Where You Can Be Helpless

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Like playdough, last night's mud squishes and flattens under the tires of Connor's old Ford. He drives over each pathway from where a road might have once been many years ago. Now, it's just a mix of indistinguishable tire prints, crushed earth, and springy wildflowers. It's hardly anything different from the rest of the forest but Simon seems to know his way regardless. He's always been like that. Always noticing small details and strange tidbits. Landmarks, he called them. Simon spends most of his free time hiking. It's how he originally found the mysterious location that he's currently directing Connor to.

The early morning sun pokes through the pine needles of the trees. Each brush of the wind sends pinecones raining down over the hood of the car. A quick flick of the windshield wipers helps clear it away. Connor glances up at the rear side mirror and locks eyes with Simon who offers him a shy smile and then glances away quickly. He's sitting in the passenger seat, occasionally giving directions, but most of the time, he's quiet. Acoustic guitar plays through the old radio, the underwater effect muffling its sound.

The car pulls off to the side and is put into park. Simon steps out first, closing the door gently as though he's scared of making too much noise. Odd, considering they are both standing in the middle of a random gathering of trees an hour away from the city. Nobody would hear them, so why does it matter? Connor doesn't have any time to ponder it as he's quickly dragged away by the hand. The pathway fades into overgrown bushes that they can only navigate by foot.

Simon nibbles on a hangnail, a nervous habit he can't seem to rid himself of. Always a jittery person, he can never sit still or be 100% comfortable no matter the circumstances. It becomes apparent that he's especially worried about wherever they are going, and yet he's the one who's leading them there. Connor is starting to grow nervous now as well. His palms are sweaty and he's finding it difficult to keep his clasped in Simon's. Reluctantly, he lets go.

The secret location is finally revealed. A small shack is nestled between a large rock and a small gathering of wildflowers. It's a bit bigger than an outhouse and only slightly less appealing. The wood panels have the distinct scent of moisture. The whole building is rotting away slowly. Even the spiders seem hesitant to spin their webs there. Connor squints at it as though waiting for someone to burst out of the door. Some game show host or a prankster with a camera.

Nothing.

"You..." Simon clears his throat with a cough. "You said you wanted to feel helpless, right?" He reveals a red bandana that was previously hidden in his pocket.

Connor stares at it for a few seconds and then takes it. He ties it around his head so that it covers his eyes. Vaguely, Connor can sense movement in front of him. Simon is waving his hand to check the blindfold. Once he's satisfied, he pats Connor on the shoulder and guides him towards the entrance of the shack. The door is pulled open with a squeak so shrill that it's shocking that the door doesn't come right off its rusted hinges. Connor digs his shoes into the earth to stop himself from being pushed inside. Simon drops his hand and steps away.

"What did you mean by 'helpless'? You're not going to actually leave me here right?" Connor asks.

"I'll come get you, don't worry. Just scream and I'll come running," Simon says. Running as in running away? Connor thinks. Simon is a loyal friend but he gets spooked easily.

Finally, he allows himself to be pushed into the shack. The air is muggy and far too warm. The cool breeze from outside brushes past Connor's body as the door is slammed shut behind him. For a few seconds, Connor's heartbeat is the only thing he registers. It thuds against his chest, a drum-like sound next to his heavy breathing. He's suddenly glad for the blindfold because he knows that he would be absolutely terrified of whatever touches him next.

Five or six tendrils become fifty as they all reach out for Connor. They are slippery and palpable. Some unknown substance clings to everything. The goo grabs onto Connor's old baseball t-shirt, dragging it up over his shoulders. Connor's jeans go next, and then his boxers, until he's left bare and exposed. Simon's words from earlier echo in his head. 'You wanted to feel helpless, right?'

This is entirely Connor's fault. Going with someone alone in the woods is a pretty big red flag. He's a dumbass for falling for it.

The tendrils are far too powerful and should not be underestimated. Before Connor could bang on the door, he's lifted up off the ground. The shack isn't very tall but the lack of sight makes him feel disoriented. Connor's stomach lurches and he has to swallow away the taste of soda coming up in his throat. He's scared. Terrified even. The warm heat and the odd textures could only mean one thing. Whatever the hell lives in this shack is about to eat Connor.

But sharp teeth and stomach acid never appear. Instead, the tendrils seem oddly kind in the way that they handle his body. Several of them twist around Connor's waist until he's made to lie back. Like wet squishy handcuffs, his legs are spread by two more tendrils gripping his ankles. A scream finally manages to claw its way past his throat but it's immediately cut off by yet another tendril, only this one forces its way past Connor's lips, gagging him.

Whatever slips down his throat tastes like watered down honey. It's a natural sweetness that reminds him of the forest. Connor is forced to swallow down the strange substance or else he won't be able to breathe. A few minutes pass as he's held up in the air and fed slowly. By now, his heartbeat has changed to be much more subtle. Every panicked thought he might still have evaporates. Connor is left feeling fuzzy and numb.

More tendrils move across his body. One particular tendril rubs along Connor's nipples, bringing them to hardness. He kicks his legs to try and free himself but for some odd reason, he can't seem to gather the strength to do much more than whine. He won't be escaping anytime soon. Goosebumps form along his skin from each glide of the tendrils, and he gasps breathlessly. "Ah--ahh, fuck. Please, I can't," he begs to whatever monster is holding him. He receives no answer.

Connor is horrified to discover that he's getting hard. It's from a mix of adrenaline, and what he suspects might be a natural aphrodisiac. He moans right as his dick is engulfed and coated in slime. The slick texture makes it easy for Connor to thrust into the squishy tendrils, which he does without thinking. He cries out, surprised at how good it feels. He's not thinking clearly and all coherent thoughts finally fade away into nothing.

All that matters right now is pleasure. He wants to be touched, wants so badly to cum and make a mess all over himself. Connor uses the monster's limbs like a cocksleeve, blindly thrusting his hips forward until he's squeezed again and again by the tendrils. Something small and thin creeps across the underside of his balls, caressing the area and then dropping down further. This tendril, the size of a finger, easily breaches Connor's hole, prodding his entrance and then entering further.

Connor's whole body arches up beautifully while he gasps for air. The one in his throat leaves at last which allows him to moan louder. He completely forgets that Simon is outside, probably listening to the vulgarities. More slime drips down between Connor's legs then is stuffed inside. "More! M--mmmore! Please."

He aches for something bigger. He wants to cum so bad but he needs to be filled up first.

The small tendril is replaced by something much bigger, this one is as thick as Connor's wrist. He feels the way it stretches him to his limits, almost painfully, but the excessive amount of slime helps it fit. He whimpers and begs repeatedly while waiting for his body to adjust. He squirms around, he wants - needs to be fucked. Luckily for him, the mysterious monster seems to understand his desperation. The tendril pulls out until only the tip remains, and then it slams back inside, bumping Connor's prostate head on.

The rough movements are enough for the blindfold to slip off, though he still can't see much thanks to the lack of windows and light. Nonetheless, Connor can make out the vague shape of what appears to be a ball of spaghetti with eyes. His terrified scream turns into a long moan when he's fucked mercilessly. Every thrust threatens to drag him over the edge of orgasm. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes, dripping down his cheeks in streams.

Connor has never cum so hard before. His seed spills over his stomach and some spurts even land on his chin. He licks away the mess without thinking. His whole body remains tense, and he's glad he's being held up because he feels like he might collapse. One thing that confuses him is how the tendril, having never left his ass, is still pistoning in and out albeit slower than before. More tears fall at the overstimulation. It's too much but so, so good.

"Nh--hnnnn, fuck, please. I'm so full I can't... I can't..." Connor's tongue is like sandpaper and he can't do much more than croak out weak pleas.

Something large and bulbous pushes past his rim from inside the tendril. The end of it opens up and expels something smooth and hard like an egg directly inside of Connor. He whimpers around the new intrusion and pulls against his restraints. He's not any stronger than he was earlier, so his fighting does nothing. Connor isn't used to the strange feeling of being filled. It's so alien that it makes him cringe. Another egg makes its way inside, widening his hole, pushing deeper, bumping into the other egg.

"No, please. I can't take anymore," Connor tries to reason with the monster again. He's met with silence and a tendril gagging him.

The watered down honey is welcomed. He practically chugs the liquid, sucking down hard against the tendril for comfort. Connor's earlier assumption about it being an aphrodisiac is true. A tingle moves over his skin as he's brought back into a floaty and pleasurable mindset. Blood rushes to his dick and he's erect again. The eggs aren't scary or strange any longer. Now Connor is greedy for more. He spreads his legs as far as he can with his restraints while canting his hips.

Connor loses track of the number of eggs inside of him. Each one presses against his prostate perfectly, and being stuffed makes him feel warm and tingly. His toes curl and his lips stretch into a dopey smile. Connor cums again and again. By the fourth orgasm, he's dry and can't give any more. His dick is limp against his stomach. His whole body is weak and pliant. The perfect incubator for the monster's clutch.

Light from the outside world burns Connor's eyes. He has to blink back tears to even see what's going on. Simon has opened the door and is now standing there watching him. He seems unbothered by Connor's bulging stomach and the way he's tangled in a bunch of tendrils. This is the calmest Connor has ever seen him. Somewhere at the back of his floaty mind, he knows that something is wrong. Why would Simon bring him here? Was this planned?

"Shhhh," Simon hushes him while carding his fingers through Connor's sweaty hair. He combs out all the tangles then plants a kiss on Connor's egg-filled stomach.

"Si?" Connor whispers his friend's name because he doesn't have the strength to be any louder. "What's gonna happen?" His words slur together.

Simon rubs circles over his stomach, the action is soothing. Then he kisses Connor on the lips. "I promised to make you feel helpless." He says. "And I always keep my promises."