Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Sahara had known that venturing into the Soldan sector was dangerous. Still, it was the best damned place to find free-floating diamonds, and her tracer had found a motherload just hanging here and awaiting harvest.

She’d make her yearly quota in half the time with this one haul. The diamonds were in high demand now, with the emergent technology of diamond-drive. The faceted crystals would “fold” time, creating “jumps” that cut traditional travel into ribbons. A trek from Earth to Mars would take three hours instead of three months.

And these were great specimens, exactly the size she needed.

She’d scooped 25 of the rough rocks when her first alarm sounded.

“FUCK!” she muttered as her scanner identified an Uralian trawler. They were lumbering vehicles, yet they were hard to evade…their tractor beams had some of the longest grab zones in the galaxy.

She withdrew her scooping nets, and shut down sensors. No point in alerting them. If she went out on orbital drive there was a good chance they’d mistake her small sloop for a bit of space debris and leave her alone. She decided to tumble into a free-fall mode and slip free of the diamond field; when she reached the end of the drek zone, she’d slip into hyperdrive and warp the fuck outta there!


She woke, groggy and disoriented.

What the fuck?

The last thing she remembered was tumbling freefall through the scree field…had she hit something? She reached to feel her throbbing head, yet her hand didn’t move. She tugged harder.

She definitely couldn’t move. She tried her other hand, shuffled her feet. Nothing.

What the fuck?

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she heard the raspy voice.  What the fuck was wrong with her? She could see nothing. No lights from her sensor board; logical since she had turned all to deep sleep mode to avoid the Uralian ship.

So why the fuck couldn’t she move?  Had she shut the view screen? It was too fucking dark.

She swore again.

A breeze moved from somewhere across her skin and she shivered.

Okay, now she knew something was up. She had NOT been naked when she was trawling. Gods knew she loved being skin-free, but not while sitting on her bridge. Well, mostly not.

She heard a sound. A hiss. Lights came up around her and arrayed before her was a small pod of Uralians.

:Female humanoid is alert:

She wasn’t sure where the words came from.  She didn’t hear anything with her ears.  It sort of whispered in her head.  With the lights now on, she could see that she was spread-eagled, hands stuck through some kind of clear, plastic material, sunk in up to her wrists, and molded tight around her hands.

The same material held her feet, suspending her a meter off the floor. Like her wrists, her feet were stuck in the material. She looked, she imagined, like a human X.

“Whadda you want, you fuckin’ perverts?” She hadn’t known she was going to say that. Her raspy voice surprised her as well as them, and they drew back from her, visibly flinching.

“Yeah, that’s right, you fuckin’ pussy-assed fucktards…let me fucking GO!” Her voice was a deep pitched growl, and she twisted and writhed in her containment, to no avail.

She was held fast.

“I said, LET. ME. GO. NOW!!” She leaned forward, yelling at the smallest one as she made eye contact with the creature. Gods they were as hideous as reported. Tall, they were indeed. The tallest was close to three meters, the shortest being closer to her own height. Was he short or immature?

She kept her growling diatribe up, aiming it at the littlest one.

The slap came from behind her; she’d forgotten there was one back there. A line of heat slammed down across her back, down her ass, curled around her thigh.

She yelped at the unexpected blow, the touch burning. She saw the creatures tentacle withdraw. He’d fuckin’ hit her with his arm-thingy. She shivered with revulsion.


Again, that mysterious ‘head-voice’.

“Who the fuck are you?” she barked loudly, trying to twist to see behind her. Another slap, this one between her spread thighs. It hurt, the blow was fast and hard.

It also shamed her that it turned her the fuck on. It’d been a long, long time since she’d had bed-play with anyone, and she sure loved to be slapped around. She loved being her own boss during the workdays, but in bed? She wanted to be drug around by her hair, slapped, bitten, and fucked hard like a piece o’ meat.

Likely it’d been 6, maybe 7 months since her last session with Patrick and Valla.

And now here she was, being pussy slapped by a Uralain, and likin’ it. Who was the sick fuck now?

:we do not want to harm you unduly:

:your hole-noises are painful to us:

:you will be hurt when you offer us hurt:

She began to understand. They wouldn’t put up with any shit. She could keep yelling, but they’d keep on hitting her. Eventually they’d harm her.  They might not “want to” harm her…but the possibility existed.

“What do you want?” she asked in a quieter voices. The small one winced again.

She braced for another slap. This time she got two, one on her pussy, and one from a fast-moving Uralain in front of her. She’d blinked and it was in front of her, and the tentacle moved like a whip and slapped her hard across her mouth.

She felt the bite of her own teeth cutting her lip, tasted the copper tang of blood. That fuckin’ hurt…but she stopped herself before the beast before her struck her again. Despite the tentacles, they appeared to be bipedal. And they were fast fuckers.

:fine: she thought the word, hard.

:there is no need to shout. we can hear you without ‘thrusting’ your words at us:

She shook her head, trying to absorb the new data.

:will you let me go: She tried letting the thoughts float away.


:FUCK: she mind shouted. Twisting and pulling futilely again, she let panic run amok.

And fainted with the blows that fell from many sides at once.

Ch 2.

Sahara woke to the sound of hissing.

She shook her head, tried to pull her hands free, and remembered in a rush. Her eyes flew open, scanning the room. There was no one in front of her. But she felt like she wasn’t alone.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the throbbing from her split lip reminded her in time.

:where are you:  she mind-projected into the room.

She knew they were ignoring her. She felt them. Damn fucktards!

:HEY:  she ‘mindspoke’ louder. A mind SHOUT. Teach them to ignor-FUCK!

A slap across her rump made her cry out again. She wasn’t sure if they were still hitting her with their arm appendages, or a laser-whip, but whatever the Sam-fucking-Hill it was,  it fucking hurt! She felt the welt growing across her right cheek, overlaying the sore places from her first beating.

The hissing was annoying.

Trying to crane her head around, she could see from the corner of her eye, a “snowed out” panel.

“i could fix that” she said without thinking, and earned another swat from the ‘guard’ that hovered just out of her field of vision.


:beating prisoners is a violation of interstellar law:  she thought rapidly towards the one who had held back the next blow.

:we do not accede to bipedal law:  this voice was almost sneering. Definitely superior-sounding. Definitely full of distrust and dislike of her and her kind. She thought that if it could have spat the words into her head, it would have.

:i’m not the one with a white-out panel that needs repair: she snarked back.

She might be captured and suspended but by damn she wasn’t going down without a fight. Her ass throbbed, and she was startled to realize that her clit was throbbing too. Double fuck! She wondered if these bloaters could hear her thoughts as they chased around her head.

Or if they even understood what ‘turned on’ meant.

Without a sound, one of the Uralians was in front of her.

:you claim that you can fix our veiwport. is this fact:

Far from being monotone, the voice in her head was melifluous. The words carried tones and shadings, colors and sensation with them.






:duh:     she thought back at it, though ‘it’ had a definite masculine ‘feel’ to the thought patterns

:duh is not understood:

: you are cautioned that mockery is an offense to us:

Rather than get into a debate about sarcasm and earth idioms, she sighed. Much as she wanted to just scream and tuck into them with a few well placed punches herself, she was out of options. Hands and feet stuck fast, there was a limit to what she could muster for her self-defense.

:yes i can fix your fucking viewscreen. likely you blew a few ampules of jet juice:

:your words are strange, but we will allow you to try. understand the consequence of failure…you will be flailed. if you succeed, you will be rewarded with treasures none of your kind has ever before known:

Treasure? Now that sounded right up her alley! But the flailing had definite overtones of ‘dire consequences’.  She wondered if they meant beaten to a pulp, or deader than space junk?

She decided to not dwell on that. It wasn’t like pulling rabbits out the asshole to fix a vid screen, fercrissakes.  Making up her mind, she pushed her thoughts to the one that felt ‘in charge’, standing before her.

:i can’t do anything while hanging here:


For the first time, an Uralian was using anger-overtones in its thought-speech. It was the same ‘voice’ which was responsible for all the welts on her backside.

There was a sensation of colors and scents flowing in the room around her, thoughts so intense and alien that she could not get a grasp on what was going on.

It felt a bit like a psychedelic experience she’d vid-read about the 1960’s.

There was a silent war going on there that she couldn’t take in, just the fringes of volumes of discourse being exchanged by the being before her, and the tormenter behind, and several of the original ‘welcoming committee’.


It was offered quietly, the color of the words different.


i demand that it be given the opportunity:

:all else has been tried to no avail :

There was a pause, and then a word that she did not understand in her brain, but felt, emotionally.

It was heartbreaking pain. Fear, sorrow, a sense of loss. The feelings flooded her and she felt tears welling up, spilling over to run down her face. Whatever the word was, it was powerful, painful.

A wave of warmth, soft tones of red and green and blue coated the room, emanating from every Uralian in the room, even the ones she hadn’t felt before, hadn’t known were present. All those thought waves brushing against her,  soothing her, easing the crushing sorrow.

Those…word-emotions- passed through her, then past, to wrap the unknown, unseen female in comfort, and, though it seemed strange from these cold, grotesque beings, love.

What the fuck was going on here?

Ch 3.

Sahara felt the cuffs which had contained her hands and feet ‘melt’ away.  She was more than concerned about this, since she was a full meter off the floor, but before full freedom was attained, multiple tentacles wrapped around her body, holding her securely.

One especially long one wrapped around her waist, down across her bruised, throbbing buttocks, around the front of her right thigh and passed through the juncture of thighs, pressing against her pussy, before the tip tucked tightly in the cleft of her asscheeks.

She tried to hold an inner stillness; it seemed as if every breath rubbed her clit and pussy lips against the subtle texture of the tentacle, adding to her arousal.

It seemed as if this Uralian, which she identified as her assailant during her punishments, understood exactly what he was doing to her. She could hear/feel his humor at her.

The banging fucktard!

As the last of the restraints melted away, her body weight was taken by the beast behind her, pulling her against him tightly for  a moment, before ‘he’ lowered her to stand. A lot of pressure built between her legs as for a moment, he loosened his grip so her full weight bore down on the part of his armature that pressed against her pussy.


It was a ‘tight’ singular thought that he sent directly to her. How she knew that, uncertain. But he understood that he was pressing on her sex, and what it was doing to her.

She tried to send the same kind of ‘tight beam’ back.


There was a fleet tightening all along the shaft, but more out of  a sense of humor, rather than warning.

Who knew Uralians had a sense of humor?

Her feet touched the floor, and she wobbled a bit. The tentacle around her had yet to retract, and he  – “it”, she reminded herself-  loomed over her.

The floor was soft. It was unsettling, like standing on a blanket over foam. Her toes grabbed into it, as if she were wearing sandals on the beach.

Slowly, teasingly, the tentacle supporting her began to relax it’s grip. Did she imagine it, or had that slippery arm pressed one last time against her pussy? As it slid away, she smelled pussy.


She shook herself, stretching up with her fingers. From behind her, she ‘heard’ it coming, the hint of ‘him’.  A small, sneaky poke into her asscrack as she was in full stretch.

She giggled.

Then muffled it, before she got slapped for making ‘mouth noises’ again.

:i need to stretch out my body:    she explained to all who were watching her. And they were all watching her.

Interlocking her fingers, she rose to tiptoes, reaching skyward again.  The small Uralian scuttled forward, and geezus didn’t they move fast, these fuckers, and touched it’s front tentacle tips to her breasts, then darted away as she folded in half, palms to the floor.

There were colors and sounds of amazement at that move.

Of a sudden, they were all touching her, gently, lightly running down her back, her ass, her thighs and calves. She ignored them.

Rising to stand again, she spread her legs and slipped into a runners stretch, right leg, then her left.

Gods above it felt good to move again.  The probing tips were ticking along her belly, her arms, even touching her split lip. There was a tingle and sting there still, and a sudden sharp pain.

“OW!” she spoke aloud, recoiling. The Uralians pulled back as one. Gingerly, she lifted a hand to her mouth.

The wound was gone.

She gasped, then probed it more.


:you can not heal the broken:  The question was colored with tones of shock and yellow golds of dismay.

She shook her head as she thougth :hell, no we cannot:

:a strange species:   There was a hint there, of amusement as well as bemusement. Obviously they had not had that many interactions with humans.

They slid close to her again, and one tentacle slipped between her thighs, but was tapped gently away by the ‘guard’ behind her, the one who had done ‘his’ own share of pussy probing.

:no:  he bespoke the youngling with a compassion that was layered with protectiong and caring. So much texture to their thoughts, she thought a bit enviously. She wondered, if humans had that capacity, would there ever be the kinds of wars that harmed others  so tragically.

:this one is not for you:

That felt a bit  proprietary, she thought. As if in confirmation, ‘he’ continued.

:the female is mine to explore:

She whirled around, and at last came face to face with ‘him’. Her ‘guard’, her punisher, her tormenter. And now, apparently, her owner.

:no being owns me:

She stood, arms crossed, glaring up into his dark luminous eyes.

Around her were the fast-flowing colors and tastes of high amusement, but there were no direct replies.

