The Erotic Writer

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Haunting (Part 2)

[Start with Part 1]

A few breaths. A few more. No change. More of the same lovely, soothing, maddeningly platonic massage. She was not going to ask again. Sweat beaded and pooled on her chest, flowing through the phantom tendrils as if they were indeed not really there. Rachel’s pussy wept with need, but she would not ask again. She would not beg. She would end it first…

Then… something. It took her some time, holding herself still in an agony of self-control, attending to every ethereal point of contact to her skin, to identify what. A subtle, altering of the motions of the tendrils. Kneading of deep tissue graduated into lighter and lighter strokes, tingling against skin instead of softening muscles. All over, bit by bit, the strokes lightened, becoming delicate, sensual.  The hollows of her knees and elbows and armpits confirmed it – that almost-tickle that sent shivers up and down her spine.

A quiet moan escaped Rachel’s lips as the overtones of the massage colored toward the erotic – even though her most sensitive places were still frustratingly unattended. Her nipples hardened as ripples of pleasure chased up and down her skin. She wondered if her ghostly tease could bring her to the brink without any more overt contact at all.

Her senses focused so far inward now that the instant the first tendril caressed the underside of her breast struck her with an electric shock of pleasure. That such a tiny thing could make her sob, and jerk undid her. More touches followed, on both her breasts. Finger-like tendrils swirled around and upward, kneading them gently, sliding toward her almost aching nipples.

When one tendril swiped lightly over the hardened tip, Rachel spasmed and grunted. Aa cascade of swishes and swirls followed over both breasts, taking her breath away. A trembling shook her whole body and Rachel’s eyes flew  open (when had she closed them?) at the realization she was coming. Not earthshakingly, but her body gently rhythmically rocked and spasmed  in pleasure. From what? A thousand touches on her body and breasts alone?

She moaned louder now, the sound summoning her “gag”. Perfectly designed to silence her, the tentacle now freeing itself from the writing mass was shaped to the countours of the inside of her mouth –  sculpted to fit easily yet completely and plug her sounds so that she could not call for help or attract “undue attention”. She recognized it immediately as it freed itself from the writhing mass all around her. Pausing in near view, it did not move any closer, or try to force its way in, or dive into her open mouth as it had done in the past. It merely waited, ready. Until she needed it.

Rachel shuddered as the waves of pleasure circulated and echoed through her body, and then receded, leaving…hunger. Her muscles were so worked over she felt weak and used up already, but she wanted—no, needed more. She caught her hips moving of their own accord, swaying back and forth, trying to get the tendrils to move higher up her wide-spread thighs, or lower down her tummy. Anything! Open and ready, her body already begged even as her mind refused.

Then…framed by her obscenely spread, tendril engulfed legs, a new motion. The air before her distorted, darkening. A bulge of green-veined darkness extruded from elsewhere into the room, a growing globule of otherness. It looked to be the same stuff as the tendrils, but less translucent, more substantial. Rachel’s eyes widened at its appearance. She’d only seen hints of a form like this before, lurking at the edges of tear- or sweat-blurred vision. Her stomach fluttered as the form congealed before her, a bulb shape tapering down into nothingness.

Fight and flight warred in her brain, instincts flashing and firing at cross-purposes in her mind and body, making her unable to commit to either. She stared, nerves tingling with sensual caresses and awful fascination as a dark line cracked across the equator of the spherical bulb. It split apart along this crack, opening like a great, toothless maw over a foot across. Inside, pitch blackness, hypnotically deep. Perhaps there were hints of motion, dark on black, but it could have been her own eyes playing tricks.

It was so terrible looking, so fascinating she didn’t, at first, notice it moving closer to her, now between her wide-apart feet…now between her knees. The great black mouth almost brushed her inner thighs poised as if to devour her, starting with her sex.

And she wanted it to. Fear, expectation, and lust all roiled inside her. Rachel didn’t recognize the whine escaping her as her own.

Despite all sense, she raised her pelvis toward that awful mouth. The whine threatened to become something more, and the moment she realized this, the gag tentacle brushed her left cheek, reminding her of its presence. Reflexively, Rachel turned her head and opened her mouth, never moving her eyes from the other dark maw now open and looming over the junction of her legs.

She let the phallic shape glide past her lips and fill her mouth with its not-quite-there presence. Its musky half-taste was almost a relief—a familiar sensation, giving perverse comfort at this moment. Because now, just as she had feared and hoped, the inky blackness closed over her; a warm, fat rubbery seal wrapping around her from the top of her pubic mound, around each inner thigh, and down over the cheeks of her rear end.

It could have been a moan, it could have been a scream. The soft, solid contact of “lips” with her fevered skin made her emit some kind of sound. Regardless, it was safely muffled by the gag-tentacle nearly touching the back of her throat.

Despite the ceaseless attention of the massaging tentacles, Rachel tensed. Her tired muscles tautened with anticipation. The green-streaked black shape covered her nexus, hiding from her view…what?

The surface of the bulb rippled with motion, hinting at shapes moving underneath, just above her skin. Shadows flickered, air currents against her inner thighs. Rachel thought she would explode.

Something slick slithered against her inner thigh, and she jerked. Her nerves were so tightly strung she had no idea what size or shape it might really be. Another slimy touch grazed her other thigh, then settled to squirm wetly on her skin.

More gooey, writhing tendrils joined the first, their touch insistent, yet intensely frustrating, teasing her everywhere but her itching, flooding sex. The appendages were hot to her skin, dripping and spreading a thick slime over her mound and thighs, making her skin tingle wherever it touched.

The first swipe of finger-thick smoothness along her slit made Rachel heave within her tentacular embrace. Dipping fractionally inside her, the appendage then slipped up over her erect clit. So keyed up, so primed was her body, that that single intimate touch triggered a second climax. Her body bucked and heaved as she thrust her pelvis up into the maw closed around it.

Now, as the waves of climax crashed over her, the writhing frenzy of unseen tendrils converged on her cunt.

Screams, muffled effectively by the gag, did not betray the howling storm of pleasure taking her now. Tiny tentacles covered her labia, tickling and caressing every nerve of her folds, more surrounded and assaulted her clit, practically vibrating against the over-sensitive bud, until she couldn’t even attempt to vocalize anymore.

With every forced breath through her nose, Rachel’s entire body shook to new sensations. Unending stimulation prolonged and intensified her climax. Tendrils explored the spasming ring of muscle guarding her rear entrance, massaging it, the poking inside and sliding deeper and deeper in little surges between the spastic clenching of her muscles. An oozing, queasy sensation deep in her guts added another new dimension, a new color, to the kaleidoscope in which she was becoming lost. She wasn’t getting enough air.

Rachel’s eyes rolled back in her head, her vision clouding. The gag-tentacle in her mouth pulled back and popped out to allow her more air. She gasped and breathed deep, but though her mouth was wide open, she was incapable of making more than breathy squeaks.

It went on and on; she didn’t know how long. Her body tensed and released so many times she felt like a shock therapy patient. The orgasm didn’t so much end as blend into a background buzz of pleasure as the movements of the uncountable tentacles slowed. Her body, nearly enveloped by ghostly limbs shook and shivered at random as nerves misfired and pleasure ricocheted through her nearly used up body.

Gently, even lovingly, the tentacles cradled her. They stilled, her ass deeply penetrated by a hot, slimy cable, and tendrils like hundreds of tiny fingers resting on her mound and vagina.

A few trembling breaths in tranquility, then movement on her tummy. She raised her head to look down her body. The dark maw was opening. Her eyes widened as it revealed what she had been feeling this whole time. A forest of tentacles centered between her legs, glowing brightly, intensely blue-green. Dozens of small, worm-size tendrils pressed against her labia, sliding between, holding them open. Part of her recoiled at how hideous and obscene it looked. An unnatural monstrosity holding her so intimately vulnerable, displayed and utterly open to…to what?

Rachel’s eyes moved against her will, to the deep black from which the tentacles emerged. A new shape was emerging, moving toward her.

“N-no…” She whispered a negative for the first time, but already knew it was a lie.

If the ethereal tendrils that entrapped and fondled her reminded her of a great anemone, the glowing, waving tendrils and shaft reaching between her legs looked like a cross between a cock and a more standard size anemone. Thin, wormlike tendrils interspersed with stubbier, plumper ones spiraling up the column, ending in a pink-aquamarine maw, from which a jewel-like bead of luminescent fluid emerged.

Long tendrils reached for her open pussy, caressing her vulva as the main body closed the last inches of space between them. Then the wiggling, fatter tendrils touched her, spreading, and stretching her as the shaft began to push in. Nerves overloaded, Rachel first registered the penetration only as stretching and growing fullness—an awareness of being entered, separate from pleasure or pain. A low sounding moan escaped her, coming from somewhere deep. Deep where the squirming shaft delved. The tendrils alive inside her, pressing and slithering in an alien, sensual dance against her inner walls.

It filled her and filled her, sliding in easily despite its size because of her wetness and its own secretions. Rachel imagined, then realized she was not imagining, a blue-green glow emanating through her skin marking the presence of the unnatural shaft.

It pressed into the end of her passage with a tiny bump that rocked her whole body, making her clamp down on it reflexively. In her mind’s eye, she saw anemone-maw kissing her cervix. A shudder passed through the shaft, then radiated outward through all the other tentacles and limbs around her. Rachel wondered if it represented her ghostly lover’s own pleasure, and felt…satisfaction that she could cause that pleasure in him as well.

“Oh-h!”

Rachel tried to be quiet, The tentacle-covered cock drew out of her, twisting and sliding wetly, slowly, most of the way out before reversing direction. She groaned low again as it refilled her completely, and another shiver flowed through the forest of tendrils that held her. Gently, firmly, her ghost-lover began fucking her. Pins and needles began to prickle Rachel’s body—on her skin, and inside, as if every intimately active tentacle was giving her tiny stings. But instead of pain or paralysis, each sharp prick bloomed into a spark of pleasure as the nerves in her body reawakened.

She pulled with her arms, kicked with her legs, arched her back. Was she trying to escape their grasp? Was she trying to open herself to more? Was there a difference anymore? Each of her movements induced more stinging, slimy, slippery pleasure somewhere on or in her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt.

The tentacle in her rear end began sliding back and forth again…

“Oh, God!”

Little nips of pleasure jolted her from behind now as well. Rachel jerked and pulled in an erotic struggle, a battle she had to fight, but desperately wanted to lose. Whenever she looked down at the slowly pistoning, tendril covered shaft, she could track the glow of it through her own skin; see just how deep inside her it invaded.

And the tendril wiggling in her ass, insinuating itself deeper and deeper into her. That she could see too, both the cool, intense glow illuminating her from the inside, and the slight bulge of the wormy shaft under the skin of her abdomen. The utter completeness of the invasion took her beyond meaningful resistance and rational thought.

Her sounds, progressively louder, drew the gag tentacle back to her mouth. After a gentle touch to her lips did not succeed in quieting her, the blunt shape insistently pushed its way back in, cutting off her rising volume. Both distress and relief shuddered through her at being quieted this way, but she did not have time to dwell on it. Pleasure was rising in her, like a chamber filling, pressure increasing.

Her head lolled back as the great mouth closed on her junction again, hiding the deeply fucking shaft from view. The fat lips settled back on her quivering mound, sealing there, firm and solid. Rachel’s hips bucked into each hidden thrust.

The three deep presences inside her—shafts in cunt, ass, and mouth, began to synchronize. All three pushed in, then pulled out in unison; each repetition a little deeper, a little harder than the last. More, the dozens, hundreds, thousands of tentacles also picked up the rhythm, sliding one way with each deep thrust of the other three, then the other way as they drew out. Rachel’s senses fragmented and blended as her phantom lover fucked her entire body at once. Everywhere, pleasure bit her. Every ripple or shudder along her trunk telegraphed the pleasure she was giving in return.

She pulsed and surged and flowed with the frenetic movement everywhere around her. The pleasure built and built with a powerful, frightening inevitability. Her lover broadcast his own rising pleasure with each movement, reverberating with seismic force. Rachel was pierced and strapped to the front of a locomotive going two-hundred miles an hour…caught in a tidal bore that kept getting bigger and bigger as it threatened to break.

He would not stop thrusting, squirming inside her, swiping her nipples and clit. Trapped in the storm, she’d thought the torrent of climaxes she’d gone through before had spent her entirely. She was wrong. Something else was coming. Something scary big. Her body electrified. She desperately wanted to flee and embrace it at the same time.

Higher.

Harder.

Deeper.

Then…

Rachel’s body froze, tentacles deepest in her pussy and ass, probing down her throat. She felt them all bulge at her already stretched labia; at her anal ring; at her mouth. She let out a strangled, muffled scream.

Simultaneously, the bulges pushed past all her entrances and into her, stretching her nether openings, coursing deep, releasing into her. Rachel’s orgasm crashed on her then, her entire body convulsing around the invading shafts. Her vision strobed, then tunneled. She could only catch pieces of it, and those flashes made no sense. Intense bolts of green and blue traveling down the shafts, entering her, ejaculating into her, diffusing and spreading through her. She swallowed it, took it inside her. Her entire body pulsed, literally aglow, around the coming shafts, the sliding tentacles, her own contractions. Fluid energy poured into her. Sex poured into her. Ecstasy overwhelmed.

Rachel woke up slowly, languorously. There was no rush. There was no need to move quickly. Everything felt wonderful. Her sleep had been deep, dreamless, satisfying, rejuvenating.

It took her a while to realize were she was; naked, on her couch, in her apartment. The TV was still on, casting ghostly flickers across the room. Confusion knotted her brow until memory came rushing back. Her face changed expressions several times; surprise, embarrassment, lust, then, at last, to wonder. Another “visit.” The most intense yet.

Why did he haunt her? And why this way? Did he want anything but the obvious? She hoped someday she’d know.

Fumbling for the remote, she flicked the television off, then stretched long on the couch, passing her hands down along her body. Her skin felt alive, her muscles loose and warm. Between her legs, a little tingle, a sated soreness.  She opened her eyes and looked up. The white ceiling reflected a ghostly luminescence. The TV? She’d turned it off. She looked down along her body, and gasped. Her skin—her body glowed a faint blue green. As she stared, the first rays of morning sun poked through her window, washing out the pallid light with its warm glow. Still, Rachel shivered.

She didn’t want to know, anymore.

{End}




About Monocle

I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.

16 comments on “Haunting (Part 2)

  1. Ange
    December 26, 2009

    This was great! it reminded me of a combination of an Anais Nin story whose title i can’t remember and one of your other stories (whose title i also can’t remember.the one about the girl who leaves the safe haven of her colony and eats some wild fruit?)

    • Monocle
      December 26, 2009

      Permeter Violation, perhaps? I will be editing and posting that here in January, most likely. And thank you – I’ve never been compared to Nin before. I should try to understand that better.

    • Anonymous
      December 27, 2009

      well,it’s only tangentially related,i guess.it was some part of a larger story about a woman who goes to,i think,a dentist and pretends to be absolutely unconscious while he has his way with her.my memory’s fuzzy,and it’s quite possible the only real link was they both turned me on in the same way.Not to mean you aren’t as talented as Nin,but she’s definitely more feminine and subconscious while you’re pretty cerebral even while dealing with symbols.
      and yes,it was Perimeter Violation.i should personally thank you for that one,it made staring at the ceiling through bad sex much more bearable and cost me hundreds of dollars in batteries over the years in the single times.had you bought stock in Duracell,i could have paid for any future children’s college tuition several times over on dry spells :P.

    • willcrimson
      December 27, 2009

      she’s definitely more feminine and subconscious while you’re pretty cerebral

      That’s a really interesting comment Ange. If you care to, I’d be very interested to understand more of what you mean by this? – or Raziel, if you understand what she means?

      What does it mean to be more feminine and unconscious?

    • Ange
      December 27, 2009

      subconscious may be a better word,though i guess if one is writing (or doing any form of creative art) *un*consciously the *sub*conscious is closer to the surface.Nin’s stories were barely bound together by coherency,let alone logic,and therefore evoked feeling without much thought.Now it’s a huge generalization to say that women by and large are more in touch with their subconscious (we’re more touchy-feely,less rational/linear,women’s intuition,blah blah blah),but Nin is a perfect example of that.When i read her i KNOW i’m reading a woman.whereas with “Haunting”,and really the rest of his stories as well,though there was a concept that reminded me of one of Nin’s stories and though it was written from a female perspective i KNOW i’m reading a man.Not that you do a bad job of portraying a woman’s point of view,i can just…tell.
      /rambling

    • Monocle
      December 27, 2009

      That’s not rambling at all, Ange, not to worry. ‘Feeling without thought’ is something I like a lot, and is something that a lot of physical/physiological landscape description can get in the way of. I have attempted to accomplish that in other vignettes and stories, but agree that it’s not what I do most. Because of the supernatural/fantasy aspect of Haunting, I think I spent a lot more time on the physicality of what was happening than on the emotional landscape within Rachel. I wonder if I could have successfully reversed the emphasis. I’ll have to try that at some point.

      I have always had that very fear about writing the female POV – that the reader would be able to tell too easily. The worse fear, though is that a flawed voice would feel insincere, or inauthentic, or even manipulative, and detract from or kill the rest of the story. I don’t think I do that, but it’s one of those things I’m always trying to understand and make better – more real, because I still can’t resist trying to write the female POV.

    • Ange
      December 27, 2009

      no no,i didn’t mean to imply that you’re bad at writing a woman’s point of view.it doesn’t come across as contrived and definitely doesn’t distract.i don’t really know how to explain it.i think it has more to do with the style of your writing than any inability to put yourself in the place of your characters.you’re telling us *exactly* what a woman would think and feel in any given situation-but it’s *your* voice telling her story,if that makes sense?

    • Monocle
      December 27, 2009

      Thank you, and yes. That does make sense, and presents two different challenges. One is to be less exact – when the situation merits. In this particular story, I wanted that exactness, but in others I don’t. The other is to try to take on different voices than my own – even my own female voice. Your comments have really been valuable to me, Ange. I truly appreciate the feedback.

    • Ange
      December 27, 2009

      my pleasure.i’ve read very little erotica that made me think this much.not my usual goal,but it’s started to fascinate me.i’m actually toying with trying my own hand,though i don’t know how well it’d go.

    • Monocle
      December 27, 2009

      One never knows until one tries! I encourage you to give it a shot, even if no one else were to lay eyes on it. You never know what your voice will dictate.

  2. Ange
    December 27, 2009

    whoops,had cleared my browser cache and forgotten to type my name in.Unless the comment i wrote got swallowed for reasons other than being anonymous.

    • Monocle
      December 27, 2009

      Thank you sincerely, Ange. Hell I’ll take any comparison at all to Nin – even negative, since it gives me new perspectives on both writings. Even if it was from a different vector, I’m gratified to have gotten you to a similar place. I wouldn’t be writing erotic stories at all if they didn’t get me to that place, and the whole hope of sharing them is that they might be able to get other people there too.

      The cerebral aspect is, I think dead on. I would like to get more into – or better at – expressing the subconscious aspects. I tend to be very sense/sensation focused. This may be one of my inherent limitations, but definitely something I want to try to push and explore.

      As for Perimeter Violation, you have no idea how gratified that makes me feel. It will definitely be coming to the blog – in early January.

  3. ALA
    January 15, 2010

    not to interrupt the deep discussions — but this is good stuff.
    I enjoyed it immensely.
    Had to take several deep breaths to even compose a comment–

    and still not sure I’ve succeeded in being coherent.
    Being a visual person — :-) This was good.

  4. The WW1 Flying Ace
    November 11, 2011

    This is one of my favorite of your stories. The slight non-con edge contrasted with her _want_ really does it for me. One of my favorite porn videos has the girl being tied up and she lets out these small whimpers that are a combination of desire and fear, and this story reminds me of that.

    • Monocle
      November 11, 2011

      HI Ace!
      Thank you and thanks for commenting. I was definitely going for that edge, so I’m glad it worked. That vid sounds quite interesting, too!

  5. theresa
    October 19, 2014

    This was the first story of yours that I read. It is still one of my favorites. Her internal scene is so vividly painted, it is hard not to be drawn into the experience. Still leaves me a little breathless.

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