FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The thing about being a superheroine is that every once in a while, not everything goes according to plan. Sometimes, you accidentally mix your costume and your whites in the wash and stain your laundry. Sometimes you end up dating a supervillain on the sly (story for another time). Sometimes you get so tied up in saving the city that you forget to keep a dentist appointment.

And sometimes you find yourself ensnared in tentacles, your belly straining against your outfit and your womb absolutely packed full of eggs.

Shit like that.

My hero name is Echidna. Yeah yeah, laugh all you want, just shows how little you know about the classics. In Greek mythology, Echidna was one of the most feared beings this side of Tartarus. Consort of the mega-beast Typhon, she created almost all of the most famous of the monsters of Greek myth. Cerberus? The Nemean Lion? The Sphinx? Yeah, you can thank her for all those. Her name means ‘She-Viper.’ And then some poncey, monocle-wearing British scientist decided to borrow her name for some dopey marsupial down in Australia and now whenever anyone hears her name, they laugh.

Typical.

I know what you’re thinking—‘She-Viper’? ‘Monster creator’? Am I really hero material? Yes, don’t worry, I’m firmly on the side of good. It just fit too well into my powerset.

See, most of the fighting isn’t done by me, per se. I’m not super fast, or strong; I can’t fly or punch through walls. But I’ve always had an inherent affinity for magic, especially summoning magic. So just like the mythical Echidna, I create—or summon—monsters of my own to deal with the bad guys. Don’t worry, so long as the summoner keeps an iron will, the monsters stay in check and don’t run rampant.

Mostly.

It all started on a boring day—a Wednesday, I think it was? You’d think it would be easier to remember, considering how thoroughly shook up my life became. We’d gotten reports of a villain terrorizing some small town out in the boonies, and since those spots don’t have designated heroes of their own, we supers cycle who has responsibility for them a specific week. It’s actually a pretty sought-after job: you get a week of relaxation, and what few villains do show up are total chumps.

So I show up to some ass-end in the middle of nowhere, the type of town where Main Street is one lane wide and has a mediocre bronze statue commemorating some dude who died in the 1800s, and what do I find but a supervillain—an honest-to-god powered character—robbing a pharmacy of all places. Like, how desperate do you gotta be, my guy? A pharmacy? There was a bank two streets over!

I portal in and cross my arms. A lot of the villains know my reputation; I get more surrenders than almost any other hero, since they don’t want to risk getting on the busy end of one of my summoned creatures. But this guy—some shadow-manipulator who I’d later find out was named Ombra—actually decides to take a stand. He sends out tendrils of shadow to snake at me, so I conjure up a portal to one of my creatures. There are plenty of beasties I have to call on: giant wolves, vicious hawks the size of ostriches, the works. But I figured tendrils should be fought with tendrils.

Yeah, my mistake.

The old texts called it ‘Ysilar.’ It was a creature from another plane, feared and frightening. The summon magic I delivered just conjured up enough gateways for its tentacles to come through, and boy were there a lot of them. Ysilar swatted away Ombra’s shadows like they were confetti. Ombra and I had the old hero-vs-villain back and forth: “Surrender, evildoer!” “Never! Take this!”

Gods, it just gets so cliché. One of these days I’m gonna snap and just ask these guys if they’ve ever had two braincells to rub together. One of my first villains was a guy who could just make electricity from his body—and I’m talking to the level of a lightning storm. Like, imagine how much money he could make by teaming up with the government to give discounted power to the Eastern Seaboard or some shit. But no, he decides to try and steal a military experiment, gets shot at, wipes out power for a whole metropolitan area, gets the shit kicked out of him, and spends the next thirty years in a tailor-made rubber prison. Dumbass.

But I digress.

We battle it out, Ombra gets spanked; seriously, he can’t hope to match a tentacled terror from beyond this plane. Ysilar very easily overcomes Ombra’s shadows and is moving in to grab the guy, so the newbie villain decides to try and escape. He pierces his shadows down into the ground to anchor himself as he rises up—little did he know there was a natural gas line below.

Yeah, oops.

The ensuing blast barely even registers as an explosion—doesn’t even damage the surrounding shops beyond rattling their windows. Sets off a bunch of car alarms, though, and knocks both me and Ombra on our asses.

That latter part turns out to be a, uh, Significant development in my life.

