The Forest Creature Waiting for Me Between the Trees
What I’m about to tell you never happened, and at the same time I’ve lived it a hundred times in my head. It’s one of those fantasies I’m ashamed to admit out loud, but it comes back to me every night when I close my eyes and let my hand slide slowly down beneath the sheets.
It started almost like a game. A few months ago I fell into a certain kind of videos and drawings I would never have looked for on purpose: impossible creatures, many-armed monsters, beasts made of tentacles chasing women through forests and caves. I know it sounds strange. I thought it would disgust me too. Instead, I found myself biting my lip in front of the screen, my heart racing and a heat between my legs I couldn’t explain.
Since then I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And the fantasy is always the same.
***
I imagine myself walking alone through a forest that doesn’t appear on any map. It isn’t a normal forest: it’s a place where creatures of every shape and size live, and where their only instinct isn’t to eat or survive, but to reproduce. Some are small and slippery. Others are enormous. I know it, and that’s why I go in anyway. I’m lightly dressed, wearing just loose shorts and a T-shirt with nothing underneath, looking for exactly what I shouldn’t be looking for.
I move forward among the ferns, curiosity weighing more heavily on me than fear. The air is damp and smells of wet earth. And then, in a clearing, I see it.
It’s a creature twice my size. Large, grotesque, shining with dampness, but not entirely threatening. I freeze for a second too long. When I finally react and turn to run, it’s already too late.
Several tentacles detach from its body, cross the clearing in an instant, and coil around my arms. They wind around one another, yank me, and drag me toward it. The creature leans in, as if sniffing me, as if studying me. I struggle. Another tentacle catches my free wrist and brings my hands together over my head, leaving me with not the slightest chance of moving.
After watching me for a while, it lets out a kind of deep shriek, a mix of moan and command, and drops me to the ground with my arms still bound. That’s when the others begin to emerge.
There are many kinds. Some are thin and taper to a point. Others are just as slender but end in a kind of open hand. Some look like octopus tentacles, thick at the base and narrow at the tip, with that suction-cup texture that leaves marks on the skin. Others are broader and slicker, the same ones holding me down. And a few, the ones that unsettle me most, seem to have edges.
The first ones come crawling over my legs, sliding up my thighs, brushing my crotch over the fabric and climbing toward my breasts. One tries to slip beneath my T-shirt. I writhe, trying to keep them from touching me, but it’s useless: they move with a will of their own, coordinated, as if they know exactly what they’re doing.
Between several of them, they start undressing me. The blade-like ones slide under my shirt and cut it apart with an ease that steals my breath as well. The fabric falls away and my breasts are exposed. Two thin tentacles circle them at once, squeeze from the base, and let the tips take care of my nipples, massaging them in slow circles. Two others hook into the elastic of my shorts and pull them down my legs until they tear them off, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.
When I try to close my legs again, the same tentacles that were holding me coil around my ankles and force them wide apart. Bound by all four limbs, the creature lifts me slightly off the ground and draws me closer. More arms wrap around my waist to hold me in the air.
And then what I really came for begins.
One of the suction-cup-shaped tentacles slips behind my underwear and finds its way to my sex. Unhurried, without warning, it starts rubbing against me. My fear turns into something else: that rough texture, that size, that rhythm, first slow and then faster, tear my first real moans from me. I get wet in seconds. The friction builds, and at the same time another tentacle sucks on one of my nipples, and the combination tears me apart from the inside.
I don’t take long. With my legs trembling and unable to close them, unable to escape, I come against that tentacle in a shudder that leaves my underwear soaked and my mind blank. And that, I discover, was only the warm-up.
***
Because everything before that the creature did solely to prepare me. One of the blade-like tentacles slices through my last garment in a single stroke, leaving it in tatters on the ground. Now I’m completely naked, exposed, open.
Two new tentacles emerge from its body, much longer and thicker. At first they’re slender, but I can see them swelling, changing size at will. One ends in a shape that resembles a cock, with a broad, round head, impossibly thick. The other, a little smaller, is covered in tiny protrusions along its length. Both approach my face, almost as if greeting me, and then descend, seeking their two targets.
The first tries to enter and slips out again and again. I’m too tight and it’s too big. As if it understands, it shrinks a little, and with some extra effort it works its way inside me. Once inside, it grows again. I feel pain and pleasure at the same time, that exact mixture my body doesn’t know how to process. Thanks to what happened before, I’m so slick it can move without mercy, hammering deep, reaching a spot I’d never felt so far inside. I scream, moan, shake, while other tentacles keep sucking on my nipples until they’re swollen and hard.
A few minutes later, the second tentacle finds my back entrance and pushes all the way in. The cry that escapes me is not one of protest. This creature can’t stand leaving a gap unfilled: before I can recover, a fourth tentacle slides between my lips and sinks into my mouth as far as I can take it, stretching it open around him.
A woman a little over five feet tall, completely dominated by a nearly ten-foot tentacled beast. All my holes occupied at once, unable to moan, unable to move, reduced to feeling that unfamiliar texture going in and out of me without rest. Though saying “in and out” is a lie: they’re so long they never fully come out.
Many minutes pass like that. It changes position, turns me in the air, bends me over, but it never stops penetrating me. When I think I can’t take any more, what always makes me open my eyes in the dark happens in my fantasy.
The tentacle in my sex stops for an instant and thins again. It finds the limit no man had ever crossed, that supposed impassable point, and now, even slicker than before, it manages to push a little farther. I scream again even with my mouth occupied, because I feel it has reached somewhere new, impossible. And then, once it’s inside, it regains all its thickness. It’s indescribable. I can see the bulge moving beneath my belly, marking how far it goes, a shape shifting inside my own body.
Pleasure awakens something even I didn’t know existed. I come apart in waves that leave me unable even to breathe, on the verge of not being able to let out another moan. And just when I think I’m going to faint, the creature reaches its climax. All the tentacles contract at once. I feel them spilling inside and outside me in thick, warm jets: over my chest, on my back, in my mouth, deep inside. The one still buried in me throbs several times, emptying itself with an abundance no woman should be able to hold.
A few seconds later, the tentacles withdraw one by one and the creature lets me fall slowly onto the grass. The emptiness they leave is enormous, almost an echo. I can feel everything that filled me beginning to leak out of me as I lie there, spent, my breathing broken.
The beast doesn’t hurt me. It just looks at me one last time and disappears among the trees, leaving me there, naked and trembling, feeling satisfied in a way real life has never given me.
And every night, when I turn off the light and slide my hand beneath the sheets, I go back to that forest. I go back in knowing what’s waiting for me. And that, I suppose, is the part I really shouldn’t confess: that I’d go back without thinking twice.
