Date: Thu, 10 Dec 2020 15:44:16 +0000 (UTC)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: The Great Tentacle Harvest (Revised)

STORY SYNOPSIS: Suddenly, at the same instant all over the Earth, tentacled
machines appear and begin to molest the healthy men of Earth with tentacles
invading their anuses and enclosing their penises and pumping vigorously.
Nobody is injured, and the machines will pause and let you go about your
business, but they also never let go and resume when you have recovered.
Will it ever end?  And why is this happening?


                  THE GREAT TENTACLE HARVEST
                     By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM


     At precisely 1:04 p.m. East Coast USA time, the machines appeared.
Without notice, fanfare or anything beyond a soft "Boomph!" sound
presumably caused by their bodies pushing the air aside as they
materialized, they were there, among us, showing up everywhere a man within
their parameters was to be found, no matter how deep within buildings,
walls or even underground.
     The machines' sizes and shapes were varied but uniformly appropriate
for their targets.  They chose only the men of the planet Earth, never
bothering the women, children, or elderly or infirm.  But if you were a man
of the planet Earth between the ages of nineteen and forty-nine and in
reasonably good health, you were victim to the machines.
     The tentacles the machines bore varied from only two for a solitary
male, up to hundreds of flailing, writhing prehensile mass for groups of
young men gathered in one place, and their appearance both avoided injury
to any human of any kind while also arranging itself to use its tentacles
on the available males.  As for what happened next, let us focus on
individual experiences within the United States of America.

