$name1 wakes strapped to a glowing table as a tentacle cock probes every filthy hole she has — and she begs for more.
$name1 woke to cold metal against her bare back and a soft violet light pulsing overhead.
She was naked. Strapped at the wrists and ankles to a smooth, humming table that seemed to breathe under her skin. The air smelled of ozone and something sweet, almost like sex left out in the rain. When she tried to sit up, the restraints hummed and held her down with lazy, absolute strength.
A shape moved at the edge of the light. Tall. Smooth. Skin like wet ink. Too many joints in the arms. Where a man’s cock should be, a thick, flexible tentacle uncoiled, glistening with clear slick that dripped onto the floor in slow threads.
“$name1,” it said, voice vibrating in her bones. “Your species secretes when aroused. We will measure every drop.”
She should have screamed. Instead her cunt throbbed, treacherous and wet already, nipples tightening in the cold. “You know my name?”
“We know everything your body wants. We have watched you touch yourself in the dark and whisper filth into your pillow. Tonight we harvest it.”
The tentacle slid up her calf, her inner thigh, and parted her folds without asking. $name1 gasped as the tip circled her clit, then pushed into her cunt in one long, slow glide. It was thicker than any cock she had taken, ridged along its length, and it pulsed as it filled her, stretching her open until her belly felt full.
“Fuck — oh fuck — that’s too deep—”
“Language noted,” the alien murmured. “Continue. Volume increases with honesty.”
It fucked her with patient, scientific strokes, going deeper than any man ever had, curling against places that made her thighs shake and her toes curl against the restraints. A second, thinner tentacle rose and brushed her lips, painting them with slick.
“Open. We sample saliva and throat response. Do not bite.”
$name1 opened her mouth like a whore. The tip slid over her tongue, then down her throat, stretching her jaws until spit ran from the corners. She gagged, eyes watering, and the thing in her cunt thrust harder in perfect rhythm. Her tits bounced with every shove. She could hear how wet she was — filthy, shameless squelching that would have humiliated her on Earth and only made her hotter here.
A third appendage, slick and insistent, pressed against her arsehole.
“No — wait — I’ve never taken anything there—”
“Correctable,” it said, and pushed in anyway, slow and relentless, until both her holes were stuffed full and her throat was claimed. $name1’s scream around the tentacle turned into a broken moan. The table warmed under her. The restraints hummed with her racing pulse. She felt split open, used, studied — and so fucking turned on she could barely breathe.
“Subject $name1 produces excellent lubrication,” the alien observed. “Beg. Your language of submission is required for the record.”
She couldn’t speak with her throat full. It withdrew just enough for her to gasp, spit stringing from her chin to the probe.
“Please,” she sobbed. “Please fuck my cunt. Fuck my arse. Use my throat. Make me cum on your probes until I can’t think. Fill me. Ruin me. I want it — I want every filthy inch.”
The alien obliged.
All three tentacles moved at once — deep in her throat, pounding her cunt, stretching her virgin arse open until the burn melted into blinding pleasure. The dual penetration made her see stars. She came hard, screaming around the cock in her mouth, cunt convulsing, arse clenching in helpless spasms. Clear slick poured from her as the table recorded every twitch and pulse.
It did not stop.
A fourth tip found her clit and vibrated with a low, cruel hum. $name1 thrashed against the straps, overstimulated, drooling, fucked senseless. Her belly cramped with another orgasm building. The alien’s voice stayed calm, clinical, almost tender.
“Again. Do not hold back. We want the scream.”
She came a second time, then a third, each orgasm wringing her out until her voice was raw and her thighs trembled uncontrollably. Cum — or whatever their slick was — flooded her cunt and arse, warm and thick, leaking down onto the glowing table in sticky pools. The throat tentacle pulled free and painted her tits and face with more of it. She licked what she could reach from her lips, greedy and ruined.
“$name1,” it said. “You will return tomorrow night. Same coordinates. Same table. We require more data — deeper, longer, louder. Wear nothing under your coat.”
The light flared white. She woke in her own bed, sheets soaked through, thighs sticky, arsehole tender and aching sweetly, cunt still twitching around emptiness. On her bedside table sat a small violet crystal, pulsing softly like a second heartbeat.
She touched it. Her clit sparked as if a remote had been wired straight into her nerves. She moaned into the pillow, hips jerking.
“$name1,” the crystal whispered in her skull. “Tomorrow. Bring your hunger.”
She pressed her face into the damp sheets and laughed, filthy and terrified and already wet again. When her alarm went off she called in sick, cancelled every plan, and spent the day with her fingers in her cunt and a plug in her arse, practising how wide she could stretch for whatever they put in her next.
By dusk she was packing nothing but a robe and the crystal. Her reflection in the mirror looked like a woman already claimed by something not human.
The table would be waiting. So would the probes. And $name1 — human, greedy, soaking — could not wait to be measured, fucked, and written into their records all over again.