:your task awaits:  ‘he’ spoke to her,

:i will be watching you most carefully:  which she interpreted as ‘don’t fuck up, spacegirl.’

She swallowed a sudden urge to vomit, and taking a deep breath, walked over to the snow-filled view screen.

Ch. 4

Sahara stood for a moment in front of the vid screen. Although the Uralian ship was different in design from her own small runabout, she’d crewed for a while on a Norgonian transport.

It looked like the Uralians borrowed technology, or perhaps they were in trade with the Norgons, for certainly this vid set-up was pretty similar.

She felt the pressure of the creatures behind her; not so much a physical presence as a mental one. She had the sense that if she did one wrong move, they’d be all over her, like rocks on Neptune.

She, who hadn’t thought she had a jot of  empathic/psionic powers, was almost drowning in other people’s feelings.  She rolled her shoulders, and put her hands on the panel.


The female spoke to her, and with that amazing prowess of her race, was in front of Sahara in a second, almost pushing her back. She did take a cautionary step back, feeling him behind her.

His tentacle wrapped around her waist, holding her steady.

: i :

and there was a long pause.

Sahara felt…so many overriding and conflicting emotions.

fear; doubt; loathing- a terrible self-loathing; pain; heartache; sorrow; hope; fear; loss. The colors here were dark, navy blue, deep distress of red, edged in the red-orange that bespoke a terrible sense of emptyness.

She turned to her self-appointed ‘owner’.

:stop her:   she said, her mind-voice firm.

She felt the question, the Earth equivalent of “huh?” Some things were universal it seemed. Men didn’t get it.

she’s caught up in some sort of emotion-loop. you all need to stop her before she harms herself or something.:

She waited, turning back to the female Uralian.

:How are you named?:  She’d try for the girlfriend angle.

A sense of colors, deep blue to violet, the musky smell of woodsy flowers.

on Earth, where i originate, we call that “Violet”: she said, mindful to keep her mind-voice soft and soothing.

:i don’t understand what is going on here, but i will do my best to help. But Violet? You have to move out of the way now. :

With a ripple of blue~black hurt, she slid away. Her companions surrounded her, wrapping her in tentacles, and waves of …love. Pure, intense, blue-white lights danced around the gathered assemblage, until even Sahara could feel the easing of the emotion-wounded Violet.

:well done for a bipedal:

His confidence was an overwhelming boon, all right, she thought with a sneer.

:do let me go:  she said, her mindvoice tight-focused, patting the tentacle still wrapped around her waist. He obviously ‘read’ her sarcasm, and “fuck you bucco” in her tone, as he tightened his grip once, hard.

She figured she’d have fun explaining how she got a ring of bruises around her waist next time she was back in free-space. Yeah. Maybe not.

And then he let her go.

She stepped up to the panel, then turned to the crowd ranged behind her.

:you all need to back off and stop pressing on me. You’re freakin’ me out, for crissakes:

There was a silent ripple, and a shield of sorts dropped over the emotion-filled crowd. The relief was palpable.

She took a deep breath, then turned back to Bossyboots U-Man. Although he didn’t wear space-boots, the acronym of BUM amused her.

:need a tool pouch:

He passed one to her wordlessly, which she took with a small smirk.

He touched the tip of a tentacle to her bare breast. The heat sizzled against her flesh, and she jumped back, her mouth an open O of shock. The fucker jolted her. They must have the capacity to electric shock with their arms.

The feeling of rich laughter rained around her, even the assembly was amused by their brief interplay, and her comeuppance.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then darted back as, quick as a wink, that tentacle zipped to the front of her face, and poised like a pointed finger right in front of her mouth.

The implication was clear; sarcasm at her own peril.

She turned back to the panel, and felt that same tentacle caress her backside. She didn’t even look at him as she beamed a tight

:back off, asshole: at him.

His tentacle slipped between the moons of her ass and pressed against that tightly puckered hole.

She reared up and whipped around, exasperated and a bit, dare she even admit to herself, turned-on. That touch to her tit had hardened her nipples. Now this.

:leave my ass alone:

:hole:  he sent back,  clarifying helpfully, and full of  rippling humor.

Apparently, he knew his Earthling biology.

Ch. 5

Sahara stood before the snow-filled vid screen. Her palms felt a bit sweaty from nerves, her heart pulsed heavily in her chest.

What made the Uralians so upset was beyond understanding.

