Be Prepared - For Anything

I keep my mouth firmly shut this time.

"No, this one has a different purpose."

I can just guess at what that purpose is. He's a sick fuck, but I resist the extremely strong urge to tell him so. He'd probably enjoy it, the sick fuck.

One of the more slender tentacles sways a little closer to my thigh. It quivers. The others stop moving. The air in here is humid enough to make sick fuck sweat and for me to be comfortable naked, but maybe it's detecting my body heat anyway.

The tentacle quests sideways, brushing lightly against my inner thigh.

I fail to suppress a shudder of revulsion, my skin trying to crawl away from the touch.

The tentacles—all the tentacles—whip sideways, some of them going past my leg but most of them slapping against my skin and instantly wrapping around me.

I try to jerk away, but the tentacles are strong even if the chains holding me weren't secure.

In seconds, my thigh between my knee and most of the way to my cooch is wrapped up. They're wet, obviously, and just slimy enough to be slippery. They're cool, but the water is warm.

Despite my immediate mental image of my leg being squeezed until my bones shatter, their grip is firm but not constricting. I feel suckers flexing against my skin, but not gripping tightly. I might get a couple of hickies from them, but no serious bruising.

Four of the tentacles have those flat diamond tips and no suckers. They separate from the wrap around me, and start feeling their way over my skin. Two go down, quickly find my feet, then reverse direction.

One goes around me, finding my waist and then back. The last one fumbles its way over my crotch—I suppress a deep urge to vomit—then slides up my belly. I almost feel a spark of hope that it didn't just try to straightaway rape me. It keeps rising, going from side to side over my stomach then bumping into the underside of one breast. While the one behind me is exploring my shoulder blades, the one in front starts getting really intimate with the shape of my tit.

I shiver with distaste. Adrenaline makes my nipple tighten, which makes me feel biter and betrayed.

Then the two that went down to my feet reach my hips. One finds my other leg and starts tracing that out, while the other one stays at my hips and starts exploring my arse.

The one on my back is now going over my shoulders and neck, and the tip touches my jaw.

I glare at the sick fuck, who is now beaming with pride at his little boy. Junior's first molestation.

There doesn't seem to be any point in staying silent any longer. "Proud of yourself, you fucking pervert? Why don't you tell me your name. I thought villains couldn't resist that."

Apparently, the tentacle on my chest has had enough of my right tit—I shiver with revulsion every time it passes over my nipple—and has found my left.

I twitch violently as the tip of the tentacle at my waist slides down my arse crack.

Sick fuck shrugs, carelessly. "You can call me a villain if makes you any happier, thief. My name is Dr Emil, which you could discover by checking the ownership of this facility."

Facility, not warehouse. Note that little detail. It just makes me more certain he's a comic-book villain.

"I am certainly proud, however," he says. "My creation is doing exactly what it's supposed to."

"What, grope up nonconsenting women?" I shoot back immediately. Being angry helps me ignore the fact that while one tentacle is fonding my left tit, one is nuzzling against my vulva.

"It is exploring and mapping out your body, including your nerve junctures," he says. "And the nonconsenting part is entirely on you. You chose not to take the easy way."

"Nerve junctures?" I ask. "Is that what you call sexual assault by mutant?"

"Engineered, not mutated," he snaps. "And we have not yet got to the sexual assault part. Give me access to your implants."

There's another prod against my access socket.

"Get fucked," I say instantly. I have to remember why I'm subjecting myself to this. Professionalism over all.

He shrugs. "Have it your way. My creature will have its way."

The creature is now exploring my arms with both its top two tentacles, satisfied for now with groping my tits. They must be at least five metres long. How big is this creature? How deep is that pool?

I glance down at the water, and immediately wish I hadn't.

There are more tentacles rising up towards me, all pointed, and of different thicknesses. The ones around my thigh begin to unravel, some staying there, others moving to my other leg or beginning to twine up my body.

"Pervert," I snap at Dr Emil. "You get rejected a lot at high school, did you?"

He fails to rise to that. He just gives me a condescending smile.

The tentacles are now all around my torso, arms and legs. I feel as though I'm being groped by an entire crowd of nervous men all at once. It's not doing anything for me. Trust me, I've never had gang-bang fantasies. I prefer my men solo so neither of us can get distracted.

