"You've spoiled me, you know," she coos, savoring the feel of Esme's body, touching her everywhere with hands and tentacles and lips. "No other sexy kidnap victim can compare. I'll just have to keep you forever, now, destroying and rebuilding you again and again."

The corrosive ink burns hotter inside her now. the pain is overwhelming, organs melting away to a delicious soup inside her, before being absorbed by the ink and then regrown again. It gets a little hard to breathe, now and then, as the ink splashes against her lungs and eats away at them.

And all the while, Sable's thick tentacles pound into her body, stretching her out and filling her up blissfully. The aphrodisiac only sensitizes her further, pushing her pleasure and pain to new heights.

"Mine forever. No escape from the sexy horrors, here to be broken by my consumptive touch over and over."

When the ink damages her lungs, she shudders, captivated by the sensation of her breath getting shorter and shorter—

—and then it passes, and she realizes what that means.

Oh, fuck, that's good.

She pictures it, Sable's tentacles squirming inside her, passing through bones and organs that dissolve at their touch and reform in their wake. What a profound kind of power that is, visceral and immediate, inescapable, inevitable. Sable could keep her here indefinitely, fucking her and consuming her and playing with her, making her more and more sensitive to it all, and there would be no escape even in death, not until Sable allowed it. She is an utterly helpless plaything.

...maybe this is greedy of her, but she wants to be here for a long time. She wants to be shown just how helpless she is. She wants Sable to spend all day enjoying her, sipping away her insides drop by drop and healing them back into place, fucking her and playing with her senses so the pleasure and the pain only ever get more intense. She wants to be fucked absolutely senseless.

Sable certainly doesn't plan to stop anytime in the next several hours, at least. 

One tentacle plunges through the melted remains of Esme's womb, another liquifies bits of her intestines as it fucks her ass, every thrust coiling them through and around her organs, melting and healing her from within. The third tentacle, pounding into her throat, occasionally flexes and presses out of her esophagus, into her lungs and heart and ribs, stealing her breath or making her light-headed for moments at a time. Her body truly is Sable's plaything and meal, slowly drank and repaired over and over, gradually pouring more of the delicious, blissful nutrition and power of Esme's body into Sable.

She moans and shudders as she caresses Esme's writhing form, letting her aura out again, soaking up the blissful feelings and pressing herself adoringly against Esme.

The worshipful haze that melts her mind along with her body is the final ingredient in utter perfection. Sable is the center of her thoughts and the anchor of her soul. There is nothing in her but Sable. Her mistress, her goddess, her beloved owner. Nothing matters except the need to please her, to feed her, to belong to her, to worship her—and what a perfect act of worship this is.

Sable's tentacles plunge deeper, melting their way through to meet in the middle. Ink floods the inside of Esme's body, swiftly dissolving more and more of her, holding an echo of the shape of what was eaten, filling her pretty little body out properly even as everything inside her is consumed. The only thing more than skin deep below the neck that persists is her nervous system, the better to keep all those deliciously torturous feelings flowing to her mind. Everything else — organs, muscles, bones — can be briefly felt over and over as it reforms and dissolves away again. Sable keeps the blood flowing by hand to keep Esme conscious and experiencing every moment of her consumption.

She is filled to the brim with pain, with love, with Sable. Everything is as it should be. She breathes intermittently, when her goddess allows it.

And the more of her Sable hollows out, the more delicious she gets. Not that deeply compelling complexity again, not yet, but the possibility feels tantalizingly close. It seems almost like her flavour is waiting for Sable's permission to draw her into the final rush of intensely satisfying consumption.

She drags it out. Hours and hours they spend like this, healing and hollowing and fucking her delicious morsel, melting Esme's mind with sensation as she melts her body with ink. Every moment is excruciating bliss and exquisite pain.

Sable shudders and moans inhumanly, savoring every melted drop of her love, kissing and caressing her body even as her ink consumes her from within.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Eventually, when it's been at least a day, Sable decides to finish its meal, letting its ink finally melt through her skin and nerves, starting at her feet and rising up, dissolving more and more of her as it goes.

It turns out, the first time Sable nibbles the edge of a nerve, that this is the signal her flavour was waiting for. All the rich intense compelling deliciousness of that first meal on the spit is compressed into the branching strands—not the same exact flavour profile, of course, because that would be like wearing the same dress to two parties in a row, but the same broad structure and the same effect. Esme's nerves are begging to be eaten. With every inch that Sable dissolves, new subtleties unfold. Her spine is a gourmet feast, a thirty-three-course meal that gets richer and more satisfying as it goes on.