With the vid-screen out, they could still steer, tractor beam, defend…all the things you could do with  the screen working. Okay, it wasn’t the best to go blind through the skies, but they could use the radar chart instead.

Her feet gripped the strange, soft, flooring under her toes, as she pressed the lock-release tool to the bottom corners of the panel, releasing the magnetic locks.

Naked, she had no pockets to slip the tool into, so she put it carefully back in the pouch.

With a tug-and-twist, she pried off the cover.


She stared into the tangled mass of coils and lines. Eyes expertly followed each on its pathway. Reaching down for the next tool, she quickly disengaged these locks, and gently began separating each coil from where it ‘locked in’ on the back of the electrode panel.

Opening this section would, hopefully, open into a cavity within the bulkhead, allowing her to view any leaking coils, or broken links that were snowing the screen.

Finding the broken link could take a few minutes, if she were lucky, or a few days, if the leak was small.

:proceed with caution here:

She resisted the urge to throw a ‘no shit, Sherlock’ at him. Bending once more to the tool pouch, she slid a thin device from it.

They had a very nice collection of toys here, she mused, fingering it.

She knelt down on the flooring, and began to loosen the lower panel. She’d only unfastened one junction when his tentacle coiled around her wrist, pulling her backwards onto her ass.

Sprawling at his ‘feet’, she looked up at him with exasperation.

:NOW what the fuck? : she asked him.

:ignore me not, bipedal female:  His “voice” was warning. She lay there looking up at him.

:do you want me to fix the fucking panel or not:

She dropped the tool on the floor, relaxed her body, and closed her eyes feigning sleep. A sharp slap across her belly had her sitting up, fast.

: if you hit me a-fucking-gain, i’m gonna take this tool belt and shove it up your ever-fucking ass!:

When her temper flared, it went turbo, and she was spitting mad now. Pulled and pushed, suspended and spanked, and stopped several times before she could start the task that could earn her release.

A tentacle slapped across her torso, pinning her to the floor, another darted between her legs, and pushed, hard and unwelcome, into her anus.

She would have shrieked, but the fucking alien slapped another tentacle across her mouth, silencing her as his other arm explored her nether region.

He was not gentle but he didn’t harm her. He fed that tip up and up her butthole, making her writhe. Tears leaked from her eyes, as she fought the invasion of her deepest inner space.

The tip of the beast pressed against her womb from the backside, making her moan and cry out.

: STOP! PLEASE~ sorry, sorry….:

She felt the probing tip slip out, and she slumped, defeated, and punished. Sniffling sobs leaked from her lips, tears from her eyes.

There was a sense of satisfaction from her “owner” ~ he had finally found a path to subdue her. The fucktard.

:you will be obedient, or you will be punished :

she nodded, swiping her arm across her runny nose, and tried not to pout.

Her throbbing asshole was a potent reminder that she was, after all, a prisoner here.

Ch. 6

Her asshole pulsed to the beat of her heart. Invaded, captured, punished.

She looked up at him,  her Uralian “owner” as she lay on the floor at his feet. Independent to her core, this was the hardest part to deal with, that of his “ownership” of her.

Yet hadn’t he just proven that he could, would and did have full control of her, shoving that tentacle up her ass that way? Holding her in place and making her take it up the butt was a pretty effective way of showing which of them was in charge.

She was grateful, in an odd way. Grateful that he’d not just picked her up and broken her. Picked her up and shoved her back into the anti-grav locks as she had been first held here.

She looked up at him with large, damp eyes, torn between a lingering anger at her situation, and the thin trickle of lust that being dominated insinuated into her body.

Apparently her Dom didn’t even need to be humanoid.

:attend your task :

yes, she started to speak then caught herself before she made “mouth noises” and got a smack for it. Uralians didn’t like auditory stimulation.

: yes, Sir:  she mindspoke softly to him, being more respectful now than ever before. As she would to an Earth ‘Master’, she supposed.

Rolling to her side, she slipped back into a single-legged kneel, one leg tucked under her. She searched the floor for the release tool, when his tentacle lay across her shoulder, offering it to her.

oh, thanks :

She felt his satisfaction that she had responded appropriately, soft waves of amber warmth passing through her.

She released the lower panel, slowly, carefully. He reached out and helped her set the heavy panel to the side.

The interior of the bulkhead was dark, with coils and wires and the occasional running lights along fiber-optic lines.

:is there light? a flash-beam? :

There was a pause, and a moment later, his arm was back with a form of hand torch. Her hand fit inside imperfectly, it was designed, obviously, to sleeve over the pointed tip of a tentacle. By fisting her hand, she was able to secure it somewhat, though it left her one-handed as she began to ease her way inside the bulkhead.

As her foot slipped inside, she felt his tentacle wrap around her ankle. A warning? She felt nothing from him, in fact, she felt nothing from any of them, just a sense of …waiting.

The bulkhead curved to the right, and she tugged at her ankle. He’d have to let her go if he wanted her to fully check the integration of the inner panels to the cables that passed through them from the ships core.

There was a hesitation, then release. She kind of missed it, actually. It was cooler in here, with the coolant flow valves so close by, and she shivered.

Goosebumps peppered her naked body as she slid deeper inside the bulkhead. She had to be getting close to the main panel.

She played the beam of the flashlight ahead.


There it was, the dull black of the panel peppered with sinuous lines of data flow. She slid along the length of it on her ass, scooting along, identifying the feeds. Spectrometer. Thruster. Oh, the defense array. If she punctured that, they’d be sitting ducks.

Of course, so would she.

She bypassed that, and moved deeper.

The beam of light illuminated the very last juncture, a thick tangle of interfaces. Life controls, bio-feeds, this was the worst tangle of data tubes.

What the fuck?

She played the lights along the feed lines again.

She skootched forward. What the fuck was that entangling the lines?


The black cloud of fear hit her hard, fast.

She scooted back several feet, and came out of it. Her heart was racing, hands trembling. She was panting and sweating.

There was more. An undertone that frightened more than fear, an echo to that “loss” from Violet.

Entwined in the tubes and vacuoles of the inner workings was the smallest Uralian she had ever seen. He must be taking some sort of energy from the flow-tubes, sustaining him.

But he was weak.

Very, very weak. And suddenly she understood. A baby. Violet’s baby. How he had come to be here, inside the inner workings of the bulkhead was a mystery to be solved another day. A wave of empathy flowed from her.

:oh, poor wee baby: she crooned softly to him. She pushed the image of Violet, the blues and scents, as best she could remember, towards the young Uralian as she began to scoot forward towards him.

:helping, i’m helping Mama: 

Her inner voice was soft as butter, trying to pour it over him. That burst of fear he’d thrown at her had drained him. She could see the small mass of his body, the faint pulses of life-lights through translucent skin.

So weak.

Softly, slowly, gently, she slid up to where he hung, and eased the hand-light off her arm. Cupping her hands around him, she sent soft cooing thoughts to him, waves of his Mama.

It was, apparently, the right thing to do, for in a second, tentacles that had wrapped around the tubes had released, and wrapped around her in a tight embrace.

She could feel his faintness.

She skootched backwards, slowly, trying to not jar him. She scraped her left hip when she forgot a bend in the passage, and nailed her head when she didn’t bend low enough to make it below a thick pipe assembly.

She saw stars, but sucked it up, feeling the baby in her arms grow weaker, now that he’d separated from the raw feeds. He needed energy, she realized.

She stopped and took one tentacle and placed it over her belly. Breathing deeply, she focused on pushing energy towards him. His suckers latched onto her and she felt a rush of dizziness. Good. He could feed a bit from her.

She was near the entry, could see the light when she looked over her shoulder, even as her energy flagged. She needed to get closer, she was still out of reach here.

Every inch felt like a mile as the baby fed from her energy. She felt the growing blackness at the edge of her vision, and pushed, hard, hard backwards.

She never felt the tentacles wrapping around her as she fainted.

***   ***   ***

Sahara woke slowly.

She was warm and nestled and comfortable. Around her was a thick and silent blackness.

She raised her head and peered around. Too damn dark to see anything.  Totally disoriented, she lifted her hand to her forehead.  The last thing she remembered was…what?

“Quarter Lights” she croaked.

The lights came on in her cabin, dim enough to not shock her eyes. She was naked, and warm, yes. In her cradle, yes. What the fuck?

She cast through her mind.

“Position” she called out.

no response.

“Computer!” she barked, peremptorily. “Position!”


She cocked her head, listening to the engines. Silence.

She recalled then, turning everything to the bare minimum of life support so the Uralian ship wouldn’t find her as she mined diamonds in the edges of their sector.

She slipped from her cradle and padded out to the main room of her runabout.  The message light was blinking on her front panel, a soft and winking blue.

She flicked the toggle.

There was a rush of displaced air, tickling her still nude body, teasing her hair.

Transport surge, she thought, panicking.

“What the…”……..and suddenly, tentacles wrapped around her, heat, electric pulses,  and cool alien flesh dancing in trails around her skin.

One pressed into her mouth, gagging her to silence.

remember : a rich, markedly male voice chimed in her head. The tones were resonant, sending a response through her entire body. She was suffused in amber, warmed by violet, scented in caring and compassion.

It was almost a chant, one she felt as well as heard in her head.  There was a dazzling flow of memories, dark and light, being suspended, the blows to her body, the penetration of her ass; a child hugged safe between her breasts…..the flow went on for some moments.

She ceased struggling, but was still held tightly, wrapped in his arms.

Her owner, Os.

:remember, Sahara:

:i do. i remember. i remember all of it now:

:you have healed,and slept, while we kept watch for you here. your energies have been replenished. it is time for your choice. remember, Sahara, it is time to collect your reward:

She did remember. She had no idea what the reward would be. Free passage through the Uralian sectors? Somehow she doubted that. And she knew that she would be terribly disappointed in them all if that was their offer.

:i am listening, what is the reward:

: never before has one of your kind been allowed to remember encounters with us.:

Oh, wasn’t that an interesting tidbit. He didn’t say they’d been killed, just memory-wiped. That would explain some of those space-cases she’d heard rumors of, wouldn’t it? And certainly her own small dose of amnesia just now.

: never before have one of your kind proven useful, or understanding of our Kind:

: you saved a youngling. They are rare and precious to us. And he:

There was a pause, as if Os debated with himself. She sensed his innermost ‘shrug’ before he continued.

:He will be leader of us one day:

Somehow she understood he meant Leader with a capitol “L”, the one that would rule over the entire Uralian population.

: There is little that you could ask for that would be denied you.  Treasure, in the diamonds your kind uses for drive engines, or some other mineral you find pleasure in:

She felt the disdain there. What a snob!

: or pleasures. Pleasures  of my Kind, that you will never have experienced before:

She could feel it, he knew that she had found his beating her to be a painful pleasure. Geezuz, was there no secret keep-able around him?


She sighed. She knew what she wanted. But to ask for it…and wasn’t that the key?

She placed her hands on the tentacles that wrapped her, and projected her feelings to Him.

how alone she was

how it had felt to be emoted with, to feel those ripples of love, and compassion, and even the teasing

how it felt to be fully integrated with them, knowing that she was not alone, could not be alone, separate

adrift, even

He clasped her tightly as he absorbed her thoughts and feelings. How good it felt, even as she stood wrapped in his many arms, to finally let go.  To let him in, fully and willingly.

In being caught, she was finally free.

In the right place. At the right time.

***   ~  fini  ~   ***


Sahara woke slowly. Around her the quiet, unheard but felt presence of others. There were waves of purple and blue, and one russet- red tone. Waves of happiness, and the one lone ‘hungry’ voice meant that Violet and her son were awake.

She couldn’t move, of course. Os wrapped her tightly in his arms every night, as if binding her to him.

It was a good feeling.

She reached out to him with her feelings, the warmth and depth of her feelings towards him, towards all of them, really. He was quiescent, likely still dozing. She felt herself drifting back to sleep.


He’d shielded himself while she stirred. She was tired from these last weeks; learning to acclimate to his people was often draining on her. He supposed it would be hard, suddenly experiencing the flow of energies from all the personalities here.

Just wait until they arrived home. Best he help prepare her now.

She was soft and warm against him. Despite her lack of arms, she was very capable,  and as a sextoy, she was…very different. The tips of his tentacles tingled, thinking of the taste and scents of her.

The mouth noises she made as he penetrated her holes, especially if he filled all of them at the same time. He felt the waves of pleasure pouring from her when he held her down and brought her to orgasm. He loved the copious juices she leaked. His people did not mate in this way, and this self-lubrication was a wonder to him.

Several of his shipmates had approached him, enticed by the smells of her sexjuice. He would, at some point, decide whether he wanted to share her. It was their way, but at some point, her own feelings about sharing had imprinted on him.

While his people were not customarily life-bonded, he saw that it was tradition with her people. And yet, there was a core in her that showed she was open to some amount of sharing, as long as he remained her primary.

It was an interesting thing, to consider being life-bonded, especially to a bipedal.

She twitched in her sleep and shifted her legs, clenched and unclenched her fingers. The scent of warm, wet, flesh was drawn in by his sensitive tentacles, and he did some twitching of his own.

Slowly, he wrapped each of her ankles with his own arms, gently separating them. Another arm reached between her legs, and began gently stroking the folds there. The smell was intoxicating. The taste was tantalizing. The heat was inviting.

He slid inside her with a mental sigh. Her muscles clenched around him, once, hard, as he pushed pleasure waves at her. Her orgasm was almost instantaneous.

So, she had been sex-dreaming again. His inward smile was satisfied. He curled the tip of his tentacle, pressing it against that spot that was so sensitive. Again her hole squeezed him, again the rushing of wetness from her.

Using some of that wetness, he slipped a second tentacle into the tighter opening. She often resisted this when awake, yet he found this hole to be even tighter than her front hole.

Apparently her food-waste hold was something that she was embarrassed about. The concept of that was quite alien to him, did in face amuse him.

He pressed upward, driving straight inside her, while slowly entering and exiting the wetter front tunnel. She called it a cunt.

He called it delightful.

Slowly, gently he fucked into her hole, while holding his second tentacle immobile in her ass.

He knew she was awake now, wide awake, but feigning sleep. Let’s see how long she could maintain that posture, he thought wickedly.

Inside her pussy the tentacle twisted and writhed, while slowly fucking in and out of her.

He pressed deeper into her ass, pressing the wider part of his tentacle up through the tiny, tight opening. What a delicious feeling it was. He pressed the pleasure back towards where she lay, eyes closed.

Little beast, he thought with humor, you will not win this time, either.


She tried to remain still. She tried to ignore the incredible fullness of her lower body. She had cum half a dozen times, and could feel the waves of pleasure from him.

It only caused her to go nuclear in her response.

Her eyes flew open as she became ensnared in wave after wave of pleasure. She opened her mouth to moan, and another tentacle filled that hole.

She didn’t understand how he drew pleasure from her sucking it, but she did it anyway. He threw that sensation at her, too. She was swirling with pleasure, and the pain-pleasure of his fat tentacle in her ass only added to it.

It started as a tickle, but she clearly felt the  buzzing from his arms. It rapidly grew stronger.  He was throwing energy into her, his tentacles electrically stimming her. He hit the pleasure-pain threshold perfectly, and kept her there.

It was almost overwhelming, the buzzing. Her pussy clenched again in orgasmic delight, his tentacle pressing deeply into her throat.

Gagging while cumming should have sent her into paroxysms of panic, but it merely made the cumming even more intense. Soon, other tentacles were “buzzing”, tingling along her tits, her nipples, that sensitive spot just at the base of her spine.

He fucked every hole, discordant.

In one, out the other.

Gasping for a breath, yet needing to cry out as her ass was stretched, painfully stretched.

Cunt grasping and spasming again as he filled her, filled her.

And one last hard push into every hole, as she felt him pour his own juice into her. It was thick and sticky and hot. It oozed past his tentacle to drip down her leg, as gouts of his liquid streamed into her.

Her back arched, her blood sizzled, and she went rigid with the most intense orgasm of her life. She felt it in every pore, every molecule. Mind and body fully involved, she bore down hard with every internal muscle.

She felt his own soundless cry of pleasure, even as she drifted off into oblivion.

He cradled her tightly, this fragile being.

Held her close to his center, wrapping her in waves of sated joy.


In her sleep, she turned, moving deeper into the tangle of Uralian arms that held her, and grasped him tightly in her own two arms.


Together, they slept, entwined.



4 thoughts on “Wrong Place, Wrong Time

    • Hi tina. welcome, and welcome to the world of Tentacle porn. You might like Sea Witch as well. Yanno, I don’t think i’ve tagged all my tentacle porn. I think there’s a way to create their own “parent page” but i just don’t have time to put them in an anthology like that. Someday this winter when I have time. Thanks for liking the nasty world of T.P. !!! It’s eye opening…and i’m glad you took a chance. Saw that you’ve found Will’s stuff…he is the MASTER of tentacle porn (tho Remittance Girl had one haunting piece in her blog as well)


      • I’ve now read all of your story pages, and am *slowly* scrolling my way back through your blog. 🙂
        My only complaint? That you don’t have a monthly archive so I can just open a month at a time from the beginning instead of the “load more posts” working from new to old. *grin* Petty, I know. I love your writing though, so I am more than willing to deal with it. LOL
        I’ve seen several references to your writing on your old “Snow” blog is it still active for your newer readers to find?

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