Out Of Your Mind

I observe you in bed, the window and curtains open, with the moonlight and the warm breeze gracing your angelic face. I note the sheets pulled up over you, the gentle rise and fall of your breasts and the regularity of your soft breathing signaling that you are asleep.

...or perhaps that is what you would want an invisible observer to think, for I can see a slight movement of a hand underneath the sheets at the juncture of your torso and your legs.

For many months I have lurked in the back of your mind, silently observing as you go about your busy days: working out, business meetings, dinner with friends, travel to places unknown, climbing a mountain "just because it's there..." All that time inside your head, however, has also allowed me to become intimately aware of your various kinks, of your incredible sexuality. As a creature of the dark, I crave a young woman's sexuality, I enjoy her kinkiness, and I know that I have found a long-term home inside your mind.

As I lurk in a darkened corner of your bedroom, I raise a long thin tendril into the air, drawing upon the moonlight to fuel my thoughts and convert them into the actions you desire in the deep dark recesses of your mind and of your heart...

It takes a few moments, but then I see a dark form gathering in the shadows beneath your bed. A soft whimper escapes your lips as your self-pleasure begins to produce its desired sensations between your legs. Your sexuality feeds me, inspires me to continue with my dark magic. I observe with satisfaction the quickening pace of your breathing and absorb with relish the soft sounds of your growing lust.

Your head turns toward my darkened corner. If you see me, I cannot tell, for your eyes are only half-open and already seem somewhat cloudy.

Underneath your bed, the form grows in size and takes on a more definitive shape. I can see a circular darkness amongst the shadows underneath the bed. Slowly, long thin forms emerge from its circular body, and they sway and writhe haphazardly as they lengthen, as they slowly firm and harden, as their thickness gradually increases.

Just a short distance above the dark creature, your head turns again so that you are looking directly into the light of the full moon. The curtains sway in the warm breeze, and another sound - still soft, yet clearly louder than your previous utterances - rises from your lips to caress me.

No longer is your body still - I can see your hips moving sensuously underneath the sheets, moving against the actions of your hand, but since I am now outside your mind, I cannot determine if you are once again penetrating yourself with your slender fingers or concentrating your attentions on your sensitive clitoris. What is definitely apparent, however, is that your nipples are proudly erect, forming noticeable indentations in the sheets.

Slowly, your other hand slides out from underneath the sheets, the fingers entwining many strands of your hair and beginning to tug. The low grunt is the aural evidence of the discomfort you are feeling, a discomfort which I know you find erotic. From inside you, I have witnessed you in this same situation on more than a few occasions, the discomfort in your scalp sending pulses directly to your nipples and your clitoris, which in turn adds to the wetness surrounding the slender fingers questing inside you.

Anticipation seizes me as I watch the long dark forms slither up the side of the bed. It is an amazing juxtaposition: You, naked under the sheets and engaging in activities which some would say are quite unbecoming of a woman, versus the dark forms of what most people would consider something scary or perhaps even evil slowly reaching toward you. I count four separate appendages - on this side of the bed, for I cannot see what may be rising toward you between the bed and the window. I could move from my perch in the shadows, but I purposely want to be invisible to you, for I do not want to detract from what you are about to experience at my whim.

On the far side of the bed, I see what I can only describe as a thin black tentacle hooking the top of the sheets while another tentacle in my view does the same, and they work together to slowly draw down the sheets. Slowly, your feminine body is exposed to the warm caress of the breeze passing through the open window. If anything, your nipples seem to become even more solid from the exposure, and although your eyes are closed as your head turns toward me again, I have a feeling that you know - you know of me, of my presence, of what I am doing with my magic - and that you are not afraid, that you actually welcome this, you actually embrace this most unusual expression of kinkiness.

Yet still I am careful, transmitting my thoughts to the dark creature underneath your bed, insisting that he proceed cautiously, slowly. As your navel is exposed to my view, I note how your stomach dips inward as your body continues to move against your hand - moving now with more insistence, although the sounds escaping from between your lips still remain soft despite the relative seclusion of this old farm house, the nearest residence being about a half-mile away.

