Ungeheurer

Sarah couldn't help herself. She had settled at the computer, having raised herself from a sleepless night in her bed, and it was like the story was writing itself. She'd make no money off this; she wasn't even sure she could place it. The last magazine editor she'd tried had returned her Ungeheurer story with the gentle suggestion that she see someone professionally, that this genre she occasionally was submitting was getting more and more scary for the editor. But she was encouraged to continue submitting her erotic Romances. They sold very well.

Sarah wasn't writing this of her own accord. She was writing it to get past this story. It was a block to the erotic Romance she'd already started and hadn't been able to continue with—because this one kept intruding. And it kept her awake at night.

She looked over to the large fish tank on the credenza by the window, its waters burbling and gurgling and emitting an eerie light into the darkened study. The octopus languishing in the bottom of the tank, two suction-cupped tentacles rising up the inside walls of the tank and the glob of a head seen between them, was staring at her.

She shuddered. She needed to get rid of the little monster. But how would she do that now? Rick had put it there. As a joke, she'd originally thought. But in view of the way he'd left her, she now recognized it as a subliminal mocking and nasty attack on her, on her sexuality—her lack of it, Rick claimed, and how she compensated for that. She was buried in her writing, he said, and not giving him enough attention. He had read parts of one of her Ungeheurer stories over her shoulder while she was typing it. And he had laughed at her and said she was going loony. And then he had put that octopus in the tank. Two weeks later he was gone.

The story was calling to her—several paragraphs ahead of her typing. She had to hunker down and type furiously to try to keep up to where the story was taking her. She had no time to read and absorb the storyline herself or to build any background on the protagonist—the female victim. She was being compelled to type, as if her fingers were all the monster needed, all the Ungeheurer needed to bring his monstrous story to the light.

She did think of the Ungeheurer as a male. And strangely enough she thought of him as a sensual male. Far more sensual than Rick had been. Rick had been a disappointment in that department. He'd blamed her. He'd always gotten off, though. It was Sarah who couldn't achieve an orgasm with him.

After his last fumbling attempts with her, he'd risen off her body in anger, tossed out a "I think you get off more on those monster stories you write than on any man who would touch you," and flounced into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Sarah stopped typing and looked up, without even knowing why. The Ungeheurer called to her again from inside the computer, and she returned her attention there, once again several paragraphs behind where he was taking her.

That, though. That right there was a sound she didn't expect in the night. A shuffling, snuffling sound from the corridor beyond the doorway next to her computer table.

She felt the pressure on her leg and looked down, in horror. The tentacle appendage was wrapped around her ankle; then her calf. Another one wrapping around her thigh. Her waist. Her neck. Pulling her into the center of the room, suspending her in air. Tentacles encasing her everywhere. She had no idea how many.

Sarah looked wildly at the fish tank. The octopus was still there, staring at her. She screamed as two tentacles pushed their way under the hem of her pajama top, wrapped themselves around her breasts, and squeezed. Another tentacle was inside her top, pulling, and ripping away the material. The tip of a tentacle was penetrating her vagina, flicking at her sensitive inner walls. A tentacle had sunk itself in her ass too. She was being totally taken.

A gross blob of a head or a central body loomed over her chest. It had eyes—that's all she could latch onto in her shock and horror. And if a being such as this could be said to have an expression of lust, she saw it in these eyes. But then she saw that it had a slit of a mouth too and thick, suction-cup-like lips. And mandibles on either side of the head that came out of the blob in a long curve. Suction-cup-like "hands" at the ends of these. The mandibles extended out, sucked up to the sides of her head on either side, and forced her head back. She was facing the fish tank.

The octopus was still there, staring at her. Its two tentacles still raised up the inside walls of the tank. The tips of the tentacles were curling and uncurling, in a syncopated rhythm, timed not just with each other but also with the tentacles fucking her vagina and her ass. Sarah had to acknowledge that that was what the tentacles were doing—fucking her. And they were doing it in a far more melting way than Rick had ever done. More arousingly than any man had done for her.

Sarah had no idea why she kept looking at the octopus, other than because of the things Rick had said. Her writing on the Ungeheurer had started long before the octopus had appeared, and other than the concept of many tentacles, she had never thought in terms of an octopus. She wanted her Ungeheurer to be completely otherworldly. She wasn't all that wild about the world she was in; she had wanted her mind to project beyond that. Maybe not exactly in the way and to the extent it had, of course. No, any connection to an octopus was Rick's connection, not hers.

The blob's mouth was opening over her left breast, taking the whole breast in and rhythmically sucking on it—in rhythm with the curling and uncurling of the tips of the tentacles of the octopus in the tank and also of the tentacles fucking her cunt and ass. Something inside the blob's mouth was latching onto her aureole and sucking hard, suckling on the breast, making little gurgling sounds of satisfaction. Something inside her reacted—also in a sensation of satisfaction—at the monster's suckling.

The tentacle inside her vagina retracted the whole way and then plunged up into her womb. Retracted and plunged. Retracted half way and throbbed, moving to short, rhythmic strokes, geared to the suckling of her nipple. Sarah cried out, enough within herself to not yet be totally lost to the monster, embarrassed that it was a cry of passion rather than of anger and frustration. Her hips, of their own volition, began to undulate to the rhythm of the tentacle fuck.

She was lying, docilely, suspended above the floor, entwined in the tentacles as the monster's mouth moved to the other breast.

Panting shallowly, sighing and moaning. She had

never

been fucked like this before. There had already been an orgasm, but she felt herself moving toward another one, an even more explosive one. She was flowing; never flowing like this before. The tentacles inside her kept flicking around the inner walls of her channels, teasing and testing all of the sensitive spots.

The blob came off her breasts, its mouth moving down over her heaving belly, its eyes still boring into her eyes, her head now free of the mandibles but raised by tentacles so that she was looking down the full length of her torso, straight into the eyes of the monster.

The tentacles entwining her legs raised and spread them, her pajama bottoms long since shredded and pulled off her legs, and Sarah jolted alive again as the blob pressed its face into her crotch and the suction device within the monster's mouth latched onto her clit and sucked hard. The mandibles were now snuggly latched onto her hips, holding her pelvis still. Still she tried to writhe against the pressure on that most sensitive nub, the entwining tentacles giving her some leeway to thrash about everywhere except from her pelvis where the mandibles were holding her still and the snuffling monster was feeding on her clit.

The tentacle inside her ass channel was moving deeper inside her. Retracting and then penetrating, ever deeper, as the muscles of her channel throbbed and undulated around it. Sarah had never been penetrated and fucked here before, but she couldn't deny the arousing aspect of it, in combination with all else she was experiencing. Occasionally the tentacle would pull completely out of that channel, and she'd have an uncontrollable sensation of loss until it pressed in again.

The tentacles started pistoning her anew. Her screams now were all signals of the pleasure of the total taking—no, not total yet, but Sarah didn't know that. The monster sucked and sucked on the clit and Sarah exploded in a second, prolonged orgasm, after which the pistoning let up and she collapsed into a whimpering rag doll of satiation, no longer even thinking of this being a monster taking her. Thinking of only the two orgasms—and the possibility of another one.

Her eyes went to the octopus, now looking beyond its present shape and seeing it as Rick. How he had bitterly accused her of being frigid, of being afraid of real sex, of being lost in her erotica writing and unable to give him what he wanted. A flash of indignation, of "well look at me now" vengeance. Fuck you, Rick, tumbled through her mind, adding to the satisfaction of the second orgasm, two more than Rick had ever been able to pull out of her, even though he'd gotten to fire off each time they fucked.

Her moment of bliss lasted only a short time, however, as the monster let loose of her clit and the blob of a head or a body or whatever moved back up to lie on her belly, nestling in under her swollen breasts, its eyes probing hers, still full of lust. The tentacle inside her vagina slowly withdrew. Something thicker, not the tip of a tentacle, something thicker than that and throbbing was resting at the entrance of her vagina—something more like a . . . like a gigantic penis. Her clit wasn't entirely out of play. The suction-cup tip of a tentacle had latched onto that.

The monster's penis—cock, dick—penetrated her, stretching her and making her tense up and gasp and her eyes to bug out. Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. She was all screamed out. If she could imagine the blob of the monster smiling at her, it—he—it had to be a he—was smiling at her.

Deeper, out a bit, then deeper penetration. Plowing her. Faster, deeper, expanding in girth, entering the womb, pushing it inwards. Sarah was panting hard, straining against the entangling tentacles, her mouth open in a silent cry, but one of mixed response. It was challenging her beyond endurance inside, already deeper and wider than she'd ever had before, but it was a glorious fuck. Another orgasm enveloped her. Even more explosive than the first two.

Deeper yet. Pistoning her. The blob rose again, over her right breast this time, and sucked it in.

The monster paused, shuddered, and then she felt the warm cum of it releasing deep inside her womb. Everything was still for a few moments, the monster's cock still buried, in her womb, Sarah thought, where, its body pulsating, it was sowing its seed, the tentacles holding her loosely and caressing her body—everywhere. The flow of the cum went on for ten minutes or more, the semen flowing around the cock and out her entrance, over the curve of her buttocks and puddling on the ground below them. A strange feeling of peace washed over Sarah and she moaned and sighed quietly. The monster's eyelids came down over its eyes—Sarah only now realizing it had eyelids—and it was humming. The rhythmic pumping of the semen continued. Sarah turned her head to look at the fish tank. The octopus could only barely be seen. The water was clouded white.

The flow stopped. The tentacles tightened on her limbs. The tentacle in her ass channel moved deeper inside her, the eyes of the monster popped open and its mouth moved to cover her left breast. It was fucking her again in the cunt, in the ass, deeper. Sarah made a weak effort to struggle, to cry out in a dry, hoarse voice, but it was no use.

She had a moment of what she thought was clarity before she blacked out, feeling the penis pulsating in her womb and the tentacle in her other channel invading her more deeply, the tip surely beyond the shredded intestines now and into her stomach. Her eyes went to the blinking computer screen. The keys were being depressed in a racing staccato. Print was flowing across the screen. The story was being written. This was all fantasy, her imagination running away from her, her being fully possessed by her obsession with the concept of an Ungeheurer—a nonhuman monster—now. She would wake up, and she would go see someone as that last editor had suggested.

Firing off a fourth, albeit weaker, but longer-lasting orgasm than the earlier ones, Sarah's last thought was that if she never again had a totally satiating fuck like this, she would die happy. She did black out then, and the Ungeheurer, the bulb of its penis pulsating inside her womb, stretching it further up into her abdominal cavity, kept on fucking her with the tentacle in her ass channel. Deeper and deeper. It pulled its mouth off her bruised breast, turned what passed as its face to the ceiling, and let out a nonhuman, bloodcurdling howl of victory as the tip its tentacle came out of Sarah's mouth and flicked in above its face and it ejaculated in a prolonged coming that filled her womb to bursting, semen flowing down around the throbbing cock and puddling on the floor.

The octopus in the tank turned its face away from the room and curled up in the far corner of its prison. The typing on the screen stopped with a final depression of the "Save" key, and the screen went blank.

The room returned to total darkness, the bruised and broken, but completely fulfilled body of Sarah lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of cum, save for the eerie light coming from the fish tank accompanied by the burbling and gurgling of its water pump.