STORY SYNOPSIS: Suddenly, at the same instant all over the Earth, tentacled machines appear and begin to molest the healthy men of Earth with tentacles invading their anuses and enclosing their penises and pumping vigorously. Nobody is injured, and the machines will pause and let you go about your business, but they also never let go and resume when you have recovered. Will it ever end? And why is this happening?
THE GREAT TENTACLE HARVEST
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
At precisely 1:04 p.m. East Coast USA time, the machines appeared. Without notice, fanfare or anything beyond a soft "Boomph!" sound presumably caused by their bodies pushing the air aside as they materialized, they were there, among us, showing up everywhere a man within their parameters was to be found, no matter how deep within buildings, walls or even underground.
The machines' sizes and shapes were varied but uniformly appropriate for their targets. They chose only the men of the planet Earth, never bothering the women, children, or elderly or infirm. But if you were a man of the planet Earth between the ages of nineteen and forty-nine and in reasonably good health, you were victim to the machines.
The tentacles the machines bore varied from only two for a solitary male, up to hundreds of flailing, writhing prehensile mass for groups of young men gathered in one place, and their appearance both avoided injury to any human of any kind while also arranging itself to use its tentacles on the available males. As for what happened next, let us focus on individual experiences within the United States of America.
BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA
Jim-Bob Jackson was sitting with his buddy Freddie McComber on the back porch chugging a couple of cool brews to top off a good hearty midday meal. The pair were long-haul truckers, driving together thousands of miles nearly non-stop, changing off to rest or sleep in the sleep space behind the pair of chairs in the cab, it was a rough but remunerative way for a good ol' boy to make a living.
Too bad their wives didn't think so. The two shared the house which saved money given their husbands weren't around two out of three weeks and they could split babysitting duties, but they did feel that their men should get off their butts and do some house work.
The two men were in fact sitting flat on their butts in comfortable outdoor chairs, their burly bodies sprawled out with muscled hairy chests bursting out of unbuttoned plaid workshirts (one red, one blue) and powerful legs straining worn blue jeans and more worn workboots splayed onto the porch railing. They had just begun to discuss the prospect of getting in some rabbit hunting tomorrow morning.
Jim-Bob Jackson was red-haired, bearded and blue-eyed and he had a disarming if crooked and yellow-toothed smile as he grinned over at Freddie. "How about it, Fred?" he said. "Want to get out and pot a few varmints?"
Freddie's first name was truly "Freddie" not "Frederick" or its diminutives, but he accepted the shorter version from Jim-Bob. He was a ruddy dark-chocolate black man with close-cut black hair and blacker eyes and his smile was both whiter and cleaner than his buddy. "We could take the wives along." he suggested. "Maybe have a couple of accident with the shotguns while we were out there?"
"Don't tempt me." Jim-Bob lifted his red-and-white can to his lips. He drank only Budweiser, Freddie's choice was the cream-colored cans of Coors. "You forgot about the kids."
"Yep, have to take them along, too." They had five children between them.
"Use a lot of ammunition on that many. Hard to call that an accidental shooting."
"Yeah. Shit!" Both men laughed; they hadn't been the least bit serious.
With a soft "Boomph!," the tentacled machine appeared. Bearing four tentacles, it stood beneath them on the other side of the porch railing they had their legs resting on, and the tentacles whipped out and moved with a speed that made them blurred and almost insubstantial in appearance.
The machine itself had the pair of men bemused and frozen in place as they tried to make sense of things and that was when the tentacles attacked their bodies.
First came a sort of spray from the tip of one of the tentacles that was able to dissolve the fabric of their jeans and jockey shorts and briefs (one of each of those last) and leave both men with an oval like hole that exposed the entirety of the men's crotches, their cocks and balls were suddenly unencumbered and their nuts dangled free and clear with their cocks flapping about on top of them, their crotch-sweat causing their cockskins to stick to their testicles. Their asses were also exposed, two hairy crevices, one laden with dark red-brown hair, the other black, and it was to these two locations, the cocks and the asses, that the two tentacles dove. Both tentacles were larger in girth their last ten or twelve inches, but the first one, which had squirted the dissolving fluid, bore a very cockhead-like tip which it shoved at the anus while a second fluid preceded it in its path. The second tentacle was a hollow tube and it exuded a similar fluid all within its interior.
