What I am about to describe must not be taken literally. Not because it is untrue; I have known nothing truer in my life than the force that reigns over my dreams and guides my every waking action. But that place, that realm, these experiences... They are more a thing to be lived and felt than described in any mortal language. 
Nevertheless, humble Jeanne shall try her best, following my God's commanding Word, to describe His blissful plane of being, the dream that visits my unworthy vessel without fail every night, the baptism in pain and pleasure through which my love and worship of Him is renewed nightly, and through which I am eternally reborn, in service to Him.

First, my consciousness fades into sleep, and for some time, the senses blur. A maelstrom of texture and sound and sights so myriad and intense that I don't know what part of my being is feeling what. 

All I do know is that it feels incredible. 

Pleasure consumes me, like a rickety ship crumbling within a raging sea. I sink just as quickly every time. I could never deny or resist or do anything but embrace this new plane of existence, so much higher and more divine than the waking world that no single sensation can describe it. My mind is simply swallowed whole, at the mercy of the power that has shackled my life, the power that rules my dreams just as it acts through me. 

It is a nameless being, for no name in physical tongues could represent it. 
Yet I still call it my God and Master.

Tonight, as with most nights, my mind and body (to whatever extent you might say my body truly exists in my dreams) eventually congeal to the surface of the bog of pleasure. When I open my eyes, or at least whenever the electric haze blurring sight with sound with touch fades away, I most commonly see a crimson and amber sky above, lit by no sun. Upon rising to my feet I find myself in a dark field of flesh. Organic matter writhing and pulsating, morphing and tearing itself apart and growing anew endlessly, desperate to FEEL as much as it can, pleasure or pain. The air feels hot, the flesh beneath my feet unsteady and clammy, the world made just for me (no... a world made to contain me) filled with chaotic moans and biological sounds. With every motion of the flesh stretching to and rolling around the horizon in all directions comes a unique sound, each an instrument of the sexual symphony surrounding me. 

I still remember the first time I heard it. It terrified me. Now it just gets me off. 

My dreams are not always as defined as this, yet my God commonly manifests them as such. Merciful as He is, He knows my own passions better than anyone or anything could. Not that I would ever hesitate to please, obey and worship Him in any other form. My body is His tool, my dreams His canvas. In this world, He can do whatever He wishes with me, and I can take anything He provides, no matter how extreme. 

I take my time rising to my feet, knowing at any point I could be dragged back down, back under the surface to be swallowed by flesh. That, too, I would welcome. 
This time I manage to stand and stretch out my limbs, breathing deeply and attempting to calm my pounding heart. I comb my hands slowly through my long, silken, wavy brunette hair, highlighted with hot pink. I glance down at my body to make sure it still exists in the form it takes in the mortal world; it does, indeed. My cloudy white chest, blessed with generous double E cup breasts and a curvaceous waistline, is bordered with a smooth pattern of faded yellow fur. Naturally, not a single garment adorns my body. Occasionally when I am roused into these dreams, I might be dressed or modified a certain way. While such surprises are quite exciting, it delights me to no end to know that my God wishes to enjoy me, His faithful disciple, as I am. 
It would feel strange speaking of my own body so literally in what is after all just a dream while my real body is left laying in bed (or wherever I am left by my partners in 'reality' once they are done with me) all this time, but I have come to accept it as being more real than anything the mortal world can offer. So I stand and wait, readying my mind as best I can for what I know is to come. 
At first it is quiet all around me. Yet even for the rare first few moments wherein I remain unassaulted, I am never alone, not in this world. 
My God surrounds me eternally. And all too soon, He claims me. 

From the bog beneath my bare feet, barely a foot in front of me, bursts out a pillar of slick flesh, infested with bumps and ridges, pulsating tumours irregularly lining the black slime coated surface. Headed with a bulbous, smoothed phallic crown morphed into some variety of hardened beak, it oozes that same slime from its' pores and from between it's jaws. The deep purple upper portion fades into a warm red just beneath the head, the colour keeping down to where the massive shaft crests out of the bog. It squelches and quietly growls at me, the 'head' cocked right before my face. It stares down at me from above, as if awaiting something. 

It's at least six inches thick, not counting the thicker head. It stinks of musk and cum and sweat and more. It makes a constant splattering mess wherever it spills its' monstrous slime. 
And I instantly fall in love with it. 

