I've named them all. All five of them. My tentacles. You would think me a perfectly ordinary young woman to look at, although perhaps something of a bimbo judging by the size of my breasts and by my effusive, platinum blonde hair, but part my pussy lips and you will find no eager cunt wanting to fuck.
Whip
is the longest, but also the slenderest. Thin, smooth, and red so dark as to be almost black, it can wind about a captive nipple, or penetrate a tight urethra, but its greatest pleasure is derived from the sharp delivery of exquisite pain. Its lash is as painful for me as it is for the recipient of its bite, but it's a pain that makes me shiver with delight.
Tongue
is soft and slick with lubricant, and pink like the tongue in my mouth. Its sense of taste is precise, and particularly attuned to the flavours of human arousal. I love to suck on it while I masturbate, French kissing while
Whip
tugs at my nipples and tortures them - or sometimes I tongue my own ass, finding a perverse enjoyment in tasting that rear entrance as I ready it for a savage fucking.
Squirter
is most like a cock, being both perfect for penetration and capable of delivering a gushing release of fluids. Smooth-skinned and brownish-pink, it can stand up straight like a cock, and its length is such that I can wrap my lips about its unpronounced head - but its serpentine nature gives it the flexibility too to thrust most deliciously against and into my ass. I love to finish like that, my ass very full and very fucked, my cum squeezing out past
Squirter
to be licked up by
Tongue
.
Teaser
is similar to
Squirter
, but leaks a sweet-tasting lubricant from its tip, almost continuously, and has no gushing climax. It is far more sensitive too, especially at the tapered head. Sometimes I make myself come by winding
Tongue
about
Teaser
and
Whip
about
Squirter
. I especially love to do this in public, my tentacles squirming between my legs, hidden by an ankle-length skirt, the only clue to this grotesque, inhuman act of self-pleasure being my flushed expression and the inevitable pool of syrupy cum collecting around my feet.
Mouth
is the shortest and thickest of my tentacles, although its length still dwarfs any human cock. At its blunt tip is a tight ring of muscle, and when sufficiently aroused I can open that little mouth wide indeed, enough to swallow a little, curious finger or a whole, hungry tentacle. Like a snake,
Mouth
can expand to swallow whatever it eats, and its throat is so deep I think it must end in my womb.
While my blood is calm, all five retreat within me, leaving not even a hint of my mutated nature, but when I am aroused they surge out like serpents from a nest, restless and hungry for pleasure. If they weren't such a sweet source of illicit pleasure, I'm sure I would quickly learn to hate them.
*
My little brother Ash, five years younger than me, never had difficulty finding girls. At twenty-three years old, he was lithe and athletic, and possessed of an easy grace and confidence. He was handsome with bright blue eyes and over-length blonde hair that was rarely combed, and hung out with his two friends Chris and Dale who shared his easy-going attitude and athleticism.
I often found it difficult to match the serious labtech he was during the week to the surfer dude he was at the weekends, and in truth I envied his life. Very much the opposite, I was perpetually overweight and struggled to find, let alone hold, a job, and men rarely looked at me twice. Even if one had ever got me as far as bed, I doubt there would have been much pleasure in it. My clit was so deeply buried that it took an industrial strength vibrator to get me off.
Drunk and miserable one night, I ranted over my misfortune to Ash. "It's so easy for you," I wailed. "I'll never have a body men want!"
"Maybe you could," he said suddenly, and I braced myself for yet more inevitable advice about diet and exercise. But instead: "There's a new drug they want to trial. Supposed to be some miracle weight-loss pill. We're still waiting on approval, though. Could be another year, the way these things go, but we've already made a million."
Ash refused to say more, and I didn't push him. I had no faith in miracle cures for fatness. I had tried too many. But two weeks later, he handed me a white plastic jar full of pink pills, a sticker on the outside listing an obscure product code, the batch number ('1') and the quantity ('1000'). A large red stamp of 'FAILED' inspired confidence.
"The dose was too high and too variable in the first batch," he explained, "so we have to destroy them."
He went on to lecture me about how it was utterly stupid to take the pills without medical supervision, and if anything went wrong I could potentially mess up both my life and his, and I agreed and understood all that, but..
But surely it wouldn't hurt to try? If I was careful? Maybe I could take one pill and see what happened.
I took one pill. Nothing happened.
A thousand pills. I could take one with each meal - three a day - and it would last all year. Almost.
So that's what I did. At first there was no apparent effect, but after a month of checking myself daily, I had to admit to feeling quite positive about life. I was no longer breathless from the merest amount of exercise, and my daily masturbation sessions were unusually intense. I wasn't losing weight, but maybe just maybe it was becoming muscle rather than fat. And maybe my dark, brown hair was growing out a shade lighter?
I saw no reason to discontinue taking the pills, and after a further two months of self-administered experimental drugs, the effects were unmistakable. I was no skinny model, for sure, but my increasingly feminine curves were balanced with well defined muscle and I felt for the first time in my life like a real woman.
And my hair was definitely lighter. My roots were a caramel blonde. "Suits you," Ash said.
Of course, I had always been a real woman, but now I caught men staring at me in if not open admiration then at least speculative interest. I still struggled to believe it, and amazing though the results were there was still improvement to be made. I wasn't, for lack of a better word, perfect.
"Yes you are," Ash said, hugging me from behind as I glowered at his reflection in the mirror.
Most amazing, however, was my clit. All my life it had been shy, hard to find and harder to excite, but now it jutted out when aroused, almost like a tiny cock, making a prominent bulge in my underwear. My newly huge clit was also very sensitive, and the gentlest caress was sufficient to excite me, and my orgasms were out of this world, and very wet.
Very loud too, when I thought I was alone. Ash's grin after overhearing one day was enough to make me burn with embarrassment.
As side effects of experimental drugs went, I could live with that.
Two months more, and things were getting decidedly weird. I had the toned and athletic body of a volleyball player, which I didn't mind at all, and I loved the lustful looks I got occasionally from men. I quite liked my bleach-blonde hair and matching pubes. Even my brother Ash, professionally curious about the effects of the pills, stared at my huge and unnaturally perky tits with longing whenever he thought I wasn't looking. The same way I stared at the bulge in his shorts.
I was, undeniably, hot. I could have been pulling men left, right and centre. With my newfound confidence and general happiness with life, I found a job easily, and even kept it. As a barista at a local cafe, where once I would have been miserable, I smiled despite the long hours and low pay, and daydreamed about one day taking a gorgeous guy back home with me for hot kisses and hotter sex.
But I didn't dare do it for real. My clit was still growing, and had divided into three tapered, sensitive appendages. I should have been freaking out, but even this mutant growth was worth it for all the benefits of the pills. I loved being sexy.
My three clits could be manipulated as easily as my fingers. Indeed, I could excite myself to an orgasm just by caressing clit against clit, something I did frequently when the cafe was quiet - and sometimes when it wasn't. I could tease my labia with the delicate, sensitive tips, and even penetrate myself, although there was little pleasure in that.
Week by week my tentacle clits grew, and soon I could touch and eventually penetrate my ass. Bizarrely, I could taste it too, although for a long time I thought it my imagination.
I spent my days in the cafe serving coffee, no underwear beneath my knee-length skirt, only three increasingly tentacle-like clits that grew longer and thicker by the day.
The pills had done an amazing job on me. Where once I had been fat and far from sexy, now I was toned and voluptuous. Had I been ten years younger, I could have been a cheerleader, my breasts bouncing to the delight of crowds. I should have stopped taking the pills now that the goal was achieved, but perhaps through habit, perhaps through addiction, perhaps just through curiosity, I continued.
In time, three clits became five. Five increasingly long and serpentine clits that lurked within me, making what had once been my vagina their nest. I just had to part my labia and they would slither out, hungry for sensation. No man would ever dare try to fuck me there now.
*
Ash, delighted by my transformation into an archetypal, big-breasted, blonde bimbo, had no idea of the unexpected side-effect. That was my secret - until the blisteringly hot midsummer day when Ash, Chris and Dale went to the beach and I, desperate for some sea to balance the sun, asked to join them.
"There's not really space," Chris said, although the way he looked mournfully at my breasts suggested he wished it was just me and him in the car.
"I don't know," Dale said, equally mesmerised. "Maybe she could sit on Ash's lap."
