Pregnant With Tentacles

by Arthur Saxon
arthursaxon@zombieworld.com

Mr Harper, the geography teacher, had been droning on and on about igneous rocks for what seemed like an eternity.  Rachel Owen, thoroughly bored and not paying the slightest attention to what he was saying, had her left hand tucked well inside her panties and was masturbating for all she was worth.  Several times her orgasm approached, and each time she stopped rubbing her clitoris until the rapidly-building ecstasy ebbed away; thereupon she resumed her feverish stimulations.  She had twenty more minutes of the lesson to kill, and she was going to make this last!

Her eyes were closed.  She neither knew nor cared whether anyone had noticed what she was doing.  She remembered only too well the now-famous exploits of the erstwhile ‘school sluts’, Julie Ward and Lynn Howard, who had now left the school and gone to university.  Rachel had thrilled to the legends of how Julie and Lynn had stripped naked in class, and crapped in their panties in front of their fellow classmates, and how they had ridden their bicycles to school in the mornings with their skirts around their waists.

Rachel, two years younger than Julie and Lynn, had at the time been completely in awe of those ‘sluts’.  Too shy to approach them, she had merely watched them at a distance, her pulse quickening as she stared at their oft-revealed panties.  Now that the girls had left, Rachel resolved to take their place, to outdo their adventures … and if this meant expulsion then so be it!

Thus far, Rachel’s adventures had been minor ones – she was still getting up her courage to be truly exhibitionistic.  But now, on the brink of orgasm, she was feeling almost bold enough to start moaning out loud, which would no doubt bring the geography lesson to a grinding halt.  Something, however, still held her back.  She was not quite brave enough.  Not yet.

Rachel’s fantasies, which she played and replayed in her mind while she masturbated, were decidedly dark.  She liked to imagine herself being raped.  And not in a nice way.  She dreamed of being dragged into a filthy back street by her hair, violently stripped and then repeatedly fucked by half a dozen filthy, brutal, knife-wielding thugs.  This scenario had escalated over the past few months from a simple, rather innocent fantasy in which she was tied up and screwed by Ben Rice, a good-looking (and popular) boy in the year above her.

Today, even the dark alley fantasy had not been intense enough.  Now she was daydreaming about the thugs beating her up before raping her.  In her fantasy, even though she wanted to be raped, she fought hard against them so that they would have to use force to subdue her.  And use force they did, until she was a mass of blood and bruises.  When she was too weak to struggle even feebly, they fucked her vagina, anus and mouth until she was leaking sperm from every orifice.

Finally she climaxed, moaning aloud involuntarily, and very audibly.  Suddenly aware of her situation, she opened her eyes to see the entire class staring at her.  She removed her hand quickly from her panties and adjusted her skirt.

“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushing red.  “I had an itch.”

“What’s going on?” asked Mr Harper from the front of the classroom.

“Rachel’s masturbating!” came the candid reply from a girl sitting a few feet away from Rachel.

“Is she?  Really?” inquired Mr Harper in astonishment, taking a couple of steps forward and craning his neck to see.  “Um, well … don’t be so disgusting Rachel!  Just, um, settle down and pay attention.”

Rachel smiled to herself.  She knew Mr Harper would be a pushover, the old pervert.  Maybe next time she should sit at the front.

The bell rang to signify the end of the lesson, and Rachel filed out with her classmates into the corridor.  Once there, she felt somebody kick her in the leg, and she squealed in pain.  But she did not manage to see who had done it, and settled for merely glaring at everyone nearby.  Hobbling into her next class, she took her usual place at the back and sat down, rubbing at her bruised shin.

Then the teacher entered, and Rachel smiled to herself.  It was Miss Kane, a young and very attractive student teacher on work experience.  Rachel was well aware that her idols, Lynn and Julie, had been lesbians or at least bisexual, and she had found that she, too, was attracted to other girls.  And she had an enormous crush on Miss Kane, whose graceful curves, deep brown eyes and flowing dark hair set pulses racing all over school.

Rachel spent much of the lesson gazing at the student teacher, and learned very little.  After twenty minutes she closed her eyes and began to fantasise again, imagining what it must be like to kiss the delectable Miss Kane, to slide a hand up the teacher’s knee-length grey skirt, to feel the woman’s hand on her breast…

Then Rachel jumped in surprise, her eyes flicking open.  Something had just touched her pussy, something slimy…  In horror she looked down to see a long, glistening white tentacle extending from inside the old-style wooden desk down to between her legs.  It had crept up her skirt and was even now probing its way into her panties.

Gasping in shock, Rachel tried to cry out, but found she had lost her voice.  Beginning to hyperventilate, she reached down and grabbed at the tentacle, trying to pull it away from her.  But the tentacle was both strong and terribly slippery – she could not get a grip on it.  She felt the tip sliding inexorably between the lips of her pussy, and shuddered involuntarily as it slid sensuously over her clitoris.  As it found the entrance to her vagina and started sliding inwards, Rachel looked around to see if her fellow pupils had noticed what was happening to her.

But the others were all staring straight ahead, their attention focused exclusively on Miss Kane.  Rachel looked back down at the tentacle, and gasped again as she saw another slimy appendage creep out of the desk and make its way towards her.  This one was positively dripping with greyish, translucent slime, and as it slapped wetly against her chest it deposited a load of goo on Rachel’s white blouse.  It explored all over her chest before finding a gap in the middle, whereupon it slid swiftly underneath the material and began to caress her breast.  Its tip slithered into her left bra cup and started doing something (Rachel could not figure out what) with her nipple.  It felt very pleasurable, and this, combined with the other tentacle’s stimulation of her clitoris, quickly elevated Rachel’s arousal to levels approaching orgasm.  She could feel that the first tentacle was now buried deep within her cunt, but outside it was still writhing about between her labia, sending shivers of pleasure running through her body.

And still, hard as it was to believe, nobody else had noticed anything.  Rachel’s classmates were oblivious to her predicament, even when she began to whimper and moan softly.  She began to part her legs and lie back in her chair, undulating her hips and panting heavily as her face became flushed with mounting excitement.

More tentacles emerged from the desk.  One snaked quickly into her blouse, then continued on, circling around her torso and finishing up in front of her right breast.  It dived into her bra and started stimulating her right nipple.  Then the tentacle flexed, and the strain was too much for the blouse’s buttons – one after the other they popped off and fell to the floor.  Rachel was beyond caring.

Other tentacles aimed straight for her skirt, sneaking beneath it and finding their way into her panties.  One slithered into her cunt alongside the first, stretching it to an unaccustomed degree, while another continued further back and began to probe at the entrance to her anus.  After a moment’s prodding, it slid straight in, lubricated by its own slime.  Rachel’s moans grew louder, and still nobody had noticed anything.

Her blouse fell open as more tentacles began writhing about all over her torso.  Rachel looked down and saw that her chest and belly had become covered with slime, with countless tentacles slithering about in it.  Out of curiosity she held out her bra cup to see what was happening inside.  The cup was full of slime, and the tip of the tentacle seemed to be fastened to her nipple, completely enclosing it.  It was performing some kind of sucking action, which Rachel found very intense.

She writhed about in her chair in ecstasy, and soon her body was wracked in a delicious orgasm that swept through her like a tidal wave.  Grabbing her bra in a frenzy, she ripped it open at the front, her slime-covered breasts spilling out for all to see.  Overwhelmed by lust and feelings of immeasurable pleasure, she moaned loudly once again.

And awoke with a start.  Disoriented, she sat up, having found herself slumped forward with her head upon her desk.  She looked down at her clothes.  They were clean and tidy.  There was no trace of slime, and her blouse buttons were all done up securely.  With a faint sigh, half of relief and half of regret, she realised it had just been a dream.

 

At lunchtime, Rachel decided that she would go and speak to Miss Kane about the assignment the class had been set.  She had been wracking her brains for an excuse to get to know the young woman outside class, and this was the best she could come up with.  With any luck, Miss Kane would agree to a little personal tuition, since Rachel’s marks were consistently low.

Plucking up her courage, she ascended the stairs and made her way to the Staff Common Room, where some of the teachers ate their lunch.  As she approached it, the door suddenly opened and Miss Kane emerged, talking and laughing with Mr Collins, the Classics teacher.  Rachel hesitated, then made up her mind.

“Miss Kane?” she began,

But the two teachers were busy chatting to each other and did not hear.  They walked off together down the corridor, and Mr Collins playfully swatted Miss Kane on the bottom.  Miss Kane squealed and laughed.

Her curiosity aroused, Rachel followed them.  Keeping herself concealed as much as she could, she watched as they made their way past the staff toilets and towards the end of the corridor.  This puzzled and intrigued Rachel – there was nothing down there but the cleaners’ storage room and the staff showers.

The teachers disappeared into the storage room and closed the door.  Rachel tip-toed up to the door, pressed her ear against it, and listened.  She could hear no voices, but the sounds of kissing and heavy-breathing gave away what was happening inside.  After a couple of minutes, however, she heard Miss Kane speak.

“Just a second,” came the woman’s voice.  “Stay here – I’ll be right back.”

Rachel darted back away from the door as footsteps approached, then as the door handle turned, she dashed into the nearest doorway.  The room she entered was the female staff’s toilet.  There were two cubicles, one of which bore a sign, hanging from the handle, which said “Out of Order”.  This, she quickly decided, would be a perfect place to hide.

She pulled the door open and hurried into the cubicle, only to stop short in alarm as she saw four or five white tentacles, dripping with slime, waving about inside the toilet bowl.  Their far ends were out of sight beyond the U-bend, but at least two feet of each tentacle was visible.  Rachel backed away in horror.  Was she still dreaming?  Where had those tentacles come from?  No wonder the toilet was out of order!

At any rate, Rachel had reconsidered her choice of hiding place.  Thinking quickly, she grabbed the ‘Out of Order’ sign and transferred it to the door handle of the other cubicle.  Then she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, just as she heard the main toilet door open.

Bending down, Rachel looked across beneath the partition between the cubicles, and saw the familiar black high heels and shapely ankles of Miss Kane turn around inside the other cubicle.  What had happened to the tentacles? Rachel wondered.  Had Miss Kane not seen them?  Why were they not molesting her, as they had molested Rachel in class?  The teacher had apparently not seen them, for within seconds a rather un-feminine grunting sound preceded a couple of splashes and a strong faecal aroma that made Rachel screw up her face in disgust.  There was a sound of tearing toilet tissue, followed by the sound of the flush handle being pressed.

But no sound of water pouring into the bowl.  The flush handle was tried again, and again.  Miss Kane cursed, and Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise – she had never heard a teacher use such language.  Eventually the cubicle door opened and Miss Kane walked out and over to the washbasins, washed her hands, dried them, then left the toilet.

Rachel opened the door to her own cubicle and peered out.  Nobody was about.  She stepped out and looked into the cubicle that Miss Kane had just vacated.  The toilet lid was down.  With a certain morbid curiosity, tempered by a slight feeling of anxiety, Rachel reached out and lifted the lid.  Then she relaxed – there were no tentacles to be seen, just a couple of large turds and some bunched-up pieces of toilet paper.  The tentacles, Rachel reasoned, must have been a product of some kind of hallucination.

While this thought was of course a source of consternation, Rachel put it to the back of her mind, fascinated momentarily by the sight of the dark brown turds – Miss Kane’s poo – lying at the bottom of the toilet bowl.  One was completely submerged; the other, lying on top of the first, was resting in a near-vertical position, half in and half out of the water.

Rachel had grown to love poo.  While she had never dared to perform the kind of public stunts that had made Lynn Howard so notorious, she did enjoy playing with her own poo in private.  Twice now she had defecated in her own panties, pretending as she sat on the toilet at home that she had forgotten to pull her panties down before pushing her poo out.  But she had never played with poo at school, and she had never played with anyone’s poo but her own … so far.

She looked at her watch.  She had plenty of time.  She retrieved the ‘Out of Order’ sign and placed it over the door handle of Miss Kane’s cubicle (where, after all, it belonged), then she stepped inside and closed the door.  Taking off her skirt, tie and blouse, she draped them over the cistern.  Now dressed only in her underwear, she sat down and parted her legs.  Reaching down into the bowl with only a momentary hesitation, she grasped one of the turds and lifted it up.  Pulling open the front of her panties with her other hand, she lowered the poo inside and laid it carefully along the gusset.  Withdrawing her hand, she pulled her panties up tightly, so that the poo squished deliciously against her pussy and oozed between her labia.

“Oh yes,” she murmured, closing her eyes and smiling to herself in pleasure.  “Oh Miss Kane, I love you…”  She placed the flat of her hand against the outside of her panties and pressed inwards, slowly squishing the poo flat.  With her clean left hand, she unclasped her bra and took it off, throwing it behind her to land on the rest of her clothes.  Then she reached down and grabbed the other poo, pulling it up and slapping it against her left breast.  She rubbed it in, then slid it across to her right breast and massaged it into her nipple.  Meanwhile she slid her right hand inside her panties, shoving her fingers into the soft poo therein, and began rubbing poo into her clitoris.

As she masturbated, immersed in an orgy of poo, she decided to add her own poo into the experience.  Straining hard, she felt her panties stretch and pull away from her buttocks as she pushed a large, firm turd out of her anus.  Eventually it broke off and she pulled it out of her panties, mashing it into her belly and using it to cover every inch of flesh from her neck to her pussy.  Then she decided that it was time to get completely naked, so she kicked off her shoes and socks and pulled off her panties, leaving streaks of poo down both legs.  Scraping poo out of her panties on to her chest, she dumped the filthy garment into the toilet bowl and resumed her masturbation.

Then she heard the toilet door open, and she froze.  She was acutely aware that the room now stank to high heaven.  She prayed that whichever teacher it was, he or she would go downstairs to the other toilets and not investigate the smell.

“Jesus!” exclaimed a male voice.

Rachel’s heart sank – it was Mr Wood, the janitor.

“Oh my!” came Miss Kane’s voice.  “I’m sorry about the smell.  I couldn’t flush you see, and…”

“And you locked the cubicle door after you left it?” asked Mr Wood.

“Why, no…  That’s funny.  I was sure I didn’t, but…  Maybe someone else…?”

There was a knock on the cubicle door, and Mr Wood’s voice said, “Anyone in there?”

Knowing that if she did not reply, Mr Wood was sure to look over the top, Rachel responded in a nervous stammer, “Um, yes.  I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“What the hell are you doing in there, young lady?” asked Mr Wood.  “Didn’t you see the sign?  This toilet is out of order!”
“Well actually,” said Miss Kane, “the sign was on the other door when I used it.”

“Really?  Well it’s on the right door at the moment.  Well missy?”

“Um, I’m just … well, you know,” said Rachel in a state of near-panic.  “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes if you’d like to wait outside.”

“Okay, I’ll wait,” said Mr Wood.  “Come on Miss Kane.”

Rachel heaved a sigh of relief as she heard the two departing, and started wondering how she was going to clean up.  Before she had a chance to pull out a single piece of toilet paper, however, a long white tentacle shot up from the toilet bowl and quickly encircled her waist.  It pulled her downwards so that she sat down hard on the toilet seat.  Then she felt another tentacle slither into her vagina, and a third punch its way into her anus.  More tentacles snaked up between her legs and two of them fastened themselves to her nipples.  When she tried to pull them off, two other tentacles grabbed her wrists and pulled them out away from her body, so that she was helpless.

Rachel did not dare scream, for that would bring Mr Wood back in and she did not wish for him to see what she had been doing with Miss Kane’s excrement.  But she was unsure of how she was supposed to clean up now, given her current situation.  The feelings emanating from her groin were delightful and she was as horny as hell, but in the end her self-preservation won over and she began struggling furiously.  Somehow she managed to get herself off the toilet seat, and by twisting her left hand around a few times she managed to free it.  She jumped to her feet and backed away from the toilet while trying to free her other hand.

Three or four of the tentacles, writhing about in search of Rachel, found instead the pile of clothes she had left on the top of the cistern.  She watched in horror as her skirt, bra and blouse were grabbed and pulled down into the toilet bowl.  She rushed forward to try to catch them, but they had disappeared around the U-bend by the time she got there.  Within range of the tentacles once again, Rachel found herself grabbed by several of them, and she was quickly spun around and pulled on to the seat so forcibly that she fell through it, her bottom sinking into the bowl and wedging her in tightly.  A couple of tentacles thrown over her shoulders and around her waist held her firmly in this position, and once again she found herself helpless.

Rachel now heard the door open outside, and footsteps re-entered the room.  “Are you finished yet?” asked Mr Wood.

“No, I’ll need another few minutes,” said Rachel desperately.

“You’ve had long enough – what the hell are you doing in there?” demanded Mr Wood.  “Why are you even in the staff toilet?”

“It’s embarrassing,” said Rachel.  “You have to leave me alone for a few minutes.”

“What could possibly be taking you so long?”

“Look, I had an accident okay?” snapped Rachel.  “Are you happy now?”

“Oh.”  Mr Wood’s tone of voice changed.  “I’m sorry.  Would you like me to get someone?”

“No, thank you,” said Rachel.  “All I need is some time to sort myself out.  Oh, and a change of clothes.”

“A change of clothes?” echoed Mr Wood.  “What, everything?”

“A blouse, skirt and panties will do,” said Rachel.

“How the hell did you…?” began the janitor, but then he thought better of it.  “I’ll be right back.”

Rachel struggled to free herself, but she was stuck fast.  Tentacles were exploring her cunt and rectum, and others were at work on her nipples.  She felt herself becoming increasingly aroused, and soon gave up all attempts at escape, abandoning herself to the delicious pleasure of the tentacles’ attentions.  Ten minutes and two orgasms later, she was practically screaming with ecstasy.

Then the door to the toilets opened again.  “Who’s that in there?” came a female voice.

Rachel’s blood ran cold.  It was Miss Weaver.  “It…  It’s Rachel, Miss Weaver,” she stammered.

“Rachel, I’m told you’ve had some kind of accident.  Is that true?”

“Yes Miss Weaver,” replied Rachel.  “I wonder if I could perhaps have a change of clothes…?”

“I have some here,” said Miss Weaver.  “Open the door and I’ll pass them to you.”

“Uh, that’s okay Miss Weaver.  If you could just pass them under the door I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense, girl.  Come on – open the door and be quick about it.”

“I … can’t just now,” said Rachel in a near-wail.  “Please just pass them under the door.”

“What on Earth is going on in there?” demanded Miss Weaver.  “I cannot imagine how you could have come to produce that dreadful smell.  Let me in at once.”

“No, I can’t!” exclaimed Rachel.

“Right, that’s it, I’m fetching Mr Dean.”

Rachel’s heart sank and she struggled violently to free herself from the toilet bowl.  But it was to no avail, and as the minutes passed she grew more and more frantic.  And then a thought occurred to her.  This must be a dream!  The tentacles did not really exist – how could they?  All she needed to do was wake up, and this horrible nightmare would be over.  So she began pinching herself and slapping her cheeks, but this did not seem to work.

“Rachel?”  It was Mr Dean’s voice.

“Uh, hello Mr Dean.”

“Rachel come out of there at once,” said Mr Dean.

“I can’t sir,” replied Rachel dully.

“Very well, I shall have to come in.”

Rachel sighed.  “Okay sir.”  If anything could bring an end to this dream, she thought to herself, it would be the experience of having Mr Dean see her in this state.

The lock on the cubicle door slowly turned – Mr Dean was obviously using his fingernail to move the Vacant/Engaged sign on the outside of the door.  After about thirty seconds the cubicle door swung open, and there stood Mr Dean.  He stared at her with a mixture of disgust and anger.

“Rachel, how did you get into this disgusting condition?” he demanded.

“Well you see the tentacles did it,” began Rachel, and then stopped short.  Looking down at her chest, she realised that the tentacles were nowhere to be seen – they must have only just withdrawn into the toilet bowl.  Or else she had just woken up.  She was not sure which.

“Tentacles?” asked Mr Dean.

“Never mind,” said Rachel.  “Let’s just say I had an accident.”

“Yes?  Well I’ve had enough of this kind of ‘accident’,” growled Mr Dean.  “You may consider yourself expelled.  Now get up, get clean, get dressed and come to my study.  I shall go and call your parents now.”

“But I can’t get dressed,” said Rachel.  “My clothes … went down the toilet.”

“You flushed your clothes?”  Mr Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “Well, here are the clothes Miss Weaver brought for you.  He put them on the floor in front of her.  “They’re from the second hand shop.  I hope they fit.”

“Thank you sir.”  Rachel placed both hands on the toilet seat, and hauled herself out with only a little effort.  The tentacles were indeed nowhere to be seen.  Mr Dean shook his head in disbelief and strode out of the room.

The tentacles did not reappear, and in half an hour Rachel was reasonably presentable, though she still smelled a little.  The blouse was rather tight, and her nipples were rather prominent against the thin material, but otherwise she looked okay.  She sighed to herself and walked out of the door, heading for Mr Dean’s study.

 

Her mother came to pick her up, and she was understandably furious.  “Explain yourself, Rachel,” she insisted as they drove home.

“I can’t,” said Rachel with a sigh.  “Something weird happened to me today and I can’t explain it to myself, let alone to anyone else.”

“Well you’ve left me with no choice,” said her mother.  “From now on you go to Hardacre.  You’ll start Monday.”

Rachel grimaced.  Hardacre school catered to the lower echelons of society, in an underprivileged area where crime was rife and houses were cheap and nasty.  Rachel lived with her mother on the edge of this area – they were not well off, but their house was nicer than most.  Rachel had been granted special permission to attend the secondary school in which she had spent the last three years, and she did not relish the thought of spending the next two at Hardacre.  Still, she had to admit it was at least partially her fault…

On the plus side, there was no school uniform at Hardacre.  The kids dressed pretty much as they pleased (within reason), and this would make a refreshing change.  Rachel resolved to wear as short a skirt as she could get away with, and some kind of sexy top.  On the first day, perhaps, she would err on the side of caution, but once she got a feel for where the line was drawn, she would push that line back as far as possible.

Monday morning rolled around, and Rachel put on a stretchy black Lycra miniskirt that had the eye-catching habit of getting shorter as she walked.  Periodically, when wearing the skirt in public, she would have to pull it back down to a decent length, although she generally liked to leave it for as long as possible before doing so.  Today would be different – she would only pull it down if she absolutely had to.

Since it was late September and the air was cool, she reluctantly abandoned the idea of wearing her skimpy white low-cut tank-top along with the skirt.  Instead, she wore an old white blouse that was far too small for her, and left the top three buttons undone (the fourth was about half an inch higher than her nipples).  With no bra to constrain them, her squashed breasts formed a prominent visible cleavage and her areolae were clearly visible through the thin material.

Mrs Owen took one look at her daughter and sent her back upstairs to change.  Rachel protested vehemently, but in the end gave in and threw a wool sweater over the top of her blouse and put on a long, wraparound skirt over her miniskirt.  This mollified her mother, and in due course she was delivered to her new school at eight o’clock for an informal interview with the headmaster, or (as he was known at Hardacre) the Principal.

Principal Taggart was one of the tallest men Rachel had ever seen.  At six feet and eleven inches, he towered over everybody at the school and this height, together with a pair of impressive bushy eyebrows, gave the impression that he was a fearsome ogre, a disciplinarian of the strictest variety.  In fact he was nothing of the sort, as Rachel soon discovered.  Rather soft-spoken, he had a gentle manner which had a tendency to dissolve (at times of minor crisis, such as when the phone rang) into a rather harassed, worried look.  In truth he was not at all the kind of man you would expect to find in charge of one of the roughest schools in the city.

“Good morning Mrs Owen, good morning Rachel,” he said, beckoning them into his office.  “Sorry about the mess, um, please take a seat.  Just move that stuff on to the floor.  Now then, Rachel, I understand you were just expelled from your last school for indecent behaviour…  Well I want to assure you that your past won’t be held against you here, though of course we will expect you to adhere to the school rules, a copy of which you’ll find in your locker.  Here is the key.”  He handed her a key attached to a short length of string.  “Now, um, have you any questions, either of you?”

“Yes,” said Rachel’s mother.  “I believe there was an incident here last year in which a teacher was accused of sexually assaulting one of the girls.  What action did you take against the teacher, and what steps have you taken to ensure that kind of thing does not happen again?”

“Um, well the charges were dropped, so the teacher was not disciplined.  He always maintained his innocence and I have no reason to doubt him.  However as a precaution against further false accusations we have a rule that no teacher is allowed to be alone with a pupil – there must always be at least one other person present.”

Mrs Owen nodded, her lips pursed.  She did not look convinced.  “Well dear,” she said to Rachel, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.  Be good, and I’ll see you this afternoon.”  She got to her feet.

“Okay Mum,” said Rachel, and she got up to follow her mother out.

“Uh, one moment please Rachel,” said the principal, “I have a couple of other things to explain to you.”

Rachel sat back down as her mother left the room and closed the door.  “Yes sir?” she asked.

“Firstly,” said Taggart, “you’re fooling nobody with that get-up.  What have you got on under there?”

“I’m sorry?”  Rachel was genuinely shocked.  This was not how a teacher ought to behave!

“Oh come on, don’t act so innocent.  I’ve heard you’re an exhibitionist, so I don’t believe for a minute that you plan to wear that puritanical outfit all day.  So go on – let’s see what you plan to wear once you get out of this office.”

“But…” Rachel began, blushing furiously.

“Come on, come on,” said Taggart.  “I can see you’ve got something else underneath that skirt, so please abandon this charade and be honest about your intent.”

Unsure of herself and rather nervous, Rachel stood up and took her sweater off to reveal her tight blouse and expanse of bare breast flesh, then, as Taggart nodded and gestured for her to continue, she unfastened the wraparound skirt and took it off.  Almost immediately she realised that the hemline of the skirt had crept up to a point where her panties were just showing, so she hastily pulled the skirt back down so that it was decent, if not particularly modest.

“I thought so!” said Taggart, with an air of vindication.  “Well, I’ve seen worse.  Off you go.”

Rachel was astonished.  Having been found out, she had fully expected to be disciplined, or at least ordered to wear the sweater and long skirt for the day.  But the principal actually seemed to be unfazed by her skimpy attire!  Picking up her discarded clothes, she left the office and went downstairs, where she found the locker room and sought out her own locker.  Inside, as Taggart had said, was a copy of the school rules.  It was surprisingly slim.  She opened it and flicked through it briefly.  There was no mention of a dress code.

Her first class, at nine o’clock, was Biology.  The teacher was a tough, rugby-playing sort, who barked at his pupils as if they were new recruits and he was a drill sergeant.  The ‘recruits’, however, paid little attention.  Those nearest Rachel, in fact, devoted the entire lesson to grilling her about the reasons for her expulsion.  Not about to admit the truth to them, Rachel told a few white lies, which did not seem to satisfy her interrogators.  Surprisingly, nobody commented on her clothing, though she noticed a few lecherous stares from some of the boys.  Looking around, she realised that some of the other girls were wearing skirts just as short as hers, and one or two of them had large chests which they showed off to full advantage with tight and/or revealing tops.  Rachel, who was a mere C-cup, felt rather inadequate by comparison.

At morning break she resolved to up the stakes by undoing another button, so that her breasts were under constant threat of spilling out if she bent over.  So far she had not pulled her skirt down since leaving the principal’s office – as she walked out into the school yard her hemline was practically on a level with her buttocks.  This was not lost on the boys, many of whom began to wolf-whistle at her and make their way towards her.  One of the girls in her class watched her pass with a look of disdain.

 “You’re going to get yourself raped like that,” she said.

“You let me worry about that,” returned Rachel.  She smiled at the approaching boys.  “Hi guys,” she said.

“Hi sexy,” said the pack leader, a tall dark-haired lad with a ready smile.  He looked a little older than Rachel – he was no doubt in his final year.  “I’m Todd.  We were just going inside – want to come with us?”

“Sure,” Rachel replied.  She wondered if there was a Hardacre equivalent of the notorious French Room Cupboard of her last school.  As she turned to go back inside, she felt a hand swat her bottom and she yelped.  The boys laughed.

They led her into the boys’ toilets, where they kicked out a couple of juniors, one of whom was in the middle of peeing.  “Hey, fucking watch it!” the boy complained.

“Or what?” responded Todd scornfully.  He pulled out a flick-knife and opened it meaningfully.  The boy scowled and hurried out of the room, zipping up as he went.

Rachel was tense and nervous, but tried not to show it.  She figured she was about to be fucked by all these boys – how many were there … ten? eleven? – and was not sure how she would cope with the experience.  She had resolved to be the school slut at Hardacre, but reflected that there were probably a few of those.  Well, she would just have to be the sluttiest of the lot.

“So have you boys all got condoms, or what?” she asked, in an attempt at bravado.

They laughed.  “You’re not on the pill?” inquired Todd.

Rachel shook her head.  “Not yet – but I’m planning to be soon.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” she said.  “I’ve done it a couple of times.”

“A couple?”  Todd broke into a grin.  “Practically fresh meat then!” he said in a way that Rachel found rather chilling.

She did not resist, however, as he took her arm and pulled her into a clinch.  She opened her mouth and joined in the French kiss, while his hands wandered down her back and began pulling her skirt up.  The other boys crowded round her, and one pulled her panties down.  Then Todd drew back and started unbuttoning her blouse.  Rachel offered no resistance, but she felt her pulse racing in excitement and fear as she was rapidly stripped naked.

One of the boys had considerately spread out her clothes on the floor, and Todd lowered her on to them.  He pulled his jeans and jockey shorts down, parted her legs, and pushed his way inside her with a little difficulty.  “A tight slut,” he observed with a grunt.  He began fucking her, and Rachel closed her eyes, revelling in the sensation of being recognised as, and used as, a slut.  She forced herself not to think about the worrying possibility that this might get her pregnant.

They all took their turn, the eleven in the room and then six after that, once word had spread around the schoolyard that there was a gangbang in progress.  Suddenly all the boys needed to go to the toilet…  Many of those who did not get a chance to fuck her by the time break finished simply watched, and one or two masturbated over her.  Rachel ended up with cum on her face, in her hair, and pouring like a river out of her reddened and sore vagina.

The next lesson was well underway by the time she was allowed to get up.  Todd helped her into her panties, which he pulled all the way up despite the fact that she was still leaking profusely.  Within seconds they were soaked with cum.  Then Todd handed Rachel her blouse, which she put on, fastening all but the top three buttons.  Todd tutted in disapproval, and he grabbed the fourth button and yanked it off.  Then he supervised the donning of her skirt, and smiled when she arranged it so that the hem was no lower than her buttocks.

“Good girl,” he said.  “You’re learning.  Now don’t wash that cum off your face – just wipe it around until it’s less noticeable.  The same goes for your hair.”

Rachel spent the rest of the day being subjected to practically continuous groping, both between and during lessons.  Halfway through Maths her head was pulled on to the lap of a tough, shaven-headed boy, where she gave him a blow-job.  After this she was required to give several more, and if the teacher saw her crawling around under the desks at the back of the classroom, he made no comment.

At lunchtime Rachel was screwed by seven more boys in the toilet.  She would have taken more on, but she began to bleed from her vagina and this alarmed both herself and the boys.  She offered her anus, but one of Todd’s friends, a lad named John, announced to the assembled throng that she had had enough.  Rachel protested half-heartedly, but deep down she was grateful.

During the afternoon lessons she sucked a few cocks, and lost the rest of her blouse buttons as her breasts were continually manhandled.  By the end of the day she was worn out.  Before her mother was due to collect her, she returned to her locker and retrieved her sweater and long skirt, which she put on.  As they drove home Mrs Owen asked her daughter how her first day at the new school had been.  Rachel replied, “Fine.”  But she ached in many places and her pussy in particular was very sore.

For the rest of that week she played it cool, allowing herself to be groped but not fucked.  On Wednesday she started her period, the announcement of which helped to keep the horny boys at bay.  The first flow of menstrual blood came as quite a relief – she had been uneasy at the thought of getting pregnant from her gangbang.

On Saturday morning she visited her GP and obtained a prescription for birth control pills.  Rather dismayed to hear that she would need to use alternative contraception in addition to the pills for the first two months, she considered while eating a McChicken Sandwich whether to buy some spermicidal cream or a cap.  She had still not reached a decision when a young lad, perhaps two or three years her senior, unceremoniously sat down opposite her.

“Hello Rachel,” he said.  “I’m God.”

Rachel stared at him.  The boy was of medium height and slim build, with short black hair and an unimpressive moustache.  “Excuse me?” she said.

“I’m God,” the boy repeated.  “Want me to prove it?”

“That would be nice,” said Rachel, and took a sip at her chocolate milkshake.

“Well first of all I know your name, though we’ve never met,” the boy began.  “Secondly, I can tell you that the man behind me is about to spill his coke on account of trying to pick it up by its lid, which is rather loose.  He will do this in approximately five seconds.”

Curious despite herself, Rachel peered around the boy at the thirty-something man in question, who was currently munching on a French Fry while chatting to his wife.  He reached for his drink with barely a downward glance, picked it up by its lid, and then cursed and leaped to his feet as the cup dropped away and toppled over, spilling its contents.

“Okay, I’m officially impressed,” acknowledged Rachel, who was.  “But that doesn’t mean you’re God – you could just be clairvoyant.”

“There’s no such thing,” said the boy, “as clairvoyance.  Trust me.”

Rachel began to feel uneasy.  Could this boy possibly be who he claimed to be?  Surely not…

“If you’re God,” she said, “and I’m not for a moment admitting that I think you are … what do you want with me?”

The boy beamed.  “I just want to hang out with you for a while,” he said.  “You’re the coolest of all my creations, and I want to see you through human eyes for a short time.”

Rachel’s brow furrowed.  “You’re kidding,” she said in puzzlement.  “I’m nobody special – why pick on me?  What makes me so ‘cool’?”

“Well the clothes you’re wearing, for a start,” said the boy.  “That skirt is just … well, phenomenal!  And you’re not even sitting with your legs together!  Everyone who passes this table can see your panties!  It’s brilliant – you’re amazing!”

Rachel almost brought her knees together, so flustered was she by this extravagant (and embarrassingly loud) outpouring of praise.  “Good grief,” she muttered, “I had no idea God was so horny.”

“Get used to it, Rachel,” said the boy.  “Back home I have so many posters of you flashing your panties, you just would not believe it.”

“Posters?”  Rachel was floundering with this concept.  “Back home?  What, in heaven?  You have a house?  With posters on the walls?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “Kind of,” he said.  “At any rate, you’re quite a celebrity where I come from.”

“And you want to hang out with me?”

The boy nodded with enthusiasm.

Rachel shook her head.  “This is too weird.  Look, I don’t believe you’re God, okay?  And I’m going now, so goodbye.”  She got to her feet and headed for the door.

The boy caught up with her outside.  “Hey, I’ll prove it some other way if you’re not satisfied,” he said.  “For instance, you see that guy in the green t-shirt over there?”

“Uh, yeah?”  Rachel spotted the man in question.

“In about three seconds he’s going to trip on an uneven flagstone … oops, there he goes.”

“Amazing,” said Rachel, “but it’s still prediction.  What about another test?  For instance, what am I thinking right now?”

“Ah, that is something I can’t answer,” said the boy.  “The human mind is a precious, private thing – I make it a rule never to pry…”

“Oh bullshit,” cried Rachel.  “You’re just saying that because you can’t read my mind.  I’m sure I remember something in the Bible about God knowing everyone’s thoughts.”

“All right then,” said the boy, “how about if I told you I know about the tentacles that attacked you last week?”

Rachel fell into a stunned silence.  She had not told anybody about the tentacles.  “What tentacles?” she managed eventually in an attempt at bemusement.

“They came out of the desk while you were in one of your classes, and practically stripped you in your seat.  They molested you in all kinds of ways which you thoroughly enjoyed, and then you woke up and thought you had been dreaming.  But it wasn’t a dream.  Later, you were having a little scat adventure in the staff toilets and the tentacles came again, this time out of the toilet bowl.  Enough detail?”

“Yes, enough.”  Rachel was in a state of shock.  “What do you want from me?”

“I told you – just to hang out with you.”  The boy smiled.  “I’d love to fuck you, too, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

Rachel shrugged.  “Why not?  Everyone else has.  I’m on my period at the moment though.”

“That makes no odds to me,” said the boy with a grin.  “I don’t mind a little blood.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed.  “No way are you God,” she said.  “God doesn’t come down to fuck His creations.  Unless the Bible has painted a very wrong picture of Him.”

“I am too God,” insisted the boy.  “How else would you explain what I know?”

“I can’t explain it,” admitted Rachel.  “But I just don’t think you can possibly be God.  What do I call you, anyway?  ‘Cause I’m not going to call you ‘God’.”

The boy chuckled.  “Okay, just call me Steve then,” he said.

“All right Steve,” said Rachel.  “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t mind.  You just go ahead and do whatever you want.  I’ll just tag along and watch.”

Rachel smiled.  “Okay,” she said.  “I’m going clothes shopping.”

She made a bee-line for Top Shop, which she knew had some nicely short miniskirts even in September.  She picked out a couple she liked, as well as a skimpy top and a loose, flowery minidress, and headed for the changing rooms.  Steve wanted to follow her in, but she gave him a warning look even as the shop assistant was holding up a hand to bar his progress.  Reluctantly Steve acquiesced without making a scene.

Inside the changing cubicle, Rachel stripped to her underwear and tried on one of the skirts.  As she was about to fasten it, a tentacle snaked out of the air vent in the wall behind her and was followed almost immediately by a couple of others.  Rachel had no idea that anything was awry until she found her wrist grabbed by a familiar-looking tentacle.  Another took hold of her other wrist, and a third wound itself around her waist.  Her unfastened skirt fell to the floor around her ankles.  Suppressing an urge to cry out, Rachel found herself pulled back against the wall, where she struggled uselessly against her slimy bonds.

She soon stopped, however, when a fourth tentacle wormed its way into her panties and slid into her cunt.  As it caressed her clitoris and g-spot simultaneously, Rachel felt herself go weak at the knees and began to pant in mounting pleasure, her eyes closing and her cheeks turning pink, suffused with blood.  Her ecstasy heightened as another tentacle found her anus and began sliding in deep, probing her rectum, slithering continually inwards; ten inches, twelve, fifteen, twenty … two feet, three, four, and still it kept sliding in as if there were no end to its length.

Then, in the midst of a wonderfully intense orgasm, Rachel became aware that the tentacle in her cunt was spewing out slime in great quantities.  And the gooey stuff was building up deep inside her body – the tip of the tentacle must have entered her womb and was even now filling it up.  At any rate, very little seemed to be coming out of her vagina.  As she watched in alarm, her belly began to expand until it looked as if she were pregnant.

And then, as if their work was thus complete, the tentacles retreated and disappeared back into the vent, leaving Rachel breathless, alone, and covered in slime.  She looked down with consternation at her bulging belly, and realised that none of her clothes would fit her now, except…  She looked thoughtfully at the flowery dress she had brought in to try on.  Wiping off as much slime from her body as she could, she pulled the dress on and stepped out of the cubicle to regarded herself in the mirror at the end of the corridor.  The dress fit fairly well, and was loose enough to disguise her bulge quite well.

She picked up the rest of her clothes and left the changing rooms.  She paid for the dress, returned the other clothes and rejoined Steve.

“I got attacked by tentacles again,” she muttered to him.

“I know,” he said.  “And they impregnated you this time.”

“Impregnated?”  Rachel looked down in concern.  “With what?”

“What do you think?” said Steve.  “A baby tryllog.  The gestation period is about two days – should be an interesting weekend.”

“What?”  Panic gripped Rachel.  “What’s a tryllog?  Am I going to get any bigger than this?”

“Oh yes, much,” Steve cheerfully reassured her.  “A tryllog is a creature from the planet Vorlup, which orbits the star you know as Delta Pavonis.”

“Then what the fuck,” hissed Rachel, grabbing Steve’s arm forcibly, “is it doing on this planet?”

Steve looked uncomfortable.  “Well I don’t kn…  that is to say, I couldn’t possibly tell you.”

“You brought them here, didn’t you?” she accused him.

“No, I … they must’ve hitched a ride,” he mumbled with an apologetic shrug.

“Hitched a ride?” echoed Rachel.  “On what?  What method of transport does God use?”

“If I explained to you the mysteries of my comings and goings,” said Steve imperiously, “your mind would explode.”

“Yeah right,” muttered Rachel.  “Come on – let’s get home.  Where will you be staying tonight?  You can’t stay at my place.”

“Oh, I think I will,” said Steve slyly.  “Don’t worry – your mother need not know I’m there.  I can make myself invisible at will.”

“Of course you can,” said Rachel sardonically.  “Well if she sees you, I’ll scream rape and deny having met you before.”

They boarded a bus which led directly to Rachel’s neighbourhood.  At least, Rachel boarded it – Steve miraculously appeared sitting in one of the seats on the upper deck.  As Rachel reached the top of the stairs, she stared at him in astonishment.  As she sat down beside him he chuckled.  “Did I not tell you I am God?” he said.

“You have some inexplicable and pretty cool talents, I’ll grant you,” conceded Rachel, “but God?  I don’t think so.”

Steve shrugged.  “You will,” he said with a smile.

Rachel said nothing and stared out of the window.  Then she jumped involuntarily as something stirred within her womb.  Then a familiar slithering sensation crept down her vagina and she felt the tip of a tentacle emerge from her cunt.  It began to stroke her clitoris and she smiled to herself.  Within minutes she was writhing about ecstatically, moaning so loudly that she had attracted the attention of the other passengers.  Fortunately none of them came to investigate.

She climaxed quickly, then as she wound down from her orgasmic peak she began to notice something – her bra was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.  She tried to adjust it, but to no avail.  “What’s going on?” she muttered to herself.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Steve reassured her.  “It’s just your breasts growing.”

“Growing?” asked Rachel in concern.  “Why are they growing?”

“To provide food for the baby tryllog of course, once you’ve given birth to it.”

Rachel gasped in disbelief.  “You expect me to nurse it??”

“I don’t have to expect anything,” said Steve slyly.  “You will definitely nurse it, I assure you.”

“I won’t!” retorted Rachel stubbornly.  Then she grimaced as her bra became far too tight for comfort.  “Damn, I’ll have to take this thing off,” she said.

She was about to draw her arms in through the armholes of her dress, when it suddenly occurred to her that this was hardly in keeping with the sluttish lifestyle she had chosen for herself.  Standing up (and being careful not to meet the eyes of any of the other passengers), she pulled her dress up over her head and dropped it on to her seat.  Whistles and shouts broke out as she unclasped her bra and took it off, and her breasts (unfamiliarly large and practically unrecognisable as her own) were freed.  Her pregnant bulge had also grown visibly, but she spared it no more than a glance as she quickly reached for her dress and pulled it on again.

“Bravo!” said Steve as she sat back down.  “That’s the kind of thing I was hoping to see.”

“You weren’t the only one who appreciated it, I think,” Rachel muttered, her cheeks flaming red in embarrassment.  Displaying her body in public was definitely something she was going to have to get used to – at the moment it was still a frightening experience.

Steve smiled at her and turned to look out of the window.  He seemed, for the moment at least, more interested in the buildings and people outside than in her.  Rachel was about to prod him in mock-jealousy when she noticed something glinting in his trouser pocket which, as a side-effect of the way he was sitting, was gaping open.  Peering more closely, she saw that it was a silver, rectangular object with buttons, resembling nothing so much as a TV remote control, though it was only a few millimetres thick.  Embossed on its shiny surface was black lettering of which she could see little.

Figuring that Steve would probably not let her look at it if she simply asked, she made a grab for it and pulled it easily out of his pocket.  “Hey!” exclaimed Steve, spinning around, but Rachel was too quick for him.

“What’s this?” she cried triumphantly, her sense of victory due more to his panicked reaction than to anything she had seen.  But when she turned her back on him and examined the object more closely, she realised just how important this discovery was.  The logo at the top of the device read: “Temporal Instruments”, and the smaller writing below said: “TM 1402”.  Other than that it was very much like a remote control for a CD player or VCR, with ‘Fast Forward’, ‘Rewind’ and ‘Freeze’ buttons as well as a number pad.  But the biggest shock was the copyright warning at the bottom: “Copyright 2136 Temporal Instruments Corporation”.

This was all she had time to read before Steve snatched the device back from her.  But it was enough.  “You’re not God!” she accused him.  “You’re just some kid from the future with a box of tricks!”

“Hush!” he replied nervously.  “Don’t make me use this thing to rewind two minutes and be more careful of my pocket.”

Rachel was stunned.  “You can do that sort of thing?”

“Of course – I have been, all along.  How do you think I got up here before you?  I simply froze time, climbed the stairs, then restarted time.”
“You have total control over time?”  Rachel could scarcely believe her ears.  “Who on Earth would give anyone that power?”

Steve shrugged.  “It’s freely available.  Anyone with a couple of hundred thousand dollars to spare can get hold of one of these babies.  Oh, and in case that sounds like a lot to you, for a similar sum you could buy yourself a cheap hovercar.  Or,” he added, noting Rachel’s blank look, “put down a deposit on a moderately inexpensive house.”

“So hundreds of people from your time are on the loose throughout history, no doubt changing the course of that history and wrecking the future?”  Rachel felt quite indignant at this prospect.

But Steve shook his head.  “Nothing we do has any effect on the future.  It’s all about parallel universes, but I’m not going into the details now – it’s too complicated to explain.”

“Try,” said Rachel grimly.

Steve sighed.  “Trust me,” he said, “when I hit the reset button I will return to my own time, and everything will be the same.  Nothing will have changed.”

Rachel looked doubtful.  “I still don’t like it,” she said.  “It sounds far too dangerous.”

“Well it doesn’t really matter if it is or it isn’t,” said Steve carelessly.  “The technology is pretty cheap now, and widely available, and you just can’t stop people from my time from using it, especially when the consequences of that use have proved impossible to track.”

Rachel pondered this for a while, then another thought occurred to her.  “So why me?” she asked.  “You could have visited any point in history, met any historical figure you wanted … so why did you come to my time, to meet me?”

Steve chuckled.  “Well you have quite a future ahead of you, you know,” he said.  “You’re one of my heroes – you brought the subject of scat to mainstream cinema.”

“I did?”  Rachel was dumbfounded.  “I mean, I will?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, “in, ooh, twenty years time, after a brief career as a cinematographer, you’ll produce and direct your first feature film, The Wishbone, which is regarded as one of the most influential movies of the twenty-first century.  It features graphic scat scenes, and although it was roundly condemned by conservatives at the time, it quickly became a massive hit.  Now, of course – in my time, I mean – the sight of naked actresses eating shit, or stuffing it up their cunts, hardly raises an eyebrow.”

“Wow!”  Rachel’s thoughts were awhirl.  “This is a lot to take in,” she said at last.  “The future sounds pretty cool.”

“It is,” Steve confirmed.  “Mostly, anyway.  A lot has changed since your time – this time, I mean.”

“Like what?”  Rachel was curious.

“Well, all the countries are different for a start.  And, oh, do you want to take a guess at what the biggest issue is in the year that I just left?”

“What?”

Steve grinned.  “The ethical battle over whether to blow up the planet Mercury.”

Rachel’s eyes widened.  “You’re kidding!”

“No, seriously – that’s what’s dividing the world’s politicians at this very moment in April 2138.”

“But … why??  Why would people want to blow it up?”

“Minerals,” said Steve simply.  “Earth has become very over-mined, and … well, I’m not about to embark on a tedious discussion on the history of the issue.  Isn’t this our stop?”

“Oh!  Yes,” confirmed Rachel, and she pressed the button to alert the driver to stop.

Once outside, Rachel had more questions for Steve, who by now was getting a little tired of answering them.  “So,” she began, “you wanted to get to know me as a teenager why?  Because I write some kind of autobiography in which I mention getting attacked by tentacles as a girl?”

“No, you never mentioned the tryllogs,” Steve said, “but you certainly described some sizzling erotic adventures.”

“Such as?”

“You’ll see,” he replied enigmatically.

Rachel rolled her eyes.  “So how did you know about the tentacles … tryllogs I mean?”

Steve coughed nervously.  “Well, I brought them actually.  Amazing creatures – very smart we think but totally alien in their approach to, well, everything.  I thought you would enjoy them.”

“Enjoy them?” Rachel shrieked.  “They got me fucking expelled!”

“You’d have got expelled anyway,” Steve said.  “A couple of weeks later.  It says so in your autobiography.”

“Oh.  Well I’m not enjoying being pregnant with one, thank you very much!”

“You could have fooled me,” responded Steve cheerfully.  “You seemed quite happy in the bus.”

Rachel blushed at the thought of her loud orgasm on the top deck.  Then she scowled at Steve and stomped up the path to her house.  Entering alone, she dashed up the stairs before her mother saw her, and was not surprised to find Steve already in her room.

“Just keep quiet okay?” she whispered to him.  He nodded.

That night she let him fuck her anus.  She figured there was no harm in it.

 

The next morning he was gone.  Rachel was surprised and a little upset by this, but she was even more upset about her appearance – she looked heavily pregnant and her breasts had gone from a C cup to at least a G.  She felt enormous, and none of her clothes fit her except, funnily enough, the minidress that she had bought the day before.  She put this on, though her bulge made the hem of the dress so high at the front that her panties were exposed beneath her huge belly.  She tried to sneak out of the house quietly, but was surprised by her mother coming out of the kitchen.

“Great heavens!” exclaimed Mrs Owen.  “What on Earth…?”

“I can explain,” began Rachel, then she sagged in defeat.  “No I can’t.”

“But whatever happened?” demanded her mother.  “You can’t be pregnant – I’d have noticed that before now.”

Rachel sighed.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “It’s probably just temporary though.”

Mrs Owen walked over to her daughter and placed a hand on the bulge.  “Well there’s something solid in there,” she said.  “Come on – we’re going to the hospital.”

“Oh Mum!” complained Rachel.  “Can’t we give it a day or two and see what happens?”

“Absolutely not,” said her mother firmly.  “Get in the car – I’ll be right there.”

Rachel glumly got into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt, completely unaware that Steve had been busy during the night.  Aware that this dress was the only one she could possibly wear today, he had made some modifications to it…

Mrs Owen got into the driver’s seat and started the car.  “Did you just wake up with it like that?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Rachel.

“And you’ve no idea how it happened?”

“No,” said Rachel.

“Hmmm.”  Mrs Owen’s lips were pursed in thought as she pulled out on to the road and speeded up quickly.  “We’ll miss church,” she said, “but never mind – this is more important.”

“It’s all right Mum,” said Rachel quickly.  “You don’t need to miss church on my account.  Just drop me off at the hospital and I’ll take it from there.  You can come and see me after church has finished.  You know what the NHS is like – I’ll probably still be in the waiting room.”

This made pretty good sense to Mrs Owen, though she was none too keen on the idea of leaving her daughter alone in this bizarre condition.  “Well if you’re sure,” she said doubtfully.

“I’m sure,” said Rachel.  “And if I do get seen to before you get back, I’ll keep them talking until you arrive.”

“All right then.”  Mrs Owen nodded.

When they arrived at the hospital, Rachel got out of the car and closed the door behind her.  She was not aware that time suddenly froze while Steve dashed in, tied one end of a piece of string to the car door handle, tied the other end to her dress, and dashed away again.  All Rachel knew was that, as her mother drove away, her dress was yanked clean off her body and dragged billowing along the road behind the car.  Steve’s industrious work on the seams the night before had worked very nicely.

Rachel screamed and waved frantically at the departing car, but Mrs Owen was distracted by the sight of a strange young man on the other side of the street who was dressed as Robin Hood and was waving a sign that said “Reunite Gondwanaland”, and failed to look in her rear-view mirror.  Rachel, for her part, failed to notice that the young eccentric in Lincoln green was actually Steve.  She was more concerned with the fact that she was now naked apart from her white panties and a pair of tennis shoes, not to mention heavily pregnant, and in full view of everybody on what was really quite a busy street considering it was a Sunday.

Despair gripped her as she saw her mum’s car disappear around a corner.  Looking around frantically for somewhere to hide, she spotted a second-hand clothes shop across the street.  Her spirits rose at the sight of it, then sank as she realised it was closed.  Then she remembered that there was a Marks and Spencer further down the street, which would almost certainly be open.  Gritting her teeth, she ran the gauntlet, ignoring the shouts and whistles and yelping whenever a playful male hand swatted her bottom.

The shop, indeed, was open, and Rachel entered it with a sigh of relief.  Almost immediately a middle-aged saleswoman walked up to her, wearing a politely disapproving expression.  “May I help you?” she asked.

“I hope so,” said Rachel.  “My mum just dropped me off outside the hospital but my dress must’ve got caught in the door – it was ripped straight off.  Please – have you got anything I could wear until I can get some fresh clothes from home?”

“Well this isn’t a charity shop, you know…” began the woman, then she appeared to relent as she saw how desperate Rachel looked.  “Very well – I’ll see if we’ve got any seconds in the back.  Why don’t you wait in one of the changing cubicles?  I’ll bring something to you.”

“Thanks ever so much,” said Rachel gratefully, and she hurried over to the changing rooms.  Once safely inside, she relaxed…

…And a tentacle slithered out of her vagina.  Rachel grimaced.  “Not now,” she growled at it.  But the tentacle was taking no notice.  It curled around and pushed its tip into her anus.  Another tentacle emerged from her cunt and began to stroke her clitoris.