Author's note: This is a little one-off story that stuck in my head and refused to let me write anything else until it was done. I don't plan to do any more in this series (I have enough on my plate, after all).
This story contains elements of non-consensual/reluctant sex. It also contains: tentacles, anal, alien sex, and just plain weirdness.
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Janelle saw a squirrel scamper out of sight as she picked her way through the forest. It was at least two miles back to the road where she'd parked the car, and there was nobody else around. It made her feel comfortable to know there was no people around to bother her. Walking through the woods always seemed to recharge her and give her a renewed energy to deal with the idiots in her life.
Her slim, wiry form ducked under a partially-fallen tree. Fortunately this area of the forest didn't have much in the way of tall weeds or other ground cover. It would have been a pain to navigate through, not to mention the possibility of getting ticks on her. Janelle wore tight-fitting jeans to prevent any of the little bastards from getting on her legs.
She came to a little clearing, and gazed out at it with her wide-set green eyes before stepping into it. The blue sky overhead was beginning to darken a little, but it would be several hours before sunset. She had plenty of time to explore before heading back.
As Janelle came to the center of the clearing, she nearly went flat on her face. Something had caught her foot. She looked down in annoyance and saw what appeared to be a root wrapped around her ankle.
That was odd. How did that happen? Janelle reached down, and as her fingers made contact with the 'root' she realized something was seriously wrong. What she was touching didn't feel like bark, it felt like...flesh.
The leaves rustled, and something flew up towards her exploring hand. Whatever it was had seemingly been lying in wait. Janelle felt a firm, unbreakable grasp on her wrist and she stared in disbelief at the thick rope of red flesh that now gripped her.
"What the..."
A yank from the tentacle at her wrist cut off her indignant shout and she landed flat on her stomach in the leaves that spread over the center of the clearing. She reached up and grabbed with her free hand at the appendage wrapped around her wrist. At the same time, she pulled with all her might at the tentacle imprisoning her ankle. Her panicked breath sounded loud in the suddenly-silent forest around her.
The moment the fingers of her free hand grabbed at the tendril at her wrist, she saw another red fleshy tentacle slither around her free wrist. Another yank pulled her arms out above her in a 'Y'.
"SHIT! What...STOP!"
She tried to kick back with her one remaining free leg. Janelle let out a moan as she felt another firm, unbreakable grab at that leg's ankle. There was a third yank, and she was now spread-eagled and face down in the leaves. She struggled in vain, pulling at the living bindings that held her. After a few minutes of nothing further happening, she finally stopped. Janelle could feel sweat at her brow, and her breath sawed in and out of her lungs in exhaustion.
Then there was the slightest feather-touch on her forehead. She jerked her head up and saw a thin, worm-like tendril in front of her. It paused at her motion, then reached forward and ran gently along her brow. It seemed to be sampling her sweat, because wherever the tendril stroked her sweat seemed to disappear. After cleaning off her forehead it then began to run down one side of her face.
There was another touch at the nape of her neck, and Janelle started again in surprise and fear. The touch wormed its way down the collar of her blouse and continued on down her bare back. Janelle's breasts were barely even an 'A' cup, so she normally went without a bra. Today was no exception, and so there was nothing but smooth nut-brown skin for the new tendril to explore.
Several more feather-touches at her wrist told Janelle that more thin tendrils were here to play. They wriggled their way up the sleeves of her blouse, and in spite of her hammering heart she had to admit the slow brushing of the tendrils felt kind of nice. The one on her face seemed content to just explore her features, feeling them like a blind man's finger.
The tendril down her back now reached her waist and probed gently. Her jeans were tight enough to prevent further exploration. After a spate of exploratory nudges by the tendril, it withdrew up and out of her blouse.
A thin tendril touched one of her ankles and tried to worm its way up her leg. But her jeans were close-fitting enough to prevent easy passage. It pressed inward a few times and then withdrew. The tendrils wriggling up her arms reached her armpits and then further under her blouse. They brushed over her clavicles and up along the front of her neck.