, I'd rather be dead," Malin spat.

"Are you sure?" The Sakanth asked, reaching down another limb and touching the pool's surface. A shimmer rippled out, and as the pool settled again, a new image was shown to Malin. It was Princess Helena getting ready for the day.

Malin's eyes widened. "You don't have the *right* to show me her, demon!"

"I'm not just showing you," the Sakanth said, "I'm telling you: as I was climbing through the recesses of your thoughts, I found this beauty. More, I found a much easier way into the castle."

The picture changed again, and now the portrait of the first emperor was cast on the pool's surface. Malin felt ice. With a path from the garden to the first guard's barrack, anyone who was aware of that passage had near-direct access to the royal family.

"I trust I will have your cooperation then?" The Sakanth breathed. Malin swore he could hear joy in the monster's voice as he spoke.

Malin bit his tongue to avoid lashing out.

"What do you want?" Malin asked.

"I want you to drink," the Sakanth said, his and Malin's reflection reappearing in the water below.

A tentacle wound around Malin's neck and poised itself before his lips. Up close, Malin saw it was bulbous at the end and excreting some fluid from its tip. He felt his guts churn.

"You want me to drink... whatever that is? Then what? You'll leave the princess alone? You'll spare the kingdom? And then what, I'll get seven wishes?" Malin tried to imbue sarcasm in his voice, but the fear that gurgled beneath undercut his assertiveness.

"Drink, and I will take you instead of the princess," the Sakanth said.

Malin blinked quickly. The Sakanth had already burrowed into his mind and memories, and if Malin refused now, a pitiful and swift death waited. Complying with the beast, at least for a time, was the best strategy. However, the fluid was still off-putting. Malin slowly nodded. "Alright, I--"

Before Malin could say another word, the tentacle, uneven and ridged, thrust forward past his lips, quickly diving over his fighting tongue and down his throat. Malin felt himself heave, and he tried to bite and thrash at the monster's appendage as he gagged. The Sakanth didn't seem to notice or care, and the tentacle's soft flesh pushed through Malin's constricted throat. The taste was saccharine and organic, like the tendril was coated with the sap of a musky plant.

"Good," the Sakanth growled, "then the contract is sealed. Now drink your fill, and I will wake when it has begun."

Malin tried to yell and choke questions and insults, but he couldn't form any words around the foreign object lodged between his lips.

The Sakanth again answered as if he was inside Malin's brain. "This is ambrosia," he rasped, "the drink of gods."

Malin tried to ask more questions; he wanted to know what in high heaven this "ambrosia" was meant to do, and when he would be freed. However, the creature remained quiet, and a heavy, even breath replaced the wheezing voice. He was either asleep or otherwise resting.

Meanwhile, the flesh that was lodged in Malin's esophagus began to throb with leaking fluid, and a steady stream of sweet slime started to drip from its surface. It was being deposited directly into the elf's stomach, and it wasn't long until he felt his body tingle and respond to the strange secretion.

The feeling wasn't dissimilar to the times when Malin partook in drinking the emperor's wine--he felt warm and slightly sick, and a buzz appeared behind his eyes. Malin grew tired, and his body fell limp.

When Malin awoke, he found himself in a similar position to before, suspended above the water, only now he could feel the effects of the Sakanth's ambrosia more acutely. He was hot, and his mind was foggy. The tentacle in Malin's mouth had retracted, and he moved his sore jaw. His stomach sloshed with the liquid, but the taste in Malin's mouth was not wholly unpleasant.

As he blinked and started to look around the room, Malin noticed a long stream of drooling precum hanging from his cock, swaying like a pendulum above the water. He was hard as stone. The feeling between his legs was that of low embers; there were no leaping flames, but heat radiated from within. His arousal was profound.

The pool below Malin cleared, and he got a better look at himself. His eyes looked glazed over, and he felt bloated and hazy from the fluid. "Sa--Sakanth!" He yelled out. "Show yourself and explain!" The mist over his thoughts remained.

The monster did not wake, but instead, the bulbed tentacle returned, sliding across his chin to greet Malin's mouth.

Malin resolved that he was going to reject the appendage this time. He would close his mouth tight, turn his head, let it break his teeth before opening himself to whatever strange influence it was having. He would not be subject to whatever atrocity the Sakanth was committing.

However, even as he thought this, Malin felt his lips part and tongue extend, inviting the tentacle in. He was disgusted with himself, and commanded his body to obey, but it would not. He could not clear his mind, and even worse, he couldn't bring himself to not savor the taste of the Sakanth's juices as the swollen limb slithered down his throat.

The sweet liquid was viscous, and it coated the inside of Malin's cheeks as he drank it down. The tentacle, which before was rough and revolting, now seemed soft and pleasant. It was like honey, he thought. A part of him cried out, but that voice was quieted.

What's more, the limb inside Malin's mouth was not still this time, but instead it would pull out eight or so inches before pushing inwards again with a wet, sliding sound. The juices flowed more freely as Malin's throat was invaded. He did not gag this time.

The tendrils that held Malin's limbs and waist all began to move, readjusting themselves, and as they did, Malin felt two new small probes glide across the back of his legs. They traced from his restrained ankles to his slim calves, leaving behind a thin residue that felt cold against the open air. Then they went farther up, kissing his thighs and sending shivers up Malin's spine. Malin suddenly knew their goal, and the lucid part of him tried to fight back, but his body stayed motionless, save for the rhythmic shake that came with each thrust of the tentacle in his throat. He wanted to scream, but he could barely even whimper.

The two small probes eased their way across Malin's asscheeks, and they began to sink deeper and deeper toward the most private part of him; the tentacles found his virgin asshole.

Malin mustered all of his willpower, but at most, he was only able to make his body slightly tremble and breathe faster, sucking in the sickly sweet scent of the goop. Whatever this substance was that was being pumped into his stomach was destroying his mind. He could not choke, speak, or rebel. It felt like he was being made into an object.

The two smaller appendages slipped easily past Malin's entrance with a lubricated squelch, and he felt a shock of pleasure and pain. The tendrils started turning and moving, stretching him open before relaxing again. Embarrassment and shame flooded Malin's mind along with bliss. He had never touched his own asshole, but with how compliant his soul and body were being, he knew that anybody who looked at him now would see nothing but an acquiescent whore. This *had* to be the Sakanth's influence though, he was sure. There was no way that Sir Malin's psyche, belonging to a strong and respectable knight, would break when presented with such disgusting hedonism. Besides, it might not have been real pleasure that Malin was feeling as he was sodomized. It could have been a trick of the Sakanth's strange magic.

Then the tentacles Dove deeper, and the moans started. At first, Malin did not recognize his own voice, as he had never heard such sounds come from himself, but as the noise echoed around the room, he realized it was unmistakable his. He felt his cheeks bloom and turn red with humiliation. What would the princess think if she saw him now? His moans grew louder, and Malin felt his cock strain more, weeping for attention.

The tentacles continued.

Malin's ass was violated like this for what seemed like hours more, although it could have been much shorter, and the dribble of precum that hung below him grew longer and thicker with each passing minute. It was as if the drink in his stomach was dilating time, opening each second into deeper and deeper moments, slowing his perception. After a while, even as he tried to focus and pull himself back to reality, any thought Malin had not related to the tentacles faded behind the fog in his mind, and he was transfixed on the feeling of being split open and invaded. He could think of nothing but the incessant pressure of the Sakanth. He even forgot about the tendril that was planted between his lips.

Then the two smaller tentacles inside of his now-loose asshole stopped pistoning and pumping, and again, they withdrew. As they slipped and wriggled out of Malin, he felt a new, disturbing feeling.

It dawned on Malin that as the tendrils exited him, he felt like a sheath without its sword: empty and incomplete. A cool dismay gripped his heart. He felt the vacuum that craved to be filled.

Malin's head fell, and he sank into a fitful sleep.