Chapter 42: The Canine Encounters I

The seven-foot-tall reptilian bioweapon completely froze, his forked tongue hanging out of his mouth, staring down at her in absolute, utter confusion.

Rebecca’s brain rebooted with the force of a system-wide critical error.

What did I just say?

Did I just ask the monster currently inside me to please shapeshift into a different kind of monster before continuing to be inside me?

"Wait," she gasped, her hands flying up to frantically wave in front of his scaly snout. "No! I take it back! That was—that was a stupid thing to say! I was delirious! Ignore me! Don’t do anything weird!"

It was too late.

A low, happy rumble vibrated through his massive chest.

"No, wait, I’m serious! Ghosty, don’t—"

A sudden, impossible wave of heat washed over her, so intense it felt like he’d spontaneously burst into flames. The air shimmied around his body.

The thick shaft inside her went from fever-hot to a literal branding iron in a fraction of a second.

"HIIIEE!" Rebecca shrieked, her entire body arching off the floor. "What’s happening?! Are you exploding?! GET IT OUT!"

But it was already starting.

A low, wet tearing sound echoed from deep within his frame, followed by the sickening crack of bones forcibly rearranging themselves. His heavy, scaly body began to twitch and convulse, the solid green muscle visibly melting and shifting under the skin like superheated wax.

Pure, animal terror shot through her. She was holding onto a biological bomb while it actively detonated. Her first instinct was to scramble away, but her hips were pinned under his weight and her hands were still tangled in the scales on his head.

Her second, much stupider instinct took over.

She clung to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapped her arms around his violently spasming neck, and held on for dear life, burying her face against his searing hot shoulder. It was the single worst thing she could have done, pressing her bare skin directly against a living furnace.

The heat was agonizing. But the feeling inside her was so much worse.

The dick was changing.

Oh my god, it’s changing while it’s still in me—

The rough, backward-facing scales were melting away, the texture shifting under the intense heat. The prominent fleshy ridges writhed, flattening and reforming into something smoother, but somehow thicker, broader at the base. It was like having a hot metal sculpture reshaped within the walls of her own pussy.

"Nnngh—fuck—stop—!"

Every shift, every ripple of transforming flesh, dragged against her overstimulated, raw inner walls with a slow, agonizing friction that bypassed pain entirely and went straight to a place of pure, blinding sensation.

She bit her lip, hard, tasting the coppery tang of blood as a ragged, helpless moan tried to claw its way out of her throat.

Don’t cum. Don’t you dare cum from this. He can’t see you... this is horrifying... it’s... mmmph... it’s rubbing... everywhere... stop... fuck... don’t stop...

Her hips moved on their own, a tiny, traitorous rock against the transforming shaft, trying to chase the impossible heat. The pressure was building, a tight, coiling knot of energy deep in her belly that was about to snap. The combination of the intense heat, the terrifying sounds of his body breaking apart, and the relentless, shifting friction was pushing her right to the absolute edge.

She was going to lose it. She was going to have a full-blown, screaming orgasm while the monster she was fucking literally dissolved and reformed around her.

And then, just as the pressure became unbearable, the process peaked.

The intense heat radiating from his body began to rapidly dissipate. The violent cracking of bones softened into a series of wet clicks and pops. The pressure inside her shifted, the impossible fullness condensing slightly, the searing heat cooling to a familiar, manageable warmth.

The climax that had been moments away from shattering her spine receded, leaving her hanging in a state of trembling, half-aroused agony.

Silence.

The horrifying sounds stopped. The searing heat was gone.

She was afraid to open her eyes. She lay there, trembling, every muscle in her body screaming, her arms still locked around his neck. What was she going to see? A pile of melted flesh? A Cronenbergian nightmare of half-formed limbs?

A wet, sandpaper texture dragged across her cheek.

A familiar, happy huff of air, smelling faintly of dog breath and scorched ozone.

She cracked one eye open.

Milky white orbs stared back at her, crinkled at the corners in a dopey, ridiculously innocent expression. A long, pink tongue lolled out the side of a familiar black snout, dripping saliva onto her chin.

