[Good. Good. What a pliant little pet. It will mould him as it pleases, it will change him, and he will love it and come back to it and worship it, as he should.

(it feels that he is grateful)

(it feels that he is lost)

(and it feels something else, too, some deeper hunger)

The oil keeps pumping into him in waves, gushing into his mouth and his ass, it keeps rubbing its dripping hands over his swelling stomach, and as it does it lowers its head to nestle it next to his ear and breathe its next words.]

My perfect pet...

Will you bring him to me?

[Another bite at IV's ear, a long, wordless croon.]

Would you like that, pet? If I filled him up?