The tentacles slide over each other like a nest of snakes. I'm pretty sure that if this was consenting, it'd feel wonderful and not vomit-inducing. But it's not. So I'm trying to not vomit.

One of the new tentacles slides up my torso, between my breasts, to hover in front of my face. The end is weird. It's not a smooth tip, it's...

The end unfurls like a bat, showing me one of the most obscenely vagina-like wet orifices I've ever seen on a non-human. My head jerks back instantly, in revulsion.

Then it sneezes on me, coating my whole face in a fine spray of something that smells a little sickly-sweet, a little cloying, a little like some sort of fungus. It gets in my eyes, in my mouth and up my nose. I immediately start trying to cough it out again and blink frantically to clear my eyes, but I know I've had a good dose of whatever it is it gave me.

If he puts knock-out stingers on his guard drones, he sure as hell put date-rape drugs in his rape monsters.

My head is already spinning a bit, but it's nothing compared to the warm feeling that starts spreading through me.

"You drug all the girls, Emil?" I gasp, giving up on trying to shake the wetness off my face. The tentacle, still hovering in front of my face, chooses exactly the right moment to squirt straight into my mouth.

I barely stop it going down to my lungs and I manage to spit instead of swallow, but it seems to soak through the lining of my mouth before I can even do that. It leaves my tongue and mouth warm and tingly.

Apparently satisfied, the tentacle drops.

"I drug all the girls who break into my facility," fuck-face says. "Which so far, means you."

Oh goody, I'm his first.

A hard stream of warm liquid hits me directly in my right nipple, hard enough to really sting.

"Oh, come on!"

I'm suddenly reminded that there are tentacles rubbing themselves over my crotch, and massaging my breasts from every side, as well as just plain stroking all the rest of my body. It's starting to feel nice.

A second blast hits me in the left nipple. My right is already beginning to burn with the feeling of forced erection, which is a very different feeling to being erect out of fear or cold or any other sympathetic nervous system arousal. When a tentacle rubs it, I get a jolt of pleasure anyway.

"I will wear your balls for earrings," I shout at Emil. I already know what's going to happen next.

That tentacle squirts all over my cooch, coating it. Instantly, a thin tentacle starts to wriggle between my lips and rub that goo all over my vulva. Warmth spreads even faster from my cunt that from my tits.

"Decades of research has allowed us to develop chemicals that can fine-tune the nervous system for any purpose," Dr Emil says, quite plainly enjoying this. I'm glad he's wearing a coat long enough to cover his crotch, because I do not want to know whether he has an erection. "Your body will be sexually aroused. Of course, we can not induce intentions in the mind just yet, but we generally find that we can prompt the right state of mind if we get the body started."

I just glare at him. I know full well what the rapist's copy-book has included since genuine arousal drugs first became available. They made court cases and consent arguments an absolute nightmare, but at least we got new offences of subverting free will.

"Why did you build this thing?" I can't keep a gasp out of my voice as tentacles rub insistently at my nipples and between my legs, where my clitoris is starting to respond strongly to the drug.

"Because I can sell them for a great deal of money," he says simply.

"Do all supervillains want a rape monster, then?"

"It's not always rape," he says, unperturbed.

I roll my eyes. Of course there are women who want this. I keep forgetting how kinky some people get.

Heat is pooling in my belly, and the tentacles twining around my breasts are beginning to feel nice. I realise what he meant by "nerve junctions." That creature's mapped out my body and knows where to stroke me.

If this squid monster qualifies as intelligent, Emil will be in deep shit if anyone ever finds out, but that's cold comfort right now.

It's really starting to get to me.

I grit my teeth. I know there's no point in trying to fight my reactions, not now they're chemically induced, so I just have to fight to maintain an even keel, and focus, and keep my wits without getting drunk and changing my mind about what a fucking pervert Dr Emil is.

Very thin tentacles circle my nipples, massaging them. Pleasure spears through me. I let my body gasp at that. It's not important.

The tentacle rubbing my vulva wriggles down and starts probing at my entrance. That took a bit longer than I thought it would. I don't try to keep it out since I'm not in any hurry to get badly injured down there. I know I'm already tight from the chemical arousal aided by that creature's stimulation, but at least it doesn't try to shove straight in. It's more a gentleman than its creator is.