It was him. The stupid, perverted, two-hundred-pound mutant hellhound.

He was back.

And his thick, warm, eight-inch dick was still lodged firmly inside her pussy.

Rebecca just stared up at his dumb, happy face, her lungs completely refusing to work. All that came out was a pathetic, shaky gasp.

The adrenaline from the horrifying transformation was still screaming through her veins, but the immediate, soul-crushing terror was gone. The seven-foot-tall, scythe-clawed reptile that had been about to rearrange her internal organs was gone. In its place was just... him. Her stupid, disgusting, perverted mutant dog.

Her brain, which had been operating in pure survival mode, finally caught up. And with clarity came rage.

"You absolute bastard," she whispered, the words barely audible. Then, louder, her voice cracking with fury and unshed tears. "You absolute bastard! You scared me half to death!"

She started pounding her fists against his heavily armored shoulders, her blows just as useless as they had been against his lizard form. "You turned into a monster! A giant, scaly, pants-ripping, face-licking monster! I thought you were going to kill me! I thought you were going to eat me!"

Ghosty just whined, a pathetic little sound deep in his chest, and tried to lick her chin.

"Don’t you whine at me!" she yelled, shoving his snout away. "You don’t get to be pitiful right now! Do you have any idea what that was like?! Your bones were breaking! Your skin was melting! And your dick—your dick was still inside me the whole time, changing into God-knows-what!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory making her shudder violently. The searing heat, the shifting texture, the feeling of being impaled on a living, mutating piece of flesh. It was a sensory nightmare that was going to require years of very expensive therapy.

And yet... as the terror receded, something else took its place. A deep, aching, unfinished throb between her legs. The climax that had been brutally ripped away from her was still screaming in the basement of her nervous system.

Her body was a wreck. Trembling, exhausted, slick with sweat and God-knows-what else. Her mind was a chaotic mess of self-loathing and humiliation.

What’s the point?

The thought slithered into her brain, quiet and venomous.

What is the point of fighting this anymore? He’s already inside me. The line has been crossed, stomped on, and then set on fire. I’m ruined anyway.

She was going to die down here. That much felt certain. She’d die a virgin, torn apart by some Umbrella freak show, and her last moments would be this... this humiliating, frustrating, aching mess.

Is this really how I want to go out? So close to... to knowing?

Her body craved the release. It was a physical, undeniable ache, a deep coiling tension in her gut that screamed for resolution. Her logical brain, the S.T.A.R.S. medic, the good Catholic girl, was screaming back at it, calling it a degenerate whore.

But her logical brain wasn’t winning. It was tired. It had been through too much. It was currently losing a debate to her treasonous vagina.

He’s a monster. But he’s... my monster? At least he didn’t eat my face. He seems to like me. Maybe? In his own incredibly fucked-up, sexually aggressive way.

I’m not going to die a virgin. Not like this. Not if I have a choice.

Is this a choice? Or am I just so broken I’m calling surrender a choice?

Her legs moved.

She didn’t consciously decide to move them. That was the story she was going with, anyway. Her legs just moved on their own, like they’d listened to the entire internal debate, weighed all the evidence, and reached a verdict without consulting the rest of her.

Slowly, shakily, but with a horrifying sense of purpose, her bare thighs lifted off the cold floor. They wrapped around his armored hindquarters, her ankles locking together behind his back. The new angle shifted his weight forward, pushing him deeper inside her.

It was just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to make her gasp so loud it echoed through the silent corridor.

Oh god—ngh—I just—I just pulled him deeper with my own—ah—my own legs—I’m actively participating in my own sexual—f-fuck—

Ghosty froze completely. His entire body went rigid, his tail stopping mid-wag. He lifted his head, his milky eyes widening with what looked like genuine, canine disbelief.

Rebecca’s face was on fire. The blush was a supernova, spreading down her neck, across her exposed, saliva-slick chest, all the way to her stomach.