I drop to my knees like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. My lips tremble and my chest heaves. For a moment or two I kneel there, enamoured and in awe of the size, the power, the shameless eroticism my God has at His disposal. But then I pounce forwards, wrap my body around the slick tentacle, and begin to grant the worship I live to give. My hands grasp it firmly, fingers and palms instantly soaking up the ample sticky juices coating the surface as I desperately pump up and down. The motions are eased by the lubrication of my God's divine essence which I allow to smear into my flushed face as I nuzzle the shaft. I run my cheeks around it, panting against it, rasp my tongue broadly and slowly in flicks and swirls and dragging movements to capture as much slime as I can within my steamy maw. As it coats my tastebuds, the familiar intoxicating flavour punches my senses yet again. It fills my head and makes me woozy, my eyes fluttering and rolling upwards. A full body shiver possesses me in response to such a deep, thick, salty, masculine taste, such a cruelly thick texture that lazily slithers down my throat as I crane my neck up. 
That taste never fails to drive me wild. My grip tightens and I practically throw my pelvis forwards, forcing my lower body to hump like a mindless horny dog against the amazing tentacle cock I'm unworthy of. I smack my groin into Him, whimpering at the unsatisfying amount of pleasure it gives me but too in need of any and all pleasure to stop. Soon, my God is kind enough to slink His tentacle down between my thighs, running the lower inches of bumpy flesh through my legs to loop up behind. It aggressively grinds forwards and back, rutting within the cleavage of my ass while simultaneously rubbing bumps and ridges and hot sticky flesh along the pink lips of my impure mortal pussy. The motion is steady, the force constant, the stimulation far too much for me to take. Not while jerking off and making out with such a beautiful, delicious dick. Besides, His juices have already infected me. I'm far too aroused to help myself. 

I cum, hard. With a scream gargled by a bubbly mouthful of monstrous pre and slime and smegma. A joyous loud note of my own to add to the sinful orchestra of this realm. My eyes clench shut for some moments as the best of the climax crashes over me, but once it trails off I blink and refocus my gaze, just to see the massive beaked head poised directly above my still gawping mouth. I stretch my jaw open further and sigh with a smile and the look of love that only a worshipper as passionate as I could give to their God. 
Immediately I am blessed by His tentacle phallus shoving past my tongue and beginning to fuck down my throat. 
It's far too thick to logically swallow, or even to allow any breathing space around. It shouldn't physically fit down my slender neck. But this is a dream, and in dreams, His power can manifest unrestrained by the rules of reality. So it pushes with a great heave past my tonsils, and with a degree of juttering and straining, the beaked head descends down my throat, fucking my face. Juices flood back out every time it pulls back up, my head craned north to allow gravity to help it thrust again and again and again. It's size could be seen from outside, my neck swollen by it's cruelly bumpy girth. My senses are overloaded with the same aroma and taste that I've been swallowing happily all this time, forced down to my guts in greater potency and volume. 
Any normal person would be suffocating, suffering, and terrified of this beast orally raping me. Me? I just wrap my hearty tits around the latter part of the tentacle and gurgle out my screams of ecstasy with every motion. 
And I cum, and cum, and cum, and cum again, all over my God and Master's cock. 
I know that I must earn Him, no matter how much my womb yearns for His seed. So I grind and gyrate my hips forwards and back, not just for my unending pleasure but to stimulate His tentacle with my frequently squirting pussy. I mash my hands into my admittedly awesome breasts, the fluffy cleavage quickly soaked to the roots of my fur with the slime He secretes constantly. Making me stink of it, like a good sex crazed slut always should. I embrace the thrusting, shuddering tentacle within my deep cleavage and run my breasts to and fro on either side with great vigour and just as much enthusiasm as I vocalise whenever my gut isn't stuffed to the point of forced silence with the uppermost twelve inches of His dick. Throughout it all my tongue whips and lashes across as much inhuman sexually sensitive skin as possible, meagre as my efforts inevitably are under the assault of such an effortlessly powerful facefucking. 
Still, I can feel my efforts paying off already, the telltale sharp burn of His tentacle's heat coming out in throbs and making my heart pound. He is close, and every second it takes for me to work on earning His seed deep in my guts and all over my face and stuffing my hungry cheeks feels like an eternity. 
I want it so fucking badly. I want to feast on my Master's semen. 
His motions become feverish and mine become desperate. My mouth gurgles with involuntary chokes and hacks, pre and slime cascading back out and pouring liberally across my cheeks and down my front with squelches and splutters. I dig my hands into my breasts so hard it practically stings, but the pain is nothing compared to my approaching reward. 
With lashing tongue and suckling lips, groping hands and pillowy breasts, humping thighs and sopping sex, I bring my Master to His first climax of the night. 

