A Slippery Revenge part 2

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The air was thick with the scent of sweat, milk, and something acrid—like burnt wiring mixed with the metallic tang of cum. Natalie’s vision swam as she hung suspended from the ceiling, her wrists and ankles bound in slick, pulsating tentacles that coiled tighter with every shallow breath she took. Her breasts, swollen to obscene proportions, ached with the weight of them, the skin stretched so taut it felt like it might split. A thin trickle of milk leaked from her nipple, dripping down her stomach before being lapped up by a smaller, questing tendril that slithered up from between her thighs.

Across from her, Emily’s laughter was a jagged thing, sharp and breathless. She wasn’t faring much better—her own body was a mess of flushed skin and trembling muscles, her belly distended like she’d swallowed a watermelon whole. The tentacles had been *generous* with their attention, pumping her full of whatever viscous sludge they’d decided to use as lube, her ass clenching uselessly around the thick intrusion lodged inside her. “Fucking *pathetic*,” Emily gasped, her voice cracking as another jolt of electricity seared through her nipples. Her back arched, her tits bouncing with the movement, more milk spraying from the tips in erratic bursts. “Look at you—choking on cum like a slut who can’t handle her own revenge plot.”

Natalie’s throat burned. She *had* handled it—right up until the moment the thing had burrowed into her fucking *mouth*, forcing her jaws open wide enough to accommodate the girth of it. She’d gagged, retched, but the tentacle had just pulsed, flooding her esophagus with thick, salty spurts of semen until her stomach had ballooned like a fucking balloon animal. Now, every time she so much as twitched, another wave of it came surging up, dribbling from her lips in sticky ropes. “At least I’m not *pissing myself* every time it zaps you,” she wheezed, watching as Emily’s thighs clenched, a dark stain spreading across the makeshift harness strapped between her legs.

Emily’s smirk faltered. “That’s—fuck—*not* piss!” she snarled, but the way her voice hitched, the way her hips jerked helplessly as another tentacle *thwacked* against her swollen clit, undermined the lie. The sound of it—wet, sloppy, *desperate*—echoed in the cavernous space, bouncing off the glistening walls. Natalie would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been too busy heaving, another glob of cum splattering onto her chest.

The second week of this had started with a *promise*—one the tentacles had delivered on with sadistic precision. They’d woken up to find the coils around their limbs tighter, the pressure around their throats just shy of suffocating. Natalie had thrashed, her muscles screaming as the tentacles *squeezed*, not just her flesh but everything *inside* her—her organs, her veins, her fucking *uterus*—like someone had wrapped their hands around her and decided to *wring her out*. The first orgasm had hit her like a freight train, her pussy clenching around nothing as her juices gushed out in a hot flood, soaking the tentacles wrapped around her thighs. She’d screamed, her voice raw, and Emily had *laughed*—right up until the current had hit *her*, her body seizing as her own release tore through her, her milk spraying in wild arcs.

Now, the tentacles were getting *creative*.

A thin, probing tip slid into Natalie’s urethra, the invasion so sudden, so *wrong*, that her entire body locked up. She could *feel* it—cold, slick, wriggling deeper until it hit the resistance of her bladder. Then, with a sickening *pop*, something inside her *inflated*. The pressure was immediate, her abdomen cramping violently as her brain short-circuited between *need to piss* and *holy fuck that’s not possible*. “What the—*nnngh*—what the *fuck* is that?!” she choked out, her hips bucking uselessly.

Emily’s eyes were wide, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the same thing happened to *her*. “Oh, you *bitch*,” she hissed, her fingers clawing at the tentacles binding her wrists. “It’s—fuck—it’s *filling* us up—” Another inflating *pop*, this one deeper, and Emily’s voice dissolved into a keening whine. Her thighs trembled, her ass clenching around the thick intrusion that had been lodged there since yesterday, her bowels cramping as something *thick* and *gelatinous* was pumped into her rectum. “No no no—*I can’t*—”

Natalie knew that feeling. The tentacles had been *preparing* them for this. The drumming against their bellies, the relentless *thud-thud-thud* of something striking just above their pubic bones, had sent shockwaves through their guts, their bladders, their *everything*. The oral tentacles had forced water down their throats in rhythmic gulps, their stomachs sloshing with the excess, their kidneys working overtime. And now—

“*Now* you fucking *pay*,” a voice hissed in the back of Natalie’s mind. It sounded like Emily. It *sounded* like her own thoughts, twisted and vengeful. The memory of opening that *package*—the one Emily had sent, the one with the writhing, *hungry* thing inside—flashed behind her eyes. She’d been so *sure* she could handle it. So *certain* she could turn the tables.

Look where that had gotten her.

A tentacle lashed out, slapping against Emily’s nipple with enough force to make her scream. Milk sprayed, her back arching as the electric current sizzled through her, her pussy gushing around the tentacle fucking her in slow, deliberate strokes. “You *cunt*,” Emily sobbed, her voice breaking. “You *did this*—”

“Me?” Natalie’s laugh was a broken thing, cut short as another inflating *pop* made her vision white out. Her bladder was *full*. No—it was *overfull*. The pressure was unbearable, her muscles locking up as her body tried and failed to expel whatever the fuck the tentacles had pumped inside her. “I just *opened the box*! You’re the one who *sent* it!”

Emily’s reply was lost in a guttural moan as a tentacle *slammed* into her ass, the impact sending a fresh wave of mucus-like sludge surging into her bowels. Her stomach convulsed, her body straining against the bonds as she fought the urge to *push*. “Gonna—fuck—*gonna*—”

The tentacles *released*.

Not all at once—no, that would’ve been *merciful*. They did it in stages, the coils around their limbs loosening just enough to let the blood rush back in, the pressure around their throats easing just enough to let them *breathe*. The inflations in their bladders *deflated*—but not before a final, brutal *squeeze* sent Natalie’s vision exploding into stars.

She *came*.

Not just her pussy—her *everything*. Her bladder emptied in a scorching rush, piss spraying out in a violent arc as her urethra burned with the force of it. Her bowels *unloaded*, the mucus-like sludge exploding out of her in a messy gush, splattering against the tentacles coiled around her thighs. Her tits *erupted*, milk spraying in thick ropes as the pressure finally, *finally* released, her nipples stinging with the force of it. And through it all, her pussy *pulsed*, her orgasm tearing through her like a riot, her juices mixing with the rest of the filth dripping down her legs.

Beside her, Emily was a mess of shuddering limbs and ragged screams, her own release just as violent, just as *total*. The tentacles didn’t let up—they *milked* her, their tips pressing against her clit, her G-spot, her *ass*, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her body until she was nothing but a trembling, sobbing wreck.

Silence.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the *drip-drip-drip* of fluids hitting the floor below. Natalie’s body ached in ways she didn’t even have words for. Her throat was raw. Her pussy throbbed. Her *everything* throbbed.

Emily’s laughter was weak, but it was there. “Still think you can *handle* me, Nat?”

Natalie wanted to snap back. She wanted to *fight*. But all that came out was a broken, “Fuck you.”

Emily’s grin was all teeth. “Oh, baby. We’re *way* past that.”

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The third day dawned with an eerie *absence*.

Natalie woke slowly, her body feeling *light*—too light, like she’d been hollowed out and left to dry. The tentacles were still there, coiled around her limbs, her throat, her *everything*, but they weren’t *moving*. No squeezing. No prodding. No *fucking electric shocks*.

Just… stillness.

She blinked, her vision clearing enough to see Emily hanging opposite her, her own body just as limp, just as *empty*. Their eyes met. Held.

A beat.

Then Emily licked her lips. “You feel that?”

Natalie *did*. It was a slow, creeping warmth, starting in her gut and spreading outward, her nerves lighting up like live wires. Her nipples tightened, her pussy *aching* with the first twinges of arousal. “The fuck…?”

Emily’s breath hitched. “Oh, *no*.”

The tentacles *twitched*.

Not the ones binding them. No—these were *new*, slithering up from the floor below, their tips already glistening with something thick and *hot*. Natalie’s pulse spiked as one brushed against her inner thigh, her hips jerking instinctively. “Emily—”

“*I know*.” Emily’s voice was tight, her own body tensing as another tentacle coiled around her ankle, dragging her legs apart. “Fuck. *Fuck*. They’re not *done* with us.”

Natalie could *feel* it—the anticipation, the *hunger*. The tentacles had spent two days *breaking* them. *Filling* them. *Emptying* them.

Now they were going to *fuck* them.

And from the way her pussy was already *dripping*, her body was more than ready to let them.