nsfw blog

This company focused on a coalition between humans and monsters, trying to gain an understanding of how they lived, how they reacted to certain things, etc. These sorts of facilities paid a lot of money to willing participants and the one you signed up for paid even more, considering it focused on the non-humanoid monsters—much more volatile than the monsters with consciousness and intelligence.

You weren’t sure what you would be doing; the contract was very vague in that aspect, but they had assured you that you wouldn’t be harmed—safety guaranteed at all times—and on the off chance you were somehow harmed, you would be heavily compensated atop of the pay you would already receive for participating.

So when the day came, you were nervous, sure, but the thought of the money steeled you. At first, they didn’t have you do much; they asked questions about your medical history, fears, and phobias, along with some oddly personal questions about your cycle and fertility.

After that, they prescribe you some pills you take twice a day and note your reactions and symptoms. They ran tests on you, determining if you were a suitable test subject. For what exactly? You don’t know; they were all very secretive about it, assuring you it’s just standard procedure.

You felt uneasy but couldn’t really do anything about it; besides, the contract had assured you wouldn’t be harmed. You could only hope that would be the case.

It was about a couple of weeks in that they finally gave you your first assignment. They hadn’t told you much, just that this monster was known to keep to itself, not showing interest in its surroundings nor in any human being (either a scientist or another like you) that attempted to interact with it.

Aside from that snippet of information, they hadn’t told you anything else regarding it; they hadn’t told you what kind of monster it was nor what to do once you entered the room it resided in. No instructions just fake assurances of safety.

Were you scared? Oh, definitely. Prepared? Not at all. But you entered anyway. The door slid shut behind you with a hiss and cameras in the corners watched your every move—still, expectant.

It didn’t take you long to notice it. It’s a slithering, writhing thing kept in the middle of the bland white room, trapped inside a large glass cylinder.

You were too far away to fully make out what it was, thinking this room was oddly spacious for a lone monster. You made no move to get closer to it, just stood in front of the door for a moment, curious and afraid.

“So, what do I do now?” you mumbled, glancing at the cameras as if it would give you some kind of answer. Only silence followed your faint question.

You hesitantly began to make your way toward it, observing as it perked up at your presence—squirming and shifting with interest, pressing up against the glass. Given your closer look, it was easy to place a name to the monster (monsters?). You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t quite this.

It was tentacles.

A tangle of tentacles, so intertwined you couldn’t tell where it began, far too many to count. You tilted your head with an inquisitive hum, staring at the intricacy of its form. Suckers trailed along the bottom of its many arms, sticking and clinging to the tempered glass. The base of its tentacles was about the size of your arm, just a bit bigger.

It didn’t seem aggressive, just curious, if anything. Which surprised you, considering they had told you of its reluctance to interact with anyone. You tentatively touched the glass, in a sort of awe from the creature. You’ve never encountered a monster before this. It reacted to your tentative touch with a type of eagerness, expanding its reach all over its cage as if searching for a way out while others stayed pressed against the glass.

The glass was thick and air-tight; you were sure it would be fine, wouldn’t be able to get through or slip between any cracks. At least you hoped, but heaviness in your chest told you otherwise. A crackle of a speaker startled you, a monotone voice following after.

“You may exit the room now; you have done enough for now,” they stated.

Already? That was far too quick and easy.

You heard faint voices in the background. A different voice was faintly heard, quiet, hushed. “…no…let it…open…—” before it fizzled out.

You blinked, a bit puzzled, before retracting your hand from the glass. The tentacles stilled their search before trying to chase after the muted warmth of your touch, but, unfortunately for it, the glass enclosure was doing its job.

You walked away, sparing the monster a second glance before speeding to get out there, something in your gut telling you to leave quickly. You were about to reach the door (ready to get paid and move on to your next, hopefully, just as easy assignment), but an audible hiss of something opening echoed throughout the room, and it definitely was not the door you had come through earlier.

Terror washed over you, heart beating loudly in your chest. You turned your head to peer at the dread behind you and found your fear had come true.

The monster was free.

A plethora of emotions rooted you in place, freezing you in horror as you watched it stretch out its tentacles in its newfound freedom. The glint of the cameras in the corners of the room caught your eye, they steered toward you from their positions—watching, waiting.

At that moment, the tentacles shot toward you, and you booked it, gunning it to the door. You slammed your hand over the scanner, but it didn’t open. You tried and tried again, growing more panicked, more frantic, yet it still didn’t open.

“Access denied. Access denied. Access deni—”

“No, no, no,” you try and try again, but the same robotic voice keeps repeating, almost mocking. “Let me out! Damn it, open the door!”

Something wrapped around your waist before yanking you back; you scream. It wasted no time in enveloping you in its slimy hold, tentacles slithering around your limbs.

You struggle, trying to kick it off you and slip out of its hold, but it just tightens its grip and ties your wrists together. It's wet and slimy against your skin, seeping through your clothes. It begins to secrete a fluid, dissolving the fabric of your clothes with it.

You curse, thoughts a jumbled mess as you continue to squirm and struggle. It pays no mind to your resistance, feeling up your now freed breasts, nipples perked from the cold air. It fondles you, using its suckers to pull and tug at them even with your pleas to stop.

More tentacles pry your legs apart, dissolving your bottoms, snaking to the heat of your pussy. It slips past your folds and finds your clit, pinching and tweaking it until it’s throbbing and puffy. You bite back unwanted moans, disgusted at the pulsing of your cunt and the pleasure it brings.

It continues to play with you, rubbing and caressing your cunt until it’s dripping with need. It's not long before one plunges itself into your pussy, slamming deep inside you without warning.

A cry leaves your lips as it stretches you open mercilessly with its girth, wriggling and writhing, its tip kissing your cervix. You can’t help the choked moans and whimpers that escape you while it thrusts in and out of you, your silken walls fluttering around it.

Another one slides to your ass, almost tentative, before pushing in with its lubricant mixed with your juices. It begins to pump in and out of you almost immediately; its pace is cruel and harsh, breasts bouncing from each forceful thrust.

You could feel every inch of it—columns of suckers and ribbed shafts stuffing you in both of your tight wet holes, legs trembling from the pleasure or brutality of it.

Your cries for help fall on deaf ears, the camera silent and watching—watching as you get ruthlessly fucked by unfeeling tentacles. The one playing with your clit, uses its suckers to make you cum against your will.

You hate how good this feels, hate how your body quivers and shakes, hate how the scientists just sit there and watch through their fucking cameras. You sob when another one enters your cunt, not stopping its onslaught for one second.

Then you feel it—something hard pushing further into you, a stark contrast to the soft texture of the monster. The tentacles inside you push more out before slipping out; for a moment, you think that’s the end; maybe it’ll let you go.

The thoughts vanish from your mind when more tentacles take their places, wasting no time and pounding away at your stretched holes. You pant and whimper, your body burning hot from the pleasure, tears running down your cheeks. It’s useless to fight, to call for help, so you relent and let it use you, hoping it’ll be over soon.

The heat coils in your belly, pulling it taut before snapping once more; your moans are unrestrained as the tentacles continue to fuck you senseless, only to stop once they finish forcing more eggs inside you.

The slimy creatures pop out, and even more take their place, seemingly not stopping until every one of them stuffs you full with their eggs. You’ve never cum so much in your life, and by the seventh round, you pass out.

When you wake up—mind hazy, body sore and spent—you’re laying on a metal table, scientists inspecting your gaping holes, jotting down notes, and muttering observations. You’re absolutely filled to the brim with eggs, some even leaking out of you.

They give you no warning when they start manually extracting them from you, plunging their fingers deep into you and taking them out. You’re too exhausted to stop the breathy moans that escape you, one of them hitting your G-stop and making you cum. Which, fortunately (for them), makes it easier to extract the ones in your cunt. The ones in your ass are a whole other story, harder but manageable.

They hold such serious expressions as they do this as if it doesn’t affect them at all, but the growing bulges in their pants aren’t hard to miss, nor is the scent of their arousal.

Some discreetly press their thighs together as their pussies drip with need, and others silently palm their erections, thinking you won’t notice. They continue, enjoying your unrelenting moans and whines a bit too much.

You’re panting by the time they’re done, successfully taken them all out. If you weren’t so drained, you would be mortified at how you’re spread out before them, a puddle of your cum on the table (and you think you saw some of them taste it). Utterly exhausted, you slip into unconsciousness once more.

They have you do that whole debacle once a week, getting generously paid each time. Was it utterly humiliating the first couple of times? Yes. But over time, you’ve come to enjoy it, all of it—getting fucked viciously by a hoard of tentacles, the scientists watching through their little cameras, and even the extraction of the eggs as they finger you in the name of "science". Even after your contract ends, and you can live luxuriously for the rest of your life, you renew it (which they are happy to do) and get to do it all over again.