I plan for that to change. I know that your upbringing has always hindered your voice during your sexual bliss, and I hope to make you scream.

Somehow, I believe you can sense me. That is not uncommon, for I have been residing within you for quite some time. You may very well be aware of my presence within your bedroom, watching you from the shadows, directing your impending assault.

The hand between your legs is finally visible, the moonlight showing the slickness of your fingers as they press into you and withdraw before repeating the cycle. Two fingers keep seeking your feminine core, keep seeking to bring you to the brink of pleasure as the palm of your hand inherently rubs your clitoris, but clearly it is not enough...

I will ensure you get enough.

As your knees are revealed, I admire the flexing of your thighs, and you begin to move your legs a bit more. The hand which had been tugging at your hair moves instead to a pert breast, your palm certainly exciting the precious nipple as your fingers close in and squeeze. You fondle yourself and plunder your own body, your breaths coming faster and harder, the sounds of lust growing louder and more needy.

Once again, your eyes open partially. Theoretically, you should not be able to see me, but I have a suspicion that you do indeed see me, a smoky haze in the dark shadows, barely visible against the backdrop of the dark-brown closet door. If you do see me, you must know me for what I am, for you do not appear startled or alarmed, you are not scared or nervous. Instead, your eyes flutter fully closed, your toes curling as the sheets are now fully at the foot of the bed, your glorious body beautifully exposed.

You are now truly vulnerable. The sheets protect you no more.

The two tentacles are joined by two others, one rising from either side of the bed. In concert, they reach for your wrists and your ankles, each tentacle stroking you gently, tentatively encircling your extremities. Your breath catches and you shudder, yet your eyes remain closed. Clearly, you accept what is happening to you; most likely, you desire what is happening to you, and you yield without protest or hesitation as the four black tentacles begin to tug, slowly moving your arms and your legs into a spread-eagle position upon the bed so that ultimately your hands and your feet almost touch the four tall sturdy bedposts, the same bedposts to which a former fling had restrained you once before spending most of a lengthy winter night teasing you to the point of tears before finally giving you the ultimate pleasure...

I wonder if in your mind, you are picturing and reliving that night. It had occurred shortly before I had inhabited your mind, but I found those wonderful memories while scanning through your thoughts. These tentacles are clearly not the fur-lined leather cuffs your former colleague had brought with him that evening, but after a few moments of being in such a vulnerable position, your arms instinctively attempt to move, only to find the tentacles remaining somewhat rigid, giving you very little maneuverability. The cuffs and chains which had bound you previously have been replaced by something far kinkier.

...and something alive.

More tentacles creep up the bed from the head and the foot. These appendages move a little faster, as clearly you have accepted their presence in your bedroom and around your limbs. Soon two and then three tentacles are wrapped around each forearm and each lower leg, the seductive dew still visible between your thighs and its flow seeming to have increased along with the rate of your breathing.

Your eyes slowly open again, and I observe with keen interest as you look at your left wrist and forearm. Three thin black tentacles keep your arm in position, stretched toward the left post of the headboard. The tentacles pulse occasionally, creating a slight ripple to pass through each, a ripple which further stimulates your excited skin.

Your gaze shifts to my shadowed corner. Can you truly see me? I am doubtful, but it happened with a previous host.

I sift through the various sexual memories and fantasies I have discovered lurking in your mind. Bondage has always been a prominent fantasy for you, and you had enjoyed your one and only experience with being restrained, so I am not surprised that you are taking so well to being bound. The idea of being naked and bound, of being vulnerable and exposed, has long appealed to you, and as you begin to struggle in the kinky, living bonds, as your breathing quickens and your heart beat certainly matches pace, as you whimper and moan and begin to writhe seductively upon the bed, I am absolutely certain that you will not be satisfied from simply having twelve tentacles restraining you.

Sifting through more memories and fantasies, I decide to try something. Two more tentacles, moving somewhat quickly, make their way up either side of the bed and slither against your hands. Instantly yet mindlessly, you seize them, your hands closing securely around them and beginning to pump them as if they were a pair of human male erections. Your eyes are closed and your lips parted, and I wonder what you are seeing in your mind - two surfers from the California beach you visited last summer, each of them being pleasured by your hands while a third surfer straddles your chest and dips into your dainty mouth?

