Alright, I want you to sit up straight and take a deep breath.  Hold it for just a moment, and release.  You've got a trip planned for today, but you don't know where yet.  All you know is that you've been looking forward to it for a couple days now.

Breathe in, and hold your breath for a moment,

now breathe out.

You don't know how you're getting to where you're going, but are assured that when the time comes, you will.

Keep breathing in...

hold...

and out...

In...

hold...

and out again.

Your eyes are starting to droop as you maintain the breathing pattern.

In...

hold...

out...

The breathing pattern becomes more natural with each time you inhale.  Your eyes becoming heavier.  You find yourself envisioning a door in your room; one that was not there before.  The door is no more outstanding than any other, aside from its deep magenta hue.

In...

hold...

out...

The magenta door itches and gnaws at your curiosity, as your other thoughts begin to fade and blur, like a wax portrait slowly melting away to the warm afternoon sun.  Though it appears to be nothing more than a door, you feel compelled towards it, breathing in a relaxed manner by second nature now.

You grip the handle and gently pull the magenta door open, revealing a dark staircase.  The bottom cannot be seen, but it couldn't possibly have more than ten steps to it, you find yourself thinking.

The thought drifts off into the melted blur with all the other fleeting notions as you slowly begin to descend, counting each step backwards, from ten.

Ten.  A building, yet calm sense of anticipation washes over you; a muted excitement creeps into each fleeting, dissolving thought.

Nine.  Your eyes shutter, hand gently gripping the rail to insure your stability.  The fleeting thoughts slowed, and more meticulous even in their passing.

Eight.  You no longer feel any concern of your balance, fingers merely brushing across the rail, which feels of smooth velvet across your fingertips.

Seven.  Each thought crossing your mind, a transient whisper, gone before you can even process it.

Six.  The carpet of the stairs cushions your every step, easing you down, bit by bit.

Five.  

Breathe in.

Hold it in.

Breathe out.

Four.

Three.  Almost there.  You can feel the bottom coming closer to you, as you descend further down the staircase.

Two.  No more thoughts.  None, at least, that you have a mind to observe or stop and ponder upon.

One.  Your eyes close, for what feels to be no more than a moment, as you take just one more step downward.

Zero.

Your eyes open, and you find yourself standing within a peculiar oasis in the midst of a forest.  Trees and thick foliage at all sides, you see before you a pool tinted a deep emerald green.

Your shoulders are heavy, and a dull, tired sensation creeps across your body.  Steam billows gently up from the emerald pond, and you feel as though your tired body is being drawn into it.

Slowly, gingerly, you slip a foot paw into the pool; warmth spreads across your right foot, creeping upward as you let it slide in, up to your ankle.  Then your knee.

You let your left foot follow suit, the warmth clinging to you and slowly ascending across your body, climbing up to your left knee now, meticulously filling into you.

The warmth reaches into your chest.  When had you lowered your upper body into the pool?  It doesn’t matter.  Your shoulders, elbows, hand paws… the warmth is engulfing all of your body, and eagerly enveloping your neck and head, even though they’re securely above the pool’s water level.

You take in the warmth, as it soothes every inch of your body, all of the discomfort you’ve felt melting into the pool, completely dissipating within the steamy oasis.  Your toes curl and wriggle at the pool floor, encountering not pebble or rock bed, but a soft, pliable substance of some manner.

It reacts to your touch, curling across your paws, climbing across you.  A muted sense of danger goes largely unnoticed, washed away in the warmth of the pool.  It make short work of wrapping securely around both footpaws.  Peculiarly though, it doesn’t feel like it’s tying you; it’s more as if you’re being slowly engulfed by the substance.

The only action your warmth-addled mind can conceive to do is drowsily look downward, drooping eyes taking in the source of the emerald tint of the pool; a deep emerald goo of some kind wrapped around you, enveloping up to both knees.

Its insides seem to lick and press gently at you, more sucking you in than scaling your flesh.  Anticipation grips your fogged mind where panic should be, blood rushing to your dick instead of your head, alerting the substance to its submerged movements.

Sensing your arousal as a sign of resistance, the amorphous goo quickly wraps around your shaft, engulfing it more rapidly than the rest of your body; having restrained the greatest perceived threat, it continues to expand, drooling down and wrapping your balls in a tingling, velvety coat, and squeezing across your glans as it takes the rest of your cock hostage.

Instinctively your hips thrust within the goo’s embrace, the gentle squeezing across the head of your dick increasing the volume on your anticipation, agitating it further in the process.  You feel it quickly glide across your inner thighs, beneath your balls, pressing firmly, making swirling motions as it swallows your butt.

Ripples form in the pool’s surface as the goo at the bottom shifts, wrapping tendrils around your handpaws, the bulk of its mass still drawing your body further in, as it ascends up your stomach.  The goo seems to know how to placate its prey, as intermittent squeezes and strokes are administered to your dick, the rest of its mass groping and squeezing at your flesh between each stroke.