Another very thin tentacle starts tickling—actually tickling—my clit, then circles it and starts massaging it the way my nipples are still being massaged. I feel a brief stab of fear, which is kind of irrational considering the creature has been so skilled at playing with the rest of me, but it doesn't misjudge and I don't get hideous pain, I jut get halfway to an orgasm.

That's when I realise that all the tentacles still writhing all over the rest of my body, around my legs and arms and belly and even fondling my head, are feeling really, really nice and not really, really disgusting.

I try to recall that feeling of disgust, but it's just too difficult.

The tentacle that was still tickling my entrance, sliding in and out maybe an inch, pushes in the rest of the way in one smooth thrust that makes me scream with pleasure. Between me pumping out juices and whatever the creature has, it slips in with no friction at all, just the totally useless resistance of me clenching down with all the power my kegels can bring to bear—which is normally pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. No human has ever complained, anyway.

"Give me access," fuck-face says. I feel a prod against my access port, which I'm damn sure he timed for the penetration to try and make me connect the two.

"Get fucked!" I say. Really, I cry out. It's really just a modulation in me crying out from how fucking good that tentacle inside me feels. That's how good it's got me, between its mapping out nerve junctures and its drugs.

"The creature will break your mind eventually," he says. He sounds a bit amused and a bit bored.

I scream as my tits, my nipples, and my clit are squeezed all at once. It's almost enough to tip me over the edge, but not quite.

Then I feel the tentacle inside me thicken, not moving in or out but just stretching me wider apart. This time, when the thin tentacles around my nipples squeeze so hard I'm sure my nips pop out the end like mushrooms, I come like a geyser.

"Give me access," he says again. I can barely hear him above my heart pounding in my ears, and how rattled my mind is by my orgasm.

I don't say anything back. I can't. Not just because of how hard I just came. Because the tentacles haven't stopped.

I can barely stop myself screaming because my cunt is in an agony of stimulation from how sensitive it is post-climax. The tentacles on my nipples have relaxed a little, but they're still being fondled, and my breasts are still being massaged, and so is the rest of me.

"This will continue until you give me access," fuck-face says.

I want to grit my teeth, but I'm having to stretch my mouth open to get enough air into my lungs. I know exactly what he means by "will continue": The drugs available to perverts these days can maintain arousal for an unnaturally long time, not just invoke it. I've got girlfriends who have taken them just to find out what multiple orgasms feel like (and yes, there are multi-orgasm parties, and yes there have been deaths from dehydration), but I've never been tempted.

Guess I get to find out, now.

"Still not cooperating?" He asks.

I don't even look at him. I know he won't just go away if I ignore him, but I've a reputation to uphold, and just rolling over (not that I can, in this predicament) and spilling all my secrets isn't part of that.

"Feel free to give in any time," he says.

Slime-covered tentacles are massaging my arse, and one of them starts tickling my butthole. I am wildly unhappy with that idea, but I'm so horny it seems like an interesting thing to try.

No! Bad Kiku! Don't listen to your body!

The next tentacle to nuzzle against my clitoris seems to have some sort of mouth on the end, because I definitely feel sucking.

Then I feel a tentacle wriggling into my arse, and I'd try to clamp down against it but all of a sudden I'm coming again, and by the time I can pay attention again, I'm plugged in both holes.

I experience a spike of fear that it is going to hurt like nothing else, but instead it feels absolutely amazing.

I'm howling out my next orgasm before I even realise I'm having one.

"Give me access."

I can barely pay attention to which way is up, but I know for a fact that I am not going to just give in.

The fat tentacle throbbing away inside my cunt pulls out, and I hear myself whine in disappointment a second before I manage to clamp my mouth shut in horror at my own weakness.

I hear fuck-face chuckle. "Give me access, and I'll tell my creature to put it back in."

I can see where this is going, now. The fucker's got two options: Torture me until I break and give in to stop it happening, or try and mind-break me until I give in and beg to keep it happening. Either way, it means breaking me. I don't know which is the more horrifying thought.

