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Terror

By: Nicholas Travers



Martin Boston effectively signed his doom two weeks before Christmas. He thought he had it made - he was seeing Natalie one night a week and telling Christine that he was working late: always the same night, always a Friday. He explained it as a kind of compulsory overtime, and of course he was always exhausted when he arrived home, because Natalie was demanding. He would leave work early, it was a joke with his boss, because his routine never varied. 'It gives me a long weekend,' he would say, and his boss would smile a knowing smile, because Martin did not fool him. But he was good at his work, and Campbell, his boss, was prepared to turn a blind eye. 'Drive carefully,' he would say, and both men would smile, because Martin commuted by train.

They would meet at the station and walk the short distance to her apartment, and Martin would marvel, because Natalie, always so prim and proper in public, would turn into a real harlot the moment she closed her door. No scratches, no bites, no bruises, because Christine was always watchful. But Natalie would turn with the closed door behind her, and guide his hands to her small breasts as they began kissing, and then kneel on her carpet before him, to cup his manhood in her hands, and the urgency within him would make him pull her to her feet and push her before him into her small bedroom, and they would entwine their bodies together until their passion released them.

But once was never enough, and they would couple again, and sometimes again, with their sweat flowing freely, until time crept up on them, and Martin would glance at the small alarm clock on her bedside table, and Natalie would make him fresh coffee. Always fresh, always newly ground.

Neither ever mentioned Christine, though her presence always hung like a menacing shadow above them as they clung together. Neither spoke of the future. Martin wanted children, but Natalie was proud of her progress as a medical technician at the local hospital - they had met when Christine had been to see a specialist, to be told that she was possibly barren. 'One day', each of them would silently mouth to the other, in between kisses, and 'one day' would drift away into a land of dreams. Meanwhile both were content.

Then Martin made a fatal mistake. He had promised Christine that he would do some Christmas shopping, bring home some champagne for Christmas Day dinner - they were expecting Christine's parents, and possibly his own. Christine had planned a big treat, with roast goose and stuffing, and carefully chosen presents for all: they were not short of money, because she worked as well. Martin's parents had telephoned her to confirm their acceptance, and she had telephoned Martin to tell him to buy more: perhaps four bottles, perhaps even five. But he had left his work early, and forgotten to brief a new office boy still learning the ropes. The phone had rung, and the office boy had answered before Campbell could intercept him. 'He's gone home,' the boy had said, ' he always goes home early on Fridays', and he had looked at the phone in surprise as the woman caller had hung up abruptly.

It had been Christine, of course. Campbell had shrugged, but had never mentioned the call, and the office boy knew his place. So Martin had known nothing of the incident. But whilst Christine was a trusting wife, she had also brooded on the incident, and her brooding had made her suspicious. She had asked a male colleague at her travel agency, a man who sometimes shared a lunchtime table with her in the little Italian restaurant two doors down the street, to call Martin at the same time the following Friday, with instructions to hang up if Martin should answer. 'It's a game,' she had told him, and the man had nodded wisely. But of course Martin had already gone.

She had said nothing, biding her time, until Christmas had passed. They had dined with both sets of parents, and Martin's mother, who was not privy to Christine's defect, had joked about 'the patter of tiny feet'. The remark had not gone down well. Then they had toasted in the New Year at a smart restaurant, and Christine had pondered what she should do, whilst Martin drank a little too much and pictured Natalie standing naked and waiting for him.

Finally Christine decided that she must know for certain. She waited for three weeks into the New Year, and then took a Friday afternoon off from the travel business where she worked. She sat patiently in a small coffeehouse in the same street as Martin's office building from midday on, seated at a table where she could see and not be seen, smiling politely and shaking her head when men sought to join her, for she was a good-looking girl, pleasant and neat, the kind of girl men like to take home to meet their mothers. She had watched, and waited, and seen Martin leave his building at a time when he should have been working, and anger had begun gathering within her. She had followed him to the station, always lagging some way behind, and hidden behind a pillar, her anger now mounting, because she had glimpsed a smugness about him that augured bad tidings. She had jumped into the carriage next to his as his train began moving, and taken a window seat. The carriage was virtually empty. It was still early in the afternoon.

She had seen him leave the train and had followed like a shadow. Martin should have seen her, because the platform was virtually empty, but his mind was filled with Natalie, and it was his undoing. Natalie was waiting for him outside the station, and they did not embrace, because they had no need, so close to their pleasure. But Christine saw the way they walked together, hand in hand like two lovers of long standing, and followed them to the corner of the street where Natalie lived, and saw them enter her apartment building, and her anger was a cold wind of fury. Ice filled her heart, and for a moment she thought of finding a hardware store, of buying a long knife and standing outside the entrance, to watch and wait for him, of confronting him with his shame and extracting a reckoning. But she took a deep breath, and walked back to the station.

What was the point? She might kill him, but she would suffer. She might merely injure him, and suffer more, thinking in some prison cell of him bedding his whore. She traveled back to their house, her eyes blank and unseeing as she sought in her mind how best to reap vengeance. She decided to confide in a friend, a girl of the same age as herself, whom she knew disliked Martin intensely.

She left a cold meal for him in their kitchen refrigerator and a note on their livingroom coffeetable to say she would be late, and dressed herself carefully. She was angry still, perhaps angrier than ever, but now her anger was a cold flame, controlled and deadly. She would make Martin pay, she knew not how, but in some way that he would never, ever forget. She would sear guilt through his soul, and brand him for life, in some way not for undoing, and trample his repentance underfoot. She would make him pay for his crassness, and balance her barrenness, in some way that would make him never want to look at another woman again. Ever.

Angela, her friend, was wholly understanding. "He's a bastard," she said, as she poured Christine a large whisky. They were sitting together on Angela's settee, and Christine's eyes were puffy and red from weeping out her fury and rage for vengeance.

Christine swallowed a mouthful of the whisky and began to cough. Angela moved a little closer, to thump her lightly in the small of her back. She and Christine were friends of long-standing, they had been through college together, alternately dating the same boys, comparing advances and defences. Christine had married, and Angela had come to her wedding, despite grave misgivings. She had counseled Christine to stay single, and build a career, but Christine had been drawn to motherhood, until she had discovered her defect. Perhaps that was why. Perhaps she had known inside herself that she could not bear children, and had sought to defy fate.

Marriage had worked against her: Angela was now an employer, a woman of wealth, with her own thriving business, a highflyer in data processing already talking of seeking a stockmarket listing, with fashion boutiques on the side and a slice of a smart restaurant, and still single, whilst Christine packaged tours. They lunched together, from time to time, and Angela always fed her the very best her restaurant could offer, as a sign of commiseration. They were friends of long standing, and once they had lunched too well, and Angela had hugged her closely. Christine had wanted to reciprocate, but she had not known of her defect at the time, and had thought it a distraction.

"What will you do?" Angela's voice cut into her thinking, and they looked at each other. Christine could see that her friend was watching her closely.

She shrugged. The whisky was warm within her, and dulled some of her pain.

"You want to teach him a lesson." It was as much answer as question.

Christine nodded, wiping away an errant tear triggered by her growing sense of impotence. She had wanted blood when she seen him with his woman, but had done nothing, and now she felt power slipping away from her. She fought to regain herself. "I want to make the bastard burn." Her voice shook as she spoke with the intensity of her feeling.

"We could do it together." Angela's eyes were gleaming.

Christine stared at her.

"We'll set him up." Angela smiled, and it was a look of cruelty. "We'll wait for him at your home, and pretend we've been drinking, we'll tempt him with sex, and he'll be ours for the taking." She tossed her chin, fanning her dark shoulderlength hair out in a halo, and forming her mouth into a cherub pout. "I'll make him think that I'm desperate, and you'll egg him on. Then we'll take him apart."

Christine looked doubtful. "He knows you don't like him."

"I'll pretend it's the wine."

She was still not sure. "And then?"

"We'll get him to undress, and tie him up." Angela licked her lips, and her eyes were like hard chips of obsidian. "We'll get one of your kitchen knives, the really sharp ones..." She let her voice hang on the word.

Christine's eyes widened. She could picture Martin's face, moving from lust to terror, and she felt a cruel, atavistic rejoicing sweep through her. "You wouldn't dare." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Angela grinned. "We could try."

Christine smiled back at her, and their eyes shared their expectation.

Martin arrived home the following Friday on schedule, feeling on top of the world, and still a little randy. Natalie had filled him with pleasure but not quite drained him of lust, because she had a hospital dinner that evening, and she wanted time to make herself smart. He walked up the street towards his house, wondering whether Christine might oblige with dessert, though he knew that she had rather lost interest in the physical side of marriage since seeing her specialist. He noted Angela's car parked in their driveway, and licked his lips. He did not like Angela, and he knew that she did not like him either, but he often thought of bedding her. It was a male fantasy, to overcome rejection and have it away with his wife's best friend. Sometimes he even thought of rape, forcing her back onto a bed and having his way with her, cutting her down in stature from her conceit in success to rank more acceptably as a mere woman. He licked his lips again, his mouth dry with a sudden adrenalin rush. Perhaps tonight dessert would be served in a double portion. Then his hopes subsided as suddenly as they had come. They were probably gossiping together, and Angela would leave, rather than have to talk to him, and Christine would sulk, because he had failed once again to charm her best friend.

His pushed his key at his front door, fumbling momentarily with the lock. The door swung back, just as he was about to push again, and he stood dumbfounded. Angela stood in the open doorway facing him, but it was no Angela that he knew. She was dressed as a maid: a housemaid, perhaps, in a shiny red and black uniform that gleamed in the evening sun. Martin swallowed. The uniform seemed to be cut in black latex or PVC, with red trimmings and borders, and it was cut very low, with a very short skirt, and Angela's legs were shapely in black fishnet stockings. He realised that she was smiling at him, and that her eyes were hungry, and he blinked to return to reality, because her breasts were full and large and nearly bursting out at him, and he could not believe what he was seeing.

"Welcome home, sir. I'm your maid for the evening." Angela backed away from the door, and he did not know her voice, because it was a kind of purr, a tigress sound, drawing him in. "Can I offer you something?"

Martin could not find words to speak. The shadow of little flesh pits surrounding one of Angela's nipples seemed about to break free, and he could do nothing but stare.

But she was still retreating, still drawing him in. "Come in, come in." Her purr was wholly enticing. "We have a little party for you. Some festivities." She stopped, and reached out as Martin made to close on her, and touched him with a black latex-gloved hand, stroking down the front of his trousers, and Martin realised that he was wholly erect. "Mistress Cane wants to chastise you a little for coming home late, before we move on to more satisfying things."

She moved to one side, and Martin hesitated. His livingroom door was half open, and he could see an open bottle of wine and two glasses set out on the table. He felt Angela's latex-gloved hand on his elbow, propelling him forward, and he gulped. Christine lay reclining on their sofa, garbed in a kind of bra and panty set in the same black latex, with shiny suspenders supporting tight black latex stockings, and she was holding a whip, and flexing it between her hands. Martin wondered if he was dreaming. He had sometimes seen fantasy pictures in sex magazines, or out on the Internet, and had often felt excited. But Christine had never shown any interest, though he had hinted once or twice that fetish sex might prove challenging, whilst Natalie had dismissed all fantasies as distracting.

"We're going to undress you, and then dress you up again." Angela's voice was gentle and coaxing, as if she was speaking to a shy child. "Apparently fetish clothing is all the rage, so I ordered some for my boutique. I thought a trial run might be fun."

Now she was close to him, and he could smell the latex of her uniform and a heavier odour, the scent of sexual excitement.

"I'll start with your jacket and shirt, and then we'll lower your trousers." She took his jacket and tie, and began to unbutton his shirt. Martin raised his hands to take part, but she brushed them away. "No, not you. Just me."

He realised that Christine had left the sofa and looked around, but he could not see her.

Angela knelt and began to unzip his trousers, pulling the zip down slowly, and Martin could feel himself bulging hard in his underpants, and then she had slipped his pants down over his thighs, and he was naked, his penis a rodlike pointer.

"Now I shall dress you."

Martin realised that Christine must be standing behind him, because unseen hands passed some kind of black latex harness to Angela.

She held the harness between them. "Now raise your arms."

Martin hesitated. The harness looked like a straightjacket of some kind, and he was wary. But now Angela's latex-gloved hand was caressing him, and a second, unseen, hand was running a smooth latex touch up and down his spin, and he could not resist. He held up his arms, and felt catches being secured behind him.

"Now we have a little helmet for you."

Martin felt a latex mask being slid over his head. He could see out through two eyeholes, and his nose and ears were free, but a kind of solid ball pressed against his lips. He felt trapped suddenly, and tried to move his hands, but they were wholly secured. He began to struggle, because now he was alarmed, and he heard a woman laugh harshly. Unseen hands pushed him against the sofa, forcing him to his knees, holding him down as he struggled, forcing his arms up behind him, and he could feel the harness tightening on him, restricting his movements, until he could do nothing but quiver. Then the hands forced him forward, driving his head in amongst the sofa cushions, so that he was kneeling with his rump out behind him. He heard a whistling sound in the air, and suddenly a sharp hot knife edge of pain cut into him. He tried to twist his body away from the burning, but he was locked into immobility. He heard the whistling sound again, and a fresh wave of pain seared into his back. He began to whimper, it was the only sound he could make. But fresh lashes rained down, each building on its predecessor, and he heard a voice counting, and his mind could hold nothing but the pain in him, and the terror of expecting a new blow, and the pain was beyond belief in its burning.

"That's forty now." Angela's voice was calmly conversational. She looked down with displeasure at the mass of red welts criss-crossing Martin's back. "He's starting to bleed."

"I'd better get something to put under him." Christine eyed her husband's back with distaste. Blood had begun to trickle out of the welts, and she wanted no mess or stains on the sofa or carpet. She left the room, to reappear a moment later with a large plastic sheet. "He can kneel on this."

They lifted Martin, manhandling him together onto the sheet, taking care not to get any of his blood on them, and then looked at each other. His blood had begun to coagulate into dark sticky rivulets, but it was still very messy.

"We need something to stop him bleeding." Angela frowned. "Have you got plenty of salt? I read somewhere they used to pour salt water over sailors when they whipped them."

Christine thought for a moment. "We could try bleach. That hurts like anything if you get it in a cut."

The two women smiled at each other.

Martin barely moved as they wiped his back. He was in agony, but his pain was past caring. He could do nothing but suffer. But in a small, secret corner of his mind he was plotting vengeance. Sooner or later they would have to release him, and then it would be his turn. He would make Christine pay, in suffering many times what she was helping to inflict on him. He knelt, and he was in agony, but it was not an agony that would last forever.

Then, for a while, the room was silent. He could hear the two women talking together, a little way distant, and the sound of glasses being filled, and a small tentative shoot of hope began to grow in his mind. Perhaps the two women had sated whatever crazy lust had driven them to this.

The voices began again, and now they were closer, very close.

"Now we're going to operate." It was Angela's voice again, and she sounded pleased with herself. "Look what we've got for you."

Martin pretended to be unhearing. But he felt himself being manhandled onto his back, and the pain was again almost beyond bearing, and he was kneeling on the plastic sheet in a sticky smearing of blood, with his back now to the sofa, and his legs doubled up under him. Hands scrabbled insistently at his genitals, closing and tightening around his scrotum and squeezing him hard, and a fresh sharp fire of agony shot through his loins. He tried to scream, but the gag in his mouth gainsaid him.

"Look, Martin." He heard Christine's voice, and it was not the voice of the wife he knew, but a hard voice, an unpleasant voice, a cruel sound. He blinked, and his teeth were tight again on the gag in his mouth, but he could do no more than whimper. He could see Angela sitting cross-legged in front of him holding a long black kitchen knife, deftly honing the edge, and all his attempt at bravado, all his hopes of revenge, fled from his mind. . He knew implicitly what she had in mind, and it was wholly beyond believing. He tried to scream again, but he could no more than repeat his earlier whimpering, and his terror was a great black cloud that enveloped him, driving him to the very boundary of his reason. He felt himself pulled backwards, so that he was almost flat on his back, with his legs cramping beneath him, and he began to weep, choking in his mask, and his noise was an animal sound mixing fear, and dread, and horror.


Terror at Ravenwoode



PROLOGUE

For two years running Derek Chambers had been the Headmaster at the prestigious Ravenwoode Academy, an elite private school in New England. He loved his job, and not just because of the fact that all of the students and about ninety percent of the staff were female, though that was certainly a plus. He enjoyed the power and control of his position and would never have risked it with any indiscretions--no matter how tempting all the nubile, firm young flesh around him could be.

At the moment, Chambers was standing on a ridge above the school. He often came here during his lunch hour to look out over the campus and admire his kingdom. He had quite an ego and he knew it, but since it never got in the way of his job he saw no reason to change his ways. The Headmaster glance at his watch. It was twenty-seven minutes past one. Time to get back. He took a deep breath.

Behind the tall, dark-haired man in the blue suit, some bushes moved. He didn't notice. He did, however, notice a thick, slimy red tentacle when it wrapped around his left ankle. "What the fuck?" It suddenly jerked his feet out from under him and he landed face down in the dirt. "Son of a..." Several more tentacles shot out of the bushes to grab the Headmaster's flailing arms, and one wrapped around his neck. He was in no position to fight or resist as he was dragged into the bushes to face his attacker.

The creature in question was about six feet long, and vaguely humanoid in the fact that it had two arms and two legs as well as a hideously deformed head. But it also had big yellow eyes, a mouth full of dagger-like teeth, and its flesh appeared to be some sort of slime-encrusted mush. It appeared to have been badly wounded, for parts of it were gooey and splattered all over the grass and dirt beneath it.

"Huu...maaan..." it hissed. "Help...me..."

Chambers tried to get loose, but even in this condition the things tentacles were too strong. "What the fuck are you? Let me go or I'll call the cops!"

"No...you will...not." The creature's eyes glowed, and its entire body turned to mush except for the tentacles. Its liquidated essence then surged down the length of the tentacles, which were reabsorbed right along with it and in seconds had enveloped the Headmaster. He struggled and screamed, but that just allowed more of the thing to go in through his open mouth as well as his nose and ears. Soon the man stopped moving, while the red ooze flowed into his body and was no longer visible. When he opened his eyes, they were yellow. "I live!" He leapt to his feet, spread his arms and laughed. "It worked! The transfer from our dimension nearly killed me, but with this host I'm free to prowl this backwater planet and take all the females I want!"

Chambers, for the thing thought of itself as that now, turned and looked down over the school. He saw it with a brand-new vision. He smiled. "Excellent!"

*****

Twenty-five year old Amanda Walker was just finishing her work on the computer when Chambers walked into her office. The pretty blonde receptionist looked up and smiled as he approached.

"Hi. Good lunch?"

Chambers didn't say anything. He just leered at her breasts, which filled out her blue sweater. The entity within searched its host's memory for the woman's name.

"Derek? You okay?"

He blinked. "Yes." He had it now. "I'm fine, Amanda."

"Okay. Anything you need?"

"Yes," he said after a moment. "Please hold all of my calls. I'm going to be busy."

Amanda nodded. "Sure thing."

He entered his office, the door of which was behind her desk. As he was closing it an eerie golden glow burned within his eyes. He sneered.

"This body is so...primitive," Chambers said as he stood in front of a mirror in his bathroom. He was repeatedly clenching his hands. "But at least it will do as camouflage while I work." He shook his head. "These poor, pathetic humans. What chance do they have against an incubus?"

His people were, in human terms, demons, who lived in a dimension parallel to Earth. Usually the only way one got to Earth was a summons by a sorcerer or other practioner of magic or the occasional unwary scientist. But if an incubus happened to be in the right place at the right time they could also pierce the veil between worlds when it thinned, as it tended to do a few random times every year.

That was what Chambers had done. He had sensed a rip in the continuum just before it formed, and even though it was invisible the incubus was fortunate to find it. Even so its malleable body had been taxed to its limits, and it would surely have died if it had not come upon its current host. A most fortunate stroke of luck. From within the now otherwise empty mind of the one called Chambers the entity recalled the faces and figures of many students and teachers at Ravenwoode. An isolated, mostly female community.

"Speaking of females..." Chambers walked over to the desk and tapped the Intercom key. "Miss Walker? Would you mind coming in here for a minute?" He sat down on a corner of the desk with his hands in his lap as the door opened and his pretty receptionist came into the office. "Close it, please."

Amanda did as she was instructed. She clasped her hands behind her back. He was being formal, which meant it was important. Whatever it was. "Yes, sir?"

Chambers got up and walked slowly toward her. "There's something I need. From you."

"Sir?" Without breaking his stride he reached his hand up and cupped Amanda's left breast. She was so surprised she took a step back, until she was leaning against the door. "What are you doing?"

"If you don't know, I'm doing it wrong." Chambers reached down with his other hand and jerked her skirt up. "Oh how sweet. A thong."

Amanda's face flushed, and her breath started to come raggedly. This wasn't like him. "Derek, stop!" Even if she wanted to run she couldn't, he had her up against the door. "You know I'm engaged!"

"Yes." His eyes turned yellow. "But I don't care." Without another word he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulled her underwear to one side, and buried his face in her sparsely-haired pussy.

The blonde threw her head back with a throaty cry as pleasure rippled through her body. He was tongue-fucking her so hungrily that she was coming in moments. He wrapped his arms around her thighs to support her slumping body as she shuddered through one orgasm after another. 

"Derek...p-please..." Amanda almost screamed as she came again. She could feel his tongue swelling within her, larger than should have been possible. Her mind told her to fight but her body told her to give in, and before long the sweaty, primal, physical part of her won out. "Please!"

Chambers knew he had the woman right where he wanted her now. He pulled his tentacle-like tongue out of her and stood up, licking her juices from his lips. She was shuddering and moaning softly as he unzipped his pants. A thick red tentacle burst out of the crotch of his underwear, curved up between her still spread legs and thrust into warm, wet pussy. She arched her back and screamed at the intrusion, but he clapped his hand over her mouth. "No Amanda. We can't have you alerting the school to my presence, now can we?" He chuckled as the tentacle started to piston in and out of her surprisingly tight tunnel. "Mm...delicious."

Amanda once again found herself succumbing to one unwanted orgasm after another, only this time there was a new element involved. As it was fucking her, the entity's tentacle released a biological agent into her body which went directly to her brain. Every climax caused a reaction which shut off a key part of her neural makeup. Within a few minutes she was totally under his control. She threw her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist as he continued to pound her helpless body up against the door.

Sometime later, when they emerged from the office, Amanda's clothes were back in order and she was smiling, no trace showing of her ordeal. She sat down at her desk.

Chamber walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "You understand?"

"Yes. I will compile the list. You will have it within the hour."

His eyes glowed yellow again. This time, hers did too. "Excellent."

*****

Chambers had a barely concealed sneer on his face as he walked the corridors of Ravenwoode. 

There were so many vulnerable, beautiful young woman and girls around, and they felt so good to all his myriad of senses. He could barely control himself. But he kept the urges in check. He was not about to make any of the same mistakes as all his fellows; the other demons who had found their way to Earth at one time or another, only to lose everything because they moved too far, too fast.

He had no delusions about enslaving all of mankind or taking over the world. All he wanted was a steady diet of human females to satiate his needs. When he raped one of them he drained their sexual energy and juices as well as their will. That gave him power, made him stronger. Ravenwoode would make a good power-base. Once he had all of these women under his control, in good time, he could worry about others.

The Headmaster nodded and smiled briefly to anyone who acknowledged him, but his sights were set firmly on the infirmary. He was after the Head nurse. She was first on his list of prime targets which Amanda had compiled for him after her own corruption. Once he had her, and one or two others, he would have the cornerstones for his eventual taking of every woman and girl at Ravenwoode.

