….ohhhh…that moment. That funny tickle deep inside. The tremors in the belly, the rising of goosebumps along arms, neck or legs. That feeling of impending something.
Those threatening, terrifying, yet strangely erotic twisting, twining arms. The suck of the cups along each twirling tentacle. The shimmery feeling of cold slick wetness as it
forces itself slips inside of you, one orifice at a time, as the clever and brutally strong unfeeling arms hold you immobile, open, available for plundering.
Who doesn’t love a good octopus story?
Between you and I? Octopus Vulgaris is the number one story on my blog. I wrote it years ago, a short little piece, but boy, that one is read multiple times every week. EVERY WEEK!
Octopus stories are one of the most sought after via search engines to my blog as well. Please. We know that these stories are disgusting. Vulgar. Horrifying. They’re also incredibly erotic, to be forced at the hand(tentacles) of some unyielding force of nature and made to submit to its craven desires. Is it fucking purely for the joy of fucking a human? Is it forcing it’s seed inside you, procreating? Does it merely want to be sucking up human sex juices?
We don’t know.
But we’re certainly turned on by it!
You know that any story that starts with:
She swam along the shoreline, close enough from the beach to feel the rise of the forming waves, but far enough to not be tugged sand-ward. Her arms made long, lazy arcs in and out of the water, her long legs kicking gently in the cool ocean water. She didn’t see the form following beneath her, matching her stroke for stroke.
Has to end like this:
It was impossible to scream when her mouth was filled with a cold, thick tentacle. Horror shivered along her spine as she felt it slip towards the back of her throat. The shove of yet another probing digit between her thighs made a scream rise past the tentacle in her mouth, and her eyes rolled wildly as it slipped between her lower lips as easily as a lover’s cock. It was big, slippery. The suction cups caused a curious sensation and rubbed against her g-spot, making her arch and wiggle for more, deeper, even as her brain screamed ‘noooo’. By the time another roving tentacle had pierced her rectum, she was orgasming.
Let’s face it, “alien” invasion is hawt.
Thank goodness! (can you imagine all those stories suddenly becoming pointless?! No, me either!)