I wrote this for somebody who subsequently deleted their account, perhaps driven to despair by their own peculiar predilections. In any case, if tentacles are your thing, then it’s yours: I dedicate it to you.
———
2227-08-23T07:24:15.074Z
Somewhere in the outer reaches of NGC-4414, orbiting an average main sequence star, there is a small purple planet. Seen from space, the unnamed body is girdled with transparent dust rings like faint wisps of smoke. It hangs there in space, a tiny spot of colour in the darkness. As it slowly rotates, bands of darker purple writhe across the surface. They dance and whirl across the alien sky, boiling and bursting and billowing away like starlings in flight. As we watch, there is a blinding flash just three light-seconds from the surface of the planet. A gash opens up in the fabric of space and a sickly blue light pours out as though from an opened door. The edges of the gash quiver and palpitate queasily. Through the hole-in-space comes the nose of a small ship, a deep-space scout, just large enough for one passenger. As she emerges from the fargate, she decelerates, burning her engines backward to bring her under the gravitational influence of this nameless planet. Over the following hours she will burn her thrusters a total of 3 times, each burn lowering her orbit a little more until she is just skimming the surface of the seething purple atmosphere.
Inside the austere womb of the ship, protected from cosmic rays and hard vacuum, a young woman sits at a writing desk. She taps the desk top thoughtfully with a pencil and sips a coffee while she reads the data sheet for the alien world. The purple gases, she reads, are highly toxic and, owing to the Coriolis forces of the rapidly spinning world and the powerful heat of the nearby sun, are in continual energetic motion. The entire atmosphere is a single, huge storm system that has raged for hundreds of millennia. As lightning flashes through elemental gases and water vapour, hydrocarbons form and drift slowly down, buffeted by the winds: a continual drizzle of chemical soup.
The thick cloud blocks out most of the sunlight so that the surface is in perpetual gloom. Despite the darkness, a rich and bizarre ecosystem flourishes across the entire land-mass. In mechanism the ecology resembles deep-sea, primordial Earth: too dark for photosynthesis, the energy for the system comes from tiny volcanic vents that breathe warm air out of the shattered rock-face. The ecology is dominated by a single creature, the largest and probably oldest, organism known to man. This creature, something like a sponge, something like a blackberry bush, something like a slug, spreads its tendrils across the planet in search of proteins and heat.
Gigantor, as the creature is popularly known, is the reason Ishida Ayumi is here. As it crawls across the surface, it secretes a thick fluid – its own “blood” which lubricates the rocks below and smooths its passage. This fluid has a bafflingly complex chemistry that serves every need of an ancient beast the size of a planet. Ayumi gnaws the end of the pencil as she reads through the data sheet again. Anti-inflammatories, retro-virals, regeneratives, potent aphrodisiacs, artificial sweeteners, healing promoters, non-mineral lubricants, neurotoxins, painkillers, hallucinogens. The list goes on and on, thousands upon thousands of compounds in a thick, milky white goop. Gigantor’s “lungs” are enormous spires of flesh and mineral extrusions, like mountainous coral reefs, that rise thousands of metres into the air to draw in ammonia, hydrogen, and fluorine. Huge ducts at the base of these spires pump out the exhaust – mostly noble gases, some nitrogen, and around 23% oxygen. It’s possible to breathe down there, so long as you stay close to Gigantor’s breathing ducts, though the oxygen levels can make you dizzy.
Ayumi is going to descend to the planet’s surface, collect as much of the liquid as she can, cut a small tendril from Gigantor’s billions of tentacles and get back to the ship. This is highly illegal: the entire planet has been designated a site of military/scientific interest. If she is caught she may face the death penalty, but the prize is too great for any bio-pirate to resist.
She finishes her coffee and suits up. The entry will be dangerous, but she’s done this a thousand times. She will jump from the ship, into the wild atmosphere, and plunge headlong toward the surface in her entry-suit. She will speed toward the ground at a terrific velocity until she is only a few hundred metres from the rocks and then she will somersault, turning her feet toward the ground and fire her retro-boosters. The kick in her stomach will feel like the world’s biggest rollercoaster, but she will slow to a surviveable speed and land, awkwardly, on the hostile planet. Her tiny body, flying through the maelstrom like a bullet, will be too small to register on the planet’s security net. She will be invisible, and nobody in the universe will know she is here.
Or at least that’s the plan.
As Ayumi speeds toward the surface, through the thick roiling fog of gas, she realises that the winds are much stronger than she had expected. The ship’s estimates must have been based on the slower-moving stratosphere, but down here in the thicker troposphere she’s having trouble controlling her descent. Seconds before she is due to turn and perform her braking manoeuvre, a huge gust smashes into her, like a kilometer wide fist, and she is sent hurtling into one of the gas exchange spires. She feels something snap as she hits the tower and she screams in pain before her head smashes into one of the extruding platforms and everything turns black.
2227-08-24T11:47:29.920Z
She awakes into pain. She is lying on her back on some kind of soft spongey mass by the side of an enormous breathing vent. The vent is 4 metres high and 8 metres across and it wobbles and oscillates rhythmically, opening and closing like the mouth of a goldfish. Inside, the purple flesh of the vent is dripping wet with water condensation and slime. When it contracts, it blows a wind that she can feel nudging her skin through the suit. She lifts her head and tries to lift herself upright, but the sudden agonising pain tells her that her left arm is broken terribly. She looks down over her body and sees bone sticking out from her right leg. Fuck.
In order to fly back to her ship, she’ll need to get upright and, preferably, to find a high place to jump from. Burning the rockets while standing on the ground is a guaranteed way to burn your own legs off. She clearly isn’t going to be climbing any time soon. If she calls for help, it’ll be the Union who pick up the distress signal. They’ll probably treat her injuries, but then they’ll absolutely send her to the reconditioning chambers and she’ll spend the rest of her life a drooling, mind-wiped slave on one of the outer colonies. That doesn’t appeal either.
The chronometer in her visor tells her that she’s been unconscious for more than 24 hours. Her suit will recycle water for a while, but she’s going to need liquids soon. She’s already thirsty. On top of that, her suit and her skin both have holes in them. Luckily the air here is breathable, but who knows what kind of microbes this place is harboring? She lies down and turns her head to one side and a whirl of motion makes her scream in instinctive terror. A thin tendril, dark purple in colour, is wriggling across the pad shere she lays broken. When she screams it stops and rears up as though listening, as though startled. She holds her breath, fascinated, and the tendril approaches her again. It taps gently on the flexiglass of her helmet, then snakes down over her body. When it reaches her leg it stops and quivers as though electrified, and then whips inside her ripped suit. She screams again at the feeling – the cold slimy tentacle caressing her wound – and tries to move away, but the pain overwhelms her and she passes out again.
2227-08-24T13:09:42.823Z
When she wakes, her head feels slightly foggy. The read-out on her visor tells her that the temperature outside her suit has fallen to just above freezing. That’s going to be a problem in a few hours if it doesn’t warm up again. Her suit should be able to keep her warm, but the hole in her leg – Shit! her leg! She sits up quickly and the pain from her arm is blinding. She clenches her teeth and holds her breath for a moment until the pain subsides. When she re-opens her eyes she inspects the fracture. The bone is still jutting out, but there’s no blood around the wound. She leans forward a little and is amazed to see that the wound looks clean, and the ragged flesh is pink and healthy. It occurs to her that she should be feeling pain. She pokes gently at her leg with her good hand. Nothing. If it weren’t for the fact that her tibia is clearly visible, she would think her leg was unharmed.
While Ayumi marvels at this, she detects sudden movement out of the corner of her eye and whips her head around, inadvertently placing her weight on her broken arm. She screams as she collapses to the ground. Three tentacles weave in and out of each other, slithering across the platform toward her. When they reach her they pause, holding themselves upright. They sway and dance above her for a few seconds, as though sniffing the air, or feeling some invisible aura. Quick as a flash, the smallest of them, perhaps a centimeter in diameter, strikes, whipping across her face, and the flexiglass visor shatters. The force of the impact causes her to see stars and she is only half aware of the strange fleshy bodies entering her helmet and stroking her face. They probe around her eyes and nose, they wriggle at her ears. The thick slime they secrete covers her face. The smallest tentacle wriggles between her lips and as soon as it enters her mouth, it spasms – the strange electrified jerking from before. Thick gobs of slime pulse from the tip and flow into her mouth. Instinctively she begins to swallow and then her head clears. She gags and spits, then bites down hard. All three tentacles whip backwards with enormous speed, moving as one, as though all three had been bitten, and then retract away into the breathing vent.
“Fuck fuck fuck” she yells, and sits upright, spitting out as much slime as she can.
2227-08-24T13:18:27.725Z
The pain in her arm has gone. She still can’t flex it, and she can’t place any weight on it, but the pain has simply disappeared. She thinks back to the datasheet. She must have swallowed 20 or 30 cc of slime, is she in any immediate danger? The painkillers are far more effective than she imagined. Judging by the way her leg looks, the heaing promoters and anti-inflammatories are also remarkably potent. She’s not hallucinating yet, but she has no idea what the dosage might be for those substances. She giggles despite herself: the aphrodisiacs are unlikely to be a problem, since there’s nothing very sexy about her situation. What about the neurotoxins? She scans backward through her memory, weren’t they linked to the hallucinogens? Something about damage to the forebrain. Wide-ranging reduction in function, particularly risk assessment, emotional control and higher-level judgement abilities. Dosages should be *much* higher than anything she’d be likely to encounter, though. She’d need to drink buckets of slime for that to happen.
This thought makes her gag, and she takes a deep breath to calm herself. On second thoughts, though, the slime should be extremely nutritious. It has a host of desirable properties – it’s a source of water, it’s a painkiller and healing promoter and, actually, it tasted pretty good. She sucks her lips. It’s strangely familiar, salty and sweet. A thick, milky goop that had coated the inside of her mouth and dripped all over her face. She realises suddenly that she is ravenously hungry.
2227-08-25T22:45:36.002Z
She awakens. She doesn’t remember falling asleep. Something is different. She’s still lying against a soft, spongey surface. The pain is returning in her arm and her leg. Ayumi starts to lift herself from the floor and her head spins. She’s not lying down at all. She’s standing, or at least she’s upright. She looks down and sees that she is pinned to a wall by tentacles. One crosses over her chest, one across her stomach, and a third pins her legs to the wall. The wall is purple and wet with slime. She must be inside the breathing vent. She struggles uselessly against her bonds for a few minutes, but she’s weak from lack of food and water. It must have been at least 2 days since she last ate. As she hangs exhaustedly from the wall, she sees a small tentacle come up from a hole at the back of the vent. She feels no fear at this, instead wondering if it’s the same tentacle as before. How might she tell? Ayumi giggles: do all humans look the same to tentacle monsters? It wriggles across the chamber’s wet floor toward her and glides up her leg and over her midriff to her face. When it reaches her mouth it pushes gently against her lips. She turns her head away, and clamps her lips shut, but it follows, rubbing gently at her mouth. Ayumi can smell the thick, tangy liquid and her body begins to betray her. She is so hungry and so thirsty and so, despite her disgust, she parts her lips and the tentacle pushes into her mouth. It senses her heat immediately and begins to spurt and wriggle. She realises that the thing is covered in tiny wriggling filaments like hairs or legs that tickle and massage her tongue. The flavour is so good, and every cell in her body tells her to swallow, so she does. She swallows the thick cream as fast as it will come, and then begins to suck and lick the tentacle tip. There is a small slit in the end, and she pushes her tongue just inside it and wriggles it. This causes more slime to spurt out, which she greedily gulps down. As she sucks and licks the alien tendril, it strokes around the inside of her mouth, diving under her tongue and toward her tonsils. As she coaxes the goop from the tiny slit, her mind begins to wander. Soft waves of pleasure flow down her spine. She feels warm and safe. She begins to fantasise about French kissing, about fellating strangers, and these fantasies cause her nipples to tingle and her pussy lips to throb. Unconsciously she begins to grind her hips and rubs herself against the wet wall of the gas exchange chamber. Eventually she is sated and she pulls her mouth away.
The tentacle pauses by her lips for a moment, then strokes over her cheek. She closes her eyes as it licks her eyelids, and then it retracts, flowing back down the hole that spawned it. As the drugs in the slick fluid begin to take hold, her mind floats away and she begins to dream. In her dream she is knelt, naked in a circle of men. Each man has his cock in his hand and he jerks it slowly, there are ten, twenty, a thousand cocks, all pushing at her face. Within moments her face is dripping with pre-cum. It drips from her eyelashes and from the tip of her nose, pooling in the space between her breasts. She opens her mouth wide, joyfully, and the hard shafts push and squirm to get into her mouth. When they enter, one, two, three at a time they immediately orgasm and their semen drips down her throat. She laps at them, cooing in delight and sucks them dry – they are instantly replaced by others. So many cocks.
Her pussy is drooling with lubrication, soaking her inner thighs and she feels more cocks pushing at her tight hole, squirming to enter her, like sperm around an egg. When the first cock sinks into her she realises that it is covered with hundreds of tiny tongues and they all lick her inside, up and down her tight wet canal, stroking her in ways she couldn’t imagine, and within seconds she is cumming, squeezing these incredible cocks with her pussy muscles, milking them for their cum. Her orgasm wakens her from her dream. There are two tentacles in her mouth, stretching her jaw open. They are ravaging her throat, squirting their slime down her oesophagus. Her stomach is filling with the sweet, sticky fluid and she groans in pleasure at the taste. She looks down to see that her suit has been torn open at the crotch. A third tentacle is fucking her pussy, it pulses over and over, shooting slime into her. The slime is running down her legs and pooling around her feet. The drugs are driving her wild: her nipples are so hard that they’re painful and the thought that she is being fucked and raped by an alien monster quickly pushes her over the edge for a second time. She groans around the alien intruders in her throat, gurgling her ecstasy through the slime.
As she approaches her third orgasm, another tentacle snakes along the floor and pushes itself against her sphincter. She has never let anyone touch her there and the shock sends her head reeling. The cilia that cover the monstrous appendages wriggle and lap at her sensitive ring. The sensation is heavenly, like being kissed and sucked by a thousand tiny mouths. The tentacle in her cunt slides deeper and deeper until she can feel it in her womb, her stomach rising and falling as it pulses. She wants it to never stop, she wants it to fill her up. The sensation from her asshole, the stretching and licking inside her rectum makes her cum again, and this time she loses control of her bladder. She hasn’t drunk much liquid and so only the thinnest stream dribbles from her. As soon as the hot liquid touches the tentacle in her vagina, it bucks and kicks and a fifth tentacle whips across the room, this one slips up her leg and affixes itself to her urethra, probing and sounding her with its cilia. She cums again, and again, and again. Her mind drifts away into sexual fantasy: it is her wedding night and she marries a snake, she is a prison guard in a riot, she is the Queen of Egypt and her thousand handmaids attend her, she is raped in an alleyway by a procession of strangers, each making her orgasm harder than the last, until she loses consciousness.
2227-08-29T17:08:29.331Z
She awakens as her body is racked by another spasm of pleasure. For days she has drifted in and out of wakefulness. Her breasts are swollen and a thin dribble of milk is leaking from one engorged nipple. The tentacles in her ass have wriggled deep inside her intestines. She can feel them massaging her all the way inside, their peristaltic action moving in sympathy with her own. She can feel tendrils inside her urethra, all the way inside her bladder. It feels so sensitive that she can barely stand it, like burning ice all the way inside, so deep. Her cunt is spasming over and over again, milking an unknown number of the tentacles that are sliming all over her womb, she can feel them inside her, writhing and stretching her.
She looks around her. She has been moved somewhere else. This place is hot and wet, like being inside a mouth, “or a cunt”, she thinks, “like a hot, wet cunt”, and she giggles and moans. The wet, smooth walls are wrapped around her, as though this monstrous orifice were sucking on her body. Her clothes are gone. Her broken leg has been dissolved from the knee down and her broken arm is missing to the shoulder. There is a tentacle affixed to her somehow, sunk into her shoulder where her arm used to be. She frowns and tries to remember why she needed arms. She giggles happily and thinks “if Ayumi were here she would be sad to lose her limbs” and so she is glad that Ayumi is not there any more. Her head tilts back in ecstasy as more tentacles shoot from an opening to attach to her milking nipples. Her orgasm peaks again and it carries her high and far away. Her eyes roll back in her skull as she gurgles and drools, and she weeps hot tears of pleasure, attracting more tendrils, plunging into her eyesockets and into her brain making her just so happy.
——–
I’m Robin Goodfellow. I like long walks on the beach and writing stories for people. Check my post history for a plethora of smutty submissions. If you’ve got a secret itch you need scratched, hit me up. I do this for the orange envelopes.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7jd6ep/she_never_did_like_thursdays_tentaclescifibadend
Bloody hell, you’ve got some real talent.