As he entered the infirmary he saw young Dina Summers on her way out. The pretty, bespectacled brunette was clutching a stack of books to her ample chest and staring down at her feet. When she realized she had almost run into him she slowly raised her head, her cheeks flushing. "S-Sorry, Mr. Chambers."

"It's quite all right, Miss Summers. You're not ill, are you?"

Dina glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, no sir. I was just visiting Lis. Excuse me." She lowered her head again and rushed away, muttering to herself under her breath.

Chambers watched until she rounded a corner, noting how the girl's firm young ass moved beneath her uniform skirt. He considered putting her on his list. She did have the highest GPA in the school, after all, and might make a fine addition to his stable. Clucking his tongue he walked into the outer office, his eyes briefly flashing yellow as he saw the young woman behind the counter.

Lisa O'Brien was a perpetually smiling, well-built blonde. She was also Dina's roommate and best friend. There were also rumors the two of them were more than just friends, but no one knew for sure. 

"Hi, Mr. C."

"Miss O'Brien." The memory of his host told him that he usually tolerated the young woman's lack of formality because her family was an exceedingly wealthy, important patron of the school. That also meant she was valuable to him as well. He licked his lips. "Is she in?"

Lisa nodded. "In her office. Want me to buzz her for you?"

"That's quite all right." He slipped past the girl and entered the nurses' office without knocking.

Cynthia Lyon was a buxom thirty-two year old with dark brown skin and a winning smile. "Mr. Chambers? What can I do for you?"

He casually locked the door behind him and moved toward her, grinning. "I wanted to discuss a curious medical phenomenon with you. Multiple, simultaneous orgasms."

The nurse blinked, clearly confused. "What?"

Chambers' eyes glowed yellow right in front of Cynthia, but before she could scream he clamped his hand over her mouth. "Relax," he hissed. "I think you'll enjoy it." He smiled. "I know I will."

When he pulled hand away a thin, slimy layer of what appeared to be skin remained over Cynthia's mouth. It left her unable to move her lips or make any sound beyond muffled grunts and whimpers as he grabbed her shoulders and navigated back onto one of the examination beds. Tears filled her eyes as he pawed at her clothes, pulling her skirt up to her waist and tearing open her blouse to reveal her overflowing white lace bra.

"Mmm...mounds o' plenty." Chambers shredded her underwear. "Now, let's get down to business." The crotch of his pants rippled and then erupted into a quivering mass of tentacles, each one the thickness of a human wrist. He laughed as they entwined her arms and breasts, and held her legs apart. Two wrapped around one another and then struck without warning, burrowing deeply into her pussy. She arched her back and let out a muffled scream as the tentacles pistoned in and out with ever-increasing force, drawing an immediate orgasm from her.

Chambers continued to fuck the nurse until she finally lost consciousness. Her will was broken. She was his. He withdrew the tentacles back into himself and straightened his clothing, which was really only an extension of his now malleable being. Leaving the nurse where she was for the time being he went to the door. He unlocked it and stuck his head out. "Miss O'Brien? Could you come here for a minute?"

*****

Dina Summers was in the middle of undressing when she heard the sound of her dorm room door being opened and remembered, too late, she had forgotten to lock it. She was just reaching for something to cover herself with when she noticed it was just her roommate.

"Hi Lisa." She dropped the shirt she had grabbed and bent over to take off her skirt. They had undressed in front of one another many times. "You're back early."

Without saying a word, Lisa walked up behind Dina and cupped the smaller girl's breasts.

Dina gasped. "Lis! What are you..." She groaned as the blonde gently kneaded the full mounds, marveling at how quickly she was aroused. Her nipples hardened. "God!" She lay her head back on her friend's shoulder. "You're an animal. What's gotten into you?"

Lisa nibbled her lover's ear, garnering a low groan from the brunette. "Does it matter?"

"Mmm...not at the moment." Dina closed her eyes. The two of them had been having sex off and on since Dina's arrival at the school a year or so back. Lisa caught her masturbating one afternoon, they talked about it, started to kiss, and ultimately ended up in bed. The relationship progressed from there.

Lisa's eyes flashed yellow as she gently pushed Dina back onto the bed. With a practiced hand she removed the other girl's clothing and her own, then slid down and began to nibble at the brunette's inner thighs. As Dina threw her head back she nuzzled the triangle of soft hairs between her legs.

"L-Lis...please!"

The blonde eagerly went to work with her lips and fingers and tongue. Before long Dina was thrashing wildly in pleasure, moaning and clawing at the sheets. Her lithe, pale body glistened with sweat, and small but firm breasts jiggled. They were capped with rock-hard, brightly pink nipples. She arched her back, and bit her lip to keep from screaming as an incredible orgasm seemed to set every fiber of her being on fire. 

As she came down, her body still shuddering, Dina couldn't remember having come so hard since the first time she and Lisa were together. "God!" She ran her fingers through her sweaty hair. "You were...incredible." Blinking through tears of pleasure, she looked down and smiled. "Want me to return the favor?"

*****

Chambers walked into the gymnasium and looked around.

It was between classes so there were no students. But the coach was there.

Lucy Spencer was the epitome of good health. She was six foot one, had rock-hard abs, and regularly competed in bodybuilding. Her long black hair was tied in a rather severe ponytail, and the Amazonian beauty's tight ass was clad in tight blue short shorts. Her white tee-shirt was tied to bare her waist, and clung to her heaving breasts like a semi-transparent skin as she continued to lift weights. 

"Ms. Spencer. Good workout?"

Without breaking her routine, the Head Coach of Ravenwoode nodded. "Yes sir."

"Excellent." Chambers glanced over his shoulder. They were alone, but there was no telling how long they were going to stay that way. His eyes flared bright yellow as he stalked toward her. "I need you. You have access to the young women here in their most vulnerable moments."

The coach lifted her head, her eyes narrowing as she saw his sneer. "What the hell?" She stood up. "Stay the hell away from me!" When he continued to come closer, she took a deep breath and threw one of the barbells she was holding at him. It weighed over fifty pounds and struck him in the chest.

Under normal circumstances such an impact would probably have broken several of his ribs. At the very least it should have knocked him down. But it did neither. Chambers watched the barbell sink several inches into his less than solid chest, and then slide down to the floor covered in slime. He smiled.

"Fuck me," Lucy whispered.

Chamber's smile grew broader. "That's the general idea." Tentacles exploded from his sides and chest, wrapping around the woman's arms and upper thighs. When he tried to pull her toward him she resisted, and surprisingly he was not able to move her any further. "Hmm...you are strong."

"Stronger than you," said the Coach, flexing her strikingly muscular arms. 

His tentacles strained, some almost to the breaking point. He could barely hold her. "Perhaps, but strength isn't everything." Another tentacle, thicker and more rigid than the others, burst out of his crotch and slithered across the floor. It rose like a serpent between her outstretched legs.

Lucy's eyes widened. "You son of a bitch!"

Chambers didn't say another word as the tentacle forced its way up the leg-cuff of her shorts, under her panties and into her pussy. Lucy shuddered and groaned as it began to fuck her. She also lost the advantage of leverage. A second tentacle thrust into her ass, while the others lifted her off the ground and tore off her clothes. An orgasm rippled through her as the Headmaster raped her more forcefully than any of the others.

*****

When Chambers returned to his own office his discovered that Amanda was not alone.

There was a redheaded woman in her thirties sitting in a chair near the receptionist's desk. She wore a long blue skirt and a green sweater, and glasses over bright gray eyes.

"Mr. Chambers," Amanda said as he walked in. "This is Stacey Maxwell. Our new Science teacher."

The Headmaster nodded. "Oh, yes. Of course." He held out his hand and she shook it. "Ms. Maxwell, we've been expecting you. Please, come into my office so we can talk."

"Yes sir."

Amanda waited patiently with her hands in her lap until she heard a sharp cry from behind the office door. Then there was the sound of footsteps, a crash, followed by something breaking, then silence. A few seconds later she started to hear a strange, rhythmic thumping sound, and got up to investigate. She opened the door just enough so she could peek inside, and her eyes widened.

Chambers had Stacey Maxwell pinned face-down across his desk, her arms and legs held by tentacles. Her skirt was crumpled up in a corner along with the remains of a broken lamp. Thick, slime-coated tentacles rammed into her pussy and ass. She grunted and moaned with each thrust.

Amanda closed the door and smiled, then went back to work. A short time later the door opened and Chamber's came out, leading Stacey with a hand on her shoulder. "You understand?" She nodded. "Excellent. Go on now. We wouldn't want you to be late for your first day, now would we?"

"How was she?" Amanda asked once the teacher was gone.

"Tight. Delicious." Chambers sighed. "And not a screamer either. I hate screamers."

Amanda nodded. "Who do you want next? I can arrange the meeting..."

*****

When Dina woke she was surprised to find Lisa gone. They usually held one another and talked after the two of them made love, but then she glanced at a clock and realized she had been asleep for several hours. Lisa had been voracious and wore her out, but by now the blonde was back at work.




Terror at Ravenwoode



Dina got up, got dressed, and decided to go to the school library. She had to finish a report for History class. A few minutes later she entered the library and found it was empty, but wasn't surprised. Few of the other girls read anything beyond what was absolutely necessary for class; most didn't bother because they were intending to live off their family's money and not bother working. But Dina read everything she could get her hands on and spent a lot of time with Elisa Munroe, the librarian.

Strangely, though, Elisa was not behind the front desk where she usually was. Dina, curious, went searching for her. She stepped behind the desk--she wasn't worried about getting in trouble, she spent enough time there it was pretty much assumed she worked at the library--and approached the door labeled PRIVATE. It was only supposed to be an extra storage area, but Elisa had made it into her own little reading room.

Dina heard thumping and groaning as she reached the door, which was not quite closed. She nudged it open just enough to look inside, gasping when she saw five foot three red-haired Elisa flat on her back on the floor, pinned beneath the pumping body of Lucy Spencer. The Coach wore a huge black strap-on and was pounding it deep into the librarian's mostly hairless pussy. Elisa cried out as she came, hard.

Dina closed the door and backed away. There were stories going all around school that the Coach was a lesbian and had had affairs with several of her students as well as some of the teachers. But she was pretty sure Elisa was married to a man, and had never mentioned being attracted to women. Seeing the two of them having sex was one hell of a turn-on though, and she suddenly felt the need to go see Lisa. 

Leaving the library, which was across the hall from the Headmaster's office, Dina noticed Lisa and Nurse Lyon leading Missy Bryant and Janice Pennington inside. Missy taught Art and Janice History. Dina wondered why the teachers were with the Nurse and Lisa. The door had a window in it, and she peered in to see Missy and Janice as they were being led into the Headmaster's private office. Lisa and Nurse Lyon, meanwhile, took the arms of Erin Snow, the Math teacher, and directed her toward the outer door. 

Dina moved away and pretended to be examining a potted plant nearby when Lisa and Nurse Lyon came out and saw her. The Nurse nodded and led Erin away while Lisa approached her friend. "Hey."

"What's going on?" Dina asked. "Why are all the teachers having conferences with the Headmaster?"

Lisa shrugged her shoulders. "School stuff I guess."

"Is something wrong with Ms. Snow?"

"Hmm."

"You and Nurse Lyon came to get her, right? Is something wrong with her?"

Lisa nodded. "Apparently she...passed out, while she was talking with the Headmaster. Nurse Lyon just wants to take her back to the infirmary and keep an eye on her for a while."

"Speaking of catching at eyeful, guess what I just saw." Dina grabbed her friend's arm and moved them both out of earshot of some passing students. "Elisa and Coach Spencer, doing in in the library."

"Mm...yeah, I heard about that. They got you hot, did they?"

Dina nodded. "Totally." Her eyes narrowed. "Wait, how could you know about it? I just saw them."

"There's been a rumor going around for a while. I guess you were out of the loop."

"Oh."

Lisa squeezed her friend's shoulder. "Why don't we go back to the room?"

"Okay." As they walked away, Dina could swear she heard a scream coming from somewhere nearby, but just as quickly as it started it dwindled off. She shrugged and followed Lisa.

*****

It took Chambers less than a week to gain control of the entire faculty of Ravenwoode.

A few, like Lucy Spencer, had fought back. But most were so submissive because of his position and the worry they might be fired if they refused him. So far he had avoided the students, saving them for later except for a few like Lisa who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had been amused to discover that his corruption control of the women had an unexpected but pleasant side-effect. They all became perpetually aroused, and sought sexual gratification anywhere they could find it. Amanda had taken to keeping one of the unlucky teenagers who stumbled across him raping the librarian under her desk, the brunette's face constantly buried in her pussy. 

Now Chambers shifted his focus. It was time to go to school. He had started with the teachers because he knew their corruption would grant him easier access to their classrooms and the students within them. "I'm going to be out of the office for most of the day," he said to Amanda.

The receptionist nodded and bit her lip to keep from crying out as she came again.

*****

Dina emerged from the shower, where most of the other girls were still getting cleaned up after the run around the track, to find Coach Spencer standing near her locker.

"Coach?"

"Ah, Miss Summers. Good. I need you to get dressed and do something for me."

"Sure. What's that?"

"Go to the library and get my clipboard. I seem to have misplaced it."

Dina bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Sure. No problem."

A few minutes later she was on her way back to the gym, clipboard in hand. It hadn't escaped her notice how her friend Elisa's face had lit up when she mentioned the Coach's name, though Dina got a little nervous and declined when Elisa invited her back to the office. As she entered the gym she saw that the locker room door was open--it was always closed and locked when the girls were showering or dressing--and she could hear loud cries and even louder screams coming from the cordoned off area.

Dina ran to the doorway and looked inside. Headmaster Chambers was standing in the middle of the room, with dozens of what appeared to be slimy tentacles emerging from all over his body. They were holding and raping the other girls in class, making them orgasm constantly. Coach Spencer was also there, naked, watching with a broad smile on her face and masturbating. "Oh my God!" This shrill cry alerted the Coach and Headmaster, and her eyes widened as they both turned and smiled at her, their eyes bright yellow. "No!"

Dina turned to run. Several thick red tentacles shot out the locker room door and grabbed her. She screamed as they dragged her back into the other room. Her clothes were ripped from her nubile young body, and before long she was bouncing and screaming alongside all the other girls.

Headmaster Chambers laughed. Everything was going just according to plan.



Terror Filled Nude Day Naked Walk



This is a Nude Day contest story. Please vote.

A husband hates Nude Day because of the sexual horror that happened to his wife. 

*

Today, Nude Day, Bob stood in front of his full length, bedroom mirror looking at his naked body with remorse and sadness, while thinking about all that had happened to his beautiful wife, Sheila. In an attempt to make himself feel better with masturbation, he stroked himself to an unprecedented level of excitement with the thoughts of that fateful day. Every time he was naked and looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but remember what had happened to Sheila, last Nude Day, one year ago today.

"Please find it in your heart to forgive me, Sheila," he said wiping a tear from his eye and dropping his head in shame.

Although he felt her fear, he was afraid and frozen with fear into inaction himself. With the odds staked against him, there was nothing that he could do to help save her from the inevitable. Responsible for planning this from the beginning, it was all his fault after all. He had put her in harm's way and in that situation hoping for some sexual fun on Nude Day not knowing how quickly things would escalate out of control.

Now, a year to the day after the criminal attack, the sexual assault, the violent rape, and the seemingly endless gangbang was over and they were home safe, all that happened that day saddened him, as much as it excited him, he hated to admit. Even though he knew it was wrong to still be so aroused and to feel the sexual excitement he felt then that he still feels now, the remembered visions of the brutal horror of four men having their wicked way with his wife, while he watched, made him horny and he had to masturbate. Stroking himself faster, he couldn't stop masturbating over the image of the four men fucking Sheila and after forcing her to suck their cocks.

Even before, a rare beauty, Sheila was such a sexy woman. Always horny by the naked thoughts of exposing her in public, only she'd never parade around without her clothes. Yet, the horniness he felt then, before last year's Nude Day incident, was nothing like the horniness that he felt now, after witnessing last year's Nude Day gangbang. Now, even when she was fully dressed, he still sees her naked, afraid, vulnerable, and willing to do whatever her sexual assaulters and violent criminals made her do.

"Oh, my God," were the last words she said before the men took her, dragged her into the forest, and forced themselves upon her. He still hears her screams and sees her struggling. "Let me go! Bobby, help me! Please! No! Stop! Help!"

His cock pulsated with the recollection of all that happened to her that day. Now, even after a year had past, his horniness hadn't diminish but instead heightened to an even higher level, every time he remembered what happened to Sheila last Nude Day.

Wrought with emotion between being excited, guilty, and sad, even in his horny state, he hated that he was so perverted that he had jeopardized the safety of his wife and put her in dire danger of being so violently manhandled and sexually abused. She was the one who physically paid for and emotionally suffered the consequences of his unadulterated perversion. Something they both must now live with for the rest of their lives, he hoped that Sheila could find it in her heart to forgive him. Being that he was the one who coerced his beautiful and innocent wife to take the naked Nude Day nature walk in the woods that fateful day, he accepted full responsibility for what happened to Sheila, the love of his life, and his devoted, loving wife. 

Not so innocent, knowing that they weren't alone in the woods that day and that she'd be seen walking in public naked, it all started when he finally coerced and convinced his wife to go for a nude nature walk in the forest on Nude Day. He knew they'd be four men there to ogle her naked body. Only, even in his wildest sexual fantasy, he never imagined the horror that would happen. Never did he think that their planned day of exhibitionism and voyeurism would turn into a violent criminal attack. Respecting her as a woman and them as a couple, he thought the four men would only look and not touch. He never expected them to take her, gangbang her, and force her to do unspeakable sexual things, things that she even refused to do with him, as his wife.

With neither one having been naked in public before, without doubt their National Nude Day naked nature walk was the most daring and sexually exciting experience they ever had together, as a married couple. Even though there was no one around to see them, she was more reluctant that he was about getting naked in public and at the onset, he never thought she would. Her walking in public naked was more about the reaction of other men seeing her naked and her reaction of being seen naked by other men is what excited him. Imagining the scenario, while incessantly masturbating, he couldn't wait to see the reaction of other men seeing his naked wife, just as he couldn't wait to see Sheila's reaction to other men seeing her naked.

Being that he was a horny and perverted guy, he didn't care who saw him naked. Admittedly, it excited him to show his cock to any woman who wanted to see his cock. Conversely, and the reason for much of his sadness, for his eyes only, she was a beautiful woman who felt that her body was her gift to give to only one man, the man she loved and that man was him, her husband. With different reactions for different reasons, what happened that day scarred her and excited him and, for that, he will always be wrought with the guilty pleasure of his actions that day.

Alas, even though he assured her that it was, he lied to her. It wasn't just an innocent naked nature walk through the woods on Nude Day. With ulterior motives in mind, Bob had preplanned the whole erotic adventure hoping that it would happen just as it had, but he never expected things to get so out of hand. He never thought the men, once seeing his beautiful wife naked, would suddenly lose their minds with lust. Having walked this part of the woods many times before with his dog, Ralph, instead of with his wife, Sheila, he knew that there were four joggers, regulars, male models, no doubt, who jogged through these woods this time every day. The fact that the four men regularly jogged here inspired the idea of exposing Sheila to them and what better day to do that than on Nude Day.

He couldn't help but notice that each man was better looking than the next and he envisioned all of them having the pleasure of seeing his wife naked, only he never imagined they'd rape her and gangbang her. For sure, vying to win her heart, they were all good looking enough to have been contestants on the Bachelorette, but he never expected them to sexually assault his wife, just to ogle her naked body.

Admittedly, just a fleeting thought, after they passed him by, he couldn't help but imagine the four of them having their sexy way with Sheila, while he watched. A fantasy to behold and imagine happening, while masturbating at home in the privacy of his bedroom or bathroom, he knew his sexual fantasy would never come to pass. Yet, what if he talked her into a National Nude Day naked nature walk? Nah, she'd never get naked in public, but maybe she would on Nude Day. Over the next few weeks, Bob worked on his wife with the hope of setting his plan in motion.

Always, the four men came upon him so silently and so quickly that they startled him. If it wasn't for his faithful dog, Ralph, he'd never know they were approaching behind him. Now without his loyal companion by his side to warn them of their approach, but with his innocent wife, instead, he was hoping the same thing would happen today, Nude Day. Only, somehow, he had to convince her to shed her clothes, so that the four men would see her walking naked in public.

Just as exciting to see the reaction of the four men seeing his wife naked, it would be equally as exciting to see his wife's reaction to being seen naked by four, handsome men. His ulterior motive, excited by their imagined reaction, he hoped that the four men seeing his wife naked would spur her to be more sexually uninhibited. He so wanted to exposed his beautiful and sexy wife to the four men, so that they could have some sexy fun, in the privacy of their bedroom with some hot pillow talk later. He wanted the four joggers to see Sheila naked. Only, for it all to happen, he'd have to somehow cajole and convince his beautiful bride to get naked, not an easy thing to do, being that she was so very modest and somewhat sexually inhibited.

A Catholic school girl who was almost a Nun, still very religious and active in and devoted to her church, and having worked as a school librarian in a Catholic college, while teaching the Bible on Sundays, if anyone was a prude, it was Sheila. Sex to her was not a pleasurable experience, but an obligation expected of a wife to do for her husband. He couldn't remember, when she relaxed enough for him to give her an orgasm. Yet, even though she was angelic on the inside and had the pure essence of a virgin, on the outside, she had the body of a rock star's slutty girlfriend. Naturally endowed and Heavenly blessed, Jenna Jameson had nothing on his wife.

If one was to judge a book by its cover, they'd be dead wrong about Sheila. With her outside looks so deceiving, no one who ever met Sheila would think that she was so good, so wholesome, so religious, and so innocent on the inside. If they were to guess her profession, they'd think, no doubt, that his blonde bombshell was a stripper or a porn star and not a librarian and a Sunday School teacher. 

For sure, he had his work cut out just to convince her to remove her socks, never mind anything else. Not much fun sexually, except behind their closed bedroom door, a teetotaler and not a drinker, never is when she wanted to play strip poker with his friends or pose naked. She'd never allow him to proudly show his friends her cheesecake photos and/or post her naked images on the Internet. She wouldn't even allow him to take any nude or semi-nude photos of her for his personal use. She wouldn't even allow him to photograph her wearing her nightgown. Modestly shy, she was such a nice woman and such a good girl.

"Bob, I agreed to take a nature walk with you in the woods, but I'm not going to take off my clothes in public," she said giving him a warning look, the same look she gave him, when he had one too many beers and she wanted him to stop drinking. "That's just nasty. I'd die of embarrassment if anyone was to see me," she said giving him that same face that she gave him, when he wanted to cum in her mouth, instead of on her tits. 

She never allowed him to cum in her mouth. Blowjobs were always an issue. Always he had to beg her to blow him and, not very good at sucking cock, when she did blow him, it wasn't very good. Then, even though he begged her to allow him to cum in her mouth, even though he promised to do more around the house and/or to buy her this or that, she refused to allow him to cum in her mouth. Even after being married all these years, never is when he's ever cum in her mouth.

"Good girls don't pose naked and good girls don't suck cock, Bob," was her mantra, when they were dating, and now it was "Good girls never allow a man to cum in their mouths." Yet, conversely and a bit unfair, she loved having her pussy licked.

"C'mon, Sheila. It's Nude Day. It will be hot fun to get in touch with nature by getting naked. We're totally alone. There's no one around for miles. No one is here to see us," he said watching out for the arrival of the four cross country joggers with excited anticipation. 

He knew he was pushing the envelope in trying to get her to be uninhibited enough to remove her clothes. Yet, a sexual fantasy come true, he figured if he started out by asking her just to remove her top, one clothing item at a time, maybe he could somehow coax her to get naked.

"Naked? You're nuts," she said shooting him a look that made him feel that if he was nuts. By her high moral and wholesome standards, she always made him feel perverted. "I'd never get naked in public."

"I'll get naked if you will," he said hoping that would entice her but knowing that it wouldn't make any difference.

"Yeah, well, that's the difference between you and me, Bob. You want to get naked. I don't. You don't care about showing your naked body to other women. You don't care who sees you naked. I don't want anyone but you to see me naked," she said shooting him a look that made him feel dirty and perverted. "A very personal and private thing, my body is just for you to see and for no one else to ogle."

Sorry now that he even asked her to get naked, they walked along without talking, while Bob diligently monitored the time that elapsed on his watch and pondered how he could get Sheila to remove her clothes. Seemingly emerging from out of nowhere and running through the woods as if they were startled deer or running through a defensive football line, so much like Notre Dame's four horsemen, he knew that it was around this time that the four joggers appeared from the forest. Getting nervous with dread that she'd never strip and excited with the sexual anticipation of somehow getting Sheila to strip naked to show her naked body to the four men, it was now or never that he had to get her to start stripping off her clothes. Soon, it would be too late.

"What if you just removed your blouse and walked around in your bra? That would be so hot to see you in your bra, Sheila."

"You see me in my bra all the time, Bob," she said giving him a look that made him feel bad that he felt so good about trying to get her naked. Only, this time, as if pondering the suggestion, she bit her lip and Bob took that as an opening.

"I don't know what the big deal is, Sheila. It's just your bra," said Bob hoping to weaken her resolve to expose some of her sexy body.

As if she was thinking about it, reading her body language as if she was an open book, when her shoulders relaxed, he knew she had softened to the idea of walking through the woods in her bra.

"And what will you remove, if I remove my blouse?"

Oh, my God. She was ready to remove her blouse. He couldn't believe it. Walking on thin ice, he had to handle her with care, so as not to startle her.

When he looked at her, she looked at him with a stare that made him want to confess his sins. He liked calling her Sister Sheila in bed, the only time he could get away with calling her that. It turned him on to call her Sister Sheila, while imagining that he was having sex with a Nun. Certainly, if he closed his eyes, she was good enough to imagine her being a Catholic Nun, but no Nun would have the body of a stripper and she did.

It was then that he realized that even Nuns would be more sexually promiscuous than his wife. If only she'd relax and loosen up a bit. With the unbelievable body that she had, he never understood why she wouldn't want to flaunt it and proudly show it, so that other men could enjoy it. His plan were that maybe, if he could somehow get her naked, even semi-naked, after today, when those four joggers saw something of her that they shouldn't, she'd not be as shy about nudity and they'd have a much better sex life.

"I'll take off my shirt," said Bob.

"That's hardly a fair trade Bob, your shirt for my blouse," she said with a smirk.

"People can see as much of me in my tee shirt as they can see of you in your bra," he said hoping to convince her. "Besides, you wear a bikini to the beach with loads of people looking at you, staring, actually, what's the difference in wearing your bikini top on the beach with lots of people and your bra in the woods, when there's not a soul here to see you?"

Staring straight ahead, she fell silent. Again, looking as if she was considering it, he felt hopeful that she'd at least remove her blouse. He loved her knockers. She had fabulous tits and looked fantastic in her bra. She had beautiful breasts with a long full line of mesmerizing cleavage. She had the kind of breasts that, if she was a prostitute, men would pay good money just to fuck her cleavage and cum all over her tits.

"Okay, but that's all I'm removing, just my blouse. You're right about people seeing me in my bikini top on the beach, so I don't mind some guy seeing me in my bra, but that's it. I mean, it Bob. I'm not removing another article of clothing."

Even though he had been so hopeful that she'd, at least, remove her blouse, he was shocked that she agreed. He was so excited with the anticipation of seeing his hot wife walking beside him in her bra that if she didn't remove another thing, he'd be happy. Now, he couldn't wait for the four joggers to see his wife's amazing bra clad tits. Still, even after she agreed to remove her blouse and walk beside him in her bra, not satisfied with her just removing her blouse, he pressured her to remove more.

"Okay, okay, Sheila. What's the big deal, anyway? It's just a naked body. It is Nude Day, after all and we're all naked before God. Let me help you," he said stopping in the road to help her off with her knapsack, so that she could remove her blouse.

"I'm only removing my blouse, Bob and God has nothing to do with me not getting naked, so don't even bring the Lord's name into our personal, sexual conversation."

"Okay," he said watching her unbutton her blouse, remove it, neatly fold it, and stick it in her knapsack. "Being naked has nothing to do with being sexual, unless you make it sexual."

He helped her put back on her knapsack, before looking over at her in her bra. Her tits appeared even bigger when wearing her knapsack. She was an amazing woman with an amazing body and he was so proud that she was his wife.

"That's bullshit, Bob. Being naked has everything to do with sex. Sex is all you think about. Sex, sex, sex," she said fanning herself with her hand. "Actually, I was a little hot anyway. This feels good walking around without my blouse and staying in just my bra. I can't help but feel so exposed, though," she said looking down at herself with a devilish smile. "I can't help but feel so wickedly naughty, albeit a little sexy," she said covering her bra clad breasts, by folding her arms across her chest. "Well, what about you?" She stared at her husband.

"Oh, okay," he said removing his shirt. "I was so busy staring at your bra that I forgot to remove my shirt," he said with a laugh, while hoping that someone would happen along to see his sexy wife in her bra. "God, I mean, gees, you have such a great rack, Sheila."

Barely covering her areolas, the bra she was wearing showed a lot of cleavage and every time she took a step the top of her C cup breasts jiggled.

"Thank you, Bob," she said looking down at herself. "I can't believe there's no one out here, today," said Sheila saying it, as if disappointed that there was no one in the woods to see her partially naked and walking in public in her brassiere. 

"Yeah, I walk Ralph here all the time and I never see anyone," he said lying to her, while looking at his watch and counting the minutes to when the cross country joggers would mysteriously appear from out of the dense forest.

There was a long pause where neither one of them spoke. If Bob wasn't staring at his wife's bra, then he was searching the woods to see if he could spot someone coming before she did. Hoping to distract her, he didn't want her putting on her blouse, if there was someone coming.

"It's such a beautiful day, but it's so hot in the woods. I figured with all the shade from the trees that it would be cooler, but it's not," she said fanning herself with her hand, while looking around, before looking back at her husband. Then, as if thinking about removing more of her clothes, she looked around again. "Since we're so totally alone, Bob, I guess there's no harm, if I remove my jeans, too. With the sun beating down on me, it is getting hotter and, since it's Nude Day, anyway, walking around in my underwear would be sexy fun."




Terror Filled Nude Day Naked Walk



Well, that was easier than he thought. He couldn't believe what he was hearing from the mouth of his prudish wife. Bob couldn't believe Sheila was freely agreeing to remove her jeans, too. To support herself, she put one hand on his shoulder, while she removed her sneakers, before unbuttoning, and unzipping her jeans to remove them. Finally, with her jeans off, the sight of his wife standing beside him in her low cut, white bra and white, very sheer and barely there bikini panties gave him an erection. 

Especially in the bright sunlight, he could see her blonde patch of pubic hair through her panty. Seeing her standing out in the open in her underwear, watching to jump her bones and push her back on the soft, green grass, he had the impulsive urge to have sex with her right there in the forest. She had such a great body. Wanting to have his way with her, he just wanted to strip her naked and fuck her, really fuck her, before making sweet, slow love to her.

With her rare beauty and body, if only she sucked cock, really sucked cock, she'd be the perfect woman and the best wife any man would want. If only she'd allow him to cum in her mouth, if only she swallowed, he'd never want another thing from her, just a complete blowjob, whenever he wanted one. Now, every time he looked at her mouth, he imagined her sucking his cock and loving it.

"Okay, you too," she said giving him the eye with a sexy smile.

"Me too, what?"

"Take off your pants, silly."

"Sure. Okay," said Bob kicking off his sneakers, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, removing them, and stuffing them in his backpack.

"Someone is excited," she said reaching out to grab his bulge in his briefs, after he removed his jeans. 

"Who wouldn't be excited? I can't help it, Sheila. Look at yourself. You look so hot standing there in your underwear. I love seeing you in your sexy bra and panty," he said now really hoping that some guy, any guy, especially those four joggers would happen along to see his sexy wife standing there out in the open in her bra and panty. Imagining her wearing a Nun's habit and shedding that to stand beside him in her underwear, he was so very sexually excited walking by the side of his Sister Sheila. Walking through the secluded woods in her panty and bra, she looked so hot.

"Actually, this is fun, Bob," she said with a big cheesecake smile. "I feel so free. I never celebrated Nude Day and even though I'm not naked, I'm glad you came up with the idea of going for a Nude Day naked nature walk in the woods. This is so relaxing, albeit exciting that, even though we're alone and there's no one here, the thought that someone could happen along and see me in my underwear is wickedly exciting."

"Yeah, well, we're hardly nude, Sheila. To be honest, we're more celebrating underwear day than we are Nude Day," said Bob with a laugh, while hoping she'd take the hint.

"This is as naked as I'm going to get, Bob," she said giving him a stern look, as if he farted loud enough to embarrass her in church. "I don't know what kind of woman you think I am, but I'm not a slut, Bob."

He looked at her. The sight of her walking beside him in her bra and panty made his cock throb with excited sexual anticipation of suddenly running into the four men. Where are they? They should be here any moment, he thought to himself, while looking at his watch.

"You don't have to be a slut to get naked, Sheila. C'mon, take off your bra. Show me your tits, baby. Let me have a look at those big knockers."

"No," she said looking at him, while biting her lip. "Besides you've seen my tits lots of times."

When he saw her biting her lip, in the way she did, when he coerced her to take a ride on the rollercoaster with him and go bungee jumping with him, he knew she was contemplating removing her bra. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. The perceived excitement of his sexy wife walking beside him through the woods topless made him crazy with sexual desire for her.

"C'mon, Sheila. Please remove your bra. I hardly ever see your tits, Sheila. You dress standing in the closet and undress in the bathroom."

"So? I'm shy."

"C'mon, air out those big beautiful breast, baby. Show Daddy your knockers. With all the librarian turtlenecks and Sunday School teacher clothes that button up to your neck that you routinely wear, you're tits have never seen the light of day."

He watched her eyes dart around searching the woods again and he knew, so long as she didn't see anyone, that she was about to pull the trigger. He could tell that she was ripe for his advances and that she was thinking about removing her bra. He only had to keep the pressure on her to convince her to walk through the woods topless.

Her face was flushed either from the warmth of the day, the embarrassment she felt because she was walking in the woods in her bra and panty, or because she was considering removing her bra, getting topless, and was becoming sexually aroused. He hoped it was because she was feeling sexually excited, but he couldn't tell with her. Even when they had sex, she as a quiet as a mouse. Never having given her an orgasm, he wondered what she'd be like, sound like, when she had an orgasm.

"What if someone was to come, Bob?" She asked the question so softly that he thought she was talking to herself.

What if someone was to come, he thought, casually glancing at his watch without her noticing? He hoped to God that someone would come to see his wife in her underwear and soon, hopefully, topless. He hoped those four joggers would appear soon, after she removed her bra and before she changed her mind and put on her clothes, to get a good gander of her big, shapely breasts.

"Look around you, Sheila, except for chipmunks and birds, there's no one here but us. Besides with a clear view in all directions, you'd see someone coming for a mile, before they saw you," he said, while thinking of the runners running so fast and so quietly through the woods that they'd be up on her in a flash.

"I don't know, Bob. I don't want anyone seeing my tits, truly I don't," she said biting her lip again, but while, this time, fingering the top of her bra. "I'd be embarrassed to death, if anyone saw my breasts but you," she said, as if she was already topless, "especially if it was someone from the church, one of the fathers of the children I instruct."

Oh, my God, the fact that she was protesting about taking off her bra told him that she was really considering the idea and thinking about removing her bra.

"Don't be such a prude, Sheila. C'mon, take off your bra. It's Nude Day, the day that everyone in America gets naked. Relax and have some sexy fun. Just think of all the pillow talk we can have later."

"I'm not a prude, Bob. Why you always say that I am is as baffling as it's troubling."

"Sheila, I'm your husband," said Bob getting impatiently annoyed that he had to work so hard to get his sexy wife naked. "We've been married for five years, and you haven't even given me a blowjob."

"Yeah, well, you haven't give me an orgasm, either," she said looking at him with hurt. "Besides," she said giving him a look as if to say, she'd suck him, if he gave her an orgasm, "I told you back when we were dating. Good girls don't do that. Besides I've had your cock in my mouth. I've given you plenty of blowjobs before."

"Yeah, but you're not a good girl anymore, you're a married woman. Besides what you consider a blowjob, I consider dabbling. You've never really sucked my cock, Sheila. You've never really given me a real blowjob."

"So, let me get this straight. If I allow you to cum in my mouth, if I swallow your cum, then that's the only time you consider that a real blowjob, is that it?"

"Yeah, I mean, no, that's not it, Sheila. Oh, never mind. Let's just forget about it. Let's not argue. Okay? I don't want to ruin our time together."

She looked at him with a face full of anger, before she turned away in silence. Not wanting to argue, he didn't want to have this conversation, not now, anyway. He'd ruin his chances of getting her naked. Then, when she looked at him with a face full of steadfast stubbornness, he returned her look with a face full of sexual frustration.

"Okay," she said looking at him with a long silent pause before speaking again, "just to prove to you that I'm not a prude, I'll remove my bra, but not my panties. I'm not removing my underpants. I'm not getting naked, Bob. Just in case there's someone living in the woods and watching us, I don't want to be raped."

"Sheila, I assure you, we're alone," he said helping her off with her knapsack again. "No one is going to rape you with me here, your big protector." 

Oh, my God. This was so exciting. He couldn't believe she was removing her bra. He couldn't believe she was going to get topless. He wished he had the presence of mind to have brought his camera, but she'd never allow him to photograph her in her bra, forget about photographing her topless.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said reaching around behind her, unhooking her bra, and removing the straps from her shoulders and the cups from her breasts. "I'm doing this for you, Bob, just so that I don't have to listen to you calling me a prude anymore."

"Oh, my God, Sheila. You're breasts are spectacular and you're so beautiful."

He couldn't believe it when she removed her bra. He couldn't believe she was topless. Her beautiful breasts were right there in front of his eyes out in the open and she was topless in public. He reached out and cupped her breast in his palm and she pulled away.

"Bob, don't."

In the five years of marriage, he's never seen so much of her breasts over a prolonged amount of time, as he was seeing now. He helped her off with her knapsack and watched as she stored her bra in her backpack. He loved how her breasts fell forward, when she leaned over. He wished she was kneeling over him, so that he could reach up and fondle her breasts, while fingering her nipples, before leaning up to suck them.

"Let me carry that knapsack for you," he said. 

If and when the joggers came, he didn't want her using her knapsack as a shield to hide her tits from them.

"Thank you," she said. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"I took off my bra. You take off your tee shirt."

"Okay," he said removing his tee shirt and then reaching down and removing his briefs, too.

"Bobby!"

"What? I'm naked. So what? It's Nude Day. C'mon, I dare you to get naked."

"Don't dare me, Bob. I mean it. I just may surprise you."

"I double dare you," he said laughing.

"Well, here goes," she said removing her panties and throwing up her arms with her panties held high over her head. "There, I'm naked. Happy now?"

"Oh, yeah," he said taking the panties from her hand and stuffing them in the knapsack, while watching the four joggers emerge from out of nowhere behind her.

Just as the joggers were a few feet from her, she turned.

"Oh, my God," said Sheila.

Expecting a reaction from the men. Expecting them to ogle his naked wife and continue jogging, they stopped, surrounded Sheila, and stared at her, as if she was the first woman they've ever seen naked. She tried covering her nakedness with her arms and hands, but it wasn't possible to cover every naked part of her. Then, when they started touching her, feeling her, and groping her, Bob came to her rescue.

"Okay, guys, the show is over. C'mon, Sheila, let's go," said Bob taking his wife by her hand.

Two of the men grabbed Bob, restrained him, and tied him to a tree, while the other two men grabbed Sheila and forced her down on the grass. Then, the other two men joined them in their debauchery. Their eight horny hands were everywhere touching and feeling her where only Bob was allowed to touch and feel her.

"Let me go! Bobby, help me! Please! No! Stop! Help!"

Struggling against his ties, he screamed his anger at the men, while watching the four men stripping off their clothes. 

"Stop! Let her go! Untie me, you bastards!"

With Sheila on her knees and surrounded by four erect cocks, with a cock in each hand, a cock in her mouth, and a man fucking her from behind, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

At first, so angry at the four men for sexually assaulting his wife, and angry at himself for putting Sheila in this perilous situation, he couldn't bring himself to watch but every time she spit a cock out of her mouth to scream, he opened his eyes to beg them to stop, while watching another man fill her open mouth with their stiff prick. 

"No! Don't! Bobby, help me! Bobby, do something!"

Then, one by one, watching them take her, forcing her to suck their cocks, while watching them fuck her, he started getting excited. He couldn't believe he had an erection. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself from getting aroused by the sight of four men having their wicked way with his sexy, albeit innocent and sexually inhibited wife. 

"She doesn't do that," said Bob hoping they'd show her some mercy by allowing her some decency.

"Do what?" One man turned to him, just as he stuck his cock in Sheila's mouth.

"She doesn't give blowjobs."

"Any why is that?" said the man laughing. "By the look and feel of her mouth, maybe it's just your cock she doesn't suck because she's surely sucking my cock," he said with another laugh, while humping her mouth and fucking her face.

"Good girls don't suck cock," he said in a mumble for no one to hear but himself, "is what she always told me."

"Is that right? Well, I don't think she's a good girl anymore because she's really sucking my cock. Oh, yeah, suck it, baby. Suck my big prick," he said looking down at Sheila, while humping her mouth again and fucking her face harder.

Bob looked at his wife. With a cock in each hand, he couldn't believe Sheila stroked two cocks and sucked another man's cock, while a fourth man was fucking her doggie style.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Bobby, I'm going to cum. Oh, my God!"

Able to free one hand, he reached around, and instead of trying to undo the rest of his ties to free himself, he began masturbating, while watching the show. Better than any sexual fantasy he's ever had, watching Sheila having sex with four men was the most exciting thing he's ever seen. Never has he been as aroused as he was now. Then, when his wife turned her head and gave him a sexy look, as if she was enjoying the sexual debauchery, too, well, that was the most erotic display he's ever witnessed.

Then, he couldn't believe his eyes, when he watched the man she was blowing explode in her mouth. He couldn't believe it. He ejaculated in her mouth. With cum oozing from both sides of her mouth, dripping from her lips, and pooling on her breasts, something she'd never do for him, cum in her mouth, she did for four strangers. After each man fucked her, they forced her to blow them and they all exploded their cum in her mouth.

"Oh, my God, Sheila. I can't believe you allowed them to cum in your mouth," said Bob watching each man shoot his load in Sheila's mouth.

"I swallowed it all, too, Bob," she said turning her head, opening her mouth, and sticking out her tongue. "See? I told you I wasn't a prude."

"Shut up, bitch," she one of her abusers, while slapping her across her face.

"Oh, baby, hit me again, only harder this time," she said.

Again the man slapped her, but on the other side of her face and harder this time.

"Here, suck on this," he said filling her mouth with his cock and putting a hand to the back of her head, while fucking her face.

Now every Nude Day, Bob and Sheila return to the woods and strip naked hoping to recreate what happened to them. 

"Bob, what's taking you so long? What are you doing up there? We're going to be late for the Nude Day party," said Sheila.

"I'll be right down, Sheila. I'm still getting dressed," said Bob still naked and masturbating in the mirror, while thinking of Sheila doing the four cross country runners.

"Are you upstairs masturbating, again? I told not to read SuperHeroRalph's story, until after we got home."

*

Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading my story. 



Terror from Above



-*WARNING! There is vore involved in this piece of literature. Please read at your own caution!* And now, enjoy-

*

"Lana!" A masculine voice called out in the worn down, aging control center belonging to a middle aged, gray bearded and balding man with a more presentable attire of old war veteran. Various rusting medals of wars long past rested on his chest, with badges representing a title that used to have meaning. The jagged scar crossing his jaw and left cheek and the crow's feet adorning his once handsome features spoke of only foreboding and grimace.

"Yes sir!" Came Lana, a beautiful blonde haired freedom fighter that jogged across the expanse of the metalic, aging floor plates. Her exuberant attitude was only a match for her incredibly endowed cleavage, as it stretched her worn and oil-stained white shirt, which was near the edge of breaking and revealing more than necessary. As a personal precaution, she always made sure to unbutton several buttons to allow "breathing" room, which unfortunately for the rest of the male staff, showed the tops and dividing line of her cleavage. 

The aging military commander gave a raised brow, as he humored her by asking, "Do you need another size larger, soldier?"

"Not at all sir," Lana gave a cute, know-it-all smirk with her succulent pink limps on her strong jaw and plump cheeks, emphasizing by propping her hands on her curvy, toned hips that were only covered by incredibly short jean shorts. "I'm actually quite comfortable in this attire."

"Yes well, with myself as an exception I think most of the men in this operation are quite," he made a once over across the control room, scowling at a couple of young rookies who were caught looking a little too long before looking back tiredly at Lana, "distracted."

"I really think its more of their problem controlling their natural urges, with all due respect, Sir," Lana retorted, shuffling her white soot covered tennis shoes with just as grimy socks fit into them.

"Don't make it sound like its entirely their fault, Lana," the Commander sighed, before rubbing his eyes tiredly, his rough calloused hands felt almost comforting to himself trying to argue about uniform ethics. 

"Honestly sir," Lana crossed her arms across her hourglass waist, her navel and lower back exposed due to the nature of her upper torso's garments, "what did you call me here for? I know it wasn't for reprimanding me for my choice of clothes..."

"Yes well, I did want you to do something for me," the Commander nodded, waving her over to a monitor with various controls and switches, but more specifically a beige colored keyboard resided in front of it, "nearly several hours ago, we sent some men to do some regular patrols to check on the perimeter locks and ventilation systems, mundane routine inspection at best. However while we sent three men in, one of them disappeared-"

"And naturally you picked me to go find his sorry ass, right?" Lana picked up on where the Commander was telling her. She visually saw three ordinary men dressed in ragtag combat clothes with bandoleers stocked with ammo, grenades and the like. Despite how wet behind the ears their maneuvers and mannerisms were, they looked like they could handle any unknown threat with ease. 

"Blunt, but yes, Lana," the Commander fast-forwarded all the footage to the point when they were leaving the area to make their reports. Only two of them exited the area and met back at the lobby, with the last one left behind in a dark series of corridors and what looked to be near a meat locker, "one of our rookies, Daniel Weathers, went MIA within the corridors on the Northeast area of this base, near the freezers. Despite how much we regulate this base, every once in awhile we do get infestations, potential saboteurs, and other possible threats, so just-"

"Keep my guard up, I know," Lana sighed as she raised herself up from the console, stretching her back int a almost U-shape as her breasts bobbed and jiggled underneath her stretched near transparent shirt, before standing at attention, "I'll haul his ass back and kill anything that might be chewing on his boots."

The commander gave a crisp salute, to which she returned dutifully, before giving her a nod, saying, "Good hunting and Godspeed."

_

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"Dammit, Weathers!" Lana growled as she finished pumping several rounds into something that looked like a rat, though she couldn't be sure, that was just about to bite her foot off if it wasn't for her quick reflexes, "you're really slacking if you missed all this crap and vermin lying around!"

She huffed, walking forward with her handgun primed and ready to shoot anything else that wasn't whimpering or human. Her chest bobbed with each step she took as she turned her blonde locks with her gaze from left to right as she entered a dark section of the corridors. With barely any light save for some flickering halogen bulbs that had been smashed long since before the inspection, Lana believed that Daniel must've fallen into a hole or something with how bad the lighting was.

"Ugh!" She placed a free hand onto her nose, covering her nostrils as best as she could as a noticeable stench crossed between rotten flesh, curdled milk, and surprisingly sweet fruit which made her immediately think of fruit cakes, causing her to gag. The stench seemed to be pretty common in the deserted corridors, as stains and vermin were found almost every other 3 meters. She almost regretted not bringing a flamethrower or something that would burn all the crap she saw around her.

This continued for the next 20 minutes as she combed the dark corridors, her chest jiggling with her suave, confident steps as her voluptuous curvy hips moved in sync with her well defined and toned hourglass waist. Every time she encountered another mutated pest or fungi, her gun rounds briefly illuminated the dark corridors with flashes of blue and red light as gore sprayed over the floors, walls, and even ceiling. With each pull of the trigger, her large cleavage bounced within the recoil of her high caliber handgun.

However, Lana still saw no sign of Daniel Weathers or any sign of him leaving or being eaten by something. As she closed towards the meat locker, she then began smelling a...strangely enticing scent altogether. As she saw what looked like a separately dim-lit corridor head past the perimeter, she caught whiff of the scent again, and felt almost unknowingly pulled in the direction of the mysterious corridor.

As she stepped warily through the corridor, she suddenly saw what looked like a shoe left behind on the floor, just beyond a open storage compound. She bent down and began scaling it with her smooth hands, briefly picking up a web-like sticky residue that had a slimy texture to it. It was warm to the touch and made her hand tingle strangely, feeling herself breathe in and out the eery air that had slowly become intoxicating within the corridor's exit.

She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie briefly before wiping the webbing onto her shirt, staining it indefinitely making her swear lowly to herself.

"Weathers, I swear I'll make you clean this with your tongue once I pull you out of whatever crap you fell into!" 

She raised her gun, flicking on the blue-tinted flashlight as she began sweeping the area for her missing comrade. Each of the boxes were about 5 meters by 4 meters in length and diameter, all of them metallic and rusted over years of abandonment and aging. Most of them had weird Bio-hazard symbols on them, the words spelled in foreign languages long forgotten, so any warnings that would've alerted her to the approaching danger would've been without merit. 

She walked towards what looked like the center of the storage compound, finding what looked like Daniel Weather's uniform and backpack. Strangely enough she also happened to find his-

"-Damn underwear?!" She swore slightly, not wanting to embarrass herself inside the vast room as she realized that nearly all of his clothes were purposely and consensually stripped off, along with signs of sticky resin that looked the same as the shoe from earlier. 

As she felt the residue web around her hands again, she felt an even stronger tingling, that traveled up her arms and into her brain. This caused a slight dulling of her awareness and discernment within her cognitive functions. Her eyes became less dilated and more hazy, her cheeks began to take a rosy color as the rest of her body. Almost robotically responding to these new hormonal changes, she began grasping at her large breasts over top her nigh transparent.

"W-Why...does this feel so good...on my skin?" She asked herself aloud, squeezing her breasts through her now transparent white shirt, giving the impression of a pair of large marshmallows as she squeezed and kneaded them, the residue seemingly spreading and dissolving her shirt in the process. All she knew as she kept massaging her cleavage is that she wanted more, and that her gear along with her garments, were in the way!

In an effort to relieve her sexually alleviated self, she tore off the dissolving shirt with one go, tossing her bandoleer and weapons aside as she began to strip right in the unusually warm storage depot, even undoing the braid to let her long blonde hair cascade across her back and shoulders. She then went on a quest for more of the aphrodisiac resin, finding small splotches of it here and there before she suddenly found a steep puddle of it.

It wasn't as webbed up past the surface, as it felt like electrifyingly warm slime while when spread out it took on the composition of a glue-type webbing, though had no problem to spread around and stretch. She dipped her hand into the transparent resin, lifting her hand out as she attempted to ball her fist to hold it. However as she did gather a glop handful, the surface of the resin stretched in a almost alien-like webbing along with her hand. 

Giggling almost drunkenly from the unusually "hot" air and sensations already traveling through her body from the earlier taste test of the residue, she was ready for a full on oil bath with this stuff. She then risque lathered the majority of it on her rather large breasts, slathering it and smoothing it out. After just a few hand strokes, her cleavage took on a glistening, wet, and sticky appearance as little strands of webbing connected each other across her chest and dripped downwards. 

The feelings emitted from this were...staggering to Lana. She almost fell flat onto her buttox from how hot her body was feeling, her labia already leaking juices and moistened her vagina as she felt extremely worked up. She laid down onto her back, the slick floor also emitting a strange heat as she began kneading and rubbing her hands across her breasts, squeezing her nipples which caused her to moan loudly, echoing throughout the vast seemingly empty chamber.

"T-T-This fe-feels so good," she panted and heaved heavily as she dipped her feet and legs into the puddle, the warm feelings heightened even higher than before, making her slide the sticky resin hands down her navel, rubbing it in circles before delightfully accessing her soaking wet slit. She began to usher a thin glob onto it, sliding it in and around her labia. 

"Uwah, ah ah....AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMAGAAAAAAAAAWD!"At that moment, she felt an electrifying sensation so incredible, that anything she used to call an orgasm would've been abysmal in comparison. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her back arched upwards into a bow, and she moaned loudly as she cummed her juices all over her hand, slit, and onto the pool of resin. 

As she fell back onto the floor, her whole body was noticeably flushed and covered with the thick goo webbing, becoming surprisingly sticky and held her fast to the floor. She tried to move, but her euphoric state didn't allow her to feel panic like she should've been or urgency to move. No...her afterglow was so intense, it felt like she was still having an orgasm.

"I don't want to move anywhere," she muttered unintelligibly, Lana was ignorant to the slight dripping that had begun around her body, that came directly above her. 

As she heard the splashes of resin land around her, her eyes hazily opened and began to focus on some sort've growth on the ceiling, previously hidden in the dark and unregistered eyes. It was very vast in diameter as it encompassed almost the entirety of the storage depot's ceiling, having what looked like a rosy pink and peach coloration across its body. Its appearance looked like a hybrid of a plant and a human internal organ, as it breathed noticeably with every convulsing pulse across its slimy, thick body. At the center of it, a small inwardly curved and wrinkled hole, presumably where the head or mouth resided, but now had protruded like an erection above her. The now unmistakeably large mouth opened up like a flower, sticky resin continued to rained down onto Lana and around her body as well as stretch from each "petal" of its mouth, burbling over top of her.

As her eyes widened from the sight she was taking in, she now urgently tried to free herself both from the unnervingly sticky and warm residue that's glued her effectively to the floor as well as limit her movements. That, and the mind-numbing haze that's halved her effectiveness of resistance, as her euphoric state kept her enthralled with the residual orgasm she was still riding on. 

"I-I go-gotta...move," she began to forcefully utter out, as she peeled an arm off her belly and chest, followed by a thick amount of webbing produced by the thick goop she lathered across her body. It was the same all over, as every way she turned or moved, thick strands of webbing would follow, disallowing her to move from the spot directly beneath the slathering maw of the giant flesh-plant/fungus above her. 

As she began to lose hope, something else began to descend from the pulsating, burbling flower. A dark red, knotted rope or a tongue of sorts began to slide down at a fairly rapid pace towards her. 

Lana knew from her time in enviro-combat simulations that the plant was going to use the tongue/rope as a tether before hauling her up, towards its mouth. It didn't take a genius to figure out the true intentions of the monstrosity above her, as she quickly tried to renew her struggle. Unfortunately, her current state of mind and her body disallowed her to prevent the goop covered, tongue reached her midriff. 

Gasping and breathing in soft pants, she felt a renewal of arousal as the tongue began to lather more copious amounts of resin on her chest and abdomen, causing her to practically glow inside with euphoric bliss. 

"Mmmmmmmmm," she mewled before the tongue briefly slid around each breast, alternating with soft to hard squeezes, making her blush hotly and moan outwards, "fuuuuck! Nnngh! I...mnh! Don't care...uhf! If you're going to...ha! Eat me...mmm! Just...nmgh! Don't stop! AHHH!" 

As the tongue began lovemaking with her body, properly soaking her the thick confides of the arousing resin and goo, it moved down and began to slide, grind, and tease her labia and clit. This made her raise her now inhumanly webbed and slimed limbs up halfway, her face was one of the few things that wasn't so lathered as she let out a loud moan, "Oooooooh! Ahhhhhh! Fuck me! Mmmm!" She began writhing within her gooey prison, praying to whatever god or saint that had blessed her with this godly creature to continue pleasuring her more.

Almost as if it read her mind, the tongue withdrew from the sticky, lathered pussy, before plunging its thick, knotted body into her pussy. This act alone of feeling something so large and encompassing would've knocked the breath out of her, but combined with the thoroughly lubed tongue of incredibly arousing goo on it, she began to howl and moan loudly with ecstasy. 

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" Within moments, her pussy constricted as tightly as she thought possibly around her lover's prehensile appendage, cumming on and around it. As her labia sent the taste of her pussy's juices onto the tongue, causing a ominous burble and moan up above from the plant.

Collapsing back in another long-going afterglow of the euphoric bliss yet again, she post-coital felt depressed as the tongue slowly withdrew from her pussy, hoping it would keep going at it. However, the lube it used or rather slathered inside her seemed to churn within her belly and tunnel, leaking only slightly and letting it web up inside her. It felt almost too much as the warm goo webbing within her kept her body hot and warm, her pussy barely leaked anything from her last orgasm.

She suddenly saw the knotted tongue slowly slide around her hourglass waist, her numbed mind unable to comprehend what was happening as she reveled within the joyous ecstasy she was feeling. As the knotted tongue made its fourth pass around her waist, she was effectively cradled within the caress of the tongue of her lover, slowly raising her up from her bodily webbed cradle. As it pulled her up, the webbing extended along with her back, surprisingly dissolving after she was lifted up a couple meters up, leaving the outline her body made on the floor as well as a little hair unbeknownst to her.

As she rose three meters in her horizontal position, her glistening goo-webbed body shined from some of the reflective cargo canister material, giving her a almost erotic and appealing sight, as the beautiful woman was tethered upwards. The tongue did something incredible she didn't expect, as much as she could expect in her mind-numbed incapacitated state. The tongue's edge curled around, raising up like a snake before plunging onto her navel.

Lana's eyes opened with a hazy look to them, moaning as she felt something penetrate her navel and enter her womb and stomach, further spewing what felt like warm liquid within her. This continued to churn her, and her stomach began to expand and further up send the liquid up her throat in a delightful feel of ecstasy, rushing out her mouth and lips, the sticky resin began to web around her mouth and jaw, leaving only her nose for breathing.

The hungry maw of the slick, glistening flesh-like plant continued to rain down spittle, and it began to further slather onto her the closer she approached it. As she felt herself penetrated in the most intimate delightful way while churning and gurgling with the fluids that made her feel like fucking all she could, she absentmindedly noticed she was nearly a few meters away from the flower-like mouth. She could hear it breathing, burbling and gurgling in almost the same manner as she did as she approached it inevitably. 

"Nnnnnngh," was the only thing she could mutter through her constant burbling of the sticky, webbed fluids flowing through and out delightfully her body, her previously tanned and fair complexion now turned to a rosy pink and red complexion as well as a shiny wet slathered and webbed appearance. Aside the unusual protrusion cradling and tethering her upwards, she looked incredibly erotic writhing within her webbed and tongue-slathered confines.

When she was merely a meter away, the pink mist breath that had caught her off guard from the beginning was now intoxicating, causing her eyes to become even more hazy and rolled up to the back of her head. With the belly fucking and warm fluids flowing throughout, she felt like she could have another orgasm before even being swallowed. She suddenly felt the tongue rocking her body to a more vertical position, the fluids remained intact and dripped only slightly off as the tongue continued to pump in and out of her navel, as she continued to burble out liquid while only the whites of her eyes were visible.

The flower's tongue then pulled her once, then twice until her blonde haired head got caught on a incredibly tight, yet wonderfully comfortable flesh-like tunnel to what she could only guess was the throat of the creature. The tongue didn't even need to pull anymore, as she felt it grab a hold of her head and squeeze her body with convulsions that made it feel like the most erotic massage of her life. As wet glistening flesh rolled up, down, and around her body, she was pulled up and further into the throat of her lover.




Terror from Above



Her breasts mashed incredibly tight against her chest, but somehow managed to fit through and her hourglass waist only made it easier to access her voluptuous hips and ass. Soon, her legs began to disappear into the folds of the maw, as the "petals" slowly closed over and withdrew back into the mass of flesh it had protruded from, the throat continued to swallow Lana further into the flesh body towards its destination.

All Lana could feel within her numbed mind was the amazing ecstasy, hot sensations brimming underneath her skin, the slime slathering and massaging both on the surface of her body and inside her, continually causing her to spew and gurgle the web resin. While all this was transpiring, she had a faint pink glow emanating from her eyes and a numbed smile spread across her open mouthed face. She felt totally surrendered to the beast as she rode it all the way up. 

Mysteriously the throat led her to a vast goo-slathered tissue opening, that expanded above the ceiling. The throat was a tube that had protruded into the "floor" of the massive cavern out the maw. It then would place its "meal" into a opened flower, and then the petals would enclose around it before retreating into the walls and ceiling of the tissue-covered cavern.

That is what happened to Lana. As she was suddenly expelled from the floor of the stomach, she was then tethered by the tongue once more onto a open wide flower, which quickly wrapped her thin tendrils that latched onto her breasts, nipples, ears, ass and anus, clit and vagina, even her mouth was probed and kissed, as the thick "tongue" detached from her navel, only to let several more tendrils penetrate it and feed more goo into it. She moaned and gurgled as the flower's petals wrapped comfortably around her, and she slowly sunk with it into the flesh cavern, surrendering to eternal bliss and eventual absorption of the creature.

'The Commander is going to be sooooo pissed when he finds out,' she humorously thought as she let herself surrender to the sensations altogether and close her mind off to the outside world. That was the last of Lana as we knew her, though it wouldn't be the end of her new life, surrendered into total ecstasy and pleasure. She couldn't ask for a better way to go.

The End



Terror in the Closet



The night the dresser spit the drawers out, spewing socks and underwear all over my darkened bedroom was enough to scare the beejezus from me. 

But it was the following night that I came totally unglued. 

"Careful Robert," Mrs. Bellman had warned me, wagging an aged digit at my face while snatching the first month's rent from my open palm. 

"Things have been known to happen here..." punctuating the word happen as if it were some sort of secret that she wasn't supposed to let on. 

Taking the money, she said no more, before turning her decrepit frame and leaving me standing in the doorway of the attic apartment. 

Figuring that her age and the lack of social contact that she probably lived with had come to infect her brain, I shrugged it off, giving no more thought to as I went about setting up my new life in the dinky flat. 

Guess maybe I should have paid more attention to the old woman.

Not long after settling in, Mrs. Bellman's word began to ring true...things began to happen. Small stuff, hardly noticeable, still, they were things. 

Searching for my keys in the morning, for example, I would come across them lying on the floor under the window, or beneath the couch. 

Those things could happen to anyone, (though probably not as often as they were happening to me) but then, I had been under a lot of stress lately, changing jobs and moving on short notice and such.

Oh, and there was the time that the television in the living room decided to up and change channels on its own accord while I was in the kitchen. But power bumps, even minute ones, can affect odd behavior in electrical appliances. 

For the record, I've never been a supernatural fanatic. There are things that we don't understand of course, but I just never had much interest in delving into the occult. 

If in fact losing my keys, or the television acting strangely were connected to the beyond, then so be it. 

Outside of the occasional nuisance though, nothing that happened around my apartment those first weeks was actually what I would call paranormal.

It wasn't until the past couple of nights that things had gotten really freaky.

The dresser drawers had literally sailed through the dark of the bedroom. One of them, a smaller, top drawer had just missed me, turning in the air and spilling it's contents all over the place as it raced past my head, before bouncing off the wall and landing on the bed. 

In stark shock, with my heart jumping out of my chest I stared at the thing, motionless in front of me. 

After a moment, when I could breathe again, I moved myself cautiously to the edge of the bed, placing first one foot among the scattered drawers, making sure not to step on anything, then the other foot, then standing up. 

Normally, dresser drawers don't just fly out all by themselves, but I had one hell of time convincing myself at that moment, because, right in front of me, they were strewn everywhere, most overturned, one of the larger ones standing on end against the corner of the wall opposite the window. 

Hightailing it to the living room, I spent the rest of that night in an uneasy way, with the lights and the late-night black and whites keeping me company, while straining to hear anything coming from the bedroom. 

Sleep must have finally won out because the next thing that I was aware of was jerking awake to the room basking in late morning. 

Daytime television was in full swing as Alex Trebek said something about four hundred. 

The back of my neck felt like iron. 

Rubbing the kinks out, I realized that I had been dreaming something about Mrs. Bellman, but I couldn't remember it exactly. 

All at once, it dawned in my fuzzy, as of yet uncaffeinated brain...THE BEDROOM!

Racing to the doorway, I stopped dead, in disbelief. The room was empty...that is to say that it was clean. No drawers on the floor, no piles of clothing anywhere. 

Turning my head slowly, partly because of the pain, partly out of apprehension, to peer around the frame, I saw that the drawers were stacked neatly in the dresser, just where they belonged. 

The bed was made up with no trace that I had ever laid upon it. 

"What the...," my voice died in my throat. 

Had I dreamt it all? 

Was I losing it? 

Did I just need coffee?

Gathering myself as best I could, I ambled to the kitchen, still bewildered. 

The strong, dark smell of brewing coffee was almost enough to bring me back to my senses, and, rejuvenated by the first cup, I sat, elbows on the table and tried to look at the evidence rationally. 

That something incredibly...well...strange had happened was seemingly undeniable, but I found myself in a muddle. 

The drawers had been thrown from the dresser, I knew, because I was there, I told myself. One of them just missed taking off a piece of my forehead. 

Yet, on the other hand, there was absolutely nothing amiss, at least anything that I could detect, in the bedroom this morning. 

Which, on the third hand--if there was such a thing—would disprove the flying drawers in the first place, unless they had simply reversed themselves right back into the dresser at some point when I was out of the room. I had awakened in the living room, true, but that really proved nothing either, because I sometimes fall asleep there, though I normally make my way to bed at some point. 

My bed showed no signs that I'd slept in it and there was no way I would spend any amount of time making it up before my morning coffee.

I remembered (or at least thought I remembered) the horrific events of the previous night in living color, but my tidy bedroom was the only tangible proof of anything, and it pointed overwhelmingly in the opposite direction.

So, with the last swig of my coffee, the decision was made: It had been a nightmare, nothing more, and I let it go at that...at least I tried to let it go at that.

Passing Mrs. Bellman later, on the first floor, I retrieved my mail from the slender slot on the wall with my name on it. "Good afternoon Mrs. Bellman," I greeted politely, mail in hand, attempting to pass her in the narrow hall. 

"Robert, are you sleeping well?" She inquired, in the formal, call-you-by-your proper-first-name way that old ladies do, striking me uncomfortable. 

"Uh...yeah," I stammered, "sure, and yourself?" 

"Oh...fine Robert...thanks for asking," she waved at me, sounding somehow ingenuine. 

Was she mocking me?

Or, perhaps I was still jumpy, due to my recent nocturnal experiences. 

Either way, it made no difference because by the time she was back in her apartment, I was already gone, rushing up the stairs to my own. 

Something about that old woman just made me want to bolt. 

The following night, I stripped and climbed into bed with a nervous eye on the dresser. 

I was being silly of course, I told myself switching off the light; it had been no more than a bad dream, probably brought on by something I ate...right?

Still, I wondered at the vague gnawing in my middle. 

Was I being watched?

That was ridiculous.

I was giving myself the jeepers for nothing, and, putting it out of my mind, I slept. 

"Robbie..."

I was startled awake by a voice. I must have been dreaming again, I thought, sitting up in the dark.

"Robbie...wake up."

That was no dream.

"Robbie...hey, wake up!"

The voice, sounding like a young boy, was coming from the closet. 

But that was impossible! 

"Robbie, can you play?" 

Oh good Jesus...I pinched myself hard...it hurt.

The voice, sounding like a young boy, was coming from my closet.

This was insane.

A scratching sound on the door, then...

"C'mon Robbie..."

"Won't you play with me?"

"Robbie?"

Holy Fucking Shit...

Lying still as I could, not daring a breath, I pinched myself again and it hurt again. I was awake...awake, not dreaming. 

Suddenly, I had to pee. 

"Hey Robbie, it's dark in here..."

Terror squeezed my bowels. I wanted to bolt and run and scream.

"Are you scared Robbie? I bet you're scared of the dark, and dead people, huh, Robbie, are you scared of dead people?" 

"You know what Robbie, I'm dead...I'm dead and I'm in your closet! What do you think about that?"

My mind rolled over in my skull... 

"Robbie, if you won't come in here, I'm gonna come out and get you! I'm gonna come right out of this closet and get you Robbie. I'm dead, and I'm gonna GET YOU!"

Suddenly, the dead boy, screeched hysterically.

"ROBBIE!! ROBBIE!! ROBBIE!!"--over and over, pounding on the door, till it shook. Any second now, I feared it would burst open, and I would have to see inside...and I didn't want to...with all of the heart threatening to leap from my chest, I didn't want to. 

"FUCK YOU ROBBIE! YOU WON'T PLAY WITH ME!"

"FUCKER...I'M DEAD ROBBIE, DO YOU HEAR ME!"

The door blast open, banging off the wall, as I swallowed my tongue, unable to scream. 

My bladder let go in a torrent and I peed myself hard.

"HERE I COME ROBBIE! I'M GONNA GET YOU!"

Snatching the covers over myself, I curled into a fetal position, shuddering and jerking with pure terror, as the dead boy screamed maniacally. 

Rushing from the closet, he pounded across the floor to the bed where I cowered...praying, for it to stop, praying that it wasn't real, praying that the dead boy from the closet would leave me alone. 

Balling myself tighter I waited to feel his small, grimy, dead hands clawing into my body.

But they didn't.

In an instant, the room fell silent.

Surrounded by the fear-filled odor of my own urine, I hid, straining to listen over the pounding in my ears...was he waiting for me to look? 

Without warning, the covers were yanked from my body, and in that instant, my bowels loosed. 

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I screamed, flopping over on my back and flailing my arms in front of me...expecting to see the abominable apparition of a dead boy, reaching to rip me apart. 

But instead, Mrs. Bellman stood there, next to the bed, holding my pee soaked blanket. 

"Robert," she asked in that sweet, phony, old lady voice, "are you okay?" 

"I heard you screaming, downstairs, and when you didn't answer, I let myself in."

Sitting naked, on the bed, exposed and terrified, shivering in my own soil, my brain struggled to comprehend.

"Robert, did you see something?"

Dumbstruck, I pointed at the closet and stuttered something unintelligible. 

"The closet?" she asked, turning to look.

The door was closed again.

"But...it was..." I stammered finally, teeth clacking.

"Robert, are you alright?" Mrs. Bellman placed a leathery hand on my sweaty forehead, "do you have a fever?"

"There...there was boy...a dead boy..."

"A dead boy?" she repeated, "where?"

I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs, "THERE WAS A GODDAMN, FUCKING DEAD BOY IN MY CLOSET YOU SHIT FOR BRAINS OLD BITCH! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND! HE WAS GOING TO GET ME!"

But all I could do was tremble, at first, and then weep. 

A small snicker escaped the closet. 

Turning towards it, she called out, "RITCHIE! IS THAT YOU! YOU COME OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!" 

Slowly, the door swung open, and a boy of no more than eight or nine emerged, giggling and laughing from the dark.

"Richie, you little bugger, have you been hiding in the closet, scaring the pants off of Robert all this time?"

With that, she turned back to face me.

But it was too late--I had already fainted, dead away.

End.