The tentacles aimed at the hairy asses impacted and the gooey fluid it had exuded was greasy enough to cause the sphincters of the two men to soften and dilate, permitting the tentacle to drive itself into their husky, musky, dank intestinal tract, which it did for a distance of nearly six inches before it paused. Simultaneously, the fluid inside the second tentacle snaffled up the still-limp pricks and as the fluid touched the cock, the shafts stiffened and the tentacle slid the hardening dongs into their interior down to three-quarters of the base where they expanded into a snuggly and firm fit from which they could not be extracted until they had been deflated...which the fluid they were now bathed in would not permit to happen.
This is all that happened, all the men knew was the "Boomph!" sound, a vision of a machine in front of them, and then suddenly they had a warm metallic cock up their ass and a warm mechanical tube over their prick and both were suddenly pumping up and down on their bodies.
"What the fucking hell!" Freddie yelped.
"Son of a fucking bitch!" Jim-Bob yelled in his turn as both men flailed. The tentacles had done more than their spray and poke, they had on their journey toward the men, managed to capture both of their bodies, Jim-Bob had one tentacle wrapped around each of his legs and Freddie had both encasing his stomach before they reached their crotchly destinations.
The men writhed, but they could not escape as they were poked and milked in equally rapid measure.
"Freddie? Freddie!" came Wilma's call as she walked out onto the porch. She saw the men in their sexually captured positions and she smelled the odors the fluids had drenched in the area and her reaction was decidedly not what you would expect.
"What the hell do you think you two are doing?"
"Doing?" Freddie grunted. "Hell, woman, I'm getting my ass rammed."
"And what is that thing on your peter doing, the Watusi?"
"It's sucking me off!" Freddie grunted and his eyes closed as he hissed in pleasure. "And doing damned better'n you ever did!"
"What's going on out there, Mama?" came a small call from indoors.
"Latisha, you get back inside this very moment and stay there, you hear me!" Wilma raised her voice. "Marsha?" she called Jim-Bob's wife. "Get the children out of the kitchen and into the front rooms. You don't want them seeing what our husbands are doing out here! It's nasty!"
"Nasty, hell, it's fucking terrific!" Jim-Bob retorted. "Ah, shit, man, this is fucking hot!"
"Yeah, man, I'm so fucking turned on, too!" Freddie groaned.
"You fucking turds, why am I even hanging with you anyhow?" Wilma broke in a flash from anger to tears. "I should go back to my mother like she wants me to! I hate this life, I fucking hate it!"
"Uh, uh, uh, nobody's forcing you, uh, uh, to stay with me, woman!" Freddie grunted as his face flushed with impending climax. "You want, uh, to go, just, uh, fucking, GO! AH-AHAH-AHHH, HAHHHH!"
"I'm about to come, too!" Jim-Bob moaned. To Wilma, "Tell Marsha if she wants in on this, she's got to get out here now, or I'll come without her even watching!"
"UH-UH, UH-HUH-UH!" Freddie continued convulsing in his joy, his cock spurting hot spunk into the suctioning tube. But his cock kept on throbbing hard and firm even as his ejaculations stopped and he dopplered down into heavy panting.
"Oh, how disgusting!" Wilma fled back into the house. As the door closed, Jim-Bob threw his husky muscled body upwards, his crotch his highest point and even his head a bit lower, he squirted lustily into the tube holding his prick captive as he groaned like an angry lion in outright battle!
"Oh, man, oh, man!" Freddie gasped. "Man, this thing ain't letting go!"
"Oh, oh, ah, ah, hah!" Jim-Bob kept on jetting his spunk. "Who wants it to, ah-hah-ahhhh-ahhhhhh!" he slumped back onto the chair, a limp but still powerfully muscled man.
There were sounds of the doors out the front slamming, then the car doors. "Sounds like our wives have run off."
"Taken the children, too." Freddie judged. The car had four doors and he had heard four slams. "We're alone with this...thing sucking our cocks and fucking our asses." The tentacles were quiet and the machine settled down. "Now what the fuck we are going to do?"
