Skip to main content

Slithering into Submission

 


Deandre was an ebony God: tall, dark and handsome. He was a friendly, good-natured, all around great guy. He had a girlfriend, a steady job, and a dream life on Hawaii. Every day at lunch he’d throw on a pair of boardshorts and go surfing for thirty minutes or so; and it was a typical Wednesday afternoon that his life was effectively taken over. 

It was a beautiful day. Blue skies, 89 degrees, sunny, and crashing waves. A beach full of tourists wasn’t enough to deter Deandre and his surfboard, so as he walked past sunburnt retirees from deep in the midwest, he payed no attention to the pair of eyes watching him like a hawk. Hiding from sight behind a surfboard of his own, the man’s blacked out eyes and curious demeanour strangely caught the attention of no one.

Deandre paddled out to catch some waves, missing a few decent ones. His attention focused on the horizon, he didn’t notice the man slowly entering the water. Sporting glasses to hide his darting eyes, he searched his borrowed memory to communicate with his prey. By the time he reached Deandre, he was smiling and calling out to him as if it were natural.


“Hey dude!” Deandre turned around to see the sun-tanned beach bum calling at him with a dumb grin.

“Can I help you?” he asked. The kid just continued to paddle closer and closer until he was practically beside him. Deandre shot him a look of disdain, hoping to ward off the strange boy, to no avail.

“Hello dudebro!” The kid spoke with a strange voice. A stereotypical surfer dude affect, but with a concerning bi-tonal voice. The smile remained plastered on his face, as he waited for Deandre’s response. It was underneath the surface, however, that the creature was truly stirring. Preparing to exit it’s host, the mollusk-like creature began to slither out of the boy’s rear, tentacles stretching the hole to accommodate his bulbous body.

The surfer began to shake violently, as the creature disconnected itself from his brain and spinal cord, before passing out face first onto his surfboard. It was then that Deandre sprang into action. A former lifeguard, he dove into the water and straight to the kid floating on the surface, unaware of the alien just beneath his toes. Too far from land, he began to perform CPR on the seemingly lifeless body.

Taking this opportunity to strike, the alien wrapped a slick tentacle around the ebony man’s ankle. Thinking it was just some seaweed getting caught, he continued his resuscitation efforts. This theory didn’t last long, as soon after, he felt a strange slimy probe approaching his rear. It was then that Deandre could see the alien creature beneath the ripples.

It looked like a strange grey octopus, with an impossible amount of tentacles sprouting from it’s balloon-like head. Two gigantic black eyes like beads stared at him from it’s glaring face. Before the gigantic man could cry for help, the tendril shot up into him, probing deep into his rectum. He yelped, unable to do much else than breathe as the creature continued to force itself into him. Just as Deandre took a deep breath, a second tentacle thrust into his body, and began to expand, his hole stretching and tearing at the immense pressure.

It took fifteen seconds for the creature to slither into Deandre’s writhing body, leaving behind a massive, pulsing rectum in it’s wake. Deandre could feel the slithering tentacles slide throughout him, even so much as to appear as moving lumps beneath his skin. A moment of silence fell as his eyes rolled back into his head, and a gurgling sound echoed from his gaping mouth.

With one final *crack*, his expression softened. With every movement, a slimy noise emitted from within his body, indicative of the tendrils manipulating his muscles. The boy beginning to regain consciousness, the lasting effects of the take over became evident. Completely submissive, thoughtless, unable to even make a decision.

“Come, slave, let’s go home.” Deandre said with a sinister bi tonality to his voice. Snatching the sunglasses from his former husk’s face, he covered his empty, black eyes, and paddled back to the shore.

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Predestination

  Promising Sunnmore University Ph.D. Candidate Missing Aug. 31, 2006 A promising research student has gone missing as of this past Wednesday from the Sunnmore University campus. Sean McDonough, a Ph. D. candidate studying genetics at the university, left Swampscott Hall at approximately 9:45 PM and did not show up for his office hours the following morning. Campus police state that the incident likely occurred during Wednesday night's freak storm while the University security cameras were down for scheduled maintenance that evening.  McDonough, a native of Providence, has been intimately involved in various secretive genetic studies conducted by Dr. Howard West and Dr. Delia Whateley. Motives remain plentiful behind his disappearance, but local authorities assure the community at large that there is no evidence yet of foul play. Fellow colleague and doctoral candidate Elias Delahaye remembers McDonough as a "brilliant scientist" and "dear friend." --- Carefully...
Post a Comment
Read more

Spiritual Trainers

 He came into the gym a skinny little twig, quite literally skin and bones. Never really able to gain any weight, Gordon was known around the neighborhood as the ghost: deathly pale and skeletal. For the past 5 years since he graduated from medical school, he tried strategy after strategy to try and bulk up. From high carb and high protein diets to vegan plans to just eating fast food for an entire month, nothing seemed to work for him. Thus, this new gym membership was yet another rung on his ladder, another step on trying to get swole.  The gym had been a staple of the neighborhood for decades, becoming a well established conveyor belt of successful athletes. The place supplied wrestlers, boxers, bodybuilders of all types to the industry: always winners, always huge. Thus, in the hopes of becoming their next success story, Gordon put pen to paper on the membership form, and struggling to carry his limp gym bag over his shoulder, he drudged toward the locker room. While the i...
Post a Comment
Read more

Cult of Personality

 The blistering New Mexico heat bared down on Douglas' '99 Chevrolet Cavalier. The small blue coupe meandered up I-25, enroute from Las Cruces to Santa Fe. The old man quietly sighed to himself, fruitlessly trying to think of a better pitch to sell his Solar Panels to the rich folks up in Albuquerque. Las Cruces ended up being a bust, just as much as Tucson: the damn things were just too expensive up front. Not that the company gave a single damn, quotas are quotas. Thus, still empty handed, he passed the exit sign for Socorro- still an hour until he'd reach his destination. As he passed the exit, he noticed a bright red glint a bit further up the road. Douglas adjusted his glasses, squinting his eyes to see. He slowed down on the empty highway as the sight became clearer. It was a car. In fact, it was a bright red '67 Mustang; it's owner leaned on the hood as black smoke bellowed from the tailpipe. Douglas looked down at his watch, knowing fully well that he needed...
Post a Comment
Read more