I’m not knocked unconscious—though I wish I had been. The magic spell sustaining the portals would have dissipated in that case. Instead, I’m simply left with my ears ringing and my mind reeling—and that latter part turns out to be of prime import. Remember what I said about summoning magic needing focus to keep the creatures in line?

I only lose said focus for a tiny bit, probably a dozen seconds max—but that’s all Ysilar needs. I don’t know why the extraplanar beast goes for me and not Ombra. Maybe because I’m closer, maybe to pay me back for all the times I’d summoned it to do my bidding…

Oh, who the hell am I kidding. I know why. It’s cause I have a womb.

The explosion knocks me back, my ears ring, and mere seconds later I can feel Ysilar’s slimy tentacles winding their way about my arms and legs. Before I even have a chance to protest or speak the counterspell to shut the portal, a tentacle is at my lips—and though I try to refuse it, tossing my head this way and that, it muscles past my teeth.

“Mmmmmmmmnn,” I moan around the tendril. It’s thick—pressing on my tongue and pushing up against the roof of my mouth. The taste is like sour candy. “Mmmmmnnn… nnn…?”

Ysilar’s tendrils have now thoroughly ensnared all four of my limbs and the trunk of my body—my chances of re-establishing control are miniscule, and the portal will remain open until I pass out or speak the counterspell. The creature hoists me into the air, and I’m cradled in its touch… and then the tentacle pushes deeper into my mouth, kissing the back of my throat.

My eyes flutter at the intrusion. I half-gag, half-convulse—but Ysilar’s exuding some kind of slime that’s forcing me to relax. I fall limp in its clutches, my fruitless attempts at wriggling out dying away, and my throat also relaxes enough for the tentacle to push even deeper.

I can do little but rock in its confines as Ysilar presses into my throat; I contract around it in a vague swallowing motion, but that only seems to entice it further. Vaguely, I wonder how I look to any onlookers and if my throat is bulging obscenely from its new occupant. The explosion seems to have scared off any civilians, for which I’m grateful.

Ysilar’s attention isn’t just on my throat, however. Some of its tendrils find my collar and snake underneath my suit, making me quiver wordlessly as they coil about and caress my big breasts. I… I’d be lying if I denied that my nipples started to harden at that. It’s a physiological response, one I can’t control. Other tendrils curl against the small of my back; one winds its way between my fingers, threading in and out. The ones gripping my thighs force my legs apart even wider and I whimper.

Someone approaches, and I’m not sure if I’m aghast or relieved to see that it’s Ombra. The newbie villain smiles down at me and I see Ysilar’s tendrils coiling around him but not touching him. (That’s spite, I think, on Ysilar’s part—I summoned it to do one particular thing, so it is emphatically not going to do that thing.)

Villain and beast seem to come to some level of unspoken agreement; I can only watch, smoldering with dismay, as Ombra approaches me. I tense and moan against one of Ysilar’s tentacles as Ombra rests one of his hands on my inner thighs; with his other hand, he almost lackadaisically rips a hole in my costume, baring my flushed, wet pussy to the world.

Well aware of what’s about to happen, I try to muster the urge to thrash and fight despite Ysilar’s overwhelming, pacifying secretions—but all that happens is that I swing gently back and forth in the tentacled creature’s grasp. Ombra smiles more, reaching down to peel off his own clothing. My eyes widen from my vantage point in Ysilar’s grip: Ombra is huge, not even fully erect and already the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He lines up his cock with my flushed snatch and I can only wordlessly protest, my voice strained and muffled against the tentacle still ravaging my throat—“Mmmmmfff! Mmmmmrrrrrrmmmmph!”—as he smirks down at me.

“Who’da thought I’d get to fuck a hero,” he drawls. His cock is pressing against my labia, squeezing through to my entrance, and I try valiantly to clench and keep him out.

It doesn’t work, of course.

He forces his way in and I rock, my eyes widening at the sudden intrusion. Holy fuck, he’s big, his cock occupying me like a squatter in a house. I try to protest even more and Ysilar just takes the opportunity to squelch further inside my mouth; by this time I am properly deepthroating the tentacle, whether I’d like to or not.

Ombra fucks me without abandon, reaching up to paw and knead at one of my tits; the other is still being traced and caressed by Ysilar’s tentacle. His pace is breakneck, fucking like his life depends on it, and his fervent energy seems to spur the beast on. Ysilar’s tentacles tighten around my limbs and torso, leaving me gripped and helpless, and I can do little but lean back and take it.

I can feel every energetic thrust from the villain, feel his dick stroking my inner walls, the rough pleasure of his girth spreading me just a little bit wider, pushing just a little bit deeper. Every fuck from Ombra leaves me quivering with miserable delight, the sheer presence of his cock in me driving me wild despite myself; though I try to rally my self-control, before long I find myself moaning in more than just protest, grinding my hips up against him in what little allowance Ysilar provides. The tentacles about me tense in apparent amusement, an emotion reflected by Ombra; the chuckling villain slams home again, driven further by my crumbling resolve.

One thrust and I’m quivering with unwanted ecstasy; another and I shudder, wracked with a moan that can barely hiss past the tentacle in my mouth; yet another and I roll my head back, giving the tentacle more purchase to slide even deeper inside of me. It feels as if my whole esophagus is occupied by the thing; I wonder if it could probe all the way into my stomach.

Ombra is going wild, his voice rasping as his pace becomes hectic, breakneck. His tempo is maddening, echoed by the tentacles undulating in my throat and around my arms and through my fingers.

“Fuck,” I can hear his voice say, almost breaking. “Fuck, I… I…”

He slams home, grunting, grinding into me and filling me with everything he has, and he stutters out: “Take—my seed—!”

Alarm fills me mere seconds before something else does. Ombra’s spunk jets directly into me, flushing me with warm wetness and seeping into my cunt. He holds in there, half-slumped against me, for a fair bit, panting with exertion and delight as I glare at him. He doesn’t care, reaching up to stroke my chin and twirl my hair around his fingers. Fuck stupid villains like this who think that they can get one over on heroes! I’ll make him pay for sure!

(In hindsight, ‘fuck him’ was rather poor terminology since, well, that’s exactly what I’d just done.)

But ultimately, Ombra was just the appetizer. After his orgasm, Ysilar grows agitated, and soon the tentacles lash at him. The villain, to his credit, is no fool; he slips out of me, doing his costume up with a smirk—then, with a jocular salute, he pockets his goods and vamooses.

Normally, the thought of a villain escaping would have been maddening, but at the moment I have bigger things to worry about.

Ysilar’s decided to have me proper.

As Ombra wings away, the tendrils around me grip even tighter. The one in my throat dances, bringing tears to my eyes as I involuntarily, uselessly gulp about it. What I was expecting to happen happens, of course. Another tentacle, fresh from my summoner’s portals, wends its way towards me. I close my eyes and prepare myself.

But the otherworldly beast isn’t going to make it as easy as that. I’m expecting the sharp bite of penetration, my cunt still aching and sending aftershocks of pleasure from Ombra… but instead, I feel a warm, slimy touch on my outer lips, gently—almost delicately—dragging down. I open my eyes in shock as the other tentacles match it in action; one cups my chin, stroking my throat, pressing against the slight bulge from Ysilar’s other tentacle; both breasts are encircled by tentacles now, and they ache as they’re oh-so-tenderly twisted and kneaded. The tip of a tentacle touches the nipple on my right breast, making me moan as the razor-sharp sensation dances electric steps down my spine.

More tendrils circle around my inner thighs, probing at small tears in my costume and ripping open my tights to caress the skin directly. The tentacle stroking my labia drifts up and applies pressure to my clit, swirling it and coating it in slime, and as my throat works uselessly in orgasmic bliss, Ysilar takes the moment to plunge into me proper.

Oh, fuck.

Whatever I’d felt from Ombra is immediately eclipsed. The tentacle is unlike anything that’s ever been in me, whether toy or human cock; it’s strong yet supple, impossible to fight against, and immeasurably elastic; it dances its way through my sore snatch, stroking spots I never knew I had and making me sob from pleasure. Before long my mind is rolling, lost in wave after wave of sheer sexual ecstasy as an otherworldly appendage ravages my cunt. And what’s more is that Ysilar’s tentacle in my throat matches perfect time; the two of them thrust into me in utter unison, each complementing the other and compounding each other in a way that more than surpasses what each would give me individually.

The tentacle between my legs thrusts back and forth in a ceaseless parody of lovemaking, stroking in and out, up and down, but with every push it wriggles just a little bit deeper, a little bit further in—and there’s more of it than any man could hope to manage. Ysilar pushes into me in ways and in places I had never imagined, going deeper than anything I’d ever felt, until the tip of the tentacle is caressing and nudging my cervix.

The ache, oh, the ache as Ysilar relentlessly squirms into me, its pressure forcing my most intimate barrier open. My eyes are hazy and I’m dancing on the edge of consciousness as the magical creature’s tentacle probes into my womb, but it knows better than to let me slip away. To do so would break the spell before it has time to really get what it wants. No, Ysilar is being deliberate, almost predatory.

And then the fun really starts.

Ysilar’s tentacle tenses, flexing in a way that leaves me quivering; from my vantage point I can see a small, vaguely spherical bulge traveling down the tentacle.

Oh god—eggs.

The bulge travels deeper and deeper and when it hits my outer lips I whine in protest, but there’s nothing to do but take it. The bulge squeeeeeezes into me, spreading me even wider, and the sensation deepens and deepens as it pulses lower, until it muscles past the final barrier. With another tense and a squirt of lubricating juice, Ysilar squeezes the egg into me.

And just like that, I’m pregnant.

You probably couldn’t tell for looking at me—just one egg a little larger than a golf ball would hardly make anyone’s tummy stand out. But even if you couldn’t see it, the feeling of having something foreign suddenly squatting in my womb is more than I can bear and I work my jaw, moaning and keening wordlessly. I’m a heroine. I’m a savior. A crimefighter. I’ve brought nation-wide threats to their knees.

And here I am, impregnated with the spawn of my own summoned creature. And there’s more coming.

More bulges travel down Ysilar’s tentacle, squeezing into me over and over again, and my mind reels as I’m made to accept them. The eggs aren’t that big, but there seems no end to them, and before long my normally-flat tummy is starting to paunch out, rounding with the occupancy of the eggs within, and I moan.

Ysilar keeps pumping them into me and the feeling of being stuffed full of extraplanar young is more than I can stand. My legs thrash helplessly, my head rolls side to side as best it can despite that tentacle in my throat, but it’s no use. The eggs squeeze into me like clockwork and I round out like clockwork, again and again, my belly surging a little more each minute. Before long the fabric of my costume is straining to contain me and I heave a sigh of relief through my nose as it finally tears, the inhibiting pressure no longer nipping at me. But without my costume to disguise it, I’m forced to fully grapple with what I am: a fat-bellied breeder, a heroine turned incubator; I already look like a woman at seven months and Ysilar shows no sign of slowing down, and as more young are pumped into me, settling comfortably against each other in a weight that I can already feel down in my pelvis, I reflect that perhaps my chosen name was more portentous than I’d expected.

Echidna. That’s what I’d called myself. It’s almost funny—not just because the silly little animals lay eggs, oh no. There’s more to it than that. The mythical Echidna, she controlled and created monsters, that much was true. But they weren’t artificial creatures; they were her offspring. That’s what she was, and what I am now:

Mother to monsters.

The realization strikes and it’s so funny that I roll with laughter, heaving breath out my nose as Ysilar keeps dutifully breeding me full of more and more monster babies. And after the laughter, I lean back and just take it. There’s nothing I can do anymore.

---

I suppose I should tell you how the story ends. How Ysilar drags me to the edge of that tiny town and fucks me through the night, breeding me over and over again; my world that night is nothing but a haze of sexual fervor. How the other heroes go looking for me when I don’t report back from an easy mission. How they find me the next morning, captive and languid and fucked full of monster children, caressed and cradled in the tentacles of the creature I was foolish enough to try and tame like some offering to a fertile goddess. How Ysilar sullenly retreats from their onslaught, how it takes all of them to help me rise since I am quite literally too pregnant to move.

And so here I am, back at base, months after my ordeal and still knocked up. Ysilar’s eggs have been growing steadily in the meantime, leaving me even more pinned. I haven’t tried any magic since that fateful day. It’s not even that I’m afraid of what might happen; I’m simply too weary to muster the energy. Maybe after I have my babies.

…my babies? I suppose they are. I wonder when I started thinking of them as my children. Perhaps around the time I had dreams of summoning Ysilar and surrendering to it again… I woke, blushing and shamed from that dream the first time I had it, but that didn’t stop me from reaching around my gravidness to tend to myself with a whispered moan. It’s just gotten more intense since then.

If those ancient legends are real, then I suppose the actual Echidna must be laughing at me. I stole the moniker of the mother of monsters—in the end, I guess it was inevitable that I was going to live up to it.