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“Don’t be a pussy!” Sasha whispered as they sneaked through the rickety corridors of the haunted house.
“I’m not, you are!” Alex shot back.
“Shh—” Kazimir hushed them from behind.
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
“Shh!”
“He said shh!” This was Fyodor, ever and anon taking his best friend’s side. Alex rolled his eyes.
The floors creaked under their weight as they walked closer to the heart of the house. The air was still, and all was silent. Alex held his breath.
Tattered tapestries flitted in the wind streaming through broken windows. The basement door opened with a creak.
“It’s really spooky,” Kazimir said, trembling. “I think I can hear my mother calling…”
Something rustled down in the darkness; something slithered.
“Me too!” Fyodor said quickly. “I gotta go, bye guys!” With that, he caught Kazimir’s hand and, dragging him behind, was off.
“Coward,” Sasha muttered, just as Alex was thinking it, but hung back behind Alex as they peered down into the basement. Alex swallowed. The sultry air from the basement smelled faintly of something sweet and repugnant, and queasily, Alex stared it down.
“I’m going in,” he said.
“Okay.” Sasha’s voice pitched high.
“Are you scared?” Alex grinned.
“No!”
“I bet you’re scared.”
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
“Am not!” Sasha shoved Alex, and he stumbled; his heel slipped over the edge of the steps—He screamed—And he tumbled into the darkness.
He landed painfully, heavily, with a squelching sound in something wet. The door shut with a bang.
“Sasha!” he cried. “Sashenka!”
But Sasha would not come. He would not help him.
Alex was all alone in the darkness.
He crawled backwards in whatever slime he was sitting in, until his back hit the wall. His heart pounded in his temples.
“Sasha…” he whimpered. “Mamochka…”
That sickly sweet smell – the smell of rotting flesh? – overwhelmed his senses. Something slithered to his left, and he suppressed a scream.
“Who—Who’s there?” he called into the darkness.
More slithering. Alex raised his voice, trying to be brave.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!”
Something soft, velvety smoothed against his leg. He screamed, trying to pull away, but the thing wrapped itself around his ankle, and Alex struggled uselessly; soon his hands were similarly grabbed by long, slimy tentacles, and he was pinned to the wall.
“No! No, let me go!” he screamed, kicking out. “Let me go!”
All struggle was in vain; the tentacles held him fast, no matter how he fought, he could barely move, and he soon fell limp, exhausted. The struggle warmed him; he was hot, his T-shirt stuck to his heaving chest with sweat.
The smell got sweeter.
A tentacle prodded at Alex’s lips, and Alex wrenched away his head, but it was no use; the tentacle kept prodding, smearing Alex’s lips with a viscous fluid that had the same mind-numbingly sweet smell as the entire room, and in his panting exhaustion, Alex was forced to open his mouth if he wanted to breath. The tip of the tentacle slithered in and rested there, on the cusp of Alex’s lips.
Its fluid was sweet, but not unpleasantly so; it tasted like Alex’s favourite ice-cream, or a sugar cube dripped in coffee, and it just rested there, steadfastly, relentlessly, on the tip of Alex’s tongue.
Alex tried to push it away with his tongue, but the taste was sweet, and as he licked at it, he wanted more. So he lapped up the fluid seeping from the tentacle, but with every lick came less and less. He began to suck on the tip, swallowing the fluid in greedy gulps, and as he did, he began to forget there was anything else besides the fluid—it made him feel so pleasantly warm and sleepy.
The tentacles loosened around his ankles and wrists and slipped under his clothes; they slid over Alex’s tummy and chest, his arms and legs and everywhere, and Alex snickered when the tentacles reached under his thighs, and it tickled.
It was all so very nice, his head being full of fog and his belly full of sweet fluid, the tentacles caressing every inch of his body.
When the tentacle from his mouth pulled away, Alex moved after it with his eyes closed and mouth open, but dizzily, he lost his balance and fell forward. The tentacles caught him, held him up, and when Alex reached out for the one still dripping with fluid, they caught his hand and gently tugged off his T-shirt.
Alex didn’t mind; it was hot anyway. He only wanted more of the sweetness, and the tentacle, like a reward, came back so he could cup it in his hands and sip on it.
Warm air wafted around him, pleasantly sweet, Alex felt it on his legs; and when he had pulled away for a minute, long enough to look down at himself but still suckling at the tip of the tentacle, he saw that he was naked.
His heart lurched—why did he have to be naked?—but the tentacles smoothed against his face, and that felt good, so Alex closed his eyes, letting them wrap around his torso. They were slimy but soft, like silk. So very nice to him.
They slithered between Alex’s legs.
“What’re you doin’?” Alex murmured groggily. The tentacles rubbed against his dick, and he squirmed, suddenly unsure. “No—Stop—” he mumbled. “’s not supposed to—”
He tried to think through the haze of sweetness about what was going on, but the tentacles circled his nipples, and a wave of pleasant tingles ran through Alex’s entire body.
“Uh—” The tentacles played with his dick, and there were more tingles, and more sweetness, and when Alex unthinkingly humped his hips forward into the circle of tentacles, a wave of pleasure rolled through his entire body. “Oh—Ooh—”
That felt so good. Alex wanted more of that, so he did it again, and the tentacles sped up their sliding over his entire body, rubbing and caressing and Alex fell deeper and deeper into that pleasant daze where nothing mattered, only the touch of the tentacles and the pleasure that felt to be building and building and building in the pit of Alex’s stomach until it was almost painful, and Alex felt himself to be on the verge of something momentous, something incredible, and he moaned, afraid and excited, and oh—Oh, it was here, it was here, he was cumming, and Alex’s mind went blank.
It seemed to go on for ages, that wet, hot lightning strike of pleasure, and when it faded, as abruptly as it came, Alex fell limp in the embrace of the tentacles.
“Mhm—“ The tentacles patted Alex’s butt as he hung, and Alex kicked out weakly, with vague thoughts of trying to escape, but he was still trembling and dazed, and when the tentacles cradled him, he only let them with a lazy grin.
The tentacles stroked his stomach, and Alex, with difficulty, attempted to recall how he ended up here. He vaguely remembered Sasha and that he was in the basement of a haunted house, and he even got as far as suspecting that his predicament should horrify him—he had faint memories of almost crying before the tentacles attacked—but the tentacles were so good—Alex’s dick felt so good—Alex liked when his dick felt good and when he got to suck on the sweet tentacle and when his mind went hazy, and when these were all the things that mattered.
Something prodded at his ear, and lazily, he tried to bat it away, but two thinner tentacles still slithered into his ear. It was frightening for a moment—Alex wanted to scream—he opened his mouth to scream—
But—
But why would he scream? When he was so safe. The tentacles were only giving his brain a massage, and it was so good. Alex’s mouth fell open. So good…
The tentacles were whispering in his ear about being a good, naughty boy, and Alex listened, sloppily suckling on a tentacle. When did that get into his mouth? He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember a lot of things now, only that the tentacles told him that he was a good, naughty boy who liked touching himself and liked when others touched him.
In fact, the tentacles taught Alex funny, new words like, cock and pussy, and that Alex had also had a pussy. That confused him a bit because he was sure he had a dick; but a few sips from the tentacle and some soothing whispers reassured him that he was also very dumb and simply forgot that he had a pussy.
The tentacles prodded him from behind, and he squirmed, spreading his legs unconsciously. The whispers told him that he was a good boy who liked getting fucked.
“Fucked?” Alex muttered. What was that word? What did it mean? Alex had never heard it before, but then the tip of the tentacle rammed into him, slipping in easily from all that slime, and Alex’s eyes rolled back in his head.
So that was fucking.
The tentacles held Alex in the air as they pounded into him and Alex tingled all over, from his brain to the tips of his toes. He was dripping pre-cum on the floor; his mouth hung open as he was panting in pleasure, moaning and quivering with every thrust.
The tentacles went on, relentlessly, the whispers never stopped, tingling all over Alex’s mind with their pretty new words—that Alex was being fucked, that he liked being fucked, that he was a whore, that his name—He didn’t even have a name, what was his name, what were names anyway, whores like him didn’t need a name, and Alex tried to weakly raise his head, to fight back against whatever was happening—Something wasn’t right, something—
His mind slipped.
You crave cock, the tentacles whispered. You want to be fucked all the time by men with big cocks.
“Oh—Ah—" Alex moaned for it, thrusting back on the tentacles, and he was thinking—He was thinking—He was—
You don’t think.
“Uh—Huh—” Alex drooled, his head lolling back, mind so numb and floaty, and when he came, the world went white and soft, and Alex cried out, so happy.
The tentacles slowly lowered him on the floor, and he rutted against the stones with mindless abandon. He needed cock. He needed to get fucked. When would somebody come and fuck him again? When would the tentacles—Those sweet, good tentacles—
His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he rolled to his back, dizzily reaching up for a tentacle. One of them slipped into his mouth, and he suckled on it, grinning in his fucked-out haze, and the other slipped into his ass, filling him so pleasantly, just resting there.
You’re just a dumb, happy, horny whore, the tentacles in his brain whispered before they slipped out of his ears, and the sensation felt so good he came again, slamming his hips down on the tentacle in his ass with a moan.
“I see you’re a natural, boy,” said a voice above him.
He went cross-eyed, trying to look up. It was a man standing there, tall, and bearded, looking down at him with a smile. He had a nice smile.
“Hello,” said the whore happily.
“What’s your name?” the man said.
“Uhm.” The whore reached down to finger his ass as he thought. “I dunno.” He rolled over to present himself for the man, spreading his legs. “Wanna fuck me?”
His little dick was hard again, dribbling on the floor. The man reached down and pinched it between his fingers, gave it a little twist. The whore squealed as he came again.
“Come on, you little slut. You’ll be right at home in my tavern,” said the man, dragging the whore up from the ground.
He covered the whore up in a dark drapery and pushed a plug up his butt, too little to stimulate much, no matter how much the whore tried to roll his hips down as he sat in the car.
Oh, yes. They were in a car, going somewhere. The whore didn’t pay much attention; he was too dumb. He was more interested in playing with what the man called his little clitty—he liked the name, it seemed cute. Like him. A happy, horny whore.
“’m horny,” he told the man. “I wan’ cock.”
“There’ll be plenty of cock for you where we’re going,” said the man, patting the whore’s face. “But don’t want you to get bored until then.”
He pushed a button and something—the plug—started vibrating in the whore’s ass, shocking him into an aroused cry.
“Uh—‘s buzzy—It’s—” Oh, it was so good, and the whore fucked down on the little buzzing plug, but the man reached over and clicked something on the whore’s clit, and he could only pant and moan and strain against the cock cage, but never come.
They went for an awfully long time, it seemed to him, and he was crying by the time, babbling and begging for release, please, please, cum, wanna cum, please, lemme cum, ‘ll be good, mhm, please, uh—And finally, when the whore was so out of it he could only pant and tremble, the man released his clit, and he came, his ears ringing with his own cries.
He was so preoccupied by all the pleasurable sensations overtaking his body, the plug still buzzing in his ass at a lower frequency, he barely noticed that they arrived.
The man led him through a doorway into a hot and hazy room, lighted only by candles. Much too dark after the brightness of the day. The whore kept dripping precum on the floor as he followed the man, his arousal increasing even more as he heard the sighs and moans filling the room. Boys were kneeling in front of men, bending over for men, getting fucked by men… Seeing so many dicks, so much pleasure made the whore drool.
“There we go.” The man slapped his ass as though he was slapping a cow out to pasture. And though the whore did not hear it anymore, pushed to his knees by a man twice his size and lost in all the sights and tastes and the vigorous fucking he was sure to receive, the man added with a sinister smile, “Welcome to the Brothel. You’ll fit right in… my lovely number six.”