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA
     Jim-Bob Jackson was sitting with his buddy Freddie McComber on the
back porch chugging a couple of cool brews to top off a good hearty midday
meal.  The pair were long-haul truckers, driving together thousands of
miles nearly non-stop, changing off to rest or sleep in the sleep space
behind the pair of chairs in the cab, it was a rough but remunerative way
for a good ol' boy to make a living.
     Too bad their wives didn't think so.  The two shared the house which
saved money given their husbands weren't around two out of three weeks and
they could split babysitting duties, but they did feel that their men
should get off their butts and do some house work.
     The two men were in fact sitting flat on their butts in comfortable
outdoor chairs, their burly bodies sprawled out with muscled hairy chests
bursting out of unbuttoned plaid workshirts (one red, one blue) and
powerful legs straining worn blue jeans and more worn workboots splayed
onto the porch railing.  They had just begun to discuss the prospect of
getting in some rabbit hunting tomorrow morning.
     Jim-Bob Jackson was red-haired, bearded and blue-eyed and he had a
disarming if crooked and yellow-toothed smile as he grinned over at
Freddie.  "How about it, Fred?" he said.  "Want to get out and pot a few
varmints?"
     Freddie's first name was truly "Freddie" not "Frederick" or its
diminutives, but he accepted the shorter version from Jim-Bob.  He was a
ruddy dark-chocolate black man with close-cut black hair and blacker eyes
and his smile was both whiter and cleaner than his buddy.  "We could take
the wives along." he suggested.  "Maybe have a couple of accident with the
shotguns while we were out there?"
     "Don't tempt me." Jim-Bob lifted his red-and-white can to his lips.
He drank only Budweiser, Freddie's choice was the cream-colored cans of
Coors.  "You forgot about the kids."
     "Yep, have to take them along, too."  They had five children between
them.
     "Use a lot of ammunition on that many.  Hard to call that an
accidental shooting."
     "Yeah.  Shit!"  Both men laughed; they hadn't been the least bit
serious.
     With a soft "Boomph!," the tentacled machine appeared.  Bearing four
tentacles, it stood beneath them on the other side of the porch railing
they had their legs resting on, and the tentacles whipped out and moved
with a speed that made them blurred and almost insubstantial in appearance.
     The machine itself had the pair of men bemused and frozen in place as
they tried to make sense of things and that was when the tentacles attacked
their bodies.
     First came a sort of spray from the tip of one of the tentacles that
was able to dissolve the fabric of their jeans and jockey shorts and briefs
(one of each of those last) and leave both men with an oval like hole that
exposed the entirety of the men's crotches, their cocks and balls were
suddenly unencumbered and their nuts dangled free and clear with their
cocks flapping about on top of them, their crotch-sweat causing their
cockskins to stick to their testicles.  Their asses were also exposed, two
hairy crevices, one laden with dark red-brown hair, the other black, and it
was to these two locations, the cocks and the asses, that the two tentacles
dove.  Both tentacles were larger in girth their last ten or twelve inches,
but the first one, which had squirted the dissolving fluid, bore a very
cockhead-like tip which it shoved at the anus while a second fluid preceded
it in its path.  The second tentacle was a hollow tube and it exuded a
similar fluid all within its interior.
     The tentacles aimed at the hairy asses impacted and the gooey fluid it
had exuded was greasy enough to cause the sphincters of the two men to
soften and dilate, permitting the tentacle to drive itself into their
husky, musky, dank intestinal tract, which it did for a distance of nearly
six inches before it paused.  Simultaneously, the fluid inside the second
tentacle snaffled up the still-limp pricks and as the fluid touched the
cock, the shafts stiffened and the tentacle slid the hardening dongs into
their interior down to three-quarters of the base where they expanded into
a snuggly and firm fit from which they could not be extracted until they
had been deflated...which the fluid they were now bathed in would not
permit to happen.
     This is all that happened, all the men knew was the "Boomph!" sound, a
vision of a machine in front of them, and then suddenly they had a warm
metallic cock up their ass and a warm mechanical tube over their prick and
both were suddenly pumping up and down on their bodies.
     "What the fucking hell!" Freddie yelped.
     "Son of a fucking bitch!" Jim-Bob yelled in his turn as both men
flailed.  The tentacles had done more than their spray and poke, they had
on their journey toward the men, managed to capture both of their bodies,
Jim-Bob had one tentacle wrapped around each of his legs and Freddie had
both encasing his stomach before they reached their crotchly destinations.
     The men writhed, but they could not escape as they were poked and
milked in equally rapid measure.
     "Freddie?  Freddie!" came Wilma's call as she walked out onto the
porch.  She saw the men in their sexually captured positions and she
smelled the odors the fluids had drenched in the area and her reaction was
decidedly not what you would expect.
     "What the hell do you think you two are doing?"
     "Doing?" Freddie grunted.  "Hell, woman, I'm getting my ass rammed."
     "And what is that thing on your peter doing, the Watusi?"
     "It's sucking me off!" Freddie grunted and his eyes closed as he
hissed in pleasure.  "And doing damned better'n you ever did!"
     "What's going on out there, Mama?" came a small call from indoors.
     "Latisha, you get back inside this very moment and stay there, you
hear me!"  Wilma raised her voice.  "Marsha?" she called Jim-Bob's wife.
"Get the children out of the kitchen and into the front rooms.  You don't
want them seeing what our husbands are doing out here!  It's nasty!"
     "Nasty, hell, it's fucking terrific!" Jim-Bob retorted.  "Ah, shit,
man, this is fucking hot!"
     "Yeah, man, I'm so fucking turned on, too!" Freddie groaned.
     "You fucking turds, why am I even hanging with you anyhow?" Wilma
broke in a flash from anger to tears.  "I should go back to my mother like
she wants me to!  I hate this life, I fucking hate it!"
     "Uh, uh, uh, nobody's forcing you, uh, uh, to stay with me, woman!"
Freddie grunted as his face flushed with impending climax.  "You want, uh,
to go, just, uh, fucking, GO! AH-AHAH-AHHH, HAHHHH!"
     "I'm about to come, too!" Jim-Bob moaned.  To Wilma, "Tell Marsha if
she wants in on this, she's got to get out here now, or I'll come without
her even watching!"
     "UH-UH, UH-HUH-UH!" Freddie continued convulsing in his joy, his cock
spurting hot spunk into the suctioning tube.  But his cock kept on
throbbing hard and firm even as his ejaculations stopped and he dopplered
down into heavy panting.
     "Oh, how disgusting!" Wilma fled back into the house.  As the door
closed, Jim-Bob threw his husky muscled body upwards, his crotch his
highest point and even his head a bit lower, he squirted lustily into the
tube holding his prick captive as he groaned like an angry lion in outright
battle!
     "Oh, man, oh, man!" Freddie gasped.  "Man, this thing ain't letting
go!"
     "Oh, oh, ah, ah, hah!" Jim-Bob kept on jetting his spunk.  "Who wants
it to, ah-hah-ahhhh-ahhhhhh!" he slumped back onto the chair, a limp but
still powerfully muscled man.
     There were sounds of the doors out the front slamming, then the car
doors.  "Sounds like our wives have run off."
     "Taken the children, too." Freddie judged.  The car had four doors and
he had heard four slams.  "We're alone with this...thing sucking our cocks
and fucking our asses."  The tentacles were quiet and the machine settled
down.  "Now what the fuck we are going to do?"
     "Let's see if this thing will follow us into the house." Jim-Bob said.
"If I'm going to get fucked and sucked, I'd prefer to be indoors."
     The machine indeed made no effort to hamper their movements and
followed them into the house, the tentacles like leashes on the pair of
hunky men.  Indoors, they made themselves comfortable on the two couches
the living room bore, and as they did, the machine's tentacles began to
work on them again.  Every hour around the hour, the men were milked and
fucked into climax and climax again and their bodies seemed to be
invigorated rather than drained by the experience.  Between times, they
drank their beer, nibbled on various edibles from the kitchen and watched
the television.
     What was happening to them, they saw, was happening to men all over
the globe at the very same time.

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
     Tony was working away at the construction site after his lunch of a
sandwich and banana, and a cup of too-strong coffee.  The husky
Italian-American man was one of many just like him on the job, strong,
muscled, strong-faced, a bit belligerent in attitude but a heart of solid
gold that verged on the maudlin.  He had fought many a good fight in his
day, but he had shed tears when he had held his sister's firstborn son and
his first nephew, three days before.  The infant had looked up at him, a
small smile had been born on the little face, and Tony had bawled like a
toddler.  A man can do that, damn it!  There are a time and place for
tears, even on the face of a big, brawny stud!
     The building was still a deep pit and a framework in its earliest
stages, and there were some forty-seven men at work on the place, some
digging with shovels to level out the bottom, some moving the rods into
place, others hammering or running a jackhammer, or operating a crane.
     "Boomph!" came the sound and the large pit was almost filled by a big
machine that landed on a dozen legs that hovered over the men below.  From
the machine emanated in rapid order tentacles, two per person, that wrapped
the stupified workers and then dissolved their pants and strapped onto and
shoved into their beefy, bewildered bodies.
     For Tony, it was an astounding state to be in.  He had a hard metal
cock up his ass and a hard metal tube over his junk and both of them were
busily pumping away.  He had been holding a hammer and toolbox, both
clunked to the ground as the man staggered from the rod shagging his ass
and the ecstasy his cock was deriving from the strong, methodical milking
only a mechanical device can deliver.
     He dropped onto hands and knees and moaned as he was rammed hard and
fast.  All around him, men were doing the same, bucking and writhing as
they were pumped and sucked by the overweaning machine above them.
     He looked at the street to see other machines in action, many were
astride moving vehicles, the machines' tentacles reaching through the
windows to fuck the men inside.  Some cars were stopping, others were
manfully driving on, even as they were being screwed and slurped on by the
metallic invaders.  Other machines clung to the skyscraper walls like a
multitude of spiders, the tentacles feeding upon the occupants.
     Women, children, elderly people were running around like ants on an
anthill stirred up, the women trying to shield their children from the
sights of the men's ravishment, the elderly people attempting, sometimes
comically, to free their fellow men from the attacks, one man well into his
eighties demanded that these machines give them some, too, damn it,
couldn't they see that his dick still worked after all?  He must have been
persuasive, for a machine dispensed two more tentacles and grasped the
white-haired man and proceeded to strip off his diaper and catheter to
plunge into his ass and slurp up his gray-haired cock.  Damned decent of
the machine, Tony figured.
     He climaxed and struggled to his feet, still held fast but able to
move as if the tentacles were not there, and he sought out his foreman.
The man was red-faced from his recent ejaculation, but he rallied his men.
"Guys, I don't know what's going on here, but the fact is, we are all
fucked."
     "You're telling me!" one of the men answered.
     "The radio tells us that this is going on all over the world, and
every man able to fight is already caught and being butt-fucked and
cock-sucked.  It's only attacking men, women are still unaffected and so
are your children, so don't worry about them, or your grandparents either,
it's not tackling anyone too old for them to milk.  The President is
telling everyone to stay calm and wait, scientists are working on the
problem and...oh, God!"  The tentacles on the foreman were starting in
again and Tony felt his own beginning to jerk slowly on him, as if testing
his sexual mettle.  Well, he was an Italian stallion, so he wouldn't be
left alone for long here!
     He made himself comfortable as he could on some nearly sacks of dried
concrete.  This was going to take a while.  He hoped that the womenfolk
could organize a relief effort, bring around drink and food if this went on
for too long.  He was trapped here until this thing got enough of sucking
on his cock and if his girlfriends were any guide, that would take months
or years to happen.
     A buddy of his, Cochran, fell onto the sacks by his side, panting,
he'd just finished with his machine.  "You okay?" Tony asked him.
Cochran's first name was also "Tony" so Tony thought of his co-worker by
his last name.
     "Yeah.  Shit, this fucker's not letting us go, is it?"
     "No.  We might have these ass-rammers and cock-slurpers on us for the
rest of our lives."
     "Shit!" Cochran said.  "My wife is going to kill me!"
     "Wife, hell!" Tony was a bachelor.  "Going to suck trying to date with
these tagging along after us."
     "And forget about flirting with the girls who walk by." Cochran added.
     Tony hadn't considered that.  "Shit!"
     "You said it."
     Tony's machine seemed to think he'd rested enough, for it started in
on him once again.  Damn it, he was ready to go again.  So much for his
social life!

