A Fulfilling Future
Tentacles are more than deadly beasts writhing in the dark. Instead, they are but a loving fetish that provides motherhood where you least expect it.
"A Fulfilling Future"
by
As the eggs are implanted to the female's body, she has no doubt that within the coming weeks she will be plump. The belly shall grow to a gravid state and the whelps within will mature. Tentacle monsters are strange beasts, dipping tendrils into any viable orifice, then siphoning in their brood. For the last few years, the female cared not for what the other worldly creatures did, so long as they pumped seed, nectar, and brood into her. So, she surrendered to the intrusion of her body once again. Her moans gave the sign all was well. The single, sticky tentacle pressed into her mound. It writhed into the small hole, spread out the channel, and set to work.
Without batting an eye the female watched, as if in a trance, the depravity of her womb. The thick tendrils parted the opening of her womanhood and the process began. Varying sizes of tentacles held her down. Small ones grasped her wrists holding them above her head. Larger ones grabbed at her thighs and calves, keeping her spread for the main incubator. The opaque extensions man handled her. It was their job to stimulate the vessel for the superior mass.
Tentacles, like these, had no face to them, only wriggling limbs slithering out from the dungeon's caverns. The open doors along the floor acted as barrier between the monsters below and the world above. None dared to think of the real "face" of the beast impregnating the females. But curious minds wondered. The foolhardy wound up killed or driven insane by what horrors they came into contact with. That is why the beast must be allowed to breed. Given a steady supply of fertile wombs the monster stayed placid. Happiness was easily bought through the women left swollen in the monster's wake.
Such is the case for the female squirming in the beastly confines of the tentacles. A few more inches and the incubator tendrils lined up for entry. No ceremony for today just a straight thrust into her belly. She was about to yowl, except a timely tentacle lodged into her maw. Silence at last. The preferred ruckus was the wet slurps of the incubator widening the walls of the brood mother. A far off sound breaks the peace between vessel and incubator. The eggs arrived within the tube. They are glossy beads strung together by embryonic fluids. Each oval floats in the incubator's length. There is no ceremony in what must be done.
The process of impregnation is never about intercourse. Incubators mimic mating to stimulate the brood vessel, and spill out seed once the full load is injected into the matron. An egg hovers against the female's petals. The tentacle bores through the labia and finally parts the muscles. At last the incubator can channel the eggs into the womb. The foreign ovals are at least three inches wide, four inches across. Comfort is an unaffordable luxury to the chosen mothers. Hours of bestial torment await. The incubator delivers eggs in succession without tiring. Vessels receive the brood by the hundreds each day. The tentacle beasts require wombs or holes of any type to deposit the eggs, but female wombs provide a natural choice. Not to say a male's rectum is unfit.
The female squeezed on the incubator. It settled into a steady rhythm of pushing the egg in, pinching off another from the line, then sliding it into the cervix. Her belly grows round at the middle. A fresh clutch resides in her tummy. It is a sight any father would be proud to see. Such lovely things eggs are. Their size and circumference push into the stomach. Once inside the vessel, the eggs keep rounding out the mother's center.
Incubators finish in a most splendid fashion. After the last egg slips inside, the incubator thrusts a few times into the mound, spasms, then spills out the fertile seed of its kind. The "mother-father" monster splashes a potent essence into the vessel's womb. Tentacles have a short gestation period. This clutch will take a few weeks to develop. By the end of the cycle, the brood mothers are taken to a birthing chamber, and lay the eggs in a damp room. Somehow the tentacle beasts thrive in dark places. Make no mistake the brood mothers are tethered back into their incubation roles, but not before gaining well deserved rest.
Feel no sorrow for the vessels. The lovely mothers enjoy their occupation. Time spent breeding is a festive occasion. Years in these perverse conditions made the males and females hunger for the depravity. Their eyes light up at seeing incubators slither into their chambers, ready to pummel their tube into womb or tailhole. Vessels delight in the pain of forced pregnancy. For the chosen breeders, they are mothers several times through the year. Never shall they weep! Short incubation periods are a loving time, a chance to pet a rounded center ripe with otherworldly life. They cherish the "babies" with a single caress to the gravid belly. Have no sorrow for these patrons, for they have a fulfilling future.