You trace the carvings on the shiny black box with your finger.

It opens smoothly. Inside, an almost translucent blue dildo rests on a velvet pillow. Oh, my, you think. It’s smooth to the touch, soft and almost jelly-like. It jiggles when you tap the pad of your finger against it. You giggle and tap it once more just for the sake of poking it. The slime flops its head against your fingers.

Oh, it’s… alive? Sentient? You don’t know exactly what to call its state of being. The slime dildo jiggles once and jumps in place once. Oh, okay, you think and hold up a finger. “Let me just close the store, yeah?” It doesn’t respond, doesn’t move again but the head of it is tilted your way, as if staring at you as you move through the store to lock the front door and flip the sign on the window.

It patiently waits where you left it. You stop in front of it and cup your hands. “I don’t want the store to get messy. Or break anything. There’s uh—” you swallow and holy shit, you’re having a conversation with a dildo-shaped slime you’re not sure is actually alive, “we can go upstairs.”

The slime doesn’t move for a moment as if considering your offer. Maybe? Shit— you make a mental note to read up on slimes and slime farms. Your teacher did briefly go over slimes while you were under her apprenticeship but that was also the day you’d latched onto the idea of customizing your wizard robes if you ever graduated. Oh, you can recall the original designs you’d drawn up in class even now, something more lingerie-adjacent than the long and heavy robes of her discipline. Where’d you put that babydoll-inspired robe you’d unpacked the other day?

You nearly startle out of your skin when the weight of the slime lands in your open palms. It wobbles in your hands briefly before it assumes its shape. You take that as a yes to your proposal and weave your way through your store towards the stairs to the second floor. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a wild horse as you ascend the stairs, turning off the lights as you reach the top.

You place the slime onto your coffee table. Your nerves are wrecked already. “So,” you start, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, “is this good enough? How is this even going to— What are we — me — we? What—” you press your lips together and take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Now what?”

The slime leaps forward until it reaches the edge of the coffee table, just a hair’s breadth away from your thigh. It jiggles, its head pressing against the slit in your wizard’s robe. You reach down and drag your fingers along its shaft, the bulging vein on its back and swallow around the lump in your throat. You want to lean down and drag your tongue across it.

The slime presses forward, between your thighs and rubs its head against your clothed cunt. You drag your fingertips down the length of its smooth shaft. It jiggles and pushes harder against your body. It’s pleasantly cool to the touch. It’s a little too thick to wrap one hand around, but you do your best. You move your hand slowly up and down the thick shaft. Precum pools at the tip and dribbles down the curve of the head and you feel compelled to lean down. You drag your tongue up the slime’s shaft — feel the slightly tacky cum on your tongue — from its balls to the very tip and dip your tongue into the slit. The slime jiggles in your hand. That’s good, you assume. It hasn’t pulled away or melted into a puddle yet. Slowly, you wrap your lips around the mushroom head tip and take it into your mouth.

The slime jiggles and pulls out of your mouth abruptly. “What?” You wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your robe and the slime jiggles again. It swings its whole weight forward and flops pathetically at your robe. “Oh.”

You shrug off your robe and hastily pull down your underwear, kick them out of sight. The slime jiggles as if appreciating your nudity and pushes itself against your body again. The sensation is odd. It’s both firm and soft, almost like you could run your fingers through its body. It burrows between your thighs and wiggles upwards until its head hits your clit. You gasp and reach to rest your weight onto the coffee table before your knees give out. It pulses, wiggles, dragging its smooth body against your clit. You wrap your legs around it and slowly lower your hips.

The slime jiggles, wiggles against your thighs, almost as if thrashing around and you unlock your legs with haste. You stare at it, legs open, pussy wet and waiting for it, so many questions on your tongue. Maybe there’s a spell somewhere to get over this language barrier because it’s clearly intelligent and your skin is on fire and if it starts teasing you now, you might just smite it and finish the job yourself.

It positions itself against your hot, wet cunt and you exhale a breath of relief, head thrown back. It moves, positions itself, the head pressing against your entrance and you roll your hips minutely to beckon it.

It sheathes itself in your cunt with one harsh thrust. You yelp, try to reach for the edge of the table to find an anchor but its pace is too much, too harsh. The table legs drags against the floor from the force of its thrusts into your waiting cunt. Your mouth drops open, stifled, breathy moans escaping your lips as you try to pull yourself together and figure out which way is up, where to grab. It thrusts harshly and you nearly topple off the table, manage to grab onto the edge and roll knot your stomach for more leverage. Your knees drop to the plush carpet. The edge of the coffee table rams into your hips with every thrust from the slime buried into your cunt, bullying it like a jackhammer. Your sweat-slick skin drags across the glass surface. It’s thick and big and you swear you feel it in the back of your throat. Your head is spinning, the pleasure overwhelming. The coil in your core snaps abruptly.

You cum with a low moan, pussy clenching around it like a vise but the slime doesn’t stop, just keeps rutting into you as you come down from your high and spills. It’s warm and gooey and it dribbles from your cunt as the slime eases itself to a slower pace until it stops, buried inside you to the hilt. You feel full, so deliciously full and fuck, maybe it’ll stay there forever. You wouldn’t mind it, you think. It could rut into you while you’re talking to a customer and you’d be forced to keep your poker face or fold like a goddamn house of cards with your client watching your depravity.

Your cunt flutters at the thought.

Slowly, you lower yourself off the coffee table and onto all fours, ass up in the air, and press your face against your folded arms, take deep, even breaths to get your head on straight again.

The rug underneath you feels nice. Smooth. Soft, if not a little gooey. It moves, undulates underneath you, rises until it brushes against your collarbones.

Wait, what?