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
     Officer Patrick Finnegan was fourth-generation Irish-American police
officer and proud of it.  He was proud, too, of his body, he didn't turn
into one of those doughnut-loving, pot-bellied guys he saw in the showers,
he was a majestically muscled powerhouse and when he had to get physical,
he could and would take them down as fast as they came up.
     At the moment, he was "walking a beat" down Clark Street and
approaching Monroe in "The Loop" which was the heart of Chicago's financial
district.  The skyscrapers held the many financial institutions that drove
the country, the lower floors held such mundane necessities for the workers
in those skyscrapers as a McDonald's, a Starbucks and a Walgreen's.  Ahead
were some bank branches, because even stockbrokers and bank executives
needed to be able to draw spending cash or make deposits like everyone
else.
     The sidewalks were broad and well-traveled, men walked with smartly
tailored business suits, women were similarly attired though mostly with
dresses both demure and desexualizing.  A woman's dress should flow and
blow with the wind, these things were as stiff as cardboard.  Paddy (as his
friends called him from childhood) felt his cock stir and, at the moment
being unviewed by anyone around him he reached down and gave his prick a
shift to lessen the pressure it was putting on his groin.
     "Boomph!" and "Wwwwwwwhip!" and Paddy's crotch was exposed and a pair
of tentacles had stuffed themselves up his butt and clamped onto his prick
after wrapping both hands and pinioning them together behind his back.  He
struggled to reach his pistol and the tentacles began their fucking and
sucking and he closed his eyes and groaned.  Opened them and looked about.
     The streets were covered with these machines, and the men were all
trapped and the women were fleeing in terror of their endangered virginity.
None of them seem to be caught, in fact, the machines were ignoring them.
But the many business men the streets bore were one and all in Paddy's own
state of dishabille and pinioning fore and aft.  It was the lunch hour, and
the sidewalks were crammed with men who were being crammed!
     Paddy staggered over to a mailbox and braced his chest against it.
Another man, wearing a brown suit-and-tie hit the other side and the men
looked into each other's eyes and moaned.
     "Oh, God, what is this?"
     Paddy was a good boy who'd been well-schooled by his dear grandmother.
"We're beseiged by demons."  He wasn't an antiquated Irishman out of his
time, but at a time like this, what would make a better answer than the one
learned at his grandmother's knee?
     "They look like robots." the man grunted as the tentacle fucking his
ass gave him an especially vigorous ram.  "Robots built to fuck us.  I
think it's the Russians."
     "Either way, you and I are captured for certain."  Paddy closed his
eyes and sighed, in pleasure and resignation.  "Father Doland will have to
dole out a heavy set of Hail Marys to get my soul free of this."
     The man looked around and chuckled sourly.  "Father Doland is going to
be a very busy man. Glad I'm a Protestant."
     "You are?" Paddy sighed, gave himself to the pleasure.  "Well,
nobody's perfect."
     He closed his eyes and began to recite the Lord's prayer, try to do a
rosary by memory alone as he couldn't pull out the one in his pocket with
his hands bound.  He didn't know what God would think about him saying
prayers while being fucked up the ass and having his cock pumped expertly
by a demonic device, but figured it couldn't hurt.  Though finishing the
Pater Noster with his climax probably wasn't a good idea, but it seemed
like one at the time!

     Three examples are sufficient, now multiply these experiences by the
many multi-faceted aspects of life and you will have the full picture.  A
football game turned from a cluster of young jocks struggling over the
pigskin into a cluster of machines pumping tentacles into their athletic
young asses.  Their protector cups dissolved under the fluid as easily as
their clothing and the queue of girl cheerleaders were squealing loudly,
but not with cheers, they were dating members of the teams and were
watching their boyfriends get butt-fucked...and loving it, young studs
don't really care who helps ease their nut cream and these boys had coaches
that required them not to whack it before a game.  The stadium of watchers
were similarly graced (if that is the correct word) with the machines.
     Military stations were heavily flooded with the machines, one company
had been practicing close-order drill when the machines arrived, they were
soon enjoying (or not) a completely different drilling and their sergeants
were occupied with their own metal visitors.
     Hospitals were an experience of their own to the medical staff, a man
thought to be at death's door would be taken by the machines, while one
apparently healthy would be left alone, this latter would shortly
experience some terrible fate that pushed them undoubtedly into the "leave
them alone" zone.  A smart doctor (female, the men were too busy) brought
resuscitation equipment into one such room and was ready when the young man
suffered an unexpected anaphylactic shock, she saved him with a quick
epinephrine shot and knew she had him well-saved when a "boomph!" arrived
like the trumpet of angels to add the young man to their harem of
fucked-and-sucked men.
     The contingent aboard a submarine well below the Pacific Ocean's waves
was not spared, nor were the occupants of the Space Station (you had to be
healthy to get there, and all six of the occupants were such men), they
also received their celestial sex machines to milk and ravish them.
     All over the country and indeed, all over the world (the nighttime
side, composing a significant part of the Eurasian and African continents,
suffered their depredations while in their beds), the men of Earth were one
and all the victims of the same tentacled assaults upon their bodies.  The
machines would hold them quietly when not busily poking them while slurping
on them, even trot quietly behind him if they wanted to move around.  The
larger machines proved to be capable of separating into individual units so
that every man could have their own private butt-rammer and cock-sucker
machine as he proceeded about their daily duties.  When they needed to void
their bowels or urinate, the machine would indeed release them that much,
though not the hold on their bodies beyond that much, and quickly clamp
back on or stuff itself back inside when they were done.  When they slept,
the machines would go so far as to shift its holds on them, one tentacle at
a time, so that the man could not get entirely free before being caught
again.
     As the days and weeks wended onward with no hint the machines would
ever let Mankind go, it evolved into almost routine.  Men would dress as
best they could and go about their business, being followed by a metallic
fuck-machine, and when climax would strike, they would pull over their cars
and ejaculate, rest and proceed.  The machines were quite cooperative at
such times, making themselves as unobtrusive and inoffensive as any machine
that was sucking a man's cock and fucking his ass in a public situation
could be.
     It was almost a point of pride for a college freshman to have a
machine arrive and take him for the first time.  It was almost an indignity
not to have your cock encased and your ass extended for fucking while you
were attending your classes, for it spoke that you were "not yet a man" in
the man-sucking machines' books.
     Population was dropping (no new babies being conceived) but that
hadn't yet appeared to any great degree, a year later.  It was precisely a
year later than, with a chorus of soft "boomphs!" of air flowing back into
their locations, the machines vanished once more.  An enormous male
population of the entire planet stood about looking confused, relieved and
feeling more than a bit deserted.
     And all over the world, there came the voice, in the native tongue
wherever it was, but always soft, androgynous, and almost apologetic.
     "We thank you for your gift of genetic information.  Our planet is
gathering information on all intelligent life in an effort to find the key
to its existence.  Intelligent life is so very rare, so very precious, it
must be understood so it can be protected.  So we have harvested, as it
were, your species' tremendously wide and varied genetic information for
this research. Your genetic material will be added to that gathered from
the rest of the few planets we have found and if we ever discover the
answer to the secret of intelligence, we will share all such data with you.
Until that time, fare well and know that we hold for Mankind the greatest
wishes for your continued survival and successful planetary expansion.  Be
fruitful and multiply and conquer the cosmos as we have some day."
     That was all of the message and the invader was gone.  Mankind's
response to that was best summarized by a young black man of South Central
Los Angeles who pulled up and fastened his pants, looked around and said,
"Shee-it!  If all they wanted was the chance to suck our cocks, why
couldn't they have just asked?"
     Nobody near him had any good answer for that.

[This story is a sample from my book "Tentacles Through Time" available for
sale at my website, the URL is below.  It is also for sale at Amazon as a
Kindle book, and at Barnes & Noble as a Nook Book.  However, my website
book contains illustrations for all twenty brand-new stories as well.]

                              THE END
                  Comments, complaints or suggestions?
                E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM