Tentacles Does Halloween
Another sordid salvo in the serial series of Tentacles by Redbud
- Sorry I’ve been away so long. I’ve been reassessing literary directions. I can’t help but write playful and short erotic stories like these, but I also want to write more literary and longer stories. So, I’ve been taking a break and working on other projects. But here’s a little erotic Trick-or-Treat for all of you (and with all your favorite characters). You fantasized about them. Admit it.
Your little red mini dress hitches and your red riding hood flops as you flounce up the stairs.
“I don’t know,” says Little Bo Peep.
“Maybe we should skip this one” says Goldilocks.
“Jack! Stop it!” Bo Beep slaps little Jack Horner’s hand off her butt. The back of her frilly white skirt falls back down. “Why are you so horny?”
“It’ll be fine,” you say.
“It looks kinda’ creepy,” adds Bo Peep. “I mean, spider webs are creepy.”
“They’re fake,” says Goldilocks.
“Where’s Peter Pumpkin Eater?” asks Bo Peep.
“Who knows,” answers Goldilocks. “He’s got a thing about Pumpkins.”
“Let’s just try it,” you say. “I mean, the porch light’s on and it’s s’posed to be scary, right?”
“I know,” Bo Peep whines, “but – it’s creepy. Jack, stop it!”
You pull your hood half over your face.
Little Bo Peep, Jack and Goldilocks climb up the dimply lit porch steps. You knock at the door and four of you shout together. “Trick or Treat!”
“Oh my God!” squeals Goldilocks.
Little Bo Peep scurries behind you. “What is he?” she whispers.
“Whoa!” says Jack. “Amazing costume!”
You blink, then hold out your basket, smile and curtsy. “Trick or treat, Sir. Um– What a strange costume you have!”
“All the better to trick you with.”
“What strange ears you have!”
“All the better to hear you with.”
“What a big eye you have!”
“All the better to see you with.”
“What a lot of arms you have!”
“All the better to treat you with!”
“He’s kinda’ weird,” says Bo Peep.
“Hey Red.” Goldilocks lowers her basket. “I don’t think he gets this.”
A slick tentacle wraps round your ankle and pulls you off balance. Little Bo Beep screams. Your basket tumbles down the steps. Goldilocks jumps off the porch. You turn to run but fall to your knees, just short of the steps. The monster pulls but you hook your fingers over the lip of the top step. Jack grabs your wrists.
“Help!” he yells at Bo Peep. “She’s getting pulled in!”
“Oh my God! It’s a Tentacle dressed as a Spider!” Little Bo Peep swings at the tentacles with her shepherd’s crook.
“That one!” Goldilocks frantically points to a tentacle spiraling upward between your legs. The tip is bulbous and slightly red. “Don’t let that one get inside her!”
“Get off her!” cries Bo Peep.
Though you struggle toward freedom, stretched and face down, a bulbous tip, slowly, tumescently, curls around your right calf. Tentacle pull your legs apart just as a narrow-tipped tentacle slips, with a tickle, then a growing fullness, into your ass. You gasp as it lifts you by the ass, positioning your pussy. “I can’t stop it!” you scream.
Bo Peep swings back, meaning to strike the tentacle as hard as ever she can, and the tip of her crook catches in a spider web. “Hey!” she cries. She pulls the web on top of herself. She squeals. She screams. She stumbles and wraps the spider’s web tighter and tighter rounder herself until she falls in a cocooned heap.
Goldilocks takes Jack’s place. Jack scrambles to free Little Bo Peep but his back is turned. A tentacle loops around his ankle. He turns to fight but the monster tosses him into another web. He flails at the sticky strands, falls, struggles and is finally rolled into another pale cocoon. He and Bo Peep struggle like inch-worms, unable to free themselves.
Goldilocks pulls but a slippery bulb is already sliding under your frilly red skirt. Go ahead, clench every muscle, and squirm. The tentacle in your ass is like a hook perfectly lifting your pussy. “Let go!” you scream, but it’s too late. Your pussy slowly opens. Your back arches. The balloon-like tip of the tentacle easily and wetly slips into the clenched muscles of your abdomen. Then the thing is inside, expanding in your warmth, oblivious to the twist and struggles of your belly. Finally, your cheek falls back to the porch while your engorged pussy remains lifted behind you.
Goldilocks backs away.
You let go of the porch step. You reach between your opened legs and grip the thick, sinuous muscle flexing inside you. “Oh God.” Your voice is thick.
“Don’t let it make you orgasm,” says Goldilocks wrings her fingers. “A Tentacle can’t impregnate you if you don’t orgasm!”
“It’s making me!” you cry. You let go of the tentacle pushing and undulating inside you, making agonized knots out of your nipples. You reach for Goldilocks, but she only draws her knuckles to her mouth, knees together, and fearfully shakes her head. Next to you, Bo Peep and Jack are lifted to either side. A slender, sticky strand of web hangs them from the porch ceiling. The cocoons have holes and criss-crossing strands that do little to protect Bo Beep or Jack. Thin and spiraling tentacles rise up between the trapped legs of both. They both struggle forcefully, their voices muffled. They bend, straighten and awkwardly spin. Then both of them abruptly stiffen as the tips of the tentacles penetrate them. Jack’s cock begins to rise and lengthen, sticking through the web cocoon. Muffled squeaks and cries come from Little Bo Peep’s cocoon. Soon, though, her back begins to arch as she willingly lifts and offers her pussy to the tentacle penetrating her. Her swelling breasts press forward and nipples poke through. The strange slime, the aphrodisiac of the Tentacle, persuades you too.
“Peter!” cries Goldilocks.
“Where have you been?”
“Bakin’ you a Pumpkin Pie, Cupcake.”
“Hey! What about me!” you shout at them.
Goldilocks presses her dress tight between her legs. “Oh, I’m so sorry Red.” She rubs herself through the pleats of her dress and says in a mousy voice, “It’s kinda’ hot. I mean, I never thought I’d like Tentacle erotica but, you know, it is kinda’ hot.”
A fourth tentacle yanks back the hood of your costume. The rounded bulb of another smoothly presses through your lips and fills your mouth. Another draws your wrists behind you. Eggs, brilliant multi-colored eggs, move forward, then stop, then move forward as the Tentacle pumps them toward your mouth.
“Yeah,” says Goldilocks, her expression changing, “that’s it. Don’t let her talk. Just do her. Put your eggs in her. Make her swell with them.” Peter squeezes the swell beneath his jeans. Goldilocks blindly reaches behind her and unzips him, pulls him out and strokes him.
The first clutch of eggs reaches your mouth. The tentacle in your ass stiffens, forcing you to arch and rise to your knees. Goldilocks and Peter watch as a first bulge of semen makes you receptively widen your legs. The tentacle in your mouth pumps and you’re forced to swallow again and again. Eggs flow into you. Your knees bump the porch floor as your orgasm begins. Somewhere, somehow, the eggs will mix with the thick flow of sperm pumped between the spread of your legs.
Bo Peep’s pussy is stretched into a taut oval. The web filaments over her mouth puff in and out. You understand her feminine panting, the unexpected ache of penetration, the deceptive pleasure that makes her forget the peril and receptively arch her back. The first bulging bunch of eggs stretches her, forces her to widen her legs, and begins to enter her. She stiffens, her toes point and she squirts with a first spasm. The bulge of brilliant eggs abruptly slips inside. She gives a muffled squeal and grunts. She sprays the deck as eggs fill her, the squirts of her orgasm arching in the air behind her.
As eggs press into Jack Horner’s ass, his own sharp spurts streak Bo Peep’s cocoon and your own ass until his final exhausted twitches drip down his thighs.
Peter and Goldilocks’ eyes return to you. The syrupy cocktail of eggs and semen fills you. You feel full, dazed and tumescent. Another of your orgasms lushly grips the impaling tentacle. Goldilocks steps toward you. She gently pushes Peter to his knees, his cock inches from your face. She moves behind him, peers over his shoulder, and begins to stroke him. “It’s so hot,” she says, “watching you twitch and struggle.”
You snarl and glare at her but what can you do? Your mouth fills with more eggs. Another glop of semen fills your womb like a warm ball. Your eyes widen and your hearing clangs with the din of your own heartbeat. Goldilocks groans and shudders behind Peter. “You made me come just watching you. I’m gonna’ make Peter Pumpkin Eater come on your face the next time. There’s another big ball of sperm gonna’ fill you.”
You give a muffled shout, but tentacles don’t care. You try pleading with a look, you whine, but Goldilocks only strokes Peter more quickly.” Are you ready?”
You shake your head, then stiffen. Your legs receptively widen. Your eyes roll and half close. Your hips twitch upward and keep twitching as semen fills your womb and eggs fill your mouth. Peter’s orgasm spatters your face, drenches your hair and glistens on the stretched O of your lips. By the time you open your eyes, Peter and Goldilocks are picking up their baskets of trick or treats. They take each others hand and watch as the Tentacle pulls you into its house. Goldilocks bites her lip, gives you a little wave, then tugs Peter after her.
The Tentacle wraps you in a cocoon. It will work, forage for organic food, and fuss over you for the next nine months; but first the monster puts on a knee length overcoat and baseball hat.
“Where are you going?”
“To the store,” rumbles the horrible creature as its slimy tentacles withdraw.
“You can’t go like that!”
“Ha!” The floor reverberates with the creature’s contempt. “It’s Halloween!”
“But – ” You croak. “What about me? You can’t leave me like this? What if somebody comes to the door? What about the children?”
“We need more jellybeans!”
“Outside?” you ask, panicking. “What about the mess outside?”
“Bah!” The door slams behind the monster’s gesticulating tentacles. “We’re out of eggs!”
“Monster!” you scream.
But what can you do? Your insides are warm and thick with inseminate. The floor puddles beneath your swiveling hips. The sweet and cloying taste of the monster’s eggs still fills your mouth.