The Living Corset and the Voyeuristic Frames

Squelch. Slosh.

With every step, a sound rose from inside her body and struck her ears. Louder than her bare feet on the marble, she felt the wave of liquid rolling through her belly.

"Hahh... hahh... hhnnngh..."

Lee Na-bi staggered along the corridor, one hand braced against the wall. She couldn't close her legs. Wedged tight in the mouth of her vagina, refusing to slip free, was the Hound's bulb — a massive, rigid lump of meat that barred the space between her thighs.

With every step the dangling severed end slapped the inner flesh of her thighs, and the vibration traveled up the walls of her vagina and arrived, intact, at her womb. The semen and blood trapped in her belly sloshed and pounded her organs from the inside, a dull, wet thud, thud.

"It's so heavy... I feel like it's going to fall out..."

A nauseating gravity, as if her insides were about to drop out of her. Na-bi clutched her lower belly and broke into a cold sweat. The Exhibition Hall corridor lay dead and still. Hundreds of empty frames hung along both walls. There were no paintings. The vacant canvases seemed to hang open-mouthed, turned toward the grotesque wreck of her.

A blood-soaked naked body. A beast's cock jutting from between her legs. A trail of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠red dripping in her wake. Someone was watching. The sensation of invisible eyes dragging sticky and slow across her skin raised gooseflesh over every inch of her.

"I have to cover up... with anything..."

Shame was eating her reason alive. Na-bi lurched toward the double doors at the end of the corridor and pushed them open. The Second Dressing Room.

A long creak of hinges, and a strange smell rolled out to meet her. Not old dust. Something sweet and metallic at once — the scent of well-tanned leather braided with the iron of dried blood.

The room was crowded with mannequins, all of them dressed. Lavish party gowns, uniforms, and leather bondage suits whose purpose she could not name. Among them, at the center of the room, under the most lavish light, a single garment hanging on a mannequin seized her gaze and would not let it go.

A high, old-fashioned collar that climbed to the throat. A corset bodice cut to pinch the waist to a fistful. A skirt so full it would drag the floor. Blood-red, and looking as soft as velvet — that single dress seemed, in that moment, like the only salvation left to her.

"With that... I can cover myself."

She approached as if hypnotized. The thought that it might be a trap never even formed. The only thing ruling her skull was the compulsion to hide it — the beast's remnant, her own ruined body — right now.

Na-bi stripped the dress from the mannequin. The texture that met her hands was wrong. This was not cloth. It felt like... the hide of a living thing, fine down rising from the surface. From the lining she could even feel a lukewarm body heat.

She did not hesitate. She yanked the dress over her head in a rush.

A long, sliding whisper of fabric. The dress went on as if it had been waiting for its owner, slipping into place of its own accord. But the moment she worked her arms in and stuffed her torso through, a strange wrongness settled over her. It was small. Tight enough to choke the breath even from her skinny frame.

"Ngh... it's a little... tight..."

That was the instant she tried to force the zipper up her back.

A click. A slither.

The sound ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠came from behind her. Dozens of corset laces running down the back panel began to move on their own, though her hands had never touched them — coiling like a nest of snakes gathering into a knot.

"Huh...?"

A rattling lash — then a vicious cinch.

"Ghk?!!"

It happened in a heartbeat. The laces behind her hauled themselves tight. This was not a dress finding its fit. With the force of a giant serpent crushing a ribcage, it stamped her upper body flat, like a press slamming shut.

A wet crunch. A snap.

"Gyaaah! My bones — my bones...!"

Her ribs screamed. The air in her lungs was forced out of her, and the world went yellow at the edges. The dress was physically bending her ribcage, determined to make her waist as small as a doll's, a handful of nothing.

But the true horror was not on the outside. It was on the inside.

A suck. A squelch. A wet pop.

The soft lining against her skin turned on her. The velvet-like texture vanished, and a wet mucous membrane studded with thousands of tiny suckers bloomed in its place and glued itself to her bare flesh.

"Hiiik?! It's sticking to my skin — it's sticking! Aaaah! It's hot! It stings!"

The suckers fell on every pore. They began to inject a fine digestive fluid and drink her sweat and blood. It was as if a single enormous leech had swallowed her whole. The red of the dress deepened, flushing into a clearer, more vivid blood-crimson. It was taking on life, drunk on her blood.

"Take it off... take it off me! I don't want this! I hate thiiis!"

Na-bi flailed her arms, but the sleeves contracted and locked them fast against her torso. Her chest was forced open, her waist held ramrod-straight as if it might snap. A perfect mannequin's pose.

A muttering rose from the dress itself. This was no scrap of cloth. This was a living predator.

Occupying her upper body was not enough. From the dark, damp space inside the skirt, thick leather tentacles uncoiled. They climbed her thighs like snakes and began to search out the most private place she had left.

A creeping wriggle. A tap.

"Hngh! No! There's already — there's already something in there...!"

Na-bi shook her head, the Hound's cock buried in her belly flashing through her mind. The dress did not stop. One tentacle found the Hound's bulb blocking the mouth of her vagina. The dress recognized the foreign object as a rival.

A relentless, grinding press.

"KYAAAAAAAAH!!!!"

The leather tentacle shoved the bulb from the outside in, without mercy. Her vagina, already packed full, took a pressure that felt as if it would split. The Hound's bulb crushed against the mouth of her womb, and the semen trapped in her belly, unable to bear the force, leaked through the gaps in wet little spurts.

Confirming that the front hole was occupied, the dress found another path without a second's hesitation.

Like a fastidious designer inspecting a defective piece, the dress made its dissatisfaction with her body's condition plain. Having confirmed that the anterior opening was already taken, it decided, first, to secure a clear view.

A long, silken slither.

The full red velvet hem rolled itself up of its own accord. Past her thighs, past her pelvis, all the way to her waist. The skirt inverted completely and locked itself against her upper body.

"Ah?! Kyaaah! What are you doing! Put it down! Put it down!!"

Her lower half was laid utterly bare. What the light revealed was wretched. Thighs glistening with blood and semen. A vulva swollen thick. And, jutting obscenely from the mouth of her vagina, a grotesque red lump of meat — the severed tip of the Hound's cock. It was the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠opposite of the dress's elegance: raw, filthy, pornographic flesh, left exactly as it was.

Dozens of thread-thin tentacles unspooled from inside the dress and wrenched her legs apart. Spread in a hard M, they were pinned in midair and held there.

The dress went after the cleft of her ass with a stubborn, methodical hunger. The tip of a thick leather tentacle found the folds of her anus and rubbed there, worrying at them. As if it were putting on lipstick, a slick, transparent mucus welled from the tentacle's end and soaked the skin around her hole until it shone.

"Hngh! No! That's — that's a dirty place! Don't put it in!"

Na-bi shook her head and clenched her sphincter as hard as she could. The dress, as if laughing at her, tapered its tentacle to a point and began to force those tight folds open.

A slick kiss. A slurp.

"Ahhngh! Nnnngh! It feels weird — it feels nasty!"

The tentacle tickled the inside of the hole as it tried to enter. It was not simply punching through. It vibrated in fine, precise pulses, teasing the nerves to loosen the tension in the inner wall. Shame made her face feel as if it would burst — but her sensitized anal nerves twitched in answer to that hideous caress. Her body, on its own, was trying to take the pleasure in.

A slide. A grind.

Between the cheeks of her ass, a smooth, cold leather tentacle burrowed in.

"Ah...? Nn — nnnngh?! No, not there — you can't...!"

Na-bi clenched down and fought it, but the dress's strength was overwhelming. With no lubricant at all, the rough leather-textured ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tip forced the closed folds apart and pushed inside.

A single, brutal thrust.

"Ghhnnnngh!!!!"

Her anus was forced open. Dry mucous membrane tore with a bright, stinging pain, and a thick mass of leather drove into her rectum. In front, the Hound's hard cock. In back, the dress's leather tentacle, packed to the root. There was no empty space left inside her pelvis. The foreign things shoved and twisted against the inner walls, fighting each other for room.

"My belly — my belly... it's going to burst... ahh-hhk..."

The dress paid her screaming no mind at all. Instead it cinched the corset tighter still, forcing the organs in her abdomen down toward the pressure below. Crushing from above. Driving from beneath. A doubled agony.

And then.

A creak. A clunk.

The walls on every side shuddered. Na-bi lifted eyes swimming with tears and looked at them. The frames that had been empty. Something was rising onto those canvases.

Not paintings. Giant eyeballs.

A flash. Another flash.

The gazes had physical weight. They raked down her body, cataloguing every filthy inch of her — eaten by the dress, both holes stopped, panting like an animal on display.

"Don't look... hhk, please don't look..."

Shame surged to the roots of her hair. This was not merely being seen. Every time the eyes in the frames blinked, an image was forced into her brain.

Click.

"Aaaah... ah... no — I can see it... I can see myself...!"

She heard her self come apart. Indomitable did not even leave her mind a place to run.

A final crunch.

The corset cinched down one last time. Her waist shrank to a circumference that was no longer human.

The dress gave the order. Electrical signals flooded the muscles of her legs, with or without her consent. Her legs began to move on their own.

Click. Click.

Like a marionette, Na-bi was forced to walk. Chest thrown wide. Hips rolling. The most elegant walk, and the most obscene — a model's stride, cut to be looked at.

"I don't want to... I don't want to go... let me go..."

Her mouth begged. Her legs were already carrying her out through the dressing room door. With every step the Hound's bulb in front and the tentacle behind knocked against each other, scraping her inner walls. The slosh of semen in her belly kept time with her footsteps, a wet little rhythm.

The countless frames along the corridor turned their gazes to follow her procession, like a barrage of camera-flashes thrown at an actress walking a red carpet.

Na-bi walked in tears toward the banquet hall where she would be the main dish — wearing a gorgeous, cruel dress the color of fresh blood, her belly full of a beast's remains.