You pull your face away from your arms and blink a few times to get rid of the shapes in your vision. Your rug isn’t your rug. It’s dark blue, almost liquidy in consistency and it bubbles and laps at your body like waves at the beach. It’s cool to the touch.

Your cunt feels strangely empty all of a sudden. You clench around thin air with a frown and slowly sit up. The slime-like liquid on the floor wiggles as you adjust your legs — it’s the same blue hue as the slime that should be buried into your cunt. Oh, so they don’t last forever. You feel a strange sense of loss at the realization; they’re just here to fulfill an itch, then. And then they’re gone.

You should pull yourself together, get up and clean this mess up. No point in crying over something that’s over.

The slime warbles and then, something breaches it. A single thick tentacle rises from the pool that’s overrun your living room. It turns its head as if looking around and you take that time to reorient yourself. The slime gift from your client has melted into a puddle that’s overrun your living room. Something not quite of this world has used it as a portal. That opens another can of worms about slimes and portals and you should really write down how a tentacle appeared from the melted body of a slime from a nearby farm but— it looks remarkably phallic in shape. Its head is pronounced, almost mushroom in shape like male genitalia. The light streaming in from the window next to you illuminates the ridges on its body, the texture reminds you of snake scales.

You shift on your knees, your cunt aching.

The tentacle snaps around. It slowly crosses the space between you and itself, more and more of its body rising from the pool. It’s tall and thick. There are ridges on its back, and you swear they would feel so good dragging against your clit —

It lowers its head in front of your face where it hovers for a few long moments. Slowly, you reach out and drag the tip of your finger down its body. Bingo. Scale-like small ridges decorate its body.

There is movement in the corner of your eye. More tentacles rise from the slime, these ones smaller and leaner. They slither across the mass of slime and glide onto your skin, wrap themselves around your legs, creeping towards your pussy. You rise onto your knees to give them more leeway.

More tentacles shoot out from the pool on your floor and tangle around your arms, pull them together over your head. Others latch onto your skin. They traverse the expanse of your body, warm and slick, prodding and poking and squeezing. One slides underneath your breast and loops over it. Its tip circles your nipple and you gasp at the sensation, throw your head back and arch your back, nearly hitting the coffee table. A thin, glimmering tentacle shoots out, wraps around your torso and across your neck before the back of your head can actually collide with glass. It pulls you forward just as quickly, onto your knees.

The large tentacle is hovering right in front of your face now. It bumps its tip against your forehead, your cheek, your nose and then against the seam of your lips. They part involuntarily and it dives in. You feel the ridges on its stomach against your tongue but the moan gets stuck in your throat.

It eases itself out of your mouth and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact. Seriously, what’s with these things not wanting your mouth? It’s an extra hole for them to use and abuse so why are they rejecting it?

The tentacle dips down and you feel the ridges caressing your skin as it glides towards and across your cunt, dragging the ridges on its stomach against your clit and something between a moan and a gasp escapes your throat involuntarily.

You’re suddenly hauled up and backwards until your back collides with your couch. Your legs are pulled apart to expose your weeping pussy to the head tentacle. It lowers itself to your cunt’s level as if studying it. It gives an experimental nudge against your slit and then presses forward harder. The very tip slides in with little effort and then it’s pushing ahead, wiggling like it’s trying to force itself inside.

Your chest is heaving, short, shallow breaths escaping you as you desperately try to push against the tentacle but the others keep you rooted to the spot. It’s torture and agony and bliss all at once as the thick tentacle prods at you. Just a little push and it can fuck you within an inch of your life, until you beg and beg and beg it for more, to fill you up and keep you stuck on it for as long as it wants, do whatever it wants.

The head breeches your cunt and it slides all the way in with one thrust. You gasp at the sensation, chest heaving and try to breathe through the obscene stretch, the obscene sight of its shape in your stomach but it has other ideas. It starts moving, slow and deliberate as it pulls back and then dives in again, setting a ruthless pace. You’re so wet, so slippery and it almost slips out of your cunt. You dribble around it, the sound so obscene and lewd in your ears. It’s the only sound in the room other than your moans, your babbled begging for it to just take you already.

Its size is overwhelming but it feels so good, bullying its way into your cunt and drawing those ridiculous wet sounds and moans and gasps, pleading from your lips. You’re almost in tears at the euphoria, at the way this tentacle claims your cunt for itself, at the way the others hold you back and spread out to take and take and use you up like the goddamn fleshlight you are. You’d let it use you as a fleshlight again and again, fuck, maybe this one can stay and display you as a freak show to any potential client. The thought of someone staring at the way this thing defiles your holes, their cock in hand, maybe even trying to join — it sends you over the edge.

You cum with a swear on your lips, a half-baked cry stuck in your throat. Moments later, the tentacle spills into your cunt. You’re so full, you’re so incredibly full. Its cum, as translucent and pearly as itself dribbles onto your couch, slipping out from around its thick body. Your chest heaves as you try to pull yourself together, tears brimming in your eyes.

The tentacles around your legs tighten. They pull your body along like dead weight, off the couch and onto the slick floor. Your hands are maneuvered with your body but there’s no weight left in your arms and your jaw nearly collides with the floor. The tentacles yank your body upright at the last moment, tightening around your limbs to hold you on all fours without leaning any weight on your weak limbs.

Your legs are pulled apart. Tentacles press against the skin of your ass, massaging and groping and prodding.

The thick tentacle still buried snugly in your cunt purrs. Something prods at your ass. Its smooth tip presses against your puckered hole and you do your best to relax every muscle in your body. It teases for just a moment before it slides through slowly. You moan at the sensation, at being so full.

It moves first, slow and deliberate, delving deeper into your ass and then pulling back. The head tentacle in your cunt moves in tandem with it. They’re so deep, so slick you want to cry because it’s too much but they feel so good, fucking you so thoroughly in tandem. They move, they all move, every single goddamn tentacle wrapped around your body, your limbs, your tits, their tips move, sliding back and forth across your skin. One pinches your nipple and you mewl, mouth agape to take in air and cry out.

A tentacle roughly pushes into your mouth, slides down your throat and pulls back to fuck it. Your face is wet and your vision is blurry, it’s too much, one stuffing itself and its pretty cum back into your aching cunt like it wants to live there, another thrusting into your ass with vigor, you feel them both, at the way they rub against your walls, against each other. Another in your mouth, pumping into your throat, so many caressing your body.

They pause for a fraction of a moment but it's enough to have you crying out for any stimulation. They dive in with newfound vigor, like they haven’t been fucking you stupid for who knows how long now, stuffing themselves so deep into your pussy and your ass and your throat. Your eyes roll back and your whole body tenses for a moment before you come the hardest you’ve ever come. You clench down at the tentacles, and nearly scream. The tentacle in your mouth pulls back and you hear your own pathetic voice, begging and pleading and babbling for more, more, please, please, please before there is a weight on your tongue. The tentacle spits its cum onto your tongue, thick and glossy, dribbling past your open lips and down your chin.

The world comes back to you in small increments. The sound of birdsong on the other side of your window. The feeling of something pumping into your ass at a languid pace before it stops and slowly pulls out. Something shoved deep inside your cunt so far you feel like you’re about to burst. The grip on your body is tight but pleasant, almost massage-like. You blink the tears from your eyes and sniffle, try to breathe.

A wail escapes your throat when the head tentacle pulls out of your pussy with an audible pop. Its cum shoots out of you, an obscene amount dribbling onto your rug, pooling between your legs, running down your skin, hot and sticky. Your breath shudders in your throat as the tentacles ease you onto your knees. More and more dribbles out of your gaping pussy, and you almost want the tentacle to shove itself back in and take you until you can’t think anymore, pump you full of its cum again and again and again until the world comes to an end.

The tentacles on your body loosen their grip. The one around your tit gives it another squeeze and flicks your nipple and it shoots a jolt to your core. More cum dribbles from your pussy as the feeling passes and your muscles relax, fatigued and aching and sore.

The pool beneath your knees shrinks. You turn despite your screaming muscles to see the tentacles retreat into a summoning circle in the middle of the pit of slime one by one. Before long, the pool dries up entirely and the circle on the floor disappears.

You should really write down a note to get in contact with the slime farm to get to the bottom of this. Instead, you scoop up a handful of pearlescent cum from the floor, and try to shove it back into your cunt.

—a/n: anon is on, feel free to comment, go nuts, describe how many times this made you cum, god I hope it made sb cum

That's not really an answer. You frown.

"Why not?" you pressed.

"No one goes in there," she repeats. She's staring at you intensely, seeming to will you into dropping the matter. You force yourself to shrug, and the maid's expression lightens in relief.

How strange. But it's the only blip on an otherwise wonderful day, and you put the dark hallway and that mysterious door out of your mind for the moment.

The staff retires after around eight in the evening after checking that you have everything you need. You thank them, listening as their footsteps fade, leaving you alone for the first time since you arrived. Temptation tickles the back of your mind.

There would be no one to stop you if you checked out what was behind that door.

It's your castle, you reason as you make your way up a curving staircase. This is your home now, and you should know every part of it. After all, if it was dangerous, surely it would have been easier to just say so?

As you approach the door, it occurs to you that it may be locked. The idea irritates you. You have no interest in haranguing the staff into handing over the key. But the door opens easily as you turn the handle, gliding open on silent hinges. You'd expected an eery creek given the maid's earlier comment that no one ever comes in here. Maybe it was some sort of prank?

All thoughts flee your mind as you take in the splendour of the room. Moonlight streams in through the enormous windows, illuminating the room: it's a library. There are two floors to either side of you, the walls lined with shelves of books. Your hand flutters to your chest in amazement.

Any tiredness that may have been hovering at the edge of your mind abruptly flees. You plan on exploring every inch of this place. You step into the room, unsure where to start, when the door... shuts.

"Hello?" you call out, slightly spooked. No one answers. You glance over your shoulder at the door, step towards it to turn the handle again. It opens easily, just as it did the first time.

Oh. How strange. You shrug though, and then shut the door yourself. No use in getting startled again while you're looking around. You're considering where to start when something in the far right corner catches your eye.

It's a mirror.

A mirror in a library? Your curiosity is piqued, and walk over to examine it. The thick carpet beneath your feet muffles the sounds of your footsteps.

Your first thought is that it's beautiful. It's a tremendous piece, longer than you are tall and several feet wide The glass shines brightly, and you catch a glimpse of your own awestruck expression in the reflection. But what really captures you attention is the frame.

There, in burnished gold, the mirror is bordered by tentacles.

You take a step closer, and then another. You're close enough to run your hand over the intricate carvings, but hesitate for some reason. Pressing your lips together, you take another quick look over your shoulder at the door. There's no reason for it, you remind yourself. This is your home, and you can do whatever you like.

Movement from the corner of your eye.

You gasp, whipping around to stare at the mirror again. You could have sworn that the tentacles... had moved.

Impossible. The product of an overactive imagination. Of course you're a little bit jumpy, you reason. You're in the dark, in an unfamiliar place. Still, there's no reason to be afraid.

And to prove it to yourself, you boldly reach out to caress one of the tentacles with your fingertip.

The ground lurches beneath you and, before you know it, you're falling forward, into the mirror. A startled yelp escapes you as you're pressed right up against the cool glass.

That's when you see them. The tentacles are undulating, beautiful burnished gold limbs moving to capture your wrists and ankles in a vicelike grip. You struggle against the hold, more frightened cries spilling free.

This can't be happening.

But it is. Cool, slick tentacles tickle across your cheeks and ears, while others grope you over your clothes. They're gentle, though, curious more than anything, as though trying to learn the shape of you.

You tell yourself that you're dreaming. This whole experience has just been a strange dream, and all you need to do is wake up. Any minute now, you'll wake up.

Riiiiiip.

You give a startled shout as your clothes are shredded from your body, leaving you only in your underwear. The glass is cold against your skin, as are the tentacles exploring you, and you feel your nipples tighten in response. Tentacles glide over your skin, leaving a sticky residue behind. Everywhere they touch begins to tingle.

There's an answering wetness between your thighs.

No, no, no, no, no.

That's what you mean to say. You mean to shout and scream and kick and bite and thrash.

A needy moan escapes your mouth instead.

Thin tentacles slip beneath your panties. The touch is so light that you almost think you're imagining it. But something flicks you're clit, and pleasure flashes through you like quicksilver. You wrench against the tentacles.

Struggling to get away or spread your legs further? You're not sure.

The tentacles are getting bolder now. Some have slid around you, plump limbs slipping between you and the mirror. One thick tentalce glides down your belly while two or three travel upwards. You're beginning to sweat, and it eases the movement of the tentacles against you.

"P-please," you beg, gasping. Those thin tendrils continue to strum against your clit and it's making you desperate. Your hips grind down, searching for friction that those tentacles are too insubstantial to give you.

Your reaction seems to please them. The tentacles caressing you get slicker, and the one slipping down your tummy dips beneath your panties to join its brethren. But unlike those slim tentacles, this one bypasses your clit entirely.

It probes at your hole, teasing. You thrust backwards before you can stop yourself, groaning. A distant part of your mind is horrified by what is happening, but you're too far gone to care. You need something inside you now.

The tentacle presses inside of your soaking cunt in one long, seemingly endless push. Deep. It's so deep. And so fucking thick. Stretching you. All the while, those tiny tentacles continue to toy with your clit.

You cum.

The tentacle squirms inside you, twisting and thrusting, and it makes your eyes roll back in your head. You no longer wish to fight. Any thought of resistance evaporates; instead, you work with the tentacles, fucking yourself back against the one in your pussy.

Your cheek is pressed against the mirror, breath leaving little puffs of condensation against the glass. You feel something slick touch your bottom lip. While another of the tentacles had diverted to toy with your nipples, this one had travelled between your tits to linger at your mouth. Without thinking, your tongue darts out to taste the residue.

Delicious.

You open your mouth, and the tentacle glides along your tongue to the back of your throat without hesitation. The taste of it explodes in your mouth and you feel yourself gush around the tentacle in your cunt. You wish you could see yourself in the mirror, watch as you're taken from both ends.

Was your tummy bulging as the tentacle fucked you? You could already feel drool running down your chin. Would it reach your tits, slick the way for the next tentacle to take it's turn?

Time loses meaning. You cum again. And again.

And again.

You lose count of your orgasms. You wonder if any of the tentacles will cum inside you?

The thought is heady. You clench down further on the tentacle that's been fucking you relentlessly. You want it to. You want all of them to cum on and inside you. Fill you up and paint you with its seed.

You choke on the tentacle in your mouth as it speeds up, pressing deeper. Somehow, the tentacles seem to sense your new desperation. They thicken, thrust faster, harder.

Distantly, you feel something probing your asshole.

Yes.

It all seems to happen at once. The tentacle in your cunt stiffens for a moment before hot cum spurts inside you. And that's when the other tentacle pushes into your ass, spreading you wide to accommodate it's girth.

Your screams are muffled by the tentacle fucking your throat. It isn't long before that one is cumming too, filling you up with it's seed. You try desperately to swallow it all, but some inevitably escapes, dripping down your chin.

More.

The tentacles slip free from your mouth and cunt, but are quickly replaced by others. You accept them eagerly, already impatient to take more of their loads. They no longer need to hold you open to them. Once the tentacles at your wrists have released their grip, you reach down to hold yourself open to the ones fucking you.

You cum until you're almost dizzy from it. The tentacles cum inside you until their seed leaks from your holes and onto the thick carpet. Your skin is coated with their cum, slick and warm and tingling. Your belly is bulging from the both the tentacles fucking you and from the cum that's been released inside you.

No one goes in there, the maid had said.

She looks out at the bay. The water glitters coldly, dark, foreboding green under the clouds. The edges of it, clear and foamy, lap at her feet. A snail shell, caught in the tide, rolls back and forth as the waves come in. She picks it up and peers into it, looking for the wet, black body of an organism living inside it. She turns it, small and gray in her hand, to see as far into it as she can. She can make out only shadows. She sets the snail carefully back in the water and stands up.

Over the rocks on the left side of the beach is a tiny, secluded cove, a mini-version of the main beach. The rocks there seem to catch seaglass uniquely well, but they also harbor colonies of tiny bugs, driftwood, all the junk the ocean coughs up. The woman picks her way slowly over the rocks, cold, rough surface turning her hands pink, climbing down on all fours and taking a few running steps to catch herself when she half-falls off of them. She straightens up, takes in the familiar landscape, the sheer rock face on the other side, the strange, hollow thwop of the water funneling into a narrow tunnel between the rocks.

She moves slowly across the cove. The soles of her boots slip on the wet rocks and she has to use her hands to support herself, stopping in the little gaps between the rocks where there’s smooth, small gravel mixed with broken mussel shells and a few pieces of frosty, opaque glass. She picks up flat rocks and uses them to scrape away layers of gravel, looking for perfect shells and seaglass and colorful rocks but mostly just looking at the way the rocks get wetter as she digs down the layers of the beach. She feels childish, but then again this has been her beach since she was a girl hunting for crabs here in the summers. Then, she would sometimes see other families walking their dogs, carrying kayaks or heading to the dock to swim. No one comes here in the winter.

“Excuse me, do you know where the boathouse is?”

Her foot, which she had been trying to place on a sloped, slimy rock, slides out from under and she falls, seawater instantly soaking into her pants. She looks around wildly for the source of the voice, seeing no one. The voice had been so low and scratchy that she was expecting to see an old fisherman leaning on one of the trees above the beach.

“I’m over here,” the other person calls. She gets up and follows the voice, which is coming from the main beach.

She reaches the rocks and peers over them. On the beach side, facing the rocks, is a tall, young-looking woman with hair so black it’s almost blue. She wonders for a brief moment if there are two people, not seeing how that voice could belong to this woman, until she speaks again. “There you are”, she says, and she winces, because her speech sounds painful, like her throat must be all cut up inside.

She clears her throat. “Yeah,” she says, “the boathouse is back down the road.”

“Thanks,” says the woman. She doesn’t move.

Dana turns away from the rocks and starts making her way down to the edge of the water. She feels uneasy, but she’s not sure exactly why. She turns to look back at the main beach, and the woman is suddenly on the other side of the rocks, leaning on them casually.

“Not a lot of people come out here in the winter,” the woman says. Her voice is making Dana’s skin crawl.

“I guess not,” says Dana. She shifts her weight, crossing her arms over her chest. “The boathouse is open all season, I’m sure you’ll find what you need there.”

“Hm,” says the woman. She still does not turn towards the road.

Dana turns away again, heading towards the water. She suddenly wishes she were on the main beach, but she doesn’t particularly want to pass the woman by the rocks.

“What are you doing here?”

She startles. The woman is right next to her, standing between her and the right boundary of the cove. She smells strongly of ocean brine.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies. What are you doing here? “It’s not a private beach.”

“No,” the woman agrees. “It’s not.”

Dana wrinkles her nose and steps away, backing towards the wall of rock on the other side of the cove. The woman takes a step forward.

“You don’t know,” she says, “what kind of people might be out here in the winter.”

Dana snorts. “Look, lady,” she says, “I’ve come here every year since I was a kid, and you’re the only one who’s ever bothered me.”

The woman grins. Her teeth are needle-sharp, like some kind of deep sea creature. “You’re a bother,” she says.

“Excuse me?”

Suddenly, the woman reaches out and slams Dana into the rock. The wind is knocked right out of her lungs. As soon as she gets it back she flails against the ironclad grip. “What the fuck!” she yells, hoping to scare the woman off of her or at least startle her into letting go. “Get off me! I’ll call the police!”

Her mouth is covered as soon as she cries out and in the silence as her voice is cut off she realizes that both of the woman’s hands are still by her sides.

She redoubles her efforts, kicking and screaming emphatically against whatever’s over her mouth. She feels suspended by something above her, something that’s now dragging her up the face of the rock, lifting her bodily off the ground. She’s leaving a wet trail as she travels upwards.

She’s dragged over crags that slam into her back, her feet bumping against the rock face. One of her boots that was coming untied catches on a ledge and falls off, bouncing haphazardly back down the cliff and landing on its side in a tidepool a few feet from the base of the cliff. Her jacket rips open in the back and pieces of down float up, little white feathers dancing on the frigid breeze. She thinks she might be bleeding right at the base of her neck, but it could just be the icy wetness of the rock. She’s yelling still, hoping against hope that someone happens to be passing by on the road, someone with a cell phone or a car or maybe even a gun. She shudders to think of it.

Very shortly she stops moving. It felt like a long time, but she hadn’t been going very fast. Or maybe she had been going fast and it had only been a few seconds. Everything had been blurred with her movement and she had no way to judge her upward progress, because she felt like she had hit several large rocks per square inch. She’s on a part of the beach she’s never been to before, although she figures it’s just over from the cove. It’s almost completely covered on top, a cave carved out by the water. In the semi-darkness the woman - whatever she is - her teeth glint like polished silver.

She lies on the damp floor for a moment and just breathes, taking stock of her injuries. She’s sure she’s badly bruised or even shattered something on her ascent. Her tailbone is giving her hell, radiating pulsing pain like a wave throughout her lower body. Surprisingly, she’s not very scared. Maybe she’ll have room for that later.

The woman is crouched by the opposite wall of the cave, sitting in a pool of shadow. She can only make her out by her silhouette, and then the shine of her eyes and teeth. She still can’t see how she grabbed her.

Something moves in one of the pools of water on the ground, sending ripples across the surface that catch the faint light. It seems to be coming towards her and she scrambles back but she runs into the wall and the thing wraps itself around her ankle, weighing it down. She tugs against it experimentally and finds it unexpectedly strong. It’s soaking wet from the tidepool but it feels internally warm, alive. She shudders, pulls against it again.

There are more of them now, coming alive on the ground, emanating from the spot where the woman is crouched. They make a soft, slimy sound as they cross the cave, creating a shadowy sea of movement, making the ground look like it’s boiling.

Dana pushes herself up, trying to stand, and the thing on her ankle yanks her foot into the air, sending her sprawling. She lands on the carpet of living matter. She can see what is now. It’s connected to the woman’s body somewhere, a living rope of muscle and glistening skin.

Tentacles.

They wrap around her body, lifting her fully off the ground. She fights and squirms and her thrashing limbs are subdued easily, one by one, tentacles wrapping around her arms and legs and around her waist, her rib cage, her stomach, her neck, holding her suspended. The woman hasn’t even moved, just watching her, smiling broadly. She can’t move anything anymore, has nothing supporting her except the tentacles. The woman is freakishly strong, holding her with what seems like no effort at all. She opens her mouth for one last-ditch attempt at rescue and immediately gets it filled with one of the tentacles. She gags and coughs, folding in half trying to get it out. Its strange muscularity is like a giant tongue. The thought makes her squirm even more. She bites down on the slippery mass and the woman hisses, and she feels triumph for a moment before one of them tightens around her neck, winding around itself and squeezing, tighter, tighter, until she gasps for breath.

She panics and struggles as all over her body, the tentacles clamp down, sinking into her flesh. The one in her mouth is impossibly thick, so thick that she can’t swallow with how her mouth is held open. It fills her mouth all the way to the back and she feels like she might be sick if it doesn’t move. The tentacles slither over her legs, exploring. They tickle her and she twitches, her muscles jumping involuntarily within her grasp. Her face is starting to redden from lack of oxygen and she draws breath hard through her nose, the cold, damp air bracing in her lungs.

The tentacles slip under her clothing at the edges. They have suckers that leave stinging red marks as they move. The one in her mouth comes out, leaving a slippery path on her cheek, and she gasps, overcome with relief. For a moment, she just lays there and pants, reveling in the freedom of breath, of swallowing.

Finally, she collects herself and looks at the woman, giving her the most hateful glare she can muster. “What are you?” she spits.

“What are you?” the woman mocks, her desiccated voice making Dana cringe. Her eyes gleam in the dark. Her tentacles squirm over the ground, over Dana’s skin.

“What are you doing to me?”

She makes a sound like scraping rocks together. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says.

A tentacle forces its way between her pant leg and her skin. The seam of her pants strains and then rips, cold air slicing into the tear. “Hey!” she barks, trying to reach for the rip. The tentacle yanks her hand over her head and her struggle resumes, wiggling from side to side, tugging against the tentacles.

The woman looks her in the eyes. It makes sense to her now when she thinks about the stories she’s heard about octopi being some of the most intelligent animals on earth. The woman’s gaze is cold, cruel, calculating. “Stop screaming before I close your throat.”

She thrashes harder, trying to pull her wrists free, and the tentacle on her leg reaches the bottom of her pant leg, the fabric giving way with one final tear. Her pant leg flops onto the ground. More tentacles reach for the gap, working on the other side, wrapping around her leg, and then one of them slithers over the crotch of her underwear, instantly soaking through the thin fabric. She yelps, squeezing her legs together, and the tentacles pull her thighs into the air so that she’s lying with her head on the ground and her legs up. She has a terrible feeling that she does know what the woman is going to do to her. The tentacles are all over her, under her shirt, wrapping around her tits and turning them red. The one between her legs wraps all the way around, over one thigh, between her legs and then behind her ass, coming around to squeeze her other thigh. She gasps and then starts laughing involuntarily as the suckers tickle her clit through her underwear.

Another tentacle tucks itself under the side of her underwear and rips the band in half. The fabric bunches and twists with the movement of the tentacle, falling to the side. There’s no point in even trying to cover herself. Her legs are held apart and her body is immobile. The tentacle is wet and alive on her bare skin and she twitches. It parts her labia and the suckers hurt against her cunt, and then it plunges inside her and she screams and the tentacle on her face is shoved back into her mouth, and she gags as it’s forced down her throat. She well and truly can’t breathe now, and she prays that the woman wants to rape her more than she wants to kill her.

The tentacle in her cunt is deep inside her, pushing up against something painful, and the thickness of it is just bearable. The one in her throat is stretching her mouth open, her jaw burning. It’s all over her tongue and she tastes salt and warm, living musk. It’s fucking painful, her throat stretched around the intrusion and her mouth stretched so thoroughly full that she can’t gag even as the reflex to do so is triggered again and again and again. Her body wants to convulse but can’t and she feels it as a horrible seizing of her muscles. The tentacle is producing some kind of slick substance that drips down her chin. The suckers on the one inside her pull at the sensitive interior of her cunt, ticklish and painful and forcibly arousing, bringing blood to the area so that it turns hot and swollen. The edges of her vision are going black and she wonders if this is going to be the last thing she feels before she dies.

At the last moment, as if it can feel exactly what’s going on, the tentacle in her throat pulls out and she gasps for breath. More tentacles wrap themselves around her neck, her thighs, her ankles, her tits, squeezing until her skin turns red and sensitive. There’s more movement around her swollen cunt lips and then she feels the tapered tip of another tentacle push itself against her, right next to the one that’s already inside. It breaches her entrance and she jerks, clenching down, her body trying to force it out. It can only get in a few inches, her body simply unable to accommodate more than that, but it still pushes into her steadily, pulsing in and out, trying to wiggle itself further. Its movement is overstimulating against her oversensitive walls and she squirms as much as she can in her bondage.

Her hole is stretched open to its absolute limit and it burns like hell, her labia stretched thin and her cunt twitching around the tentacles. They push and stretch and separate and bury themselves into her more and more, gaining ground by the millimeter, fucking her as full and deep as they possibly can. She writhes and cries and is held down by tentacles around her arms, her torso. The tentacle pushes back into her mouth and muffles her cries--she thanks the universe that it doesn’t go in her throat again.

The tentacles around her legs pull her thighs up and apart, baring her slick holes to the woman. The combination of the tentacles’ slick and the wetness that’s being forced out of her runs down between her legs, coating her hole and her inner thighs with thick, slippery lubricant. The skin around her cunt is stretched, too. With the way she’s being held, she can see the two thick, red tentacles fucking her cunt, slick and fat and disturbingly muscular, alive and moving. She pants and groans around the tentacle in her mouth.

A tentacle brushes over her hole and she yelps, muffled by the tentacle. She can feel herself twitch against the electric onslaught of the suckers, which feel like multiple tiny tongues flicking against her hole. Very slowly, the tip of the tentacle pushes itself inside her. It feels like nothing until all of a sudden it does, and a twinge of pain shoots through her. The tentacle comes out and she feels a drop of its slick drip out of her, her hole clenching open and closed, and then it fills her up again, pushing until it just starts to hurt. She can feel it pushing against the ones in her cunt, both of them squeezing the thin wall between her holes.

The tentacle pulls out again, leaving her hole gaping open around nothing before it winks shut. She squirms, hating the way her body betrays her, hating the slippery, messy feeling of the tentacle inside her. It fucks her again, one thrust at a time, filling her up and then leaving her empty, until she gapes open as wide as the tentacle, her pink, dripping hole on full display for the monster. She doesn’t know when she started to cry.

Taking the tentacle is almost easy now, the slipperiness of it helping it seat itself inside her without a struggle, and the feeling of it stretching her alongside the ones in her cunt is dirty and humiliating but also shamefully erotic. Her legs are bent and held up so that the skin around her hole is stretched tight and the woman can see perfectly well as her empty hole winks open, drips out a mixture of the tentacle’s slick and her own.

The tentacle fills her up again, fucking into her with a horrible little popping sound, and this time it keeps going, pushing inside her until she screams against the tentacle in her mouth. The thick slime that it produces lets it go deeper than she can take, and it fills her until it can’t push any farther, twisting and wriggling inside her to try to force its way deeper. She can feel it in her gut, the tip of the tentacle squirming deep inside her while the base stretches her open as far as it can force her. It feels like something must be tearing inside her, and she wants to vomit, wants to empty herself of the too-full contents of her body.

The tentacles, all three of them, are squirming and straining, fighting their way deeper inside of her, tearing her open at the seams. They press against each other, massaging the flesh between her holes, their suckers pulling at the sensitive skin inside her. The ones in her cunt are stopped by the physical limitations of her body, relegated to trying to fit as many in as possible, but the one in her ass just keeps going, as much as it can fit into her poor, stretched hole. She doesn’t even know how deep it is in her, but she can see it in her stomach, this little twitching bulge inside her.

The movement of the tentacles is overwhelming, pushing up against things that are not meant to be touched and things that make her feel so hot she could combust. The suckers assault her nipples, her clit, make her buck and writhe. She doesn’t know if she’s coming or not, she doesn’t think she could tell the difference, her nerves overstimulated and her muscles clenching and clenching around the tentacles. She wonders when it will be over, if it ever will be. Maybe the monster could go on forever, fuck her until her body is wrung out and shows no resistance anymore, just lets her invade it, tentacles stuffed into all her holes until she just breaks. She sobs. Her clit burns and all the places inside her that used to feel good feel like they’re on fire, and she feels ready to split in half, spilling the wriggling tentacles inside her like worms to the ground.

Tentacles on her calves pull her legs back so that her muscles are stretched and her holes are as exposed as they’ve ever been, red and ruined and gleaming with slick.

What is the endgame here? she wonders. Is she going to fuck her until she breaks? Is she going to kill her? Is she going to breed her somehow, fill her with eggs or seed or whatever she makes? That thought is the worst. She squirms and tries to push the tentacles out again. She knows it’s hopeless. She can do whatever she wants. If she put her down right now she probably wouldn’t even be able to stand up.

Some of the tentacles that are inside her start to twitch. It feels like living creatures jumping around inside her gut. They twitch all over her skin, too, and she sees the tips of them pulse and throb like there’s something inside them trying to get out. One of them that’s on her tits twitches and throbs and then the tip opens up and a thick, sticky substance pours out onto her skin. It’s viscous and translucent and when she looks closer in fascinated horror she sees that suspended in it are hundreds of tiny, lumpy eggs. She recoils.

Suddenly her cunt feels warm and wetter than even before, something inside it squishing against her walls, squeezing out around the tentacles. There’s another twitch and then there’s even more, it feels like there must be an impossible amount inside of her, and she knows that it’s the eggs, hundreds of them filling up her cunt. The one in her ass is so deep she can’t even feel the tip but there are eggs there too, deep in her gut. Her body is being painted with them.

A tentacle mashes itself against the outside of her lips and she closes them tightly, but another one pinches her nose shut until she’s forced to open her mouth to breathe in, and then the tentacle plunges into her mouth, stuffing itself down her throat again. She sobs in frustration, utterly defeated, the last of her resistance gone. The tentacle twitches, fills her throat with its eggs. She has to swallow all of them. The tentacle slides out of her mouth, which the part of her that wants to survive is grateful for. The rest of them start to come out too. She feels the wet slide of the thickest tentacle out of her cunt, trailing viscous eggs behind it, leaving her cunt mercifully empty and gaping. The wet eggs drip out of her around the other tentacle, slipping into the crevices of her. They just slip out, her stretched muscles offering no resistance.

When all the tentacles are out of her she lets out a big, ragged breath. The woman is taking them all back into herself. She wonders if that felt good, particularly, or if she just did it because she could.

As the tentacles leave her she’s left lying on her back on the cave floor. She doesn’t even think of moving. She might have forgotten how to. She’s lying in a tidepool a little bit, but she doesn’t care. She is so soaked and filthy that it really doesn’t change anything. She pants, and watches her bare stomach rise and fall. The nerves and muscles in her cunt are doing this overstimulated little twitch, like they have to drain themselves of all of the sensation.

The woman doesn’t make any move to leave, or to come closer to her. She just sits there and looks at her. Dana shudders.

Eventually when the woman continues to do nothing Dana pushes herself up onto her hands, her nerves having calmed enough to sit up. She feels a little bit of the egg slick creep out of her and into the tidepool. She has no idea whether the eggs will just dissolve inside her or if they’re going to stay and grow into something horrible, maybe the ones in her cunt or maybe all of them will and she’ll be eaten and ripped open from the inside out. There are so many of them. If they all grow…she’s not going to think about it anymore.

Cautiously, Dana pushes herself up against the damp wall. The woman makes no move to stop her. She edges towards the entrance of the cave. The woman watches her with amusement.

“You can leave,” she says. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Dana can’t tell whether she’s joking. The raspy voice doesn’t lend itself to easily understood tones. She keeps going anyways, until she’s out of the cave, and then she runs, limping, clawing her way over the wall back to the beach.

Your heart leaped and you tried to scramble away, but something snaked around your ankle. A tentacle, thick and powerful. You tried to pull your leg free but your panicked struggling only seemed to draw more attention to yourself, like a fly caught in a spider's web. More and more tentacles coiled around your body, snaking around your thighs, your arms, your waist. Every limb was caught in a vice-like grip as you were hoisted into the air, helpless to do anything but wriggle there defeatedly.

The thin light spilling into the chamber revealed glimpses of more tentacles rising up around you. How many were there? Dozens? Hundreds? Was it one creature, or several? And most importantly... what were they going to do to you now? You didn't have to wait long for your answer.

The tentacles slithered into your clothes and tore them from your body in a heartbeat, and you failed to stop a pathetic whimper escaping your lips. You felt something dripping down your skin, and looking down you noticed that the tentacles were secreting more and more of that strange slimy substance, smearing it onto your body in abundance as they continued to slither against you. It was cool and sweet-smelling and made your skin tingle, but it was far from unpleasant. In fact, it felt nice.

Your nipples stiffened against the cold, and you felt a flush of warmth deep in your stomach. Was that... arousal? No, surely not. This creature had you trapped, utterly at its mercy. Yes... yes, and that excited you deeply. You let out a trembling breath as that warm desire continued to build in your core. Just what was that tingly sweet secretion they were covering you in, and why were your thoughts starting to feel so foggy?

The tentacles forcefully wrenched your legs open, and on reflex you let out a moan. You felt another slither, and your heart skipped a beat as something firm and fat and slick pressed against your hole. Gently at first, then harder. You pushed your hips back against it like an invitation, and a softly whispered "please..." escaped your lips. It was doubtful that it even understood you, but that didn't matter. You wanted... no, you needed this beast to ravish you.

With a final strong push the thick appendage entered your body, and you your keening moans echoed throughout the chamber as it started fucking you. Hard. This one was different to the others. Its tip was more bulbous, and it was coated in little ridges and bumps that made your eyes roll back in your skull and your jaw hang slack in delight. Another one of those bulbous-tipped tentacles took its chance and plunged itself into your mouth, muffling your surprised yelp as it eagerly forced its way into your throat. Its taste and smell of its sweet nectar filled your senses, and it dripped thickly down your chin as you gulped and sucked on it.

You were vaguely aware of more tentacles curling around your body, rubbing themselves against your thighs, your chest, your hands, seeking any kind of friction against your body that they could get. One, apparently bolder than the others, buried itself roughly in your ass. All you could do was let out a stifled squeal at being so suddenly stretched open, but it didn't hurt. Even with two thick tentacles buried in your hind quarters, all you could think about was how good it felt.

Your head span, and the blood pounded in your ears. The sensation of being stuffed so utterly full was overwhelming. At some point you were vaguely aware that you climaxed, but that didn't stop the tentacles. Neither did they stop after your second orgasm, or third, and shortly afterwards you lost count. Every now and then one of the tentacles would release a few squirts of something thick and sticky into your holes, or all over your bare skin, but as soon as one retreated another would take its place.

How long did you spend there? Minutes? Hours? Days? It was impossible to tell, your brain was so drowned in bliss.

Yes, yes, keep going, keep going... your holes should belong to this beautiful creature and all its infinite, slithering limbs. You wanted to be fucked and stuffed and filled with its seed. You wanted to stay there forever.

The next thing you remember after that was waking up on the floor of the chamber. The writhing mass of tentacles covered the floor, apparently sleeping once more. Everything ached, and your loins and throat were sorer than they'd ever been before.

After some scrabbling around in the dark you discovered a tiny hatch in the far wall, and crawled through it. You found yourself in another area of the dungeon, thankfully one you recognised from before. You tried to stand but your legs felt like jelly, and the best you could do was to collapse, exhausted, against the wall.

You looked down at your body, now illuminated by the torchlight. Your limbs were peppered with bright red sucker-marks, and even now your legs were twitching and trembling after your ordeal. Almost every inch of bare skin was coated in the tentacles' sweet slimy nectar, amid streaks and splatters of that thicker, stickier stuff. Now that you were in the light, you noticed that the thicker fluid contained hundreds and hundreds of tiny little pink flecks, suspended inside it.

You vaguely wondered if these were some kind of spores - a mechanism for these creatures to reproduce. It didn't seem very mobile, so perhaps it needed an organism to carry its offspring far away. And it just so happened that your body provided plenty of warmth and moisture to sustain these things until they could root themselves elsewhere.

You shook your head, and started limping towards the exit. What kind of pervert made this dungeon?