Yet more of the long thin black tentacles emerge from the circular form in the darkness underneath your bed. They begin to rise en masse as the tentacles in your hands begin to ooze, a thin bluish fluid emerging from their tips to assist you as you stroke them. Momentarily, the twelve tentacles which confine you begin to ooze as well, the alien fluid appearing almost sinister in the moonlight. As nearly a dozen more tentacles rise over the edge of the bed, they also leak the clear bluish fluid, so that first the fluid befalls you, and then they tantalize you.

The sounds escaping your lips are glorious. They are truly the utterances of a woman enjoying herself, relishing the moment, embracing her unusual sexuality to the fullest, reveling in her vulnerability, delighting in her lack of choice. The occasional squeals form prominent peaks in the volume of your incoherent sounds and add to your appeal as I watch from the shadows...

Your struggle is beautiful. The natural curves of your body add greatly to the visual appeal as your limbs pull against the confining tentacles. The quiver of your breasts causes your hardened nipples to truly stand out and attract my attention as the non-restraining tentacles meander all over your body, covering you with their alien fluid as if a masseuse was applying the oil which would soon be worked into your supple skin.

Slowly, a single tentacle rises into the air above you. Your eyes happen to open partially again, and you watch as the black pulsing leaking extremity writhes above you. A soft moan rises from you, but it has a different tone, a different quality to it, almost as if you are pleading - pleading to be plundered? pleading to be pained? pleading to be coated in even more of the bluish fluid?

Your eyes widen as the single tentacle quickly befalls you, and then shriek as the pain resonates within your breasts. Your body stiffens, your muscles taut, your jaw quivering, your eyes wide yet likely unseeing. For the first time, you have experienced pain while bound, and although you have fantasized deeply about this for many, many months, I cannot yet discern how the reality measures against your fantasies.

So the tentacle rises and befalls your chest anew, this time directly impacting a proud nipple. You do not shriek this time, unfortunately, but your sharp intake of breath speaks volumes. Yes, it hurts, but yes, it is something you want.

A second tentacle rises from the non-restraining mass, and soon both airborne tentacles work in tandem to continually batter your breasts. One falls as the other rises, then they switch position in an ongoing cycle of pain upon the most noteworthy signs of your femininity. You struggle, yet your back arches to make your breasts more prominent in a silent plea for more pain, more discomfort. Your breaths are hard, labored, rapid, loud, punctuated with grunts through clenched teeth.

The battering tentacles thicken, adding more force to each impact with your twin reddening swells. You grunt and groan, each utterance seemingly louder than the previous sound from your throat. The bed protests as you struggle, the restraining tentacles remaining firm and seeping in their assigned duties.

Other thin black tentacles rise into the air above you, still seeping their thin clear bluish fluid upon you. They also partake in the beating of your body, focusing on your stomach, your mons, your thighs.

...your pussy. You had once read about women being pussywhipped and had even watched a few video clips online of women enduring such treatment and had wanted to experience it for yourself, but did not trust anyone enough to consensually hurt you, especially "there."

At last, you scream. Your howls are full of pain, for the tentacle which batters you "there" is thicker and heavier than the others and also purposely and repeatedly batters your clitoris. With each torturous strike, I can practically see the agony rippling outward from your clitoris and encompassing your entire body. The growing pain truly invigorates your struggles - you pull with great emotion, an emotion made all the more prominent by your melodic angelic voice - which causes the bed to protest more loudly than before. Interestingly, your hands both stroke and roughly squeeze the tentacles which you had only been stroking previously. Eventually, your body begins to struggle with something completely unrelated to yet caused by the pain: Should you breathe, or should you scream?

The onslaught of your body persists for several minutes before suddenly abating. The various tentacles remain poised above you, still oozing their bluish fluid upon you. Your body is coated, but so is the bed, and the alien fluid has found its way to the floor, the walls, the dresser, the vanity mirror, the curtains, the framed artist's painting of Tokyo Tower, the ragged-looking stuffed panda bear your grandmother had given to you for your fourth birthday...

Your reddened chest heaves, your voice has been reduced to low groans of distress, your eyes are closed to better internalize the pain. Of its own accord, your body still moves, still pulls against the firmly-holding tentacles, still slides in the ooze which coats the bed.

Yet there is no rest period for you, for a pair of thin tentacles rise over the foot of the bed and slither through the bluish fluid, moving between your parted legs, one tentacle pausing while the other slips underneath you...

With a loud gasp, your body stiffens anew as the tentacle beneath you presses against your sphincter. Another of your fantasies is coming true as its fluid eases its slow passage into your body. You are again breathing hard, your hands now tightly squeezing the rippling tentacles you had been stroking for quite some time as your anus is violated for the very first time. I can tell from the sudden increase in your vocal volume when the tentacle in your tight passage begins to expand and thicken, carefully spreading you open, stretching you, and that act truly causes you to struggle in your alien bondage.

Another tentacle batters your chest, although not quite as violently as earlier, but still it is enough to make you scream again. While the pain resonates from your ribs outward, the tentacle which had hesitated between your thighs presses forward and burrows into your weeping sex. The interplay between the pain and the pleasure and the taboo violation of your body is wondrous to hear in your voice and to witness in the expressions flashing across your angelic face.

The tentacles inside you both expand, stretching both passages to capacity, hurting you a little, definitely bloating you. And then, at last, they stop, remaining inert inside you even as they continue to ripple, just like the other tentacles, and continue to leak their clear bluish alien fluid into your accepting body.

Quite some time passes where all the tentacles are stilled, and eventually you begin to calm. In time, you barely move at all in your strange bondage. Your eyes half-open, you look in my direction again, theoretically looking directly at me.

...and then, it is no longer theoretical. Your eyes are pleading.

Your eyes are pleading for more.

You have accepted me fully, even though I am currently not a part of you. You want - need - me to bring this bizarre assault to its unnatural completion. Your eyes beg for the pleasure and the pain. And then, the first coherent word of the night wafts on the warm breeze toward me:

"Please..."

If only I could speak verbally; if I could, I would taunt you: "'Please' what?" Instead, the only method I have for communicating with you while outside your mind is to control the tentacles, and even the control I have is limited to "perform this general action."

"Please... Fuck me... Hurt me..."

Without hesitation, several tentacles rapidly descend upon your vulnerable form simultaneously. Within the same heartbeat, your breasts, your stomach, your clitoris, and your thighs all feel the impact, and it rips another scream from your throat. As that mass of oozing tentacles rises anew into the air above you, the appendages within you all slowly withdraw until only their tips are still embedded in your trembling body.

A hesitation. Your breathing is ragged, your eyes closed, your jaw aquiver, your limbs pulling again at the confining tentacles. From outside, I can hear the faint sound of a car in the distance at the intersection halfway between your window and the next farmhouse about a half-mile away.

"Again... P-please..."

All at once, tentacles thrust and beat, producing the best sound yet to be forced from your mouth. I know now what to do. The non-confining tentacles all move in tandem: swiftly descending and thrusting together, when slowly rising and withdrawing together. The rhythm could essentially be a rather slow waltz, the descents and the thrusts all occurring on the "One" beat with the ascents and the withdrawals drawn out across the "Two" and "Three" beats.

For quite some time, the strange dance continues. If not for the fact that the moonlight ultimately no longer shines upon your angelic face, I would lose track of time, for the only clock in your bedroom is an alarm clock on your nightstand, and it faces you, not me. Yet I need not know the passage of time to enjoy your distress and your euphoria, your agony and your ecstasy. Your melodic voice, your feminine curves, and your passionate struggles all enthrall me, and I know that I will relish the opportunity to relive this night repeatedly once I am back inside your mind and can access your memories of this most unusual night. Each scream of pleasure and each scream of pain gives me more incentive to continue the kinky experience for you, and when I feel that you cannot take much more of the alien assault, I enact the final part of the plan: