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Three Days

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Pete hesitated outside the door. It was made of steel, slightly dented in several spots, and so highly polished that he could see his distorted reflection in it. He couldn't hear anything from the other side. As for this side, well, there were few people in the basement of the Psychology building at 8 PM, when he'd been asked to report in.

THREE-DAY EXPERIMENT, the ad on the bulletin board had said. PAYS $100 PER DAY. PLEASE REPORT TO PSYCHOLOGY 008 AT 8 PM IF INTERESTED. No phone number or email for further details, and no one he'd talked to had heard anything about it.

It sounded sketchy as hell, but Pete needed the money. Honestly, at $100 for the session he'd expected there to be a line down the hall. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or not. But no one had warned him that his textbooks were going to be so expensive, and this would allow him to pay for them, with a nice bit of spare change for movies or whatever on weekends.

I need the money, Pete reminded himself, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a muffled voice--male or female, Pete couldn't tell. He supposed it didn't really matter.

Pete pushed the door open. He'd expected the hinges to squeak, but they were unnervingly silent. Light spilled out into the hallway, sterile and almost blue-white. "Hello?" he said, voice quavering embarrassingly. A flush crept up the back of his neck. His nerve almost broke. He needed those textbooks, though. "I'm here about the experiment?"

"Ah, yes." The voice's owner emerged from behind a stack of dusty crates: a tall black woman with glasses that would have looked cuttingly fashionable on anyone with a less severe mien. "Very good. You will report here at 8 PM every day for three days. The experiment will last approximately two hours each time. At the end of each session you will receive cash for your contributions to science." She turned to a desk at the side and picked up a clipboard and pen, which she held out to him. "Sign these papers, please."

"What's the experiment about?" Pete asked after an awkward moment staring at the clipboard.

The woman frowned at him, then rattled off a bunch of what sounded like complicated bio jargon. Pete couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. She thrust the clipboard forward at him, her expression imperious. Resigned, Pete took it from her.

"Initial the bottom of each page except the last one," the woman said, "where you'll sign at the X."

Pete did his best to read each page, but the woman stood over him, and when he glanced up he saw her staring down her nose at him with a decided air of impatience. After the first two pages, he gave up and just scrawled his initials without reading the document. Maybe not the brightest idea he'd ever had, but $100/day, right? And besides, didn't they have ethics boards and things for experiments? How much trouble could he get into?

He reached the last page--was it normal for a release form to have this many pages?--and stared at the X, then dashed off his signature. "I'm ready," Pete said, more confidently than he felt.

"Excellent," the woman said, all but snatching the clipboard away from him and stowing it on the desk. "Follow me this way, please."

She hadn't even asked his name. "I'm Pete Smith," he offered. "You are--?"

"I'm Dr. LeFou," she said, her voice clipped. "Be careful of those crates, please." She led him further into the room.

Surprisingly, given the labyrinth of crates, they emerged in a cleared space that resembled a doctor's examination room, complete with examination table. A curtain toward the back obscured what lay beyond. Pete wondered how much of the basement Room 008 ate up, anyway. Something about the weird arrangement of the crates was messing up his sense of space.

"Please lie down on the examination table," Dr. LeFou said.

At least she hadn't asked him to undress. Pete hopped up on the table and lay back, staring uneasily up at the ceiling. It was covered with an undulant pattern, and looking at it longer than a couple seconds at a time made him weirdly dizzy.

Without warning, metal restraints snapped over his wrists and ankles. Pete jerked upward, struggling futilely. "What the hell?" he demanded.

"Please don't resist, Mr. Smith," Dr. LeFou said impassively. "The restraints are for your own safety, and they are a necessary part of the experimental protocol. You will come to no harm."

He wasn't sure about that, especially given the way his heart was jackhammering in his chest. I need the money. I need the money. Surely he could endure this for one day. If things got really weird, he didn't have to come back for the rest of the experiment. After all, what were they going to do, abduct him?

"I'm fine," Pete said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Bring it on, whatever it is."

If she had smiled, he would have resumed struggling, but Dr. LeFou merely nodded. "Very good." She pressed a button on the wall, and the curtain swished to the side.

That was when Pete saw--it. At first he didn't have any words for whatever the hell the thing was. All he saw was a mass of purple-green tentacles with ridged suckers wriggling and waving in his direction, like a cross between a giant squid and an overgrown tangle of vines.

Pete couldn't help it. He screamed. That only seemed to lure the thing closer. It oozed closer. There wasn't any other word for it. Horror choked what would have been another scream as Pete realized that a pale, clear slime was dripping from the tentacles.

"Please remain calm," Dr. LeFou intoned, but Pete was in no state to hear her, let alone heed her.

The tentacle monster sidled closer, almost shyly, then extended a set of tentacles to caress Pete's face. Each of the tentacles was easily two yards long, tapering to a nubby tip that almost resembled a dick head. He cringed from the monster's touch, but the tentacles grabbed his head and held it fast. Weirdly, the slime felt warm and oily, almost pleasant. It was a peculiar thought to have, especially when the rest of his brain was busy being completely grossed out.

Pete thrashed as much as the restraints allowed, which wasn't very. He couldn't move his head at all. Inexorably, another tentacle approached his face and hovered above his mouth. The slime dripped onto his lips, and Pete felt his mouth falling slackly open. What the hell?

It only got worse from there. Squirming all the while, the tentacle inserted itself into Pete's mouth. It expanded slowly until his lips were wrapped around it, and he realized it was now roughly the size of a very thick cock. He flinched inwardly at the comparison, but it was impossible to stop thinking of the tentacle in those terms.

Pete gagged as the tentacle thrust down his throat. There was another scream inside of him that he couldn't get out, not when his mouth was stopped up with the massive wriggling horror. Yet in spite of himself, his throat started to relax once he involuntarily swallowed more of the slime. He couldn't seem to control himself.

The tentacle eagerly fucked his mouth. It was the most disgusting, degrading thing Pete could imagine, and he was regretting ever coming down to Room 008. The way the tentacle's slick texture contrasted with the ridges of its suckers, the silky way it rubbed against his throat, the subtly erotic pulsing of its muscles--


This was impossible. No way was he getting off on being molested by a giant squid alien tentacle creature. Yet there it was: in response to the tentacle face-fucking him, and the others caressing his face, even one that had snuck up to wrap around his neck, his dick was achingly hard. Pete realized that his hips were moving in time to the tentacle pistoning into his throat.

With an effort, Pete stopped bucking his hips. Unfortunately, that only made him hyperaware of his dick head jutting up, and how confined his dick felt. No way to tell with all those tentacles in the way, of course, but he felt like he'd never had such a massive hard-on before. Which had to be his imagination. Only a sick person would be turned on by big, powerful, slimy tentacles.

Pete tried to catch a glimpse of Dr. LeFou so he could signal her somehow that this was most definitely not okay and that he wanted her to call a halt to the experiment. There were too many tentacles in the way, though. Having an enormous tentacle shoved down his throat made it impossible to call out.

He was stuck, then. At some point Pete gave up trying to resist his body's traitor urges. He caught himself writhing and thrusting his hips in response to the tentacles' caresses and rough handling. At least the tentacles hadn't touched his dick. He honestly didn't know if he'd be able to keep himself from jizzing into his pants in response to the stimulation. Then he wondered why he was thinking so obsessively about having a tentacle wrap around his dick. Or the fact that he was suckling at the length of tentacle shoved into his mouth, like he was some kind of perverted cocksucker, only worse, because at least a cock was human and this was a tentacle.

Just as he had that thought, the tentacles withdrew abruptly.

"Wh-what?" Pete gasped. His face was covered in slime. He could feel it clinging to his skin and to dampening his hair. His throat felt bruised. And his boner just wouldn't go away.

"Very good," Dr. LeFou said, gazing impassively down at him as though she saw this kind of thing every day. Which, horrible thought, maybe she did. She pressed a switch, and the restraints released Pete.

Pete sat up, somewhat awkwardly.

Wordlessly, Dr. LeFou handed him a towel. Pete wiped himself down, face burning. Then Dr. LeFou held out a $100 bill. "Come back tomorrow, same time," she said.

No way, Pete told himself. He snatched the $100 bill and hurried out of the room as fast as his erection let him.


Pete overslept the next morning, although fortunately the only thing he missed was a lecture that he could look up online anyway. His roommate had already left, thank goodness. Pete had slunk into the dorm room with an embarrassing case of blue balls. A quick consultation with a mirror had confirmed what he was afraid of: bruise marks around his throat and what looked suspiciously like tentacle sucker hickeys. How was he supposed to explain that to normal people?

He couldn't stop thinking about the "experiment." Was there anyone he could report Dr. LeFou to? Would anyone believe him if he said anything? What if it had been some kind of hoax? Or he'd imagined the whole thing? In the light of day it seemed incredible that he'd really been face-fucked by some kind of heretofore unknown tentacle monster.

