YuYuKo will EaT YoU

CLOSED
Due to Circumstances Involving the Proof of Girls’ Absence

The first sensation to breach the walls of the viscous world Marisa’s blindness had boxed her into was the sound of voices. However, the voices were more akin to unhinged roars, and their sound was paired with the sound of water, or something wet, colliding, or sliding past something else. Like a butcher handling meat on a cutting board, Marisa thought. She wrenched her eyes open. The film of tears coating the lenses warped her view, but she could make out the rough outline of a black, squirming muscular mass and something white pinned beneath it. What next caught her eye were seven-colored droplets dancing in mid-air.

It took a few moments for everything to come into focus, but there was no denying it. In a corner of the room, on the bare stone floor, there Flandre was, being fucked by a large black dog. She wore only a sheer pink camisole, and the claws of the beast sunk deep into her bare shoulders as it pinned her to the floor. When it speared its long penis into her vagina with weighty thrusts, the motions resembled a man stomping on a child more than a beast engaged in a pleasurable act, and the wet sounds came not just from the usual sources, but from the frantic rearrangement of organs as the bulging penis carved out its place in the devil-child’s unnaturally swollen abdomen. She had already been filled with more semen than she had the capacity to hold, as seen by the growing off-white puddle still spilling out of her. But whenever the penis receded, her red, swollen labia seemed to plead—to beg for it not to go, clinging to it as if coated in thick a sap. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, only its light sourcing the scene. As busy as the dog was with its thrusting, it opened its large, fanged mouth, so that its tongue hung lazily out, and lapped at her throat, rubbing itself against her.

“Nn— Ah— Hah… Aahn… Mmn—”

The dog’s thrusts were punctuated by short, hoarse moans, which dribbled out of Flandre’s open mouth like the strings of jolted drool that accompanied them. It wasn’t so much the difference, but the uncanny similarity between the two, slobbering and on all fours, that kept Marisa from shouting. Words were a forgotten mystery, and her knees began to shake.

Humans operate under the assumption of several underlying hypotheses, which state how things should exist in the world, and the stratified filter of those assumptions, shaped by our past experiences, in turn shapes how we view the world. However, that is precisely why—when we encounter something outside the scope of our learning, or something that wildly defies our expectations, or something that does not belong where it is—we experience fear. Marisa’s throat felt uncomfortably dry. The colorful musk-stench of the room grew thicker with every thrust. Semen splattered Flandre’s knees as another mass fell out of her into the pool.

“A— Ug— Guh— Kk— Huukh— Aahn… Aah!”

As the dog’s thrusts grew more violent, Flandre’s moans began to alternate in and out of coughs, gasps and gagging. Her swollen labia also seemed to have hit a limit in its abuse, spraying droplets of scarlet blood unto the pool of semen as it tore, leading to ripples treading the surface like dazzling crested pink ibises.

“Ahn… Ugh— Nngh— Hah… Aahn… Ngha…”

After an umpteenth vocalization of Flandre’s pleasure, the dog suddenly stopped thrusting. Her swollen belly drooped as it swelled to an even greater size, and a fresh stream of semen gushed out of her, washing the pinks out of the semen pool.

Despite the release, Flandre still looked pregnant, and her twitching jaw hung open as she moaned on in an incomprehensible babble. The dog did not release her, but held itself firmly locked against her blood-stained buttocks as it reared its head and mimicked her moan with its gurgling throat, dribbling drool down her back.

How long did this continue? With no clock to tell the time, Marisa’s grasp on time could only be subjective.

Flandre rubbed her face against the cool stone floor. Her lips, dripping with drool, already had a mind their own. She smiled. Three strands of her gold-blonde hair were plastered to her sweaty cheek. Her heavy breathing made the ends of her hairs dance. The semen had stopped dripping. The dog growled. It dipped its head down and rubbed its face against Flandre’s neck, and then—it snapped down on it.

The sound of the dog’s yellowed fangs piercing the skin and tearing the flesh of Flandre’s neck was not especially loud, but Marisa’s ears focused in on it, picking up each disturbance in the air. Droplets of blood rose out of the entrance wounds and flowed along the waterways laid by saliva and sweat until her entire neck was stained scarlet. The fangs sank deeper, and more blood vessels burst under pressure. Her skin appeared to fracture like porcelain, and as her muscle fibers tore, they popped violently.

“Ahh… Ahhh!!!!”

Flandre was being eaten alive. It did not make sense that it took so long for her to cry out, and it made even less sense that her screams screamed of a deep carnal ecstasy. She was smiling. However strange it seemed, Flandre was smiling. Under the faint, warm-colored light dangling from above, other details were lost. The profile of her face pressed against the floor looked like a cut-out silhouette, with its smile so deep it threatened the rest to be torn. So much blood had drained from her half-devoured neck that another pool formed around her head. Now two circles, red and white, encircled her body. With a crunch, the gnawing of the dog’s teeth briefly stopped. It had struck bone, probably. The dog scrunched up its face as it applied more force and jerked its head. With a loud crack the spine snapped. As the dog chewed on the bits of neck and bone, Flandre’s head dangled out of the end of its mouth, swaying back and forth. A fountain of blood sprayed out of the headless body. Flandre was still smiling, though the light had left her eyes. The dog gnashed its teeth. The last of the tissue holding the head aloft ripped, and it fell to the floor, into the pool of Flandre’s own blood.

Then, on only-a-head Flandre’s face, a crack appeared, and then another. They radiated from the bottom, as if her head were an egg cracked upon the floor. The fissures skated across her face, still frozen in her dead smile. Shards began to flake off and fall to the ground, one after the other. Out of the missing voids grew black brambles, and they twisted around the remainder of her face. The vines grew thick and fat with sharp spines, under Flandre disappeared beneath them. The next sound to fill the room came from the crushing of brain and bone as the brambles collapsed on the skull. The soup, which had forgotten its identity as a head, spilled into the neighboring pool of blood, while another set of brambles attacked the headless body, dumping its digested contents into the semen pool.

The dog growled. When Marisa looked its way, however, its outline began to collapse like a structure made of mud into a volatile mass of shadow. The shadow squirmed, and two tentacles extended from it. Slowly, the two tentacles took shape into humanoid arms. Those arms planted themselves on the ground, and after some shifting, the shadow appeared to stand up, like a person.

The shadow was overlaid with a bluish-white texture. The shadow, which was once a dog, was now…

“Remilia…Is that you?”

…Remilia Scarlet, the elder of the vampire sisters, in the flesh, and a black garter belt.

“Oh, if it isn’t Marisa. How do you do?” she said lips curled into a snicker.

“You…” Marisa wanted to shout at her, but she all she could do was shake. It was a miracle she was still standing. She did not even know what she wanted to say.

“What are you doing?” she said finally, her words reduced to dregs from the force required to release them.

“What are we doing?” Remilia replied, holding her smile, “We are in search of a happening.”

A what? Hers was not on the list of prescribed answers.

“A happening? That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m asking you, what did you just do?!”

“Oh, I know.” Remilia spread out both of her arms in an affected way, as if performing on stage, and raised them towards the ceiling. “The happening must be realized, for that signifies nothing less than a cultivation of the void.’

“Stop talking nonsense!”

“Which, in turn, is the most meaningless thing one can ever hope to accomplish.”

A explosion of the sounds of ripping flesh and cracking bone erupted from the bloody pool, as if mutilated and rewound, as two naked arms thrust themselves out of the floor. Those arms clawed at the ground and pulled the rest of a bloody black mess out from under the surface of the pool. Branched wings sprouted form the mass, with seven-colored droplets at their ends. It glowed with a misty light, and then out of the broken shell of caked blood, a girl emerged. It was Flandre Scarlet, and she wore the same sheer pink camisole as before.

“I enjoyed that, sister, but it’s your turn now, you know?” she said, throwing her arms around Remilia’s neck and pulling her close.

“I suppose it is,” Remilia replied.

“Hey, wait! Stop!”

“Hmm? Marisa?” piped Flandre. “You were here? Wanna join?”

“Why won’t you just explain to me what the fuck you two were doing?!”

“That needs explaining?” Remilia laughed. “Have you been paying any attention at all?”

“We’re sisters, and we’re fucking animals. What? No children are being made here.”