Chapter Text
“Why are you doing this to me?” Ford sat in the palm of his muse’s oversized hand. Bill towered completely over him, truly taking the appearance of being an all-powerful being than that of an equal associate.
“I enjoy you saying my name Fordsy- it makes me feel powerful. Think I’d like to hear you try to say it with my tongue shoved down your throat.”
Before any further questions could be asked, his mouth was invaded by Bill’s slippery tongue.
Ford shivered at the way it explored the cavern of his mouth- tickling along the roof, running over back molars until it teased to push past to his throat. It pressed further and further inside, filling up more of his mouth and gradually began to spill down his throat.
His back was pressed completely against the warmth of his muse’s hand, one arm draped cautiously around the enlarged thumb for a semblance of stability.
As the blue appendage throbbed and swelled in its temporary abide, Ford’s jaw began to ache as it strained to accommodate its welcome guest. His own tongue had been shoved down to provide more room, causing it to stick out well past his lips. Thick strands of saliva escaped the corners of his mouth, running warm and sticky down his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt. There was a metallic taste to it, not the same iron taste that blood had though. Perhaps some metal unknown to his dimension.
Ford’s mind wandered only to be interrupted by the sudden awareness of the lack of oxygen getting to his lungs. He spluttered and choked, the moment of panic sending his heart racing and causing even more thick, watery saliva to escape down past his chin.
“Calm down Sixer. You don’t have to breathe here remember? I wouldn’t let you die that way. That’d be an anticlimactic end to our relationship don’t you think?”
A fingertip was pressed firmly to his chest, keeping him from squirming further out of Bill’s hand. Ford let his brain process the information for a moment, allowing the foreign tongue to squirm around in his esophagus impatiently. It was hard to think, to push his mind past the rules and laws of his normal reality to that of the Mindscape even with the rare, tangible weight of his muse’s finger. Bill groaned in irritation, withdrawing his tongue almost as quickly as it had entered.
“Human mouths sure are small. No wonder you choke so easily on just about anything.”
“It’s not… the mouth,” Ford panted. He was certain he wasn’t getting the proper blood flow to his brain for a multitude of reasons. His thoughts were taking much longer to put together. Out of habit, he rights his askew glasses. “Different species of whales… throat size varies depending on the presence of teeth and diet…”
“I don’t remember asking about whales IQ. Let’s try this again but this time- do better.”
Before he could even catch his breath, Ford’s mouth was stuffed full once more. There were no pleasantries of calculated explorations like before. Goopy fluid coated the inside of his mouth followed shortly by the undulating muscle deep in his throat. His body burned with desire as he felt it drip warmly into his stomach.
With every theoretical second that passed, the anxieties and worries of his mind faded away.
Ford could no longer deny how turned on he was by the whole ordeal. He pushed himself, muffling a choke in order to take his muse’s tongue- throwing any remaining doubts and cautions out to experience this raw indulgence. Soon accustomed to the sensation, he sucked, swallowed, and chewed around the alien tongue.
It was hard to even believe the pleasure his body was experiencing.
Bill’s tongue slowly curled back and the forked tip ran along the inside of Ford’s cheeks and teeth. The metallic bite never truly left his taste buds but it certainly intensified, only now, he couldn’t think of what possibly caused it.
Finally, the tongue was fully extracted- a long trail of thick saliva connecting them with Ford’s tongue darting out in a futile attempt to follow for more.
“Don’t stop!” Ford pleaded, cheeks flushed deep red at the admittance of his desires.
“Did I indicate I was stopping Sixer? I’m nowhere near finished with you.”
With little effort on Bill’s part, Ford’s clothes vanished- discarded somewhere in the back of their minds. The tongue is on him a moment later, lavishing across the entire front half of his body. The wet muscle covered him from chest to thigh, writhing back and forth. All that Ford could get out were husky moans as more and more drool oozed everywhere that damn tongue smothered it; his body hair matted into sticky submission. He can feel it drip down his sides, the creases of his legs and hips, and especially as it dripped down his nether regions and between his ass.
It’s unbearably hot and sticky but each time the massive tongue pushes his cock around, it’s as though the chorus of his brain is silenced, only the pleasure center given the lead solo. The notes intensified as the overly prehensile accompaniment circled his need in an almost tender fashion. The sensation of something so slippery moving effortlessly along his shaft made the radio broadcast turn to incomprehensible static.
Bill, in the same thought, didn’t exactly hum in the same way a human did. Like all conversations Ford had with him, it was all sensations in the brain and body. Humming was a vibration in Ford’s nerves as if they were replaced with fluorescent lights- electricity alighting his senses that Bill alone had the switch for. It tensed and twitched his muscles, dangling toes curling so hard he feared they would snap.
Drool pooled into the dips of Ford’s hips as the tongue snared his cock like a captured beast. He moved his hips up cautiously, as the tongue squeezed him tighter and tighter. His length pulsed in its slimy confinement. He was utterly desperate for release, not sure how much longer his body could take it.
Unceremoniously, he’s lifted by the jaw and forced to kneel in Bill’s palm to face the circular inane above him. The warmth was gone; blood rushed to his head and he swayed in his spot. Black specs danced across his blurred vision that he tried to blink away- needing to put all his focus on his muse. It was all over far too quickly and his mind reeled forlornly for a reason why.
What could he have done wrong?
“You taste like flesh, salt, and the desire to please others. I like that.” Ford could feel Bill smiling, barely registering the tongue coiling around his neck. “Let’s keep this going. I see I still have a lot to learn about you Sixer.”
Praise from his muse trapped his breath in his throat and his cock throbbed from the attention.
He never thought one could be so turned on to the point of feeling like throwing up.
The grotesquely long tongue wrapped tightly around Ford’s throat, drool seeping down his body. He could only imagine how he appeared clutched in his muse’s hand. He was so hard it hurt but he didn’t dare move without the other’s approval- even if it wasn’t verbally stated.
His hand twitched, so eager to keep things going.
So anxious to keep his muse pleased with him.
He licked his lips hungrily before widely opening his mouth, his appetite unsatisfied.
There was laughter, followed by a rough, wet drag across his torso and Ford realized that a second, inhuman tongue had joined to tasting him. Thin inky, black fingers adjusted him like a doll, pushing his legs apart and positioning him exactly as Bill saw fit.
The hand below him is suddenly replaced by a third tongue and Ford lets out a strained groan.
“You look a little too comfortable- let’s change that!”
In an instant, one of the blue tongues was back down his throat, fucking its way down with little regard for the boundaries of Ford’s human body.
Ford choked and gagged immediately, squeezing his burning eyes shut as he felt his throat being stretched further than it had before. In all matter of thought, it was a rough ordeal- but Ford was in pure bliss. The idea of his muse using his body excited him beyond rational thought. The force of one of Bill’s tongues diving further into him pushed Ford’s lower half more and more into the other moist, blue appendage, his legs hanging limply off each side.
Ford blinked and the support below him vanished. His body hung limply in the air, only supported by the tongue fucking his throat and the unrelenting grip of his jaw. A sense of panic began to rise in his chest only to be smothered by the sensation of a wet tip lapping at his entrance.
It teases at the taunt muscle, pushing past to stretch and gauge this new space. Just as Ford thought it was a humorous effort to suddenly take things this slowly, the tongue pushed itself deeply inside. He mewled at the rush of pain; it was a tight fit that he was barely prepared for. It dragged and pressed against his prostate and his mind felt like a knocked-over glass, content wasting to the floor.
He craved more of it.
The tongue moved inside his guts with ease, plunging further inside than should be possible, before beginning a ruthless pump.
Trying to wrap his mind around whether it was all the way inside was pointless.
Full, full, full- he never felt full like this in his entire life.
The tongue somehow seemed to push in deeper, its girth widening every inch of the way. It twisted in his yielding insides, making itself an overly comfortable houseguest that helped itself to anything it wanted and Ford was more than happy to oblige. His gut was coated in that thick, metallic saliva; he only barely registered the feeling of it completely drenching the inside of his thighs.
The feeling of his organs being shifted and rearranged was unreal but wholeheartedly welcome. His stomach bulged and moved from Bill’s delight.
“Oh wow! Who knew entwining your own tongues together inside a human stomach mimicked the feeling of hearing a recording of your own voice? It’s terrible!”
Ford couldn’t understand a word Bill was saying, his mind so distorted that he could barely comprehend everything happening to him. He could only gag on his own miserable bliss. Even his brain choked on this preeminence of pleasure.
He let his body be torn and ruined for more of it.
Half-lidded eyes gazed down at himself, watching his weeping cock’s prolonged suffering. A tongue was holding its base in a tautly, relentless grip- refusing to move with the rest of his body.
“I’m still waiting by the way Fordsy. I meant what I said earlier- you’re not going to come until I hear you beg for me exactly as you are now. Get to it soon or I’ll start turning your pain receptors back on.”
Ford tried to make a sound, a plea for mercy, but all that came was a bubbling gurgle as whatever remaining air from his lungs was forced out. Over and over he tried to get the single word out of his throat. Ford beseeched his muse, the God he worshipped, that he was worthy of the pleasure he dangled just out of reach. He had no way of telling how long he kept it up for, but eventually, there was acceptance.
"That's hilarious Sixer! All you had to do was project every thought of you worshiping me straight to me but you still tried to do exactly as I told you to! Verbatim! Consider me pleased as punch."
His long-awaited somatic release, which, his limited, corporeal body craved with all of its being, finally came to light. Ford moaned brokenly and hoarsely as pleasure crashed over him, snuffing out the last fragment of his rational self that told him he should be feeling distinct and utter horror.
But his body trembled and writhed with the strength of an orgasm that seemed to go on forever. The crescendo rose, breaching the waves of the sea before falling and rising and pulling and twisting and pleading and screaming and-
He was relinquished of its captors in a sloppy goodbye, and he began to fall. His muse’s hand wasn’t there to catch him as the darkness swallowed him whole. The idiosyncratic scenery of the Mindscape fell away. Bill’s form shrank away, fading like the last dream of the night.
“I enjoyed that my little pet. I’m going to keep you around for a long, long time.”
When Ford woke up, he was lying on the ground, his hand at his throat, and the sun yet to rise. He sat up cautiously and cursed at the sharp pain in his back. Glasses askew on his face, one of the metal arms bent, and he mentally adds it to the list of things that need to be taken care of.
He’s a disgusting mess and he knows it.
Whether the pain in his body was an effect of the time he spent with Bill or the result of sleeping on the floor all night didn’t matter. He swallowed ibuprofen with shower water and proceeded to lay in bed with dual heat packs for the remainder of the morning. Ford couldn't let the memory of last night's events fade so he pulled a journal out from under one of the cushions. As he pulled it into his lap, a collection of sticky notes infesting the front cover killed his enthusiasm.
‘Just remember what I’m capable of Ford the next time you feel like getting ‘research’ for your private diary here. I’ve read it. I’ve seen you and you've seem to forgotten- I can eat you alive on a whim."