Your mind goes almost entirely blank as the stroking and squeezing persists, chest, shoulders, your entire body up to your neck now enveloped within the goo.  Far too dazed to offer even the smallest of struggles, you remain motionless, completely at the mercy of the strange creature as tendrils branch off from the main body engulfing you.

You pant, open-mouthed as it strokes you, and presses into your butt.  Meticulously, you can feel it gripping your butt and starting to explore inside of you, one agonizingly slow millimeter at a time.  Your eyes are focussed on the tendrils as they come almost level with your line of sight, breath quickened by the new sensation.

The tendrils close in on your unguarded maw, warping into hand-like appendages.  One finger gently traces your gums, in a circular motion; left top, to right bottom, tracing just the tip, just enough to get a feel for its texture.  your mouth gapes on instinct alone, and the other hand seizes the opportunity to coil around your tongue, gently pulling it from your mouth.

It caresses your tongue, transient in its state between hand and amorphous, continually shifting between fondling, engulfing, sucking, and fondling again, all the while, you find your body being lifted further and further out of the pond.

The sensations intermingle, the stroking, exploratory probing, tracing, and squeezing, all across your tongue, your butt, your dick, and your entire body being completely restrained, now suspended above the pool, keep you right at the edge, in a perpetual state of half-bliss, half-torture.

Be it from the goo’s displacement from the water, or some other means, the pool was now swirling, a vortex, a spiral of goo and off-green water, swirls in front of your eyes, seemingly piercing into you as you watch, your body begging, aching for release.  The appendage handling your tongue suddenly takes a different form, a more wanted form, and you feel its shaft rub against the insides of your mouth, pre-goo oozing, dribbling down your throat and out from the corners of your mouth.

During the entire onslaught, the goo encapsulating you continues climbing, scaling your neck, and reaching your ears, where it pauses, as if confused.

The pause lasts for but a moment, as tendrils across both ears squirm and ease their way inside.  A sensation unlike anything you can remember sparks across your mind as the goo seeps into your brain, etching a path across each nook and cranny, pumping into your ears and your butt, pre pouring from your dick like a broken, leaky faucet, its goo still drooling down your throat at the same time.

Somehow it manages to keep you on edge all through its invasion, your eyes arching upward, nearly rolling to the back of your head, yet the spiral in the water staying burned into your mind.  You can feel a voice, deep and authoritative, yet smooth, alluring, soothing, ripple through your pent-up body and mind.

“I can make you cum if you wish… but be warned, at the moment of your climax, you will be bound to me; whenever I so desire, you will return, and once more your flesh will be bound to mine.  Do you still wish to proceed…?”

The words reverberate, rippling across your flesh, your eyes returning to the spiral before you, the invading goo seeming to have relented in its assault of your senses, if only for the time being.  The ache you felt before stepping into the pool slowly creeps back, paired with an unending demand of your dick for the attention it had only just lost.

Without thought, without hesitation, you nod your head.  The sensations return, as if they had not left at all.  Your body is pumped full of goo, stomach groaning and cock twitching, brain melting and thoughts evaporating.

“When I count from three, to zero, you will cum.”

No thoughts.  You’re nothing more than a blissed-out bundle of a toy for the goo.

“Three.”

Your cock throbs with each stroke, its pace steadily increasing.

“Two.”

The spiral pierces your mind as you transfix, your insides flooding from both ends with fluids.

“One.”

The tendrils pumping goo into your ears increase in volume as it splatters and encloses the rest of your body, filling your head completely with its mind-altering juices.

“Zero.”

Your hips thrust forward, body completely swallowed by the goo, you shoot out, white clouds billow from your dick, but are ultimately as trapped as you. Your body locks up, sans thrusting hips.  You couldn’t think, even if you tried.  Every single shred of resistance has been obliterated by the domineering creature.  Eyes arch upward, all senses other than the spurting of your fluids, and the fluids being shot into you, fade.

The goo lowers you to a tuft of grass just outside of the water, and melts away into a puddle, where your body spasms, hip continuing to thrust into the air, cum dripping and spurting from your dick with each twitch.

You lay there, for how long you know not, empty-headed and docile within a pool of excess goo.  The last thing you can remember after fading in and out of consciousness is stumbling through a door identical to the one to your room, and finding another staircase.

Up one step, you feel the goo dripping out of you, shedding from your body.

Two steps, it puddles beneath your feet, draining back to whence it came.

Three steps, you can see the top of the staircase, just ahead.

Four steps, your clarity of mind is returning, bit by bit.

Five steps, and a light shines brightly.  You blink, and find yourself back in your room.  The Magenta door is nowhere to be found.  The aftermath of what you can’t place as a daydream, or something more, remains for you to attend to, though.