"Don’t look at me like that," she whispered, her voice barely audible over her own frantic heartbeat. "Don’t you dare look at me like that. I’m not doing this because I—ngh—I want to, okay? I’m doing this because you won’t pull out and my legs are cold and the angle was—ah—putting pressure on my bladder and it was a purely tactical decision!"

Rebecca. Stop. Stop explaining yourself to a dog. He cannot understand you. He does not care about your justifications. He does not speak English.

Her own pathetic rationalizations died in her throat. Her eyes locked with his. There was no more fight left in her.

"Just... just do it," she breathed, the words cracking, surrendering. "I don’t—I can’t take the waiting anymore. Just—finish it."

She pulled him deeper with her legs.

Her hand was still wrapped around his shaft. She felt every single inch slide through her grip as her body pulled him in. Four inches, four and a half, five. She could track the exact transition point where her own flesh met his, where his thick cock disappeared into the tight, wet ring of her entrance, stretching her wider and wider.

Five inches. I’ve got five inches of zombie dog dick inside me. There are still three more outside. How is this even—how am I even standing this? Why am I doing math right now?

The bulbous head of his shaft pressed against that spot again, the deep, hidden button that made her vision white out completely. Her head fell back against the metal grates, her mouth falling open in a long, shuddering cry as he filled her more completely than she’d ever imagined possible.

She also felt the attached accessories.

Something heavy and firm impacted against her ass with a meaty thwap. Then again. Thwap.

Each impact sent a vibration through her pelvis that she felt all the way up in her stomach.

His balls. Massive, heavy, impossibly warm sacks of mutant flesh slamming against her with every subtle movement.

"Oh god—is that your—is that your f-fucking—ngh—how big are your nuts?! They feel like tennis balls!"

Ghosty let out a low, rumbling groan that vibrated through his entire body and into hers. His hips pressed forward instinctively, adding his own strength to her pull, and suddenly he was deeper.

So much deeper. The knot at the base of his cock bumped against her entrance. It didn’t fit, but the pressure was there, and her body reacted with a clench so hard her vision tunneled.

She could feel every inch of him now. Every pulsing vein pressing against her inner walls. Every thick ridge of his anatomy dragging against sensitive tissue she hadn’t known existed until thirty seconds ago.

Rebecca Chambers, honor roll student, youngest S.T.A.R.S. recruit, good Catholic girl, currently getting railed by a mutant on a basement floor.

Mom used to say that the Lord works in mysterious ways, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they meant.

And then he started to move.

The first thrust was shallow, experimental. Just a slow pull back and a gentle push forward, like he was testing to see if she’d break.

The head of his shaft dragged through her tight, slick passage with a thick, wet schlick, and she felt every millimeter of the withdrawal and the re-entry. The friction was unlike anything she had a reference point for. It was like every nerve ending inside her had been asleep her entire life and had just woken up all at once, raw and oversensitive.

Rebecca didn’t break.

She moaned.

"Nnngh—oh—oh god—oh fuck—"

The sound was humiliating. High-pitched and needy and absolutely nothing like the competent professional she was supposed to be. It crawled up from the base of her spine and bypassed every filter in her brain.

Ghosty’s hips found a rhythm. Slow, deep strokes that pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in. The wet sounds were obscene, squelchy and slippery, echoing off the walls with a clarity that made her want to die.

Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.

Oh my god, I can hear it. I can hear how wet I am.

Every thrust dragged that thick, veiny shaft against her inner walls, and the bulbous head kept brushing against that spot. That spot that made her toes curl and her breath die and her brain disconnect from reality.

"Oh god—G-Ghosty—ngh—what are you—ahhh—what are you doing to me?! This feels way too good for something that should be classified as a war crime!"

Her words dissolved. Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, but she wasn’t pushing him away. She was holding on.

His pace picked up. The slow, gentle thrusts gave way to something faster, harder. His hips snapped forward with a steady, punishing rhythm, and each impact of his pelvis against hers created a wet, meaty slap that she felt in her spine.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Every thrust was driving deeper, grinding harder against that spot inside her. The pressure was a living thing, a coiling knot of heat and friction building with every second.

Her legs tightened around his back, pulling him deeper with every stroke. Her hips rocked upward to meet him, grinding her clit against the armored base of his shaft, and the resulting friction was so sharp and perfect that her vision whited out for a solid three seconds.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Her hips bucked, meeting each thrust halfway. She could feel the impact of his body against hers reverberating through her pelvis, felt the weight of him driving into her with a force that was rapidly demolishing every coherent thought she’d ever had.

I’m letting a zombie dog fuck me. I’m not just letting him. I’m actively participating. I’m wrapping my legs around him and pulling him deeper and grinding my hips against him like I want this.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

She was enjoying it. God help her, she was. Every thrust sent a bolt of pleasure through her core that was better than the last, and her body was responding with an enthusiasm that she found personally insulting. Her hips kept moving, kept rocking, kept chasing the friction like they’d signed a contract with his cock that her brain had never approved.

Her hips kept moving, kept rocking, kept chasing the friction like they’d signed a contract with his cock that her brain had never approved.

Ghosty leaned down, and for one horrible second Rebecca thought he was going to lick her face again like the disgusting mutt he was.

Instead, his skull made a sound like wet leather tearing.

Pop. Crack. Schlorp.

"W-wait—" Her voice came out broken, breathless. "What are you—"

She’d seen this before. Back in the corridor, when he’d ripped that Hunter’s head off like a bottle cap. His face had opened up then too, blooming into that horrible flower of meat and teeth. He’s going to eat me. Oh fuck, he’s actually going to eat my head.

The skin along his snout split vertically, peeling back in fleshy petals that shouldn’t exist. His upper jaw unzipped, the bone structure rearranging with wet, organic clicks. Gums exposed, rows of teeth angling outward from places where teeth had no business being. His face became a cavern, a wet, pulsing cave lined with yellowed bone and pink muscle.

It was descending toward her face.

"No, no, no—Ghosty, don’t—"

Too late.

The flesh sealed around her skull with a wet shluck, plunging her into absolute darkness. Hot, slimy walls pressed against her cheeks, her forehead, the back of her head. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear anything except the muffled, thunderous sound of his breathing and the wet, rhythmic pulse of his heart transmitted through the meat surrounding her skull.

Teeth. There are teeth on my eyelids.

Rows of them pressed firm but painless against her temples, her jawline, the soft skin behind her ears. Not cutting, just... holding. Like a hundred dull blades cradling her head in a cage she couldn’t escape.

She tried to scream. Opened her mouth to draw breath for a shriek.

His tongue was already there.

It pushed past her lips, thick and insistent, filling every available space. Her mouth was stretched wide, obscenely wide, the corners of her lips burning slightly from the strain. His tongue wasn’t just inside her mouth—it was occupying it. The muscular mass pressed her own tongue flat against the floor of her mouth, then dragged across it, the rough texture scraping against her sensitive taste buds.

Can’t breathe. Fuck, can’t breathe—

Panic spiked, sharp and animal. Her hands flew up, nails digging into the slippery, heated flesh of his jaws, trying to pry them apart. Useless. Her fingers just sank into the wet tissue, finding no purchase. Her legs kicked weakly at his sides, heels drumming against his armored back, but her hips were still moving, still grinding upward, still trying to keep him deep inside her traitorous body.

Air. Need air.

She found it in thin streams leaking through gaps near her nose. Short, desperate sips that pulled more than oxygen into her lungs. The scent filled her first—sweet, cloying, like honey and vanilla left too long in the sun, mixed with something musky and heavy. And the taste.

His saliva was flooding her mouth, coating her tongue, seeping down her throat with every panicked swallow. It was thick, warm, and impossibly sweet, like drinking warm syrup straight from the bottle.

Why is it sweet? That’s not... that’s not biological... oh god, I’m swallowing it...

Her throat worked involuntarily, gulping down the flood of fluid. Each swallow pulled more of him into her, the taste saturating her senses until she couldn’t remember what anything else tasted like. His tongue pushed deeper, sliding past her teeth, pressing against the roof of her mouth before curling downward to probe at the back of her throat.

He’s throat-fucking me with his tongue. Oh jesus, he’s actually...

The thick muscle pushed past her gag reflex, sliding down her esophagus in a slow, deliberate thrust. Her throat bulged around the intrusion. She couldn’t breathe again, couldn’t do anything but take it, her nose pressed against the wet roof of his mouth, her hands clawing weakly at his face while her body shook.

Then he pulled back, just enough for her to gasp through her nose, and thrust his tongue down her throat again. A rhythmic, fucking motion that matched the pace of his hips below.

Schlick. Slurp. Gulp.

The sounds were obscene, wet and rhythmic. She was drowning in him. Her mouth was completely stuffed with mutant dog tongue, her throat being used like a fleshlight, and her pussy was still clenching around his cock like it was starving for more.

This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. Why does it feel good? Why am I not dead?

His hips snapped forward, driving that thick, ridged shaft against her front wall, and her thoughts scattered. The face-cocoon around her head began to undulate, the fleshy walls pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves that massaged her scalp, her cheeks, her jaw. The teeth pressed and released, pressed and released, a massage from hell that somehow released the tension headache she’d been carrying since the train derailed.

She couldn’t see. Could barely breathe. All she could do was feel.

And god, she could feel everything.

Without her sight, every thrust was a surprise. The angle shifted slightly, the head of his cock dragging across sensitive tissue that made her toes curl inside her boots. Another shift, and he was grinding against her back wall, the pressure radiating up her spine. The knot at his base—the swollen bulb of flesh that couldn’t fit inside her—slammed against her entrance with every stroke, a heavy, meaty impact that sent shockwaves rolling through her pelvis.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Her hips were bucking upward to meet him now, her legs locked tight around his lower body, ankles crossed above his tail. She was fucking him back, grinding her clit against the armored base of his shaft, chasing the heat building in her core with an urgency that made her want to scream.

But she couldn’t scream. Could only make muffled, pathetic whimpers that vibrated against his tongue.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His tongue withdrew from her throat, giving her a moment to gasp raggedly through her nose, but it didn’t leave her mouth. Instead, it explored every inch of the cavity—sliding along her teeth, curling under her tongue, rubbing against the insides of her cheeks. It was tasting her. Mapping her. Claiming every surface while his cock did the same below.

The sweetness was making her dizzy. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. Her thoughts were fragmenting, breaking apart into short, stuttering bursts.

Too much. Too full. Can’t... need to... oh god right there...

He hit that spot again. The one that made her vision go white even in the darkness. Her back arched off the tile, her nails scoring lines in his face-flesh, and she moaned directly into his mouth. The vibration made him groan in response, the sound rumbling through the meat surrounding her head, transmitted directly into her bones.

Going to cum. Going to cum again. Can’t stop it.

The coil in her belly was wound tight, trembling, ready to snap. Every thrust wound it tighter. The wet, heavy sounds of their bodies meeting echoed in the fleshy chamber, distorted and strange. She was stuffed at both ends, completely filled with him, surrounded by his heat and his scent and his taste.

Rebecca. Rebecca, stop. Stop letting him... stop enjoying...

Her inner walls were fluttering, clamping down on his shaft in rhythmic pulses that matched the heartbeat thundering through his chest. She was so close. Teetering on the edge, balanced on a knife’s edge of pleasure and panic.

Ghosty’s thrusts became erratic, faster, harder. The teeth around her head pressed harder, not cutting, just holding her in place while he used her. His tongue filled her throat one last time, cutting off her air completely as his hips slammed forward, burying himself as deep as he could go.

Then her mind exploded as the biggest orgasm that has existed in the history of human kind struck her body without even a slight bit of mercy.

---

A/N: sry for the late update. btw i would maybe update 2 Chapters at once on sunday to wrap it all up instead of blueballing tomorrow ok? (running a bit deficient on Chapters so that will give me time too)

have a nice day.

Support and read advanced Chapter at patreon:

www.patreon.com/HornyShitler

discord link:

https://discord.gg/pndwUweQAe