"Let's see if this thing will follow us into the house." Jim-Bob said. "If I'm going to get fucked and sucked, I'd prefer to be indoors."
The machine indeed made no effort to hamper their movements and followed them into the house, the tentacles like leashes on the pair of hunky men. Indoors, they made themselves comfortable on the two couches the living room bore, and as they did, the machine's tentacles began to work on them again. Every hour around the hour, the men were milked and fucked into climax and climax again and their bodies seemed to be invigorated rather than drained by the experience. Between times, they drank their beer, nibbled on various edibles from the kitchen and watched the television.
What was happening to them, they saw, was happening to men all over the globe at the very same time.
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
Tony was working away at the construction site after his lunch of a sandwich and banana, and a cup of too-strong coffee. The husky Italian-American man was one of many just like him on the job, strong, muscled, strong-faced, a bit belligerent in attitude but a heart of solid gold that verged on the maudlin. He had fought many a good fight in his day, but he had shed tears when he had held his sister's firstborn son and his first nephew, three days before. The infant had looked up at him, a small smile had been born on the little face, and Tony had bawled like a toddler. A man can do that, damn it! There are a time and place for tears, even on the face of a big, brawny stud!
The building was still a deep pit and a framework in its earliest stages, and there were some forty-seven men at work on the place, some digging with shovels to level out the bottom, some moving the rods into place, others hammering or running a jackhammer, or operating a crane.
"Boomph!" came the sound and the large pit was almost filled by a big machine that landed on a dozen legs that hovered over the men below. From the machine emanated in rapid order tentacles, two per person, that wrapped the stupified workers and then dissolved their pants and strapped onto and shoved into their beefy, bewildered bodies.
For Tony, it was an astounding state to be in. He had a hard metal cock up his ass and a hard metal tube over his junk and both of them were busily pumping away. He had been holding a hammer and toolbox, both clunked to the ground as the man staggered from the rod shagging his ass and the ecstasy his cock was deriving from the strong, methodical milking only a mechanical device can deliver.
He dropped onto hands and knees and moaned as he was rammed hard and fast. All around him, men were doing the same, bucking and writhing as they were pumped and sucked by the overweaning machine above them.
He looked at the street to see other machines in action, many were astride moving vehicles, the machines' tentacles reaching through the windows to fuck the men inside. Some cars were stopping, others were manfully driving on, even as they were being screwed and slurped on by the metallic invaders. Other machines clung to the skyscraper walls like a multitude of spiders, the tentacles feeding upon the occupants.
Women, children, elderly people were running around like ants on an anthill stirred up, the women trying to shield their children from the sights of the men's ravishment, the elderly people attempting, sometimes comically, to free their fellow men from the attacks, one man well into his eighties demanded that these machines give them some, too, damn it, couldn't they see that his dick still worked after all? He must have been persuasive, for a machine dispensed two more tentacles and grasped the white-haired man and proceeded to strip off his diaper and catheter to plunge into his ass and slurp up his gray-haired cock. Damned decent of the machine, Tony figured.
He climaxed and struggled to his feet, still held fast but able to move as if the tentacles were not there, and he sought out his foreman. The man was red-faced from his recent ejaculation, but he rallied his men. "Guys, I don't know what's going on here, but the fact is, we are all fucked."
"You're telling me!" one of the men answered.
"The radio tells us that this is going on all over the world, and every man able to fight is already caught and being butt-fucked and cock-sucked. It's only attacking men, women are still unaffected and so are your children, so don't worry about them, or your grandparents either, it's not tackling anyone too old for them to milk. The President is telling everyone to stay calm and wait, scientists are working on the problem and...oh, God!" The tentacles on the foreman were starting in again and Tony felt his own beginning to jerk slowly on him, as if testing his sexual mettle. Well, he was an Italian stallion, so he wouldn't be left alone for long here!
He made himself comfortable as he could on some nearly sacks of dried concrete. This was going to take a while. He hoped that the womenfolk could organize a relief effort, bring around drink and food if this went on for too long. He was trapped here until this thing got enough of sucking on his cock and if his girlfriends were any guide, that would take months or years to happen.
A buddy of his, Cochran, fell onto the sacks by his side, panting, he'd just finished with his machine. "You okay?" Tony asked him. Cochran's first name was also "Tony" so Tony thought of his co-worker by his last name.
"Yeah. Shit, this fucker's not letting us go, is it?"
"No. We might have these ass-rammers and cock-slurpers on us for the rest of our lives."
"Shit!" Cochran said. "My wife is going to kill me!"
"Wife, hell!" Tony was a bachelor. "Going to suck trying to date with these tagging along after us."
"And forget about flirting with the girls who walk by." Cochran added.
Tony hadn't considered that. "Shit!"
"You said it."
Tony's machine seemed to think he'd rested enough, for it started in on him once again. Damn it, he was ready to go again. So much for his social life!
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
Officer Patrick Finnegan was fourth-generation Irish-American police officer and proud of it. He was proud, too, of his body, he didn't turn into one of those doughnut-loving, pot-bellied guys he saw in the showers, he was a majestically muscled powerhouse and when he had to get physical, he could and would take them down as fast as they came up.
At the moment, he was "walking a beat" down Clark Street and approaching Monroe in "The Loop" which was the heart of Chicago's financial district. The skyscrapers held the many financial institutions that drove the country, the lower floors held such mundane necessities for the workers in those skyscrapers as a McDonald's, a Starbucks and a Walgreen's. Ahead were some bank branches, because even stockbrokers and bank executives needed to be able to draw spending cash or make deposits like everyone else.
The sidewalks were broad and well-traveled, men walked with smartly tailored business suits, women were similarly attired though mostly with dresses both demure and desexualizing. A woman's dress should flow and blow with the wind, these things were as stiff as cardboard. Paddy (as his friends called him from childhood) felt his cock stir and, at the moment being unviewed by anyone around him he reached down and gave his prick a shift to lessen the pressure it was putting on his groin.
"Boomph!" and "Wwwwwwwhip!" and Paddy's crotch was exposed and a pair of tentacles had stuffed themselves up his butt and clamped onto his prick after wrapping both hands and pinioning them together behind his back. He struggled to reach his pistol and the tentacles began their fucking and sucking and he closed his eyes and groaned. Opened them and looked about.
The streets were covered with these machines, and the men were all trapped and the women were fleeing in terror of their endangered virginity. None of them seem to be caught, in fact, the machines were ignoring them. But the many business men the streets bore were one and all in Paddy's own state of dishabille and pinioning fore and aft. It was the lunch hour, and the sidewalks were crammed with men who were being crammed!
Paddy staggered over to a mailbox and braced his chest against it. Another man, wearing a brown suit-and-tie hit the other side and the men looked into each other's eyes and moaned.
"Oh, God, what is this?"
Paddy was a good boy who'd been well-schooled by his dear grandmother. "We're beseiged by demons." He wasn't an antiquated Irishman out of his time, but at a time like this, what would make a better answer than the one learned at his grandmother's knee?
"They look like robots." the man grunted as the tentacle fucking his ass gave him an especially vigorous ram. "Robots built to fuck us. I think it's the Russians."
"Either way, you and I are captured for certain." Paddy closed his eyes and sighed, in pleasure and resignation. "Father Doland will have to dole out a heavy set of Hail Marys to get my soul free of this."
The man looked around and chuckled sourly. "Father Doland is going to be a very busy man. Glad I'm a Protestant."
"You are?" Paddy sighed, gave himself to the pleasure. "Well, nobody's perfect."
He closed his eyes and began to recite the Lord's prayer, try to do a rosary by memory alone as he couldn't pull out the one in his pocket with his hands bound. He didn't know what God would think about him saying prayers while being fucked up the ass and having his cock pumped expertly by a demonic device, but figured it couldn't hurt. Though finishing the Pater Noster with his climax probably wasn't a good idea, but it seemed like one at the time!
Three examples are sufficient, now multiply these experiences by the many multi-faceted aspects of life and you will have the full picture. A football game turned from a cluster of young jocks struggling over the pigskin into a cluster of machines pumping tentacles into their athletic young asses. Their protector cups dissolved under the fluid as easily as their clothing and the queue of girl cheerleaders were squealing loudly, but not with cheers, they were dating members of the teams and were watching their boyfriends get butt-fucked...and loving it, young studs don't really care who helps ease their nut cream and these boys had coaches that required them not to whack it before a game. The stadium of watchers were similarly graced (if that is the correct word) with the machines.
Military stations were heavily flooded with the machines, one company had been practicing close-order drill when the machines arrived, they were soon enjoying (or not) a completely different drilling and their sergeants were occupied with their own metal visitors.
Hospitals were an experience of their own to the medical staff, a man thought to be at death's door would be taken by the machines, while one apparently healthy would be left alone, this latter would shortly experience some terrible fate that pushed them undoubtedly into the "leave them alone" zone. A smart doctor (female, the men were too busy) brought resuscitation equipment into one such room and was ready when the young man suffered an unexpected anaphylactic shock, she saved him with a quick epinephrine shot and knew she had him well-saved when a "boomph!" arrived like the trumpet of angels to add the young man to their harem of fucked-and-sucked men.
The contingent aboard a submarine well below the Pacific Ocean's waves was not spared, nor were the occupants of the Space Station (you had to be healthy to get there, and all six of the occupants were such men), they also received their celestial sex machines to milk and ravish them.
All over the country and indeed, all over the world (the nighttime side, composing a significant part of the Eurasian and African continents, suffered their depredations while in their beds), the men of Earth were one and all the victims of the same tentacled assaults upon their bodies. The machines would hold them quietly when not busily poking them while slurping on them, even trot quietly behind him if they wanted to move around. The larger machines proved to be capable of separating into individual units so that every man could have their own private butt-rammer and cock-sucker machine as he proceeded about their daily duties. When they needed to void their bowels or urinate, the machine would indeed release them that much, though not the hold on their bodies beyond that much, and quickly clamp back on or stuff itself back inside when they were done. When they slept, the machines would go so far as to shift its holds on them, one tentacle at a time, so that the man could not get entirely free before being caught again.
As the days and weeks wended onward with no hint the machines would ever let Mankind go, it evolved into almost routine. Men would dress as best they could and go about their business, being followed by a metallic fuck-machine, and when climax would strike, they would pull over their cars and ejaculate, rest and proceed. The machines were quite cooperative at such times, making themselves as unobtrusive and inoffensive as any machine that was sucking a man's cock and fucking his ass in a public situation could be.
It was almost a point of pride for a college freshman to have a machine arrive and take him for the first time. It was almost an indignity not to have your cock encased and your ass extended for fucking while you were attending your classes, for it spoke that you were "not yet a man" in the man-sucking machines' books.
Population was dropping (no new babies being conceived) but that hadn't yet appeared to any great degree, a year later. It was precisely a year later than, with a chorus of soft "boomphs!" of air flowing back into their locations, the machines vanished once more. An enormous male population of the entire planet stood about looking confused, relieved and feeling more than a bit deserted.
And all over the world, there came the voice, in the native tongue wherever it was, but always soft, androgynous, and almost apologetic.
"We thank you for your gift of genetic information. Our planet is gathering information on all intelligent life in an effort to find the key to its existence. Intelligent life is so very rare, so very precious, it must be understood so it can be protected. So we have harvested, as it were, your species' tremendously wide and varied genetic information for this research. Your genetic material will be added to that gathered from the rest of the few planets we have found and if we ever discover the answer to the secret of intelligence, we will share all such data with you. Until that time, fare well and know that we hold for Mankind the greatest wishes for your continued survival and successful planetary expansion. Be fruitful and multiply and conquer the cosmos as we have some day."
That was all of the message and the invader was gone. Mankind's response to that was best summarized by a young black man of South Central Los Angeles who pulled up and fastened his pants, looked around and said, "Shee-it! If all they wanted was the chance to suck our cocks, why couldn't they have just asked?"
Nobody near him had any good answer for that.
[This story is a sample from my book "Tentacles Through Time" available for sale at my website, the URL is below. It is also for sale at Amazon as a Kindle book, and at Barnes & Noble as a Nook Book. However, my website book contains illustrations for all twenty brand-new stories as well.]
THE END
Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM