Four writers for the price of one blog
Some background on these stories seems in order.
These stories come from a slender, hand-written book called A Field Guide to Domestic Monsters and Their Copulatory Strategies. The studies in the book appear to have been begun in the late 19th century, were carried through into the mid 20th and compiled by one Herr Doktor Wilhelm von Crimsonius. After some research, it appears that an early attempt was made to publish these studies. The effort was met with considerable resistance within the scientific community as it was thought, given women’s timorous and delicate constitutions, publication of the studies might induce an ungovernable and mass hysteria.
Other voices treated such such concerns with cynical contempt, stating that the general populace had more for worry should women decide a domestic monster preferable to the insufferable vanities generally attendant upon their male counterparts.
Some in the scientific community opined that Herr Doktor Wilhelm von Crimsonius’s sole purpose in publicizing the field guide was little more than titillation and prurience. The Doktor forcibly objected stating that should a representative of the fairer sex care to acquire his work, he felt assured they would treat his scientific inquiries with the utmost discretion they deserved; and that no woman would ever descend into that moral turpitude and iniquity that was the inarguable demesne of mankind. Despite Doktor Wilhelm von Crimsonius unwavering faith in the moral probity and rectitude of womankind, publication of the Field Guide eluded him.
I present the translations here, at the Erotic Writer, with footnotes, purely in the spirit of scientific inquiry.
A very opportunistic feeder, the Venus Nipple Trap prefers to insinuate itself among women who favor indoor plants. Such environments are favorably warm, moist, and sunny. The Venus Nipple Trap is a beautiful, exceedingly rare, and highly specialized monster of the class Cepholapoda Erotica. Like a Cepholapod, the Venus Nipple Trap has eight arms that have evolved to appear like vines, tipped with suckers, themselves having the appearance of flowers. These monsters will patiently wait for a victim to expose her nipples. This often happens in the morning or evening: before getting dressed or shortly before bed.
If the victim’s nipples are visible and hang too close to the Venus Trap’s two reddish flowers, usually while unsuspectingly watering, the monster’s reddish flowers will abruptly enclose the female’s nipples and aureole. Millions of microscopic barbs, too small to feel individually, will attach the flowers to the nipples. The victim may reflexively attempt to the pull them off, only serving to firmly hook the barbs in the tender aureole and nipples, triggering the release of Venus Trap’s potent aphrodisiac. This venom is injected directly into the nipples by the barbs themselves.
Thereafter, the female victim, as her confusion increases, may continue to tug at the flowers. Her nipples will become swollen; along with the victim’s pleasure and confusion. As the volume of her breasts increases, her nipples will distend and be sucked into the throats of the flowers. She will be induced to bend over. She may support herself on the edge of a table or simply kneel on hands and knees over the monster’s pot. The victim will now be effectively envenomed and prepared for insemination. The specifically evolved venom flooding her breasts and body also targets the female’s clit, causing it to abnormally engorge, distend, and vulnerably protrude beyond its hood.
Once the clit has sufficiently distended, a third specifically evolved flower-like sucker will attach itself to clit in the same manner as the nipple traps. Now, the female is fully immobilized. Microscopic barbs will enclose the clit and suck the distended clit deeply into the flower’s throat, trapping it there and bathing it in a syrupy stimulant. The cephalopod will continue to draw both nipples and the clit into the throats of its suckers until the exquisite pleasure builds to a first orgasm. The female will instinctively spread her legs and arch, unwittingly exposing her pussy to penetration. Because insemination isn’t quick, the plant-like cephalopod has evolved a patient and involved strategy.
Petals will fall away from another specially evolved arm revealing a shape like that of a penis, though generally without the crown. The syrupy fluid that leaks from its tip and coats the phallic tip has the smell of a man’s semen. The female victim will instinctively lick the venom.
Finally, two stamen-like arms, thicker and longer than any of the others, will release their petals on the victim’s spine just before powerfully penetrating the female from behind. The penetration, of both orifices, is often quick and thoroughly deep. She will generally rise to her toes and her spine will acquire the shape of the sudden penetration. She may be expected to powerfully squirt or urinate as she orgasms. The victim may begin o suck the stamen at her mouth, rather than lick. The penetration of her bowels serves to introduce and regulate a steady stream of aphrodisiac as her womb is prepared for inseminate.
Because of the plant-like cephalopod’s slow metabolism, the injection of inseminate usually takes up to twelve hours during which time the female’s own and frequent orgasms help squeeze the semen into her own womb. Once an egg has been implanted, the venom’s final effect is to addict the female for the duration of the impregnation. She will often suck at the cephalopod’s central stamen and ride it, squatting above it to inject the “high” of its venom directly into her womb—and so nourish the developing egg.
In general, the entire process is exquisitely pleasurable for the female.
Thereafter, the plant-like cephalopod will whither and begin its several year growing cycle once again.
The Lesser Towelnabber
The towelnabber may be divided into the greater and lesser towelnabber. The lesser towelnabber is related to the Cuttlefish—a member of the cephalopod family. Like the Cuttlefish, the towelnabber possesses ten arms. Unlike the Cuttlefish, the towelnabber has evolved a highly specialized webbing between its arms that allows it to camouflage itself as a bed sheet in the case of the the major towelnabber or as a bath or beach towel in the case of the lesser towelnabber.
The lesser towelnabber’s favored climates are warm and moist. They gravitate toward showers and bathrooms both for climate and the easily inseminated nudity of their prey. So highly specialized is the towelnabber’s ability to camouflage, it can imitate the patterns, coloring and even thread-count of any towel.
The towelnabber’s prefers to strike in the evening. Just as with it’s specialized ability to blend in with towels, the monster’s eggs have evolved to look and feel like soap—and at first glance and touch are virtually indistinguishable from a new bar of soap. The towelnabber’s eggs however, when exposed to water, release a slick, sudsy and slippery aphrodesiac1. Mixed, in water and in the confines of a bathtub, the full measure of the potion’s effect are assured: an ever increasing arousal, wetness, and swelling of clit and nipples combined with a soporific warmth.
The effect is to prepare the female for insemination. The towelnabber, having camouflaged itself as the female’s towel, waits to enclose and entrap the female. Invariably, when the female encloses herself in the towelnabber, the monster will proceed to the next stage, more fully enveloping her and entrapping her with the powerful muscles of its arms. Because the female will have already rubbed the viscous aphrodisiac of the egg over her skin, thighs and breasts, her nervous system will be sensitized. As the towelnabber constricts and entraps the victim in the cocoon of its body, the female’s experience will be a kind of suffocating pleasure steadily approaching orgasm.
It’s at this stage that the female will find herself hanging upside down commonly from a shower-curtain’s bar, fully immobilized, and cocooned in the plush warmth of the monster. It’s at this point that the monster will deposit the egg, the seeming bar of soap, between the female’s thighs. Because the arms of the towelnabber are unable to move independently, the monster relies on gravity to deposit the egg into the female’s womb. While the exposure to the Towelnabber’s aphrodisiac is considerable, this exposure is ameliorated by the relatively short duration of its effect.
This too is an evolutionary adaptation.
As the effects of the venom begin to wane, the female will become aware of her impending impregnation. She will struggle in the cocoon and by this means, in combination with the pull of gravity, the egg will slip down her thighs and eventually the round and narrower end will begin to settle into the notch of her pussy and simply under its own weight, her own viscous secretions, and slippery effusions of egg, part and begin to enter her. The process is one of stunned awareness and exquisite pleasure for the female. She struggles, twisting and swinging in the cocoon, to evade the egg’s inevitable descent, and in so doing brings to her envenomed nervous system greater and greater pleasure. When the egg is at its greatest width and stretches her to to the utmost, when just a centimeter more and the stretched lips will abruptly accept the egg and seal it inside her, the female pants and stiffly arches on the precipice of an impending orgasm. Only a sharp shudder and acquiescent groan will signal the egg’s smooth glide into her body. It is when she arches her back with each spasm that the egg is propelled through her cervix and into her womb. The usual sign that the egg has finally been seated in her womb will be the sudden expression of milk from her nipples.
The lesser towelnabber generally prefers to incubate the egg inside the motionless female before releasing her in the morning, at which point the victim’s memory is often much curtailed by the effects of the nerve toxins. She may commonly awaken in bed, next to her bath towel, believing she has had an erotic, if disturbing, dream.
Though the process may sound horrific, the reader should be reminded that these are monsters.
In general however, the towelnabber’s copulation is said to be, of its kind, among the most exquisite of erotic experiences.
Notes to The Lesser Towelnabber
1 While nature has devised venoms, such as the bee sting, evolved to magnify pain sensations, the variety of domestic monsters cataloged in this field guide have conversely evolved specialized venoms that target pleasure sensors in the nerves and brain. What might normally cause discomfort, if not pain, excites pleasure in equal measure. One might expect such creatures would be capable of inflicting tremendous harm, and yet pursuing such a strategy would be fatally counterproductive given that a victim’s well-being is essential to their procreation. So successful is this evolutionary strategy that one finds documented cases of women who deliberately pursue, are willing victims, of these creatures.
The Bare-Back Impaler
The bare-back impaler is among the most common of cephalopodic adaptations. This monster may be found in almost every household and is among the earliest recorded. It is also a rare example of domestication. The monster, like all members of the cephalopodic family, are masters of camouflage. The bare-back impaler is nearly indistinguishable from the common chair.
The hunting technique of the bare-back impaler relies on ambush—requiring little risk or expenditure of energy. It will identify and patiently wait for its victim sometimes for days or weeks. Being, among predators, the most psychologically astute, it’s preferred victims are young, introverts, or daydreamers. It’s preferred hunting grounds are school classrooms, beaches, libraries, Victorian sitting rooms, and anywhere a victim may be expected to sit for long periods of time without arousing suspicion.
Once the victim sits on the bare-back impaler, the predator will act quickly to force its victim’s submission. Among classrooms, the bare-back impaler’s favorite environment is the Catholic School. The plaid skirts of it’s victims provide quick and efficacious entry. Additionally, a favorite camouflage of the bare-back impaler is the classroom desk chair, the desk-like arm having the advantage of preventing a quick escape. The tentacle’s legs will instantly secure the victim’s ankle’s while the cephalopod’s “desk” arm will hold her hips and waist firmly against the seat-bottom. The bare-back impaler’s attack depends on the victim’s hesitance. She may not wish to disturb others. She may be too surprised. She may discretely but ineffectually try to free herself. The struggle will be short-lived, only lasting long enough for the skirt and thin white strip of panties to be skillfully tugged aside. Held firmly place, the impaling of the victim is usually swift and deep.
Signs include the sudden arching of the spin, the throwing back of the head, redness in the cheek, pronounced nipples, open mouths and the whites of the eyes. A young woman’s ankles may curl underneath her and she may grip the monster’s desk-like arm.
The bare-back impaler’s venomous aphrodesia is among the most fast acting in the monster kingdom. The fist injection, always deep in the woman’s womb, acts as a stimulant, relaxant and induces momentary amnesia. The victim may appear flushed, sexually excited, and on the verge of orgasm.
The peculiar effect of the nerve toxins in the bare-back impaler’s venom induce erotic distractions and daydreams. She may forget, induced by the momentary amnesia, that she has been impaled, and will assume that her daydreaming has aroused her. In this situation, an impaled student will masturbate. She will, of course, do so as discreetly as possible. She will both feel the presence of the impaler’s cock and, drugged by the venom, imagine it to be her imagination. She may slip fingers to her cunt and if she thinks she’s not being watched, pinch her tits to hasten the monster’s desired outcome—her orgasm. If masturbating isn’t discreet enough, the victim may simply squeeze her thighs together, unwittingly squeezing the monster’s appendage into the mouth of her womb.
The female’s orgasm trigger’s the cephalopod’s own autonomic response. In effect, the female’s orgasm will pump, or milk, the inseminate of the bare-back’s appendage directly into her womb. Signs may include the scraping of the “chair” against the floor, visible spasms, ached spines, lifted heels, gripping the “chair seat” and swollen and distended nipples typical of impregnation. She may pant and thereby risk detection, but the bare=back impaler’s attack will have succeeded. The creature will stealthily withdraw the appendage whereupon ample inseminate typically flows from the female and often drips to the floor between her feet.
If the bare-back impaler is inspected by this late stage, it will be indistinguishable from a normal desk-chair. The unsuspecting and impregnated victim may assume, with some embarrassment, that she momentarily ‘lost control’.
Nevertheless, and to the trained eye, these signs are unmistakable. The collector wishing to capture the bare-back impaler for purposes of domestication will easily procure the creature.
If you are lucky enough to procure the bare-back impaler, a few easy care and feeding guidelines will ensure a lifetime of companionship. The monster should be fed a fertile pussy at least three to four times a year. A delightful activity is to tie by rope or chain, depending on the personality of your bare-back impaler, a woman to the “chair”. Tie her wrists behind the creature’s chair back and her ankles to the creature’s chair legs. A properly domesticated bare-back impaler can be trained to slowly and exquisitely coerce a victim’s submission: the cries, the agonized contortions of the female body experiencing pleasure and the victim’s eventual pleas for orgasm. Unable to masturbate, the explosive and paralyzing force of the orgasm can build for hours, ensuring her impregnation..
Alternative, owners of these domesticated monsters have been known to consort with with carefully trained bare-back impalers. If you have procured a bare-back impaler, it may be possible via discrete inquiries to hire the services of a professional trainer.
The Speckled Purple Milker
Among the variety of cephalopods in the Eroticus family, the Speckled Purple Milker’s method of attack is not full understood. Additionally, the monster is so reclusive and secretive that even its victims are frequently unable to describe it. Nevertheless, some victims may recall seeing a speckled purple sweater, coat or dress in their closet, chest of drawers, or trunk. The closet is the monster’s ready-made enclave, unlikely to be witnessed and the victim, once immobilized, can be carefully inseminated. Even without a sighting, however, the astute researcher will often recognize the same patterns in the toxin-induced delirium.
The hallmarks of the speckled purple’s attack generally involve forced lactation, anal penetration and forced impregnation. Victims will frequently cite abduction scenarios involving aliens, feelings of disembodiment, and disorientation. This delirium, however, has a psychological component that may vary according to the individual. Since the attack of the Speckled Purple Milker has never been witnessed, a transcript of an interview may suffice to capture some of the salient, telltale signs of it’s attack.
Interviewer: Can you describe again what happened in the moments before the abduction.
Female: I was going through my closet.
Interviewer: And there was nothing unusual?
Female: [The subject pauses.] Well, no. Like I said, I was going through the closet, thinking I should probably throw some old clothes out; and I see this ratty, purple sweater—like an old wool sweater.
Interviewer: Did you try to throw it out?
Female: I had it in my hands.
Interviewer: And then what?
Female: I just— I remember— Soon as I touched the sweater it had all these arms. There was one behind my neck, one at the small of my back, and then one in my mouth and down my throat. I was swallowing and then I just sort of went boneless. Next thing I know there were these dairy men standing over me. Each had a crate of empty milk bottles.
Interviewer: Do you remember what they looked like?
Female: Just that they were all wearing purple ovralls
Interviewer: And you say they abducted you?
Female: I don’t remember. I think— One of them pulled this huge syringe out of his overalls. It was huge, curved and shaped like an erection. It was full of something like a thick milk. Soon as I saw it I started panicking but I couldn’t move. One of them turned me over so that I was on my knees and with my head down. Then the one behind me rubs in some oil or lotion. Next thing he’s pushing the syringe into me. It won’t go at first. ‘Just relax, sugar,’ he says. I can’t even talk. I’m panting. I’m trying and suddenly all I can do is groan. ‘Good girl,’ he says sliding and sliding it into me. God, I didn’t know anything could go that deep. My tongue pops out of my mouth. Then he starts pushing the contents of the syringe into me and it’s like my eyes roll into the back of my head. It warm and it’s like it’s going straight to my boobs at tits. The more he injects in me, the bigger my boobs and nipples get.
Interviewer: Did that hurt?
Female: You’d think it would, but it was more like I just needed to be sucked and fucked—my nipples and clit super swollen and sensitive. The numbness in my arms and legs was going away but it’s not like I needed to be held down. I got on my hands and knees but I couldn’t have stood if I’d wanted to. My tits were huge and heavy. They were leaking and my cunt was dripping. The dairyman was still pushing more of the syringe’s into me from behind, but it wasn’t like I was trying to get away. I was grunting and arching. “Look at that bitch present,” he said. “She’s good and ready,” said the other one. “That cunt’s as hot, swollen, and juicy as I’ve seen and desperately wantin’ a load of spunk to fill it up.”
Interviewer: If I may ask: Had you had fantasies like these before you were attacked by the Speckled Purple Milker?
Female: Oh God yes. I’d always had “dairy” [makes air-quotes] fantasies. You know, the whole nine yards: cowgirl, milking, insemination. Everybody’s got their little fetish, right?
Interviewer: So once the Purple Milker’s aphrodesial venom took effect, you didn’t fight it at all?
Female: No. [She shakes her head and bites her lip.]
Interviewer: Then what happened?
Female: It was just like in my fantasies. They hey tied my arms behind my back, wrists to elbows and bent me over a bar to restrain me and lift my cunt. And then, just like in my fantasies, they brought in a huge minotaur. Fuck. It’s cock was gigantic with a head like a black spade. There was already cum dripping down the underside, glistening in its balls. They fastened a spreader bar to my knees and pulled out the syringe. They did it slowly, so slowly, like they wanted to make sure nothing spilled out of me. I might have squirted when it finally slipped out of me. I was ready to orgasm. They attached milkers to my tits and, fuck, it was a huge relief when the milk started to flow. But even that wasn’t enough. They replaced the syringe with an anal hook tied to my hair. It lifted my cunt higher and drew back my head. “She’s good and ready,” said one of the dairymen. “Stick out your tongue honey. You wanna’ a taste of what’s goin’ in your pussy?”
Interviewer: What was the milking like?
Female: I just remember they looked like speckled, purple hoses with suction cups on the end.
Interviewer: Did you hear a machine?
Female: Sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn’t. It was whatever I imagined. I was in a drugged haze. I was so fucking desperate to be used, to have an orgasm, to have a cock coming inside me. I was utterly female. I was being milked and so needing a cock. When they asked if I wanted to taste, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. They brought over the minotaur. He was wearing an iron collar and the beast’s wrists were chained behind his back. He looked muscular enough to break the chains but if he had I wouldn’t have cared. When they held the end of his cock over my tongue semen dribbled out in a thick stream, filled my mouth, slipped down my chin and throat, and between my breasts. I swallowed. I licked the air trying to catch more. But my mouth isn’t where I wanted it. My pussy couldn’t have been readier. “You just concentrate on the milking,” they said. “And the Minotaur will take care o’ you from behind.”
Interviewer: You weren’t frightened by it?
Female: Oh God yes. Both. Fear and arousal. The beast, masculine lust and force, if you know what I mean. [She crosses her legs and rubs her haunches.] He terrified me. Totally terrified me. But there was nothing I could do. Fuck. I was on my knees being milked. I was totally at his mercy. For a woman, for me, that’s dark fantasy I want and can’t admit to wanting—to be fucked for having the cunt and for no other reason. There’s always that one night that’s just the right temperature. There’s the lover who’s cock is just right. He has you on your knees, ass up, face down. He doesn’t touch you. You close your eyes. Your arms and hands are stretched in front of you and there’s only the motion of a cock that moves in and out of you—you—so slow and so steady—like waves, day and night, or a heartbeat. You get lost. You dream. This cock doesn’t belong to a man. This cock is the universe itself making love to you. This cock is remaking itself inside you. And you’re the universal female. And when you come, and when you feel the universe pulsing inside your orgasm, it’s as if you were filled with and contained in your womb every future galaxy and star waiting to be born.
Female: Penetrated and so fucking powerful.
Interviewer: You never worried it might not be real?
Female: I didn’t care. If I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have cared. The experience was real. Soon as I tried to turn my head, the hook lifted my ass and made me feet curl. The minotaur moved behind me and the floor shook with his weight. I was making little panting, wheezy, crying noises. I was so fucking ready. My nipples were dribbling and spurting and when he pushed his cock into me I came, dripping a little stream between my knees. It was like he pushed all the juice out of my womb to make room for his. Then he was fucking me. I was crying, screaming, grunting with each thrust. God did it feel good. The spurts of milk from my nipples, my heartbeat, his thrusts, were all in sync. I was being milked, inseminated and bred. When I came the third time he was pulsing inside me. Fuck. He just kept coming and I could feel my belly getting bigger and heavier after each spurt. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I started to black out. I was so fucking full of come.
Interviewer: Did you black out?
Female: I must have.
Interviewer: What happened.
Female: Next thing a knew I woke up at the foot of my bed. I had a carpet imprint on my cheek and I was drooling. My breasts weren’t as big but they were still sensitive—in a good way. And my womb felt full and round. It was warm under, feeling it.
Interviewer: After one night?
Female: Yeah, that freaked me out until I remembered what had happened.
Interviewer: You gave birth 9 months later?
Female: A baby boy. [She bites her lip.] He’s got some the monster in him. His little fingers are in everything and everywhere and he can’t get enough mommy’s milk.
From this interview the astute researcher will immediately recognize elements that are common to all Speckled Purple Milker attacks. Note the recurrence of purple colors. Note also the method of attack. A quick strike causes the victim to swallow a disorienting and immobilizing neuro-toxin. This is followed by a delirium in which the victim, depending on her predilections, will be excited by a variety of erotic fantasies. This initial attack is followed by another in which a cocktail of hormones is injected, via the anus, directly into the victim’s digestive tract. The fast-acting cocktail of hormones induces sudden and profound lactation having, as a side-effect, extreme arousal. The victim is ready and prepared for insemination. The reason of the lactation is unclear, but researchers believe the milk is used to replenish the cephalopod’s own fluids.
As with all children born to human/cephalopod contact, the parent should expect a messy child, easily distracted, a publicity seeker, prone to tantrums, delusions of grandeur, and limitless greed interspersed with utterly disarming cuteness. The parent should remain alert. The child’s inner monster will readily assert itself without an attentive caregiver. Further complications generally ensue when the child reaches adolescence and adulthood. The parent will note that the opposite sex is often exceedingly attracted to the grown-child’s inner monster.
The Dappled Tartan Waylayer
Although the amateur may be tempted to group this cephalopod in the same family as other domestic cephalopods, the Dappled Tartan Waylayer is actually a Gynavore 1, a monster known to consume females, and is actually related to the reclusive (if relentlessly pursued by shameless groupies) Mind Tentacle. An account of the Mind Tentacle’s mode of attack may be found in the frivolous and utterly forgettable writings of William Crimson (“inventively” entitled: Tentacle Eats Woman). The Dappled Tartan Waylayer is, at least in appearance, much less imposing than its towering cousin. The cephalopod’s favored camouflage is that of a Tartan picnic blanket.
Given its predilection for females, the Dappled Tartan Waylayer possesses one of the most refined palates in the animal kingdom. In fact, the limits of the Dappled Tartan Waylayer’s olfactory ability to scent the exquisite bouquet of a female is unknown. They are known to pursue females, over thousands of miles, with the devotion of gourmands pursuing a rare truffle. This in combination with their exceeding vanity (a defect to which all tentacles are prone) makes the Dappled Tartan Waylayer an unparalleled food critic.
How the Waylayer camouflaged itself prior to picnicking isn’t well understood, but the picnicking past time, traditionally favored by females, has proven to be the perfect niche for the gynevore. Fortunately, the student of the Dappled Tartan Waylayer may find several eye-witness accounts, the earliest and most detailed follows:
Interviewer: Can you tell us when this attack occurred?
Female: I remember it like it was yesterday, June 23rd, 1957, a Sunday. We were just kids in those days—a little innocent but big enough to have big ideas. We’d just seen—oh wait, what was that movie called?—Love in the Afternoon. Had Gary Cooper and Audrey Hepburn in it.
Interviewer: You said earlier it was just you and a couple friends.
Female: We decided we’d go out and have a picnic.
Interviewer: What can you tell me about the picnic blanket?
Female: Well, see, Jane and Polly couldn’t find the blanket they usually liked. Instead, Jane found this other blanket. It was beautiful—red and green tartar—and looked like it had never been used. And it was so soft and had a nice smell to it. We gave up looking for the other blanket and decided to take that one.
Interviewer: Can you describe where the attack occurred?