Her brain, of course, is the best part. Each and every cell contributes its own unique twist to the building symphony of flavour, vibrant and glorious and seamlessly integrated with the rest, perfectly complemented by the delicate broth of cerebrospinal fluid. There are patterns and themes within the structure, flavours that echo her thoughts and emotions as Sable pulls them apart and devours them. Her pain, her pleasure, her intense all-pervading worshipful love.

And then it's over, and Sable is full. Down to the very last drop of her being, she is saturated with satiation. This meal does not come with the option for a manic episode; this meal needs to be blissfully savoured and slowly digested.

Sable collapses into the pillowpit, a flushed and satisfied mess, and barely has the presence of mind to reassemble Esme again before snuggling her tightly to its chest and relaxing into blissful torpor.

Everything is perfect. She has her precious, lovely mortal morsel in her arms, she's so so full, that was amazingly delicious, she loves her so much.

She may have forgotten to suppress her aura again, but that's probably fine, right?

Mmmmm. Cozy goddess. So pretty. So good to belong to. 💖💖💖

"Loooove you," she murmurs. "Day and change."

She can't really manage serious effort at explaining right now.

Cozy cling.

Precious worshipper.

Best morsel.

🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤💜

It's okay. Sable may be too dazed to give explanations, but Esme is too dazed to comprehend them, so it works out. They can just be cozy together.

She clutches Esme to herself and drifts dreamily, savoring the blissful fullness and the presence of her Esme.

"Mine," she manages to murmur.

They can rest like this for quite some time.

Under other circumstances, Esme would probably be the first one to pull herself together, but Sable has her aura out so Esme is drifting very cozily in worshipful eldritch madness right now.

Eventually, an indeterminate period of time later, Sable stretches and wakes up again. It notices its aura is still out, suppresses that, and checks its connection to the moon to get some kind of sense of how much time has passed, petting Esme's hair as it does.

It has been several hours, and her Esme is so cozy and so worshipful. She loves having her mind melted by the prettiest sweetest loveliest goddess. 💖💖💖

Aww. She's basking. The basking is so cute and good and cozy. 

Hm. Do they have anything they need to be doing? It looks through a portal at the map... no fires to put out, so that's good. Hm. The only big things are to figure out Esme's nested soul situation and the empowerments, and that's pretty thoroughly bask compatible, as least for this stage of investigation.

It settles down and starts peering at Esme's soul, studying her deeply and carefully, occasionally using its tentacles to take notes on its findings and additional questions.

It keeps petting her hair the whole time, savoring her closeness and her melty state.

Esme nestles against her goddess and happily reminisces about being dissolved from the inside out. It was so hot and intense and beautiful and mmmmmmm. Best eldritch terrifying demon goddess.

As for her soul, it still seems pretty structurally normal except for the entire extra soul hidden inside it. The interface between them, and the way one manages to be so thoroughly hidden inside the other, are fascinating.

Sable keeps petting its precious little worshipper and smiles as it peers closely at the interface between the nested souls. This'll take time, but power certainly makes it easier to see deeply enough to learn more, and her tasty morsel's been filling her up wonderfully.

Hmm. How does that work? It's never seen a matryoshka soul before. So fascinating.

(Coziest goddess.)

The nonphysical nature of souls means that it's possible for the inner soul to be fully as complete in structure and substance as the outer soul, while being packed into a tiny hidden space in the middle of it, while not being any denser or more tangled. But the boundary between the two is intricate, being both a nearly perfect hiding place that conceals the fact that there's anything in there at all unless you look very close, and a robust attachment that allows both souls to function seamlessly as both a single unit and two separate beings at the same time.

Interesting. The interface is definitely key here. So is the trick going to be figuring out the right angle through soulspace to connect a second body to the inner soul without intersecting the interface at all, that way it can keep doing its job of two-but-one-but-two?

Perhaps. These are lossy words for a deeply metaphysical structure that English was never made for.

She examines the dimensionality of both souls, and of the boundary, to try to see how this could work.

It looks like it would be pretty tough to get anything in there without intersecting the boundary; its coverage is comprehensive, which is how the inner soul manages to be so well hidden.

On the other hand, it might be possible to alter the boundary slightly - not a very deep structural change, this thing is still dizzyingly complex - but maybe just enough to sort of unfold or invert it, so that instead of one soul fully hidden inside another, the situation becomes two souls conjoined side by side. Doing that would allow her to easily embody one or both souls at her leisure. Also it would be an absolute masterwork of heinously tricky soul manipulation, far beyond what Sable would have thought possible if you asked her a week ago. But with this thing in front of her, the boundaries of what's possible have expanded considerably.

Oh.

This isn't a dimensionality problem so much as a topology problem.

Huh.

Okay she keeps looking deeper, trying to get her head around the necessary manipulations.

...This is going to take some time.

Pet pet pet the morsel.