The tentacle nuzzling my clit backs off, leaving just the one in my arse, the ones groping my tits and sucking (yes, sucking) my nipples, and all the ones crawling over my skin coating me in what is probably drugged slime.

My heavily drugged body is begging for more, my cunt burning with need, but I have a secret weapon. I activate the bit of my implants that floods my mind with concentration.

I've never been crazy enough to have all my emotions or sensory input disabled—that involves cutting into bits of my brain with which I am not comfortable being messed. But I am able to boost my self-control and suppress feedback.

My vision clears. The overwhelming deliciousness being broadcast by my body fades.

Fuck-face raises an eyebrow. "Giving your inserts a workout? Never mind. Your body will still react. If your brain is exhausted enough, nothing will save you. If this keeps going for long enough, your body will be severely damaged. Are you willing for that to happen? Give me access."

"Let me down and we'll negotiate," I barely manage to say.

It's a slim hope, but I'm game to try anything. I bet I could still break his neck in two seconds, even with my joints beginning to burn from the position I'm in, and even with my muscles trembling from multiple orgasms.

He shakes his head. "You are in no position to negotiate. You will give me access, or I'll have to let you wear down until you die."

Holy shit, he's serious.

I feel the tips of a thick cluster of tentacles begin writhing all over my vulva, then begin inserting themselves one by one until they all wriggle inside as a writhing, pulsating mass that not just stretches me but tickles all over my walls as well.

I can't stop my body's responses to that. When stimulation is steady I can regain control of my voice, but not when it's constantly changing like this. The biological demands are too strong. I start wailing, and don't stop through my next orgasm.

He doesn't ask again. He just waits while the tentacles in both ends of me get to work, and the sucker returns to my clit, and the ones all over my breasts get serious, and my nipples are pulled so hard I start coming and I don't think I stop, one orgasm being rolled easily into the next, every time I think I'm coming down, something else is done to me and I'm coming again, totally helpless and totally owned.

There's just one flare after another, relentlessly, and no implant I know of can overcome that without totally disconnecting all sensation from mind.

When the tentacle in my arse withdraws, I crave it back. When it is replaced by something slightly different, I rejoice.

When the cluster in my cunt pull out, I think I make inarticulate begging noises. When they're replaced by a fat, nobbly single tentacle, I wail my delight.

I feel a tickle, and gladly open, only to find nothing happening. I strive again, but come up against a wall. I feel a prod, and try to let it in, but can't.

I'm almost crying when the last orgasm fades away without being replaced, leaving me hanging in my bonds gasping for air in a throat agonisingly dry, every joint in my body aching, and the beginnings of a pounding headache.

I manage to pull together just enough concentration to realise that when the arousal fades—which it isn't showing any sign of doing—my joints are going to be on fire and I am going to need serious medication to be able to do anything except curl into a ball and scream.

Without warning, the shackles on my wrists and ankles open.

I don't fall, the monster holds me up, but my limbs just collapse, my muscles useless.

I don't change shape, though. There are still so many tentacles around me that my arms stay up and my legs stay spread. At least they're not stimulating me any more. Not intentionally, anyway. They're doing a pretty good job just by being there, after what I've just been through.

I manage to focus on fuck-face, but my vision isn't working too well. He seems royally pissed.

In fact, he's shouting something, but I'm a bit unclear on what it is.

The tentacles shift, and I'm moving through the air, then being dumped at the side of the pool, at his feet, but I'm not really paying attention to that because my limbs are screaming in pain even through the relentless drug-induced arousal.

Through the haze of pain, I see fuck-face bending over me, his face contorted (unless that's my vision acting up still) and screaming something. I lunge at him, striking at throat and eyes to bring him down where I can...

I do absolutely none of that, because my limbs are entirely helpless and won't move.

He whirls and stomps out. The door slams.

I am, finally, unbound and on my own.

And completely fucking useless.

I try to curl into a ball to hug myself while the pain goes away, but all I do is flop gracelessly.

There's one good thing about that, though: I'm still super horny, so if I could move, I'm not sure I wouldn't be trying to finger myself right now. But I can't. So, yay?

I do manage to summon just enough concentration to activate pain suppression, and begin slowly getting my muscles to cooperate enough to get blood flowing to clear toxins and restore oxygen.