A Love Story
INTRODUCTION
A staple of Japanese hentai art is the 'tentacle monster.' In classic shunga art of the 19th century it may be in the form of an entangling octopus; in modern hentai it may be a menacing sci-fi alien or exotic robot that attacks nubile young women and men.
I don't pretend to understand the psychology behind the Japanese fascination with tentacle rape; nor do I understand hentai artists' reasoning that other species would have a hunger to molest humans. Japanese graphic art is full of outrageous plot devices and tentacle monsters are but one of stranger propositions. I've had fun with this story though, placing myself into the alien mind of a tentacle creature and letting you see things from its point of view.
Though I don't aspire to his level of writing, I give a nod to John Gardner, whose novel 'Grendal' showed that even the worst of monsters has feelings too. Dean Koontz's novel 'Demon Seed' must also be acknowledged, with its terrifying tentacle robot. Like the Japanese ideal, Koontz's robot also has highly inappropriate feelings for its victim.
CHAPTER ONE
I first sensed her with my far, outer tendrils, when she was still minutes away from my grasp. She was a person, a human. Humans aren't unknown in this place, but less common than the other animals coming through the jungle. I like humans. I know other creatures find them strange and their thoughts can be odd and confusing. But I've learned to understand them, mostly, and I find them...stimulating. I think that they may be my favorite creature. You never quite know what to expect from one, what they are thinking.
When a horned bear comes into your embrace, there's little question of what the bear will be thinking, feeling, wanting. When a dale deer becomes your prey, one deer is like another.
Not so with a human. With them you must take extra precautions and still you may be surprised.
This person was coming from the direction of the sunrise, though it is so dark here that few know the way of the sun. She had moved well off the path that most travelers take, bulling her way through my home with a recklessness that was either fearless or fearful. I threw one of my tendrils across her path, a vinelike arm that hung in great obstructing loops across the trail. Sure enough, she pushed one of the loops aside with her bare hand and in a moment I knew much about her.
I was right; she was filled with fear, fleeing in a near panic from some great danger close on her trail. I quickly checked my network of feelers and tendrils but found nothing; she appeared to have succeeded in escaping her pursuer. I sensed that she wished to disappear completely into the jungle; I would oblige her.
I arranged my middle tendrils in imposing tangles to tempt her onto the clear path that would bring her into my maw. My powerful inner tendrils were laid across the jungle floor like tree roots, colored much the same and with a thick growth of moss along them. She stepped over one of these, and in a heartbeat I struck.
The largest of my tendrils rose up between her legs and flipped her up in the air. As her arms flailed for balance, one of my middle tendrils coiled itself around her wrist. A breath later the other arm was trapped also.
I pulled in my tendrils, splaying her arms wide. A quick, clever twist of pressure I had learned and her weapon fell from her hand. With her rendered helpless I could concentrate on my other appendages and sent two around her ankles. They spread and lifted her until she was dangling from her feet. I sensed her struggling to reach one leg, straining for something there. I sent a tendril up the length of her leg and sure enough, there was a weapon strapped there. Another twist and the knife fell away, disappearing into the undergrowth.
Some creatures of my kind may find it hard to control five or six appendages at once. But I am old and wily and I can do much more than that. Now my sensitive outer tendrils came into play, sliding up and along her body, beginning to strip her clothing away. As she felt them passing across her skin she made her first word since I struck: a long, strangled "Nnnooooooo!"
Yeeessssss. A middle tendril moved across her stomach and up between her breasts, then flexed, showering buttons to the ground. Through the tendril I could feel her heart beating in terrible frantic fear. Not for much longer. Working my appendages cleverly, I removed all her outer shell, leaving only her bare, vulnerable skin. Why? Because I wanted it. Because I needed it. And because I needed to show her that in my grasp she was helpless. The quicker she knew that she was defenseless before me, the sooner her torment would end. Dizzy from hanging upside down, overpowered by all that was happening to her, she moaned and hung lifeless. Now I could begin.
My outer tendrils travelled along the middle ones and began to slide along her arms and legs; slow, relentless, teasing. She moaned again, her head hanging low.
The tendrils reached her armpits, crossed her torso and coiled themselves around her soft breasts. The gentle ends of the tendrils passed ticklingly around the tips of her breasts, then fastened on and began to feed. Her moan became a groan, and she looked at one of the tendrils in bewilderment. Now I would make it clear to her; now I would show her what I intended. As my inner tendrils travelled up her thighs, I pulled her legs wide, wide open. She gasped in apprehension as my tendrils circled the edges of her genitals, then closed in on the lips of her opening.
Why? Why was I doing this? Like any creature, from the simplest flower to the roving hunbeast, I have needs. I am sustained by a certain energy in creatures. I don't rend their flesh or take their lives, but I do need this energy from them. Over the long years, I have learned that the fastest, best way to get this energy is through their most powerful base instincts. Of these, sexual is the most powerful and fulfilling, and its energy has a delicious taint to it. Also, it does have its rewards for the victim as well.