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«35… 36… Ah, goddamit!”
The weight of coins in your hands seemed insignificant, given that you didn’t had enough of them even for one healing spray. You worried your lip between your teeth and shrugged, tucking the pesos into a small pouch on your waist.
“Well. Guess I gotta be careful next time, right?”
The man behind a make shift counter seemed to agree with you. It was hard to tell what he was really thinking or feeling, when he was not talking – a large hood was often obscuring his eyes, given that the lower part of his face was always covered in purple cloth. Right now, he was awfully quiet; for a moment you worried that he was irritated by your slow counting or lack of coins, or-
“I ‘ave somethin’ for you.”
The sound of his voice, muffled by cloth was a soft, rumbling thing. You’ve already turned to make your way out of his little corner, when his hand placed a small, carton box onto a table.
“Open it, then.”
You’ve blinked in a slight confusion. The box was too simple for some expensive jewelry you found in your travels… and too small for a fancy weapon you couldn’t afford anyway. Eaten by your curiosity you slowly opened the lid to find two rows of perfect, shiny chocolate candies. You couldn’t hide your surprise, glancing at the man, who seemed all too satisfied with your reaction.
“It’s just a lil’ treat for our most loyal customer,” he gestured at candies. A slow, wicked smile creep into the corners of your eyes, the only part of his face you can clearly see.
“Loyalty deserves its rewards, it does. And you, luv... you're a cut above the rest. Always comin' back, always scrapin' together those pesos for our wares. A professional relationship, sure... but I've been thinkin'. Perhaps it's time for a... private showing. A demonstration of my more specialized inventory.” He taped a thick, gloved finger on the box.
"Go on. Indulge. Consider it an investment. The best deals are always made with a clear head and a... happy heart. It'll take the edge off. Make everythin' that comes after all the more... enjoyable."
The implication hanged in the air, laced with the faint, sweet scent of cocoa.
What possibly could be wrong after one little chocolate?
“Okay,” you shrugged, taking one piece off the crumbling paper and putting it into your mouth whole. The chocolate is impossibly smooth, rich, and decadent. It melted on your tongue, a fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It’s the best thing you’ve tasted since arriving in this hellish place. You swallowed, and almost immediately, a warm, pleasant buzz begins to spread from your core. The lingering aches from your struggles fade into a distant memory, replaced by a gentle, floaty sensation. Your worries about the plagas, the villagers, the mission… they all seemed to soften at the edges, becoming less urgent, less frightening.
"See?" the merchant’s voice purred, watching you with an unnerving intensity.
"Good stuff. The very best."
The warmth was spreading further, a languid heat coiling in your stomach. Your limbs felt pleasantly heavy, yet your skin is suddenly hyper-aware, tingling with a strange sensitivity. The dim light in his nook seemed warmer, the shadows deeper and less threatening. You found yourself leaning against the counter for support, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping your lips. And yes, your fingers already took a second smooth coin.
"Tha's it," he murmured, his voice like gravel and velvet.
"Just relax, stranger. Let it do its work."
The world narrowed down to this small space. To him. His presence, once just a part of the bizarre landscape, now feels immense and magnetic. The rational part of your mind was screaming, muffled under a thick, syrupy blanket of artificial contentment.
This isn't right. This is more than chocolate and warmth of purple flames high in iron cups of curios designs.
Was his eyes always so red and magnetic?
Was his voice always so charming and alluring?
Did his fingers always had claws?
He moved with a startling quietness for a man of his size, circling around the counter to stand beside you. His gloved hand came up, and he brushed a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. The leather was surprisingly soft against your feverish skin. You leaned into his touch, eyes glossy and beautiful.
"Such a fierce lil’ thing," he rumbled, his hooded gaze drinking in your dazed state.
"Always fightin', always strugglin'. But not here. Not with me. Our best customer deserves a proper rest. A bit of pamperin'."
His arm slided around your waist, supporting you easily as your knees threaten to buckle. The world tilted and swayed pleasantly. The fingers of his other hand curled around a chocolate coin, offering you a treat which you accepted, his thumb swiping your lower lip.
"And wouldn’t you like to be pampered? Yeah, I bet you would. Got a nice, quiet place nearby. Jus' for special clients. We'll get you comfortable. Properly comfortable."
His voice was a low, wicked promise in your ear.
"I've got all sorts of things to make you feel better. No need for pesos. Not for this. Your company... that's payment enough."
He guided you, half-carrying your pliant form, away from the counter and towards a heavy, moth-eaten curtain you'd assumed was just a wall. Behind it, a short corridor lead to a small, room filled with boxes and crates and dominated by a large cot draped in rich, dark fabrics. Something you missed was a softness of a real bed, and a low, needy whine escaped your throat before you could stifle it. A single lantern casts a warm, intimate glow.
"See?" he said, his voice thick with a possessiveness that the chocolate makes feel oddly thrilling instead of terrifying.
"Nothin' but the best for you."
He lowered you onto the edge of the bed, the softness enveloping you. He kneeled, one large hand gently wrapping around your ankle to remove your boot. The gesture is shockingly intimate. And caring. And so, so welcome.
"Just for tonight, luv,” he whispered, head pressed against your leg.
“Relax and let me take care of ya.”
He urged you back onto the plush blankets, which smelled faintly of gun powder and something sweeter… something almost rotten. His body followed, caging you in. The hood still shadowed his features, but you could feel the intensity of his blood-shot eyes like a physical weight. He leaned down, and instead of his lips, you felt the rough texture of the purple cloth covering his mouth brush against the skin of your neck. He inhaled deeply.
“Smell of battle… and fire,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Addictive.”
His hands roamed your body, not with haste, but with the practiced patience of a collector examining a jewel. He mapped every curve, every dip, every scar, committing you to memory. And then his touches grew more intent, finding the places that made you arch off the bed with a broken gasp. The pleasure was intense, coiled tight in your core, a spring waiting to release. You were teetering on the edge, mindless and begging with every fiber of your being, your moans turning wanton.
“I know, luv,” the merchant soothed.
“I know jus’ what you need.”
A low, guttural growl was heard from his chest, a sound that was decidedly not human. The hands on your hips tightened, and you felt it - a shift. Something moved beneath his long coat, something strong and… plural.
Tendrils.
Smooth, warm, and impossibly strong, they slid out from the darkness of his attire. They were the color of old blood and dark leather, pulsing with a faint, inner light. They coiled around your thighs, not restraining, but caressing, their touch sending jolts of electric pleasure directly into your oversensitized nerves. You cried out, not in fear, but in shock, the sensation too alien to process, your drugged mind pulsating with one thought – more, more, more. One particularly thick tendril, slick with a strange, warm moisture, found the aching, desperate heart of you. It didn’t go inside, not yet.
“The best customer…” the merchant’s voice was strained now, layered with something darker, something monstrous and hungry.
“…gets the full service.”
His own clothing shifted, and you felt the hard, terrifying evidence of his arousal press against you. But it was wrong.
It wasn't just one.
The shape was unfamiliar, promising a stretch that bordered on pain, a filling that was utterly inhuman.
The tendril at your core finally, slowly, pushed inside. It was the trigger. Your world exploded into white-hot stars. The orgasm ripped through you, violent and endless, wracking your body with convulsions from just being filled. The tendrils held you firmly, milking every last second of the sensation, drawing it out until you were sobbing from the overstimulation. Through the haze, you felt him move. As your body was still trembling with the aftershocks, he entered you, this time with his cocks. It was exactly as you’d felt against your leg - not human. Thick, ridged lengths that seemed to pulse and twist inside you, fitting themselves to your most intimate spaces, touching places you never knew could feel like this.
The tendrils held your hips steady as he began to move, each thrust a masterful manipulation of your ruined senses, building the pleasure again with terrifying speed.
“That’s it,” he growled, his voice now a chorus of rumbles and clicks.
“Take it. Take all my special gifts.”
He was everywhere - above you, inside you, around you. The tendrils caressed your skin, one sliding up to wrap gently around your throat, not to choke, but to feel your pulse hammering against it. Another teased at your breast, a slick tip circling a peaked nipple. You were no longer just having sex.
You were being consumed.
Devoured by the sensation, by this creature who had been waiting, patiently, for his best customer to finally accept his most exclusive offer. And as another, deeper, more terrifying orgasm began to build under his relentless, inhuman rhythm, you knew you’d pay any price he asked.
Forever.