Female: We had a favorite spot we liked to go. It was secluded but you could look down on our own neighborhood and out across the valley. We spread out the blanket and were just about to put the basket in the middle and sit down when— Well, the blanket smelled so good2, just, I don’t know— That’s when it all started.
Interviewer: When what started?
Female: That blanket, you know? That smell must have been like a drug ’cause all of a sudden we were sort of weak and woozy. At the same time I wanted to inhale more and more of that smell. We saw— The blanket turned into this tentacle creature, like an Octopus3 and we both panicked. We started crawling away on hands and knees, but that thing had already grabbed us by the ankles.
Interviewer: Can you describe it?
Female: Besides it looking like an Octopus?
Interviewer: That’s right.
Female: Well, it was still that beautiful Tartan color. The Octopus must have liked that pattern ’cause it didn’t change. It was just like what you called it—a dappled, tartan, tentacle monster.
Interviewer: You said it grabbed your ankles? What happened next?
Female: One minute I was trying to get away and the next minute I was in a stupor. I didn’t know what I wanted or what I was ready for. I was on my back, knees drawn back and apart. Everything felt hot, swollen, and sensitive. I remember the monster was pulling off our clothes. It wasn’t like it was in a hurry. It was very careful, like it was unwrapping presents. It’s tentacles were narrow and long. They curled in the air like question marks and quivering exclamation points. I remember Jane, Polly’s little sister, was looking at me. Her gaze was focused and unfocused at the same time. She was still on her knees but they were spread as wide as she could spread them without her hips touching the ground. Her cheek was in the grass, her face turned to me. She was—can I say that?—can I say cunt? The way her knees were spread, the way she lifted her cunt, the way her back arched and the way it stretched her belly. She was so obscene. I didn’t even know what obscene meant but, oh god, it turned me on to see a girl look like that. I mean, we didn’t have pornography, but to know a girl could look like that. It was so primal and immediate. The monster kept pulling off our clothes; and it was so delicate. I was arching my own back and spreading my knees without even knowing what I wanted.
Interviewer: You weren’t frightened?
Female: Oh yes, but that was the terrible, awful thing about the monster. I was terrified, but the terror was like kindling in a fire. My nipples were on fire. I needed to be comforted. I couldn’t hold still. I couldn’t move. I was twisting in the grass. I was whimpering. I couldn’t open my knees any wider
Interviewer: And what was the monster doing?
Female: It put one of its tentacles in my mouth and started licking and sucking it. It need something, anything, to hold onto. I barely noticed when it rolled me on my side. I was still licking and sucking the bulb of the tentacle, following it with my mouth as it tied my wrists behind me.
Interviewer: It tied your wrists?
Female: It used the napkins in the picnic basket.
Interviewer: It was rummaging through the picnic basket while it was abducting you?
Female: It had eight arms. Each one was doing something different and it was incredibly strong. All three of us were the same. We were licking, sucking, chasing the tentacles with our mouths as it tied are wrists and ankles together. And then, just when our mouths were full, we all three panicked. We all three were panting until poor Jane’s cries change into a long groan. I almost blacked out. The monster was inside me. Every time it drew back, it pushed deeper. I had my first orgasm. Polly and Jane must have too. The monster was filling us with deep spurts that made her wombs bulge and stretch. The instant we orgasmed, the monster withdrew and lifted us upside down by her feet. He hung us, all three of us, from the same tree like he was saving us for dinner.4
Interviewer: Do you think you could have escaped?
Female: All I could think about was relieving the fullness—all that stuff, whatever it was, that was inside me. But I couldn’t. We all three tried. We’d try to push it out, twisting, turning, spinning, but we were upside down. We’d arch our backs, but only a little would dribble out, dripping down our stomachs, breasts, lips. One after the other, we would orgasm with exhaustion. Poor Jane urinated trying to push the goo out of our wombs. She had another orgasm and gave up. Her lips and nipples were red and swollen. So were mine. It felt like all the stuff in our wombs was filling up our breasts. We were beginning drip and squirt milk. I think I even heard hikers close by once, but we finally just sort of gave up and hung there, all three of us, the sun on us. There’s be a breeze or wind and we’d all three swing and turn.
Interviewer: Do you know what the Cephalopod was doing?
Female: It was like the most normal day in the world. It was rooting through our picnic basket. It would hold up grapes and pick them one by one. It uncorked some wine we’d snuck out of the house and sniffed it and sipped it while it ate bread and cheese.
Interviewer: Was there anything it didn’t like?
Female: It was kind of finicky. If it thought something was, you know, [air quotes] sub-par, it tossed it over its shoulder and moved on to the next thing.
Interviewer: So it was having a picnic.
Female: It was having a picnic and we were desert.
Interviewer: And what were you doing this whole time?
Female: Like I said, we had given up. We were so swollen and, oh my god, so ready for whatever it was going to do to us.
Interviewer: Three females.
Female: I remember a stream of cum dribbling over my clit and slipping down my abdomen. Come was dripping from our lips and tongues.
Interviewer: What happened when it was done picnicking?
Female: It took poor Jane first. I didn’t have enough consciousness to scream. Then I was next. It undid the napkins around my wrists and ankles like it was untying the ribbons on a birthday present.
Interviewer: Did you struggle?
Female: Every muscle in my body was in free fall. I didn’t have any strength at all. But being swallowed was the most erotic experience of my life. None of my muscles worked. It swallowed me pussy-first, just like Jane, my ankles next to my ears. Once I slipped past its mouth, I slipped into something like its belly except there were eggs everywhere. It’s muscles would squeeze so hard that the eggs popped into my bowels one after the other.
Interviewer: How did you breathe?
Female: I don’t know. It was like I didn’t need to. Like I say, none of my muscles were working, not even my lungs, and yet it didn’t matter. The eggs were filling my stomach. I could feel them sliding into my womb with each squeeze. My belly started to get round with them.
Female: And then the next thing I knew all three of us were sort of in a naked pile. The Octopus was licking its tentacles and folding the napkins, putting away the plates and glassware, and putting everything back in the picnic basket.
Interviewer: Were you impregnated?5
Female: All three of us. And nobody, not one person, believed us until you interviewed us.
Interviewer: What can you tell us about the children?
Female: They’re little monsters but cute, you know? Nobody would ever guess what kind of terror made them. And that’s the thing about these Octopus monsters. They’re everywhere. Girls don’t have a chance. There isn’t anywhere that’s safe from them.
The inattentive researcher, having studied the five cases already described, might conclude that no further investigation is merited. The diligent researcher may be assured, however, that many more varieties of the domestic cephalopod remain undiscovered. Their astonishing and demonstrated ability to camouflage themselves stand as warning that the researcher may find herself in the presence of the domestic cephalopod without warning. Any towel, chair, couch or bedroom, among other possibilities, may be prelude to insemination and impregnation.
Herr Doktor Wilhelm von Crimsonius
Notes to the Dappled Tartan Waylayer
1 Many researchers argue that the gynevore classification is a misnomer in that neither the Mind Tentacle nor the Dappled Tartan Waylander actually eat their victims. That is, their attack is never fatal. More accurately, the cephalopods of the gynevore family swallow their victims as part of an evolutionary strategy that, depending on the gynevore, seeks to consume the victim’s orgasms, to inseminate the victim, impregnate or implant their eggs in the female.
2 Other victims of the Dappled Tartan Waylayer have compared the smell of the monster to that of a newborn baby, the smell of which is known to produce elevated levels of dopamine in females—associated with sexual pleasure and other forms of gratification.
3 Although the subject refers to the Cephalopod as an Octopus, researchers should note these creatures do not like to be referred to as an Octopus. In the event that one’s tongue slips, expect extended periods of pouting, petulance and non-cooperation.
4 Researchers will note the Dappled Tartar Waylayer’s procreative strategy, in some ways similar to that of the Speckled Purple Milker. The Waylayer injects its victims with a sophisticated cocktail of hormones and inseminate that rapidly induces an environment favorable to impregnation. The hormones are allowed to steep in the victim while they are suspended upside down.
5 Though the Dappled Tarter Waylayer normally and indiscriminately seeds its victim with several dozen eggs, leaving the victim uncomfortably impregnated for the first several days, only one or two eggs implanted in the inseminated womb normally develop.