Four writers for the price of one blog
Tentacle Eats Woman
More hopelessly, horrific and heinous horror erotica from Tenta Redbud
“‘Cause I like camping,” he answers.
“But, like, it’s a D&D convention –”
“Will you drop it?”
“I don’t like the dark. I don’t like camping. I don’t like –”
“But you’re a 6th level Ranger –”
“That’s different!” she blurts.
“Don’t you have something to do? Like, weren’t you inventing new monsters or something like that?”
“Oh yeah, like a really want to be imagining monsters,” she squeaks.
“Fine. Just sit there and be scared. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get firewood.”
She scoots backward into the tent as he leaves her at alone, in darkness, and by the deathly still lake.
She turns. She tugs her sleeping bag from the knapsack. She struggles to start the zipper. She yanks. She curses, but finally the zipper starts. Then, halfway, it gets stuck again. All the while, she doesn’t notice the awful smudge rising out of still water. She doesn’t see the narrow, twisting shadow move over the pebbly and thin shoreline. The zipper is already coming apart, opening from the bottom as she tries to zip the top.
She mutters under her breath just before she screams.
The thin, twining curl of a tentacle wraps around her ankle. She turns. She tries to bat away the wiry feeler circling and circling her ankle. It pulls and both she and the sleeping bag are dragged out of the tent. She kicks at the tentacle. She clutches for roots at the shorelines edge. Just before she reaches the water, her blind scrabbling for a handhold lands on a stick. She twists, strikes at the tentacle, and in an instant is free.
She jumps to her feet and screams for help. She runs but before she reaches the safety of trees, she’s tripped again. Another tentacle. She twists again but this time something like spit, like a green wad of seaweed, glues the stick to the ground.
She bends double trying to free her ankle, but the thin wiry end of another impossibly long tentacle twirls around her neck. In an instant she’s stretched straight by ankle and neck. She tries to dig her fingers between the monster and her throat but too late. More tentacles loop around her wrists. They flip her over and her wrists are crossed and held at the small of her back. She tastes soil, grit, the last season’s leaves and smells decay. Pine needles stick to her lips. The monster tugs at her feet, pulling her trapped sleeveless top above her solar plexus as it drags her.
She struggles to turn, to see what she’s being pulled toward.
At the same time the monster loops another tentacle around her waist and forces her to lift her ass. A little twitch, at the very tip, and her panties are drawn
aside. She abruptly tries to kick and free her wrists when she sees a tentacle rear above her, like the tail of scorpion. It’s tip is rounded and slick with a whitish fluid that already drips in long webs of stringy goo.
She squeals, one last muffled scream, before the stinger whips downward. She arches upward, stiffly, eyes wide. The stinger penetrates her bowels swiftly and deeply. Her toes spread and her fingers straighten as she feels the warm, spicy and thick poison pumped into her. Immediately the heat begins to spread outward, robbing her strength.
Her muscles contract once, twice, and then a poisonous languor softens her muscles. The tentacle around her neck loosens. Her struggle weakens. The tentacle in her bowels stings twice more. She grunts each time, shivering stiffly, before the stinger slowly withdraws. The tentacle at her throat moves to her hair instead, pulling her by the hair and one ankle. As the poison works inside her, every touch consumes her with pleasure. The moss, stones and glacial sand she’s dragged across prick and scrape her skin with pleasure. The tentacles release her. Like a fly stung by the spider, she groans, arms and legs akimbo, barely able to lift her head.
She struggles to look behind her. She smells a horrible brackish stink but somehow the smell arouses her. The poison transforms the fear and loathing into a sexual ache. The creature is black against the black silhouette of a granite mountainside. It’s whirling tentacles, thin and wiry, slither across the stars like a dozen black question marks. It pulls her clothes off piece by piece. Her arms and legs flop uselessly back to the soil as a shirt, leggings and skirt are pulled up and off. Her legs lie open. Her arms are akimbo and palm up. The opening between her thighs feels empty, swollen and tangy. She tries to curl her spine, begging the monster to finish what it started, but the creature only pauses, as if admiring its catch at the edge of the lake.
It takes its time now. It’s prey isn’t going anywhere. It toys with her. She’s beautiful: her hips, her breasts, the splay of her legs. It roles her over onto her back. It studies her, grazing her lips and nipples, knees and inner thighs. It rolls her back over on her stomach. It tastes her. The tip of a tentacle divides the lips of her pussy, drinking the fluids at her clit before it moves upward and presses inward just slightly at the dimple that guides a tip into her belly. It strokes her G-Spot. It moves upward and presses a tip into her ass, slick with her own syrup. She groans as its sinuous length enters and explores her bowels. Each time she tries to move, the muscles of her body tighten and contract with pleasure, leaving her more limp and exhausted each time, but wanting to move again, addicted to the pleasure of the devious potion inside her.
A tentacle pulls her by the hair, lifting her breasts off the soil. The feel of the tentacles are cool and warm at the same time. They’re smooth, slippery in one direction and rough in the other, like a cat’s tongue. They loop around her breasts and tighten. The tips of another tentacle circles her mouth, grazes her lips, tastes her tongue and cheeks. Her legs are pulled apart. Tentacles circle her pussy. The wiry tip collars her clit and tightens like a little noose, tugging and tugging. She gasps, chokes on her breath, tries to lift her hips. Her body tightens and contracts as though every muscle from finger’s tip to toe were ready to orgasm. She pants like an animal about to be consumed. The creature continues to toy with her, admiring and anticipating the taste of its catch.
It strokes her thighs. It trails and tentacle from the nape of her to the female lift of her spine.
She’s been caught. The noose around her clit and breasts continues to tighten. Her eyes roll. The pleasure threatens to rob her consciousness, Two more wiry tentacles loop around her thick, purple and distended nipples. They tighten and drip. Her body – legs open, head lifted by the hair – tightens like an archer’s bow, bending, stiffening, ready.
The creature wants to feed.
Sensing the poison has done its work, the monster’s ministrations change. It abruptly yanks back her head, bending her body further. Pain, if there were any, would be pleasure. The stinging tentacles appear again, each like a scorpion’s tale. Her nervous system floats at the edge of orgasm. She feels weightless. The tentacles poise to finish her and then strike. One hooks into her pussy and the smooth poison fills her womb. Another two spike her nipples and fill her breasts. Another fills her mouth and descends into her throat, pouring its fluids into her belly. The creature holds her like that, filling her with pre-digestive juices, preparing to digest her pleasure. Only when she is about to black out for lack of oxygen do the tentacles withdraw.
She hallucinates somewhere on the see-saw, teetering boundary of a nihilistic orgasm.
She’s slack. Stringy fluid flows from her mouth, nose, pussy, ass and nipples as she’s lifted limply off the ground by one ankle. Her other leg and arms hang loosely. The mouth of the creature is circular. The teeth are tiny. They won’t pierce the skin. They’re like tiny hooks that will only let her slide in one direction – inside the monster’s gullet. Her free leg, hanging down, splays her swollen pussy. A little stream of piss runs down her thigh. The monster lowers the hanging ankle into its mouth and begins to swallow its prize.
The mouth is warm, wet and something like a cat’s rough tongue guides her downward. The sensations spark the first pangs of her orgasm. The mouth closes over her pussy, then her hips, then moves up to her waist. The tentacle lets go of her ankle, now at her ear; and the creature swallows her up to her breasts. Her nipples ping at the touch of the barbs. Then another swallow and the soft, barbed, lips of the creature’s mouth are around her throat. The orgasm, triggered by her utter surrender to the beast’s maw, begins in her belly and radiates outward until her body constricts, bends and seizes again and again. The smooth tongue and lips close over her head. She swims in hallucinations as the creature digests her orgasms.
Each flows fluidly into the next.
She dreams that she’s flying over her house and neighborhood. An angel carries her and fucks her from behind as he flies. She dreams that she’s fucking boyfriends in high school, boy’s that she’d never made love to but fantasized about. Their cocks fill her, burst inside her, and their orgasm flows out of her mouth and nipples. Lover after lover flows into her, through her, and out of her – past, present and future. She rides them. They impale her. They penetrate her through and through. She swims in dark water and the water swims inside her, inseminating, impregnating, and softening her. She spins, as if Leonardo da Vinci had drawn her, glittering and glowing in a spinning mandala of lovemaking. Her arms splay upward and her legs splay downward. The impregnating light of the mandala moves into her pussy and out of her mouth. She is the feminine, The universe makes love to her.
How long? She doesn’t know Maybe she feeds it with her orgasms for a day, for a week or month. When the toxic potion finally dissolves inside her, when the creature has fed on a lifetimes of orgasms, the hallucinations fade and she begins to feel, once more, the warm, moving innards of the creature.
The creature hardly notices her as it excretes her – a wet, matted, exhausted mess.
Her head appears first, then her breasts, then she nakedly half slides, half plops out of the creature’s nether region. She plunks down onto the lake’s shoreline like a soaked mat of seaweed. She gazes blankly at the starlit sky above her as the well-fed, indifferent, dark and shadowy creature descends into the lake’s water.
After half an hour, maybe an hour, she begins to shiver. She slowly rolls over. Her nipples are still tender and the softness between her legs is still rubbed with warm use. She manages to rise to her knees, her ass in the air, then pushes herself to the palms of her hands. She crawls, hands and knees, back to the tent.
Exhausted, she struggles with the sleeping-bag, then finally gives up.
“What the fuck?”
“What?” she asks.
“What happened,” says her boyfriend. “Did, like, the sleeping bag eat you or something? It looks like you went in one end and got spit out the other.”
“I can’t– explain– “
“Can’t what? Think? Have you been swimming? Fuck, you look hot.”
“No – You wouldn’t believe – I can’t –”
But her boyfriend unzips. He turns her onto her back. He opens her legs and fucks her. He comes in her but her orgasms are used up. When he’s sated, he rolls onto his back next to her. She lacks the energy to close her legs.
“So. What happened?” he asks. “Did you every make up that new monster?”
(Old school Monster Manual I)
No Appearing: 1-4
Armor Class: 7/3
Hit Dice: 12+4
% in Lair: 100%
Treasure Type: H, B, I, S, R, S, T, V, X
No, of Attacks: 10
Damage/Attack: 2 each
Special Attacks: Constriction, Mind blast
Special Defense: Spell reflection
Magic Resistance: 90%
Psionic Ability: 625-880
Attack/Defense Modes: B/FGH
Mind Tentacles are found in erotic stories, subterranean places and lakes deep enough to sufficiently block sunlight. They are neutral. They are not aggressive but wily and patient hunters who have been known to stalk for weeks or months once they have identified their prey. The Mind Tentacle, despite the name, is not related to the Common Tentacle, having sixteen tentacles rather than eight – four of which are stingers. It also has no suckers. The Mind Tentacle is often mistaken for a Common Tentacle (much to the misfortune of those who misidentify the much more insidious foe).
The Mind Tentacle’s body is protected by a hard shell, so it’s armor class is 3, but its tentacles and head are armor class 7. The creature can blend with shadow when threatened, conferring near invisibility. They are also masters of disguise and can appear like a sleeping bag that is open at both ends or as an erotic writer.
When a mind Mind Tentacle is forced to combat, it will anchor itself – or stabilize itself – with two of its arms and attack with the other 14. Each tentacle does 1-6 hit points on the first melee round it hits, and thereafter it can constrict the opponent for 2-12 points of damage per melee round. To prevent this the victim must sever the tentacle; there is no other escape. The most fearsome weapon of the mind Tentacle, however, is its four stinging tentacles and psionic ability. The tentacles carry a poison which acts as a powerful aphrodisiac and hallucinogen in both men and women. Once a victim is stung, the Mind Tentacle will use its psionic ability to control the hallucinations of its victims, but cannot do so until the victim is stung. The Mind Tentacle will then feed on the victim’s psychic/emotional response – sexual pleasure being the most powerful. Fortunately, the intent of these extremely powerful psionic creatures is not to kill their victims but to feed on their victim’s consciousness. Expect a loss of dignity rather than a loss of life. Unless cornered, they will always retreat if an encounter is going against them. Though the Mind Tentacle feeds on men, it’s preferred diet is women. A multi-orgasmic woman is considered a delicacy and preferably consumed with red wine. Cults, especially female, have reputedly captured Mind Tentacles for powerful hallucinogenic rituals and visions. It is believed by D&D scholars that this creature is the source behind the myth of the sacrificial female virgin (a favored ‘food’ of the Mind Tentacle).
Because the Mind Tentacle strips its victims before consuming them (leaving them disoriented) their exceedingly, well-hidden lairs are prized and a rich storehouse of treasure.
Mind tentacles have the following psionic abilities: levitation, domination, ESP, body equilibrium, astral projection, probability travel, ego whip, id insinuation.