I feel it first as a heavy pulse spread throughout the colossal shaft. Then less than a second later a liquid warmth descends into the pit of my gut. The ejaculating beak is too far down my throat for me to taste a drop of it yet, but I know, with wide eyes and quaking body on the cusp of another orgasm, that it's not long until I taste more than I can handle. 
As His semen floods my stomach, causing a heavy rumble, I can barely muster so much as a squeak. Then as He begins tugging back up my oesophagus, pulling at my lips in so doing, the flow carries back upwards. His cum pours in a pressurised wave around the tentacle, gradually but constantly moving up as my throat is slowly freed from the girth that's been plugging it airtight. 
Suddenly, in a flood, I taste it all at once. Like a junkie deprived from their fix finally able to binge once more, the taste seems all the stronger to me, the effect immediate and immense. The flavour punches my senses, the thick pungent slimy seed coating my tastebuds and ballooning my cheeks. It gushes out messily, bubbling and gathering in excess around my strained, chapping lips and trickling in thick sloppy strands down my face, neck, breasts... Everywhere. 
My eyes are wide, my body clenching and quivering. It's almost too much to bear. The thick taste, the overwhelming volume, the steaming mess of spunk staining my creamy furred body more and more as the beaked jizzing cockhead snakes back up over my tonsils to start spewing its' orgasm over my tongue directly, like a sucker punch to my tastebuds. But I bear it, for one simple reason. 
It feels so fucking good. 
Finally, with a hearty final puckered slurp, the phallus pops free. I stare lazily up at it as strands of juices are quick to follow, splashing all over my head and body, and the living tissue making up the ground all around. The beaked head has actually opened up slightly, explaining the even more obscene thickness I was forced to endure ever since it began painting my insides. From between its' jaws a thin sphincter gushes out the impossibly constant stream of jizz. As if it wasn't enough that I'm practically vomiting cum back up from my gut and making it wash down my body amongst heaves and retches, that evil shaft blasts me between the eyes and liberally all over my face in a steamy bukkake. I can barely see through the globs of the stuff masking my eyelids and engulfing my head, my arms and chest soon to follow. 
The flow stops, most likely not due to any inability of my God to ejaculate further, but because He desires something new from me. And I, in my warm, semen soaked, quivering, gurgling, kneeling exhausted state, am honoured to obey. I cough and splutter, but still gulp and lick and gather as much of divine cum as I can within myself, while my hands continue rubbing my breasts either side of the fleshy pillar. 

That is until it peels away from my body and slinks back down through my legs. It rubs directly past my clitoris on the way, prompting a rapid, miniature orgasm. One that I can only mumble out amidst the mess. Then it whips away, and for a second I fear that may be all the servitude I am allowed to provide tonight. I begin to turn in place towards my Master's tentacle, to beg and plead for more. To serve whatever perverse and sinful and sadistic delights of the flesh a mere mortal like me could live out. But before I so much as speak a word of a tongue that my God has long since surpassed the need to use for communication, the same tentacle that just abused, fucked and bathed my body whips across my cheek.

Like a leathery blunt punch from a heavyweight boxer, the force is strong enough to send me toppling to the slimy ground, panting on my side. Winded and bruised, I can feel the stinging pain resonating from my cheek. As my arms and legs begin to slowly sink into the ground, immersed in snug constricting pockets of hellish flesh like quicksand until I am left paralysed laying on my back, limbs trapped up to my shoulders and thighs, one desire burns in my mind hotter than the pain of the punch I just took.
I want, I need, to be beaten more. To serve more. 
To hurt is to feel. To feel is to live. To live is to serve Him. 
Where I lie, immobilised and helpless, a great shadow slinks into view above me, ominously swaying about in the air like a cobra poised to lash out with a lethal bite. 
After my eyes adjust, I see it for the thick, dribbling, bumpy, ridged tentacle it is. Black as the night, yet dull greens and purples are refracted off of the shiny surface. Most obvious of all is its' size. Easily bigger than the gorgeous beastly phallus that fed me before.
Suddenly it descends with a dull and careless thud onto my torso, winding me slightly and coaxing a gasp from my lungs past my cumsoaked lips. My head and shoulders reel upwards from the painful impact, but the motion is minimal, given how my limbs are trapped. 
I don't need to stare down at it to know that such a huge shaft should be incapable of squeezing inside any orifice of mine; it's almost as wide as my waist. But still I raise my head, my neck jittering as my muscles strain themselves, my voice hoarse with a cough spluttering out as a result of the harsh stinging cockslap I just took against my ribs. I look down at the head, coated in tiny feelers and mostly as thick as the rest of the tentacle. My mouth is open wide, slowly whimpering. 
Not out of fear. I just want to taste this beautiful fat fucker so badly. 
My God senses my desire, naturally. The tentacle squirms up my torso, smearing against the smooth of my coat and matting up my cum laced fur yet further. It smacks my lips and churns past them, attempting to push down the steamy, humid, cum-reeking depths of my gullet while I murmur and hump my hips uselessly. His tentacle can’t possibly fit far past my lips; just the first widening couple of inches are enough to cause my muscles to strain and almost cramp up. My lips would chap and my jaws would be in danger of dislocating if I were pushed further. That doesn’t stop Him though. He punches that bulbous mushroom of slimy flesh against my tongue a few more times, each motion uncomfortably rough. 
The discomfort is a trifle though compared to the joy of servitude I feel. My Master is blessing me with His flesh. And that knowledge alone makes me cum anew. 
As though it were what He was waiting for all along, while I quake out my climax his tentacle slithers backwards, south to my subtly squirting slit. With limbs still completely immersed, the suckling pockets that surround my arms and legs tickling and bathing them in His essence faultlessly, there’s nothing I can do as He prods the tentacle at my comparatively tiny pussy. Nothing to prevent Him from peeling my soaking labia apart with two thin feelers to expose the pink womanly core of my sex. Nothing to stop His tentacle phallus from forcing its’ hideous and thick tip against my entrance and pushing forwards. No moans from my lips, thrashing of my head from the splitting pain, breathless gasps or vice like grip of my cunt passage can stop Him now. 
The only thing that could have stopped Him, is the physical fact that a cock that huge should not be able to fit in a passage that small and tight. But as I said before, in the dream world He is able to transcend reality. Ignore it. Fuck it, you could even say. 
Just as His immense tentacle abruptly starts fucking me with a sudden shunt, a ridiculous bulge to my torso and a forced splitting of my entire womanhood around every inch until it bottoms out in my womb. 
Do I scream? Of course. 
But not out of agony. 
Out of ecstasy. 

“OH FUCK YEEESSS~!!!!!!!” 

My cry echoes through the infinite space, heard by none but my God and I. My teeth grit, mouth foaming and salivating, eyes stuck skyward in response to the overload to my nervous system. When I do summon the strength to pick my head back up and look at what He has done to me, I see the outline of His monstrous cock pressing out against my skin from the inside.

No body could physically take such size. It would crush bones, rupture organs, leave a person stretched, ruined and likely bleeding internally enough to bring a grim demise.

Yet there it is, and when it begins slithering back out and pushing back in, even the crushing pain is but a fickle breeze in comparison to the torrential pleasure I feel. He could have removed even that pain too if He wanted. But I know the presence of pain to be another vital aspect of His nightly sermons to me, His humble disciple. It teaches that pain, too, is good. It bonds one to the flesh just as pleasure does.
To hurt is to feel. To feel, is to live. To live is to serve Him. 

He doesn't hold back. Why would He? My body and soul are His to put to use as He wishes and commands, after all. So His tentacle ruts as deep as it wants to in my depths, the wet indecent slapping and slurping of my pussy complementing the way every fat inch and bumpy protrusion digs into my vaginal passage and penetrates deeper still. Though indeed, any logical description of what happens to my insides when fucked by a pillar of divine cock is rendered more or less moot by the fact that in this dream, my body does not follow logic. A fact further proven by what will happen later into my night.

Regardless of impossibilities, the sensations still bring me to sudden and mind breaking orgasms that pile on top of the intense pain. I hiss and moan and gurgle them out amidst emitting vocal nonsense, my jaw hanging open limp after a time. My breasts jiggle and bounce as He moves me back and forth with the momentum of His tentacle. Each time He pulls away, the tight squeeze of my cunt around His flesh forces my body down with Him. Only the fleshy pockets around my limbs keep this unworthy living fuckdoll in place for Him to use me to His own satisfaction.

Suddenly a new sensation temporarily pulls me back from a stupor of lust into 'reality' (for lack of a better word). My breasts, previously bare save for the slathering of spunk warming them, are captured by a pair of tentacles headed by suckling jaws, parted like broad flower petals around my bountiful milky cushions. They tug upwards, pulling me roughly, the snaring moist grip strong enough to suspend my spine from the surface of the flesh bog. Within their grasp I can feel tiny appendages, like minuscule tongues, flicking into my fur and especially against my nipples. There is no rhyme or reason to their suckling and squeezing, no keeping pace with the brutal gutfucking my pussy is getting. They just tug and knead and practically chew around my breasts as they wish.
The warm stimulation makes my moans longer, my hips suddenly jerking up whenever the massage creates a spike in my already overwhelming sensual overload. It is an honour to be my God's toy, to be used and explored and defiled like this.

I feel ever more blessed once my moaning mouth is rightfully shut up by another putridly slimy tentacle that snakes down my throat all at once. It makes no attempt at subtlety; its' thrusts are just as vicious as the other slamming my twat. Just as it was during the first bout of oral worship I was permitted to bestow this night, my mouth gulps and gurgles and overflows with the endless incoxicating essence of my God. It makes short work of messing my face anew with caking layers of slime, spunk and spit. I doubt I'll ever stop adoring the feeling of being throat-raped. It makes me feel so used. Like a sleeve, living tissue permitted to feel as it serves a purpose outside itself, a being beyond its’ true comprehension. 

The defilement doesn't stop there. I can feel things stroking, flicking and tracing wet lines all the way over my torso and beyond. Not that I can see any of it while both my mouth and pussy are plundered, my back arched and head craning back. All I feel is myriad tonguing motions wandering through my fur, some pressing through my coat to the skin beneath while others are barely tangible feathery breezes. They move through my cleavage, up and down my armpits, across my ribcage, twirling around my navel, slithering over my soft rear cheeks, flicking my short tufty tail as if in curiosity, and more. While my orifices are defiled with building speed, aggression and depth, my breasts pulled and tormented like doughy playthings, those tiny pinpricks of sensation over my chest move slowly and carefully. They move like a troupe of dancers skating and sliding across the stage of my body, tracing sensual lines that juxtapose the brutal violation as its’ complementary opposite.  

The tingling, tickling and massaging I blindly feel is almost enough to push my consciousness to its’ limit. Like the straw that broke the camel’s back, those light touches, like fingertips of curious inexperienced but eager anonymous lovers, send me tumbling into a fresh orgasm that seems to linger on longer than any before it during this night. My body spasms and struggles in its’ bonds to no avail, out of pure instinct and need to physically thrash out the torturous pleasure and pain. My throat gulps and my pussy grips, from my poor split labia to the very core of my womb. As much as I can accurately describe my body in this manner while existing within this abstract realm. It acts, and exists, however my God wishes it to. 
Tears have been streaming from my eyes for some time now as an involuntary reflex, the persistently warm and sticky seed of my God clinging to most of my body and creating an inescapable thick aroma that surrounds my body and wafts far beyond where I lay, trapped, vulnerable and thoroughly fucked. The pounding my mouth and pussy are getting have become intense, constant and ruthless. As if I didn’t already know that my God has no care - no need to care - for my wellbeing, it’s more clear now than ever that He is using me at His liberty. While the touches across my body and petals around my breasts do not let up, it is the tentacles fucking from either end that by far move the fastest and roughest. Each time they push deep inside it feels like they go minimally deeper, as if all of this wasn’t already impossible biologically. 
Not that I care. It all feels far too good. 
All that I see is His flesh, all that I hear are the sounds of my own body’s violation, all that I smell is His essence with such thickness and volume that it surrounds my tastebuds as well, and all that I can feel is him plunging down my throat and up to my womb and all over my body. The very limits of my physical form feel dulled. I feel like I’m losing my sense of self. Like all the pleasure and pain stabbing every nerve in my mind is melting my self awareness and turning my mind into mush. The woman named Jeanne is fading away. I’m becoming nothing but flesh now, flesh that moves and yields, hurts and feels ecstasy, fucks and gets fucked, exists only to feel more and more and more and more and- 
The sudden penetration of my puckered asshole from underneath by some unseen shaft, cylindrical and barbed with a spiralling pattern of bumps, brings a shock to my system. It splits me apart and tunnels swiftly so deep up my rear passage that I can feel its’ very size having a knock-on effect against my poor punished pussy. With both my main lower orifices defiled by such huge invaders it’s no wonder that the friction shared between the two would cause stimulation to them both, as well as easily doubling the receptive, filling sensation I’m forced to endure. My eyes are utterly rolled back by now, and I’m beyond the point of screaming or mumbling. Were this reality I’d long since have blacked out by now – lack of oxygen, exhaustion, orgasmic overload, you name it – but never do I feel closer to the edge of unconsciousness, or worse, than I do whenever my God defiles me in all three of my traditionally sexual orifices. It’s more clear than ever from outside of my body just how filled I am, with the fitting soundscape of horrid guttural splutters, hacks, coughs and gurgles emitted from my mouth, pussy and ass only contributing further. Yet He does not relent, He pushes deeper, fucks harder, and wriggles wider. 

Few thoughts cross my hazed mind, but when the moment of His climax hits, they are all washed away, and all that is left is euphoria. 
 
As before, I feel it in the throbbing and minute twitching of all three shafts bottoming out within me. Then a moment later, the flow of semen gushes aggressively deep inside without cease. Only this time, in addition to the renewed forcefeeding down my throat, my womb, my intestines, my very core is claimed and filled beyond the breaking point. I can practically feel myself weighed down, bloated out and warmed from the inside out. The monstrous phallus punching the back of my womb is cumming hardest of all, with continuous stinking blasts of inhuman fertile essence thick enough to ensure no part of my sex is spared. I feel it filling deepest in my ass, where it can simply flow up through my insides freely. With my organs and digestive system requiring no logical form here, my God’s cum can fill me to the brim. And it does; I can feel my own stomach distending in ways impossible yet oh so pleasurable. Meanwhile the familiar yet ever delicious dosage pouring back up from my stomach and into my cheeks sloshes about and drowns my tongue. The taste is nothing less than sinful. A sin I revel in committing and ingesting sincerely. 
My breasts are tugged and twisted in those clasping petalled tentacles throughout His orgasm. Even if it is not for my pleasure but for His desire, it still heightens the explosive orgasms that pile on moment after moment. Were my neck not too stuffed to allow words, sounds or even air to flow, I’d be screaming up a storm through all this. 
Soon it’s spilling back out of everywhere, in chunky splattering waves. My creamy fur is completely drenched through by now, my poor pretty brown hair discoloured an unhealthy yellowish white. After a few more sudden humping thrusts, each tentacle whips out of my holes, again with no care for my own wellbeing. Along the way the bumps across each one punctuates my violation with spikes of pain when they scrape back past my most sensitive internal spots. 
Once finally freed, my mouth is left chapped and slack while my lower orifices are gaping. But before I can even pay much mind to that, the last few blasts of semen are washed over my body vigorously. The tentacle that has slid out of my mouth hangs ominously over me, its’ ejaculate landing right between my eyes and ruining my field of vision with a thick mask of jizz that practically encapsulates my entire head. The others flick and squirm in the air like panicked snakes, clearly acting on pure instinct and without any real aim or intention. They simply ride out the pleasure, as do I. It brings this humble disciple great joy to coax such mindless ecstasy from my God. Or, it does after the fact; in the middle of this moment my body is too limp, my holes too ruined, my body too immersed in seed and musk and my own juices for any coherent thoughts to cross my mind. 
Slowly but surely, my limbs are unfurled from their bonds. But the damage has been done, my mind too weak and pussy leaking far too much seed for there to be any doubt what comes next. As I lay immobilised in a barely conscious stupor, I know only two things. 
That my night is not yet over, and that no matter how much semen spills out of me, something has taken root within. While I lie there exhausted, coughing up spunk, caked in a cocktail of depravity, hair and fur tussled and frayed and matted, vision hazy and face numb, the last act I wearily give is to crack a wide sincere smile, before the flesh envelops my body completely. 

--- 

My night always ends the same, regardless of what wishes and desires my God holds for me to be used for, on any one occasion. Tonight is no different. Like a punctuating final verse worthy of anticipating, I always welcome it with glowing enthusiasm. That, and screams. 
Loud, shameless, hoarse, endless, orgasmic screams. 
My limbs are not restrained. My mouth and anus are not plugged up. My hands and feet and head are completely free. I am surrounded by, but not penetrated or molested by, wriggling and drooling tentacles on all sides as I lay on the fleshy bog, hips upraised and head thrashing about. 
It’s not what’s going into me that has me screaming in bliss. It’s what is coming out. 
“OH FUCK! OH FUCK! YESSS! MASTER! IT’S COMING~!!!!” 
I don’t even know how intelligible my words are, but that doesn’t stop me attempting to shriek them at the top of my lungs. 
My bloated, round belly churns. I can feel the life within squirming and pushing its’ way out of me, back out of the pussy that welcomed my Master’s impregnating seed. It works deeper back down my passage, closer to my pussy until one tentacle amongst the writhing mass starts to part my pussy from the inside out. I stare down, my own swollen pregnant gut preventing me from seeing the birthing. Despite that, what I can feel more than makes up for the lack of visual stimulation. I never know what strange, distorted, malformed monster I will be spawning with each new night, to join the endless fields of flesh making up my God and act as yet another demon of the flesh to tempt mortals in their dreams and seek corporeal form on Earth to spread the sinful word of the pleasures of the flesh. But it makes me so happy to serve His purpose as a faithful brood queen. 
Besides, it feels so fucking good. 
At first as it worms out of my pussy it’s only as thick as my God’s own tentacles are. That is to say, still thick enough to make my contracting cunt squirt and head reel back in gasping, breathless orgasm. But there is so much more to come. 
I clutch my own breasts, knowing fully well the effect that my impregnation has had on them. As ever, the complete defiance of logic in the dreamscape has bypassed the painfully restrictive biological laws my body should follow, the likes of which would have rendered my breeding impossible in the first place. So when I give them a firm squeeze, fingers pinching my perky pink nipples, I quickly begin lactating, in heavy pressurised sprays. 
I gasp suddenly, then hiss continuously through gritted teeth. My hands aggressively knead and work out every drop, letting the fountain of motherly milk splatter all around, feeding the flesh beneath just as it will soon feed my otherworldly young. The warm flow, the relieving of pressure, the tingling in my now even more sensitive breasts, it all just contributes to the immense splitting ecstasy of my baby pushing through my birth canal to gradually emerge from within me. A sensation that shouldn’t feel good, that should create heaps more pain than it does. But although the pain is thick and constant like a lead weight atop my brain, the mind melting pleasure pushes me through. It keeps my muscles working hard, kegels pushing and cunny widening to force out not just the first tentacle of my abominable young which feels its way about from between my labia with a surplus of persistent yellow cum flowing out of me with it, but more of its’ gelatinous body. 
A second tentacle squirms out, making my pussy doubly widened all of a sudden. I wring my breasts with enough force to make the ever copious flow of mother’s milk rain down aggressively, my voice becoming nothing more than wordless screeches and hyperventilated moans. Then more tentacles worm their way back down my pussy from the womb where it has gestated for what cannot have been more than a few hours. 
Before I know it, I’m pushing the thick slimy body of a faceless mound of tentacles out of my cunt. Birthing the newest in a long line of sinful immortal spawn, serving my life’s purpose as His brood mother.
Such a depraved act, such a massive overload to my nervous system from giving birth to something so big and slimy and illogical in form that should have torn my vaginal passage apart on the way out, such sick knowledge that I am mother to monsters... 
It all drives me literally and orgasmically insane. 

"AAAHHHHH!!! FUCK!!! YEEESSSSS!!!" 

I pinch and twist my nipples with feral strength and channel my every last speck of power still in my weary muscles into birthing the beast. More and more tentacles worm their way out, each new one gaping my pussy even further. Every second is a tempestuous storm of pain and pleasure, of sensations so unreal only dreams can manifest them. The massive bump dispensing my navel shrinks and softens in tandem with the young squirming out of me. 
The feelings only intensify as the thickest point of my baby's body pushes and pushes and... 

"GUHHHH!!!" 

With that solitary groan, the widest circumference passes out of me, and the comparatively slimmer remainder of the inhuman spawn quickly follows. It splats upon the ground, tentacles coiling and writhing senselessly as it adjusts to newfound existence. Soon enough however it discovers its' first instincts, and driven solely by them, it slithers up my leg and torso, leaving a trail right up to my breast. 
There's nothing I could do even if I wanted to. My body is completely limp, weak and defeated. My hair is a hot mess, my fur tussled and matted, orifices stretched open to abhorrent levels, eyes glazed and chest heaving with desperate breaths. I barely feel the tickling grip of my young as it begins to suckle on my nipple, but as the seconds pass I gradually becomes conscious of the slow chewing, and I feel my milk being savoured and welcomed by this strange hybrid I have spawned. 
I lift my head in a last brave effort to see exactly what it is I have created, the fruit of the pleasure-borne union between my God and I. What I see is a strange rounded mass of flesh, devoid of facial or bodily features as my mortal eyes know them; it simply exists as a collection of tentacles, each no thicker than my wrist, tapering out from the core. Mostly deep purple with glistening shades of green and grey. Suction pads, bumps and tiny feelers resembling whiskers lining each phallic limb. As are most of these creatures I birth nightly, this one is clearly a creature intent on exploring flesh only: that of itself and of others. 
Somewhere in there, a pair of jaws is giving feather touch nibbles around my areola, while it inhales sharply to drink down my milk in abundance. Already it is exploring the flesh of its' mother, growing sustenance, growing stronger. 
I give a wide, sincere smile even as the flesh beneath me begins to congeal and envelop my arms and legs. While more and more of my body is submerged under the surface of the bog, my muscles are at ease. My shoulders, hips, sore raw pussy and tail hole, navel, neck... all engulfed by living tissue which pulls me down, down, down. The suckling babe is equally unphased while it is pulled down with me; I can feel it feeding even after my breasts are immersed. It must know that it serves a higher purpose, as do I. 
The last thing to be pulled under is my head. Before my eyes are masked and darkness absorbs me, I gaze wistfully up at the sunless sky once more, in a serene afterglow. Flesh coats my lips, and just as the last strands of my fur are buried, I press them up in a grateful kiss to my omnipresent God. 
Until tomorrow, my Lord.

--- 

When I drift back into the waking world, I feel as refreshed and serene as I do every morning. The sheets weigh down upon my body with enough weight to coax me into lingering in bed a few minutes more, but ultimately thanks to the fading glow of my dreams, vivid even now as I absently glance at the cracks of light filtering in around the closed curtains, I inevitably rise from bed not long after with a wide smile, a hearty stretch and an eagerness to seize the day. 
I peel the light t-shirt up and over my shoulders, and toss it into the basket by my bedside to be washed later. I like wearing a light top to bed, for the sake of the texture of the material across my chest. Even if my dreams do tend to make such garments a bit musty, it’s worth it. Sometimes for the colder months I wear underwear, or very occasionally silk pajama bottoms to bed as well. That does tend to become a nuisance though. I can never wear the same undies two nights in a row. 
Once all my clothes have been shed, I work the last dregs of lethargy out of my body by shaking my joints and muscles into action, and performing some light stretches. Never was much of a fitness buff, but I recognise how important it is to maintain a certain level of ‘physical capability’ in pursuing my own certain brand of happiness.
Used to be that a couple of centuries ago when all this began, the very start of my day was the hardest part. 
However willing my mind and however strong my faith, my body would manifest the consequences of my vivid, depraved dreams physically, as though all of the rampant pleasure, the impossible erotic feats and the exhausting service I happily indulged in night after night, had actually happened to me while I lay in bed. I have never claimed to know, or sought to know, the logic or rules behind the capabilities of the higher power governing my now eternal life. To stray too close to the sun is to burn to ash, as they say. But for whatever reason, like nerves from a phantom limb taunting a recent amputee, my body would for some time routinely wake in agonising exhaustion, and at worst cases, with severe internal injuries resulting from the dark worship I bestowed in the metaphysical realm of dreams. 
It was almost too much to bear, even with the ecstasy faultlessly visiting my dreams nightly as motivation. How was I to preach the word of my God, to explore the sacred darkness of depravity, to know the depths of mortal pleasures with encyclopaedic knowledge, if my weak body could not keep up with the glorious, intoxicatingly pleasurable quest tasked of me, His herald? 
Yet, my God's promises were proven true. Over time, the strain, the injuries, the pain, would loosen and lift from my body. And in its' place, my body began to change and adapt to the purpose I'd dedicated myself to ever since that day the Sisters and me dabbled in arcane depths beyond our manipulation. Like some twisted and hastened demonstration of the theory of evolution, day by day my body moulded itself into a vessel for all mortals to pour their lust into. Ample, rounded, hefty breasts, with perky nipples no less sensitive from my bust size; curves that swooped down into a veritable valley along my sides to create a slender waist only for my body to broaden where it counted into a generous creamy derrière and child bearing hips; toned and firm musculature that gifted me with great stamina and physical endurance yet without any bulk that would mar my visible femininity; soft and supple lips and a tongue and oral cavity more capable than any red light harlot could dream of achieving; and a tight, tidy, pink sex, as sensitive and tight and easily aroused as any man or beast would expect from a fertile female ripe to be claimed. 

I take great pride in my own body, though largely in the same way that the child of a rich lineage would take pride in his family line and the wealth it affords them; I know these gifts to have been granted by a power beyond my own, bestowed regardless of my own actions and choices. It is an honour and joy to be allied to that power, and I dedicate my every living moment to making use of my God's gifts to the ends agreed by the contract I made with Him centuries ago. 

My name is Jeanne. I am 255 years old (though since the year 1790, I haven't looked a day over 29), and I live to explore sex in all its' forms. Whatever you want, whatever you need, whatever desires have been clawing at the back of your mind, I am here, a blank canvas with which to paint a masterpiece or tear to messy shreds. I welcome it all. I want it all. I ache for it all. 
I'm what they call, in this day and age, a nymphomaniacal slut. And fuck is it ever fun.