Pete got through the day's next two classes by taking notes on autopilot. He wore a high-collared shirt to hide the hickeys and bruise marks. But his thoughts kept flitting back to the way the tentacles had held him in place, to the feeling of being filled and used.

This is normal, Pete told himself, although he wasn't so sure of it. It's just that I've had a shock, that's all.

Still, the first thing he did when he got back to his room, with a good hour to spare before the dining halls opened for dinner, was lock himself in the bathroom with a battered porn magazine. A little quality time looking at buxom ladies would distract him from what he'd just been through, right? Pete ordinarily felt a little guilty about owning the magazine at all--it was his only one--but given the circumstances, he figured he could be forgiven.

Weirdly, considering how horny he'd been feeling earlier in the day, even his favorite pages weren't doing him much good. Pete stared forlornly at the pretty brunette in the black lingerie and sighed. His thoughts drifted back to the tentacle beast. Where the hell had Dr. LeFou found it anyway? Was it some kind of lab experiment? And why would someone be growing a lab experiment with tentacles that liked to violate people?

The magazine dropped forgotten to the floor. Pete thought back to the way the tentacle beast had held him motionless so it could force itself into his mouth. A moan escaped him. Blushing furiously, he glanced furtively toward the door. What if his roommate had come back early and had heard him? But he heard nothing.

What was more, he was breathing hard. Hell, his dick was stiffening the more he thought about the tentacle beast. It only took a few more moments before he was at full mast.

I just need to get off, Pete thought desperately. Get it out of my system, and everything will be all right again.

He gripped his hard dick and stroked it. As he did so, he found himself wishing that he was sucking on the tentacle again. He'd never sucked dick in his life, but there was something about being fucked all the way down into his throat that had sparked something deep inside him. Maybe he was gay? He closed his eyes, imagining the tentacle beast ravishing his mouth.

This went on for some time, but no matter how hard he jerked himself, he just couldn't seem to get off. He was startled out of his reverie when there was an impatient knocking at the door.

"Dude," came a familiar voice, "you done in there? 'Cause I really gotta go." It was Pete's roommate Jim.

Pete hastily zipped himself up, wondering how he was going to hide his boner from his roommate. "Sorry," he said, more huskily than he was entirely comfortable with. He snatched up the porn magazine and practically ran over his roommate on the way out. "Sorry about that," Pete mumbled, and grabbed his backpack and fled before they could exchange any more words.

His hard-on subsided slowly over dinner, but all through the passing hours his thoughts kept returning to the contents of Room 008. As 8 PM approached, Pete wandered in the direction of the Psychology building. He just needed to see if the room was still there. It wasn't like he was going to head back for another round of tentacle face-fucking.

It didn't take long for him to reach Room 008. No line this time either. Was he the only one who'd been stupid enough to fall for this "experiment"? Even in exchange for $100? It just figured. Pete turned to leave.

Then he froze. He heard a faint, familiar slithering from the other side of the door--the slithering of slimy tentacles moving across the floor. His pulse quickened, and he gasped as an immense bulge formed in his pants. Before he could stop himself, he knocked on the door. When no answer came, he tested the doorknob. It was unlocked. He opened in and rushed in, telling himself he was just curious to see if he'd imagined the whole scenario after all.

Dr. LeFou was there, all right, even if she hadn't answered his knock. "This way," she said, as though she'd been confident that he would return.

As though in a trance, Pete followed her toward the examination table. The sound of the slithering excited him in ways he didn't care to name. He didn't even have to be told to lay down. It was like he was thinking with his dick, and never mind that he should have been disturbed that his dick liked this experiment.

It was only when the restraints snapped once more around his wrists and ankles that Pete came back to his senses. "Uh, I--I don't really want to do this anymore," he blurted out. Even so, his hard-on didn't flag.

"I'm sorry," Dr. LeFou said in that clinical voice of hers, "but the experiment must go on."

The slithering grew louder, and the tentacle beast emerged, rushing toward him. Pete yelped at the speed of its approach only to have a tentacle shoved into his open mouth. Once more he gagged on it, then found his throat relaxing as the slime did its job. He tried to shake his head, but more tentacles held him fast.

I only have myself to blame, Pete thought, disgusted with himself. Well, he just had to endure another day of this, and at least Dr. LeFou seemed to be telling the truth about the pay, so at least he'd get another $100 out of it. Tomorrow, though--there was no way in hell he was coming back tomorrow.

Except the tentacle beast had other ideas. More specifically, several tentacles lowered themselves onto the bulge at his crotch and began stroking and caressing his aching shaft through his pants. Pete couldn't speak, but his eyes widened. He hadn't expected it to feel so good. He couldn't see, of course, but he felt the dampness of the tentacles' dripping slime soaking through his pants. To his surprise, that turned him on even further.

It got even better. Pete suddenly felt a rush of cool air on his dick, which was no longer confined. Someone--or more likely, something--had unzipped his fly. Were the tentacles dexterous enough to do that?

The logistics flew out of his mind a moment later as a warm, pulsing, slimy tentacle wrapped itself around his hard rod and squeezed in time with the other tentacle that was still thrusting in and out of his mouth and throat. Pete almost blacked out from the sheer pleasure of it. Other, more slender tentacles slid against his belly and down into his pants to stroke his inner thighs.

The pressure in Pete's balls grew nigh unbearable. All he cared about at this point was coming. Even if it meant thrusting into the clutches of a tentacle beast. The dim rational part of his brain told him that he should be ashamed of himself, but it didn't matter anymore. He needed this.

The tentacle around Pete's dick tightened. More tentacles were rubbing against his balls. At last it was too much, and Pete's cock exploded in an orgasm longer than any he had had before. It went on and on, and at the same time the tentacle in Pete's throat pulsed, shooting quantities of slime that he had no choice but to swallow. A sense of floating erotic warmth spread through him.

"Very good," Dr. LeFou intoned. Pete had completely forgotten her presence. But the haze of bliss was such that he didn't even care that he had utterly lost control of himself in front of a woman, albeit a woman with all the charisma of a toaster oven.

The restraints snicked free. Pete stared dreamily up at the ceiling, but eventually came to his senses and sat up. Dr. LeFou wordlessly handed him a towel, and he did his best to clean up the mess of semen and tentacle slime. He reeked of jizz, and quite frankly even without the smell anyone who took one look at him would know from the damp stains on his pants what he had been up to. He just didn't seem to care as much as he should.

"Tomorrow at 8 PM," Dr. LeFou reminded him once he had zipped himself up.

Pete snatched the $100 bill and shoved it into his pocket without looking her in the eyes as he left.


That night, Pete had tormentingly delicious dreams of being held down and caressed by nubbly tentacles. He woke up two hours before his alarm would have gone off. He stared blearily at the clock's faint glow, then down at the awkward bulge in his pants. Almost without thinking, he reached down and caressed his boner, not gripping it hard the way he usually did, but teasing it with his fingers while thinking of the sinuous rhythm of the tentacles from yesterday.

Based on yesterday's experience, just jerking off wasn't going to cut it. But what was he going to do about this hard-on? He couldn't exactly go around like this, and it wasn't like he was going to retain any of the material from his classes when all he could think about were powerful tentacles wrapping around his dick and stimulating him until he had no choice but to come.

Pete heard his roommate Jim snoring, and rolled his eyes. Jim always left the door to his bedroom open. As if compelled, Pete drifted out of his bedroom and into Jim's.

Dim yellow lights from the street lamps outside slanted from the window. Jim was sprawled on his back, limbs akimbo and blanket kicked halfway off the bed. Sure enough, he had a boner. Pete made a needy noise in the back of his throat, almost a whine, then froze. Surely Jim hadn't heard that? But no, Jim continued to snore, oblivious.

Furtively, Pete tiptoed closer to Jim's bed. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off the tent in Jim's pants. His hand darted out, hovered over Jim's crotch, settled on it. Jim's breathing hitched, then he resumed snoring. Pete couldn't believe that he was doing this. He closed his fingers around Jim's bulge and caressed it, imagining that it was a tentacle instead.

He went on like this for several minutes, breathing hard as he molested his roommate's hard cock. At least Jim was making pleased grunts in his sleep, his hips thrusting shallowly. Yet to Pete's frustration, his own lust wasn't satisfied at all. At a guess, Jim's dick was a very average six inches. Not nearly the length of the monster's tentacles. And not as thick or powerful, either.

Pete hissed in frustration and removed his hand, ignoring Jim's sleeping mumble of protest at the sudden lack of stimulation. He snuck back to his own bedroom, locked the door, and lay down, preparing himself for an agonizing wait until 8 PM and he could get some relief. After what seemed a small eternity of counting cracks in the ceiling, his erection subsided and he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

For the rest of the day, Pete came out only to gulp down some pop and ramen or use the bathroom. He spent the crawl of hours thinking obsessively about the tentacle monster and fingering the hickeys it had left on his neck. At some point--he wasn't sure when--he'd gone from being embarrassed by the marks to getting kind of turned on whenever he thought about them too much.

Jim knocked on the door a few times, but Pete didn't answer. Among other things, what if Jim had actually been awake last night when Pete had rubbed his cock? I discovered I'm kinda gay was a conversation he could maybe have, but Your dick just wasn't satisfactory because I'm really jonesing for tentacle sex wasn't exactly something he wanted to say out loud. Maybe if he didn't say it, it wouldn't quite become real.

But he knew he was kidding himself.

It wasn't going to take him long to get to Room 008. Pete's erection returned in full force just thinking of his last day of being an experimental subject. He waited impatiently for Jim to leave, then headed out. People gave him funny looks, because his hard-on was visible to anyone who glanced down at his groin, but he was beyond caring. All that mattered was getting to the tentacle monster this one last time.

This time he didn't even knock on the door to Room 008. He just shoved it open and barreled on through. Dr. LeFou looked up, her face as impassive as ever. Before she could even say anything, Pete walked past her and to the table, and lay down. "I'm ready," he said, his voice husky. It felt like his dick was so hard it was going to rip right out of his pants.

The tentacle monster needed no further invitation. It slithered out past the curtain, waving its tentacles. Pete licked his lips at the sight, unconsciously arching his back. Deftly, the tentacles rubbed against the sides of his face, leaving trails of slippery slime that caused the familiar relaxation.

The tentacles, emboldened, didn't stop there. One of them pushed into Pete's mouth. Instead of resisting, he opened wider so it could fuck his throat more easily. Others tugged at his shirt, then, impatient, ripped it with a strength that would have terrified him if it hadn't turned him on. Slime dripped directly onto Pete's chest, and tentacles rubbed the ooze into his nipples, which tingled as they became erect nubs.

Pete was wriggling in the monster's unholy embrace, lost to obscene pleasure. He thrust his hips toward the monster and rubbed his hard shaft against a cluster of tentacles. They responded immediately by tearing off his pants and coiling around his boner, squeezing tightly as they jacked him off. Other tentacles massaged slime into his taut balls.

It was at this point that Pete realized that he'd practically leaped to have sex with the tentacle monster, and that Dr. LeFou hadn't needed to put the restraints on him.

A probing sensation distracted him from this line of thought. One enterprising tentacle had grown tired of rubbing his balls and was heading down to his asshole. It oozed slime as it inserted itself inch by slow inch. Pete would have yelped if his mouth hadn't been full of a lusty tentacle pumping in and out. The tentacle in his ass kept going until he felt impossibly stuffed. There was far more of it than any human dick, and he was positive that the whole thing was in him. In fact, he looked down and caught a glimpse of his stomach gradually bulging outward because he was so full of tentacle. He should have been revolted. Instead, he wriggled his ass, inviting it to stuff him even more.

Suddenly Pete heard shouting--a guy's voice, and then a woman's. An argument. It was hard to care about anything but the incredible, blissful sensation of being used as a fuck toy by the tentacle monster--except to the extent that having an audience turned him on too.

"You're interrupting the experiment!" Dr. LeFou exclaimed. It was practically the first sign of emotion he'd known her to express.

Pete tipped his head back and blinked back the slick slime. To his shock, the guy who had barged in on the experiment was none other than his roommate Jim, who must have followed him here. "We've got to get you out of here!" Jim said, his face wrinkled up in disgust as he regarded the tentacle debauchery before him. "What has that crazy scientist done to you, Pete?"

Pete almost sobbed as the tentacle in his mouth withdrew. "No!" he cried out. He grabbed the tentacle and tried to shove it back in so he could be face-fucked some more. "I love it! It makes my dick so hard! I love having tentacles shoved up my ass and down my throat! I can't get enough of it!" He was dimly aware of the spectacle he must present: bruises and tentacle sucker hickeys all over his skin, drenched in slime, his clothes ripped to expose every part of his body to the monster's perverted lusts, his stomach bulging grotesquely with the coiled tentacle that was even now fucking him right up the ass in full view of his former roommate. It didn't matter. The money didn't matter either. All he cared about now was lying on the table to be fucked over and over for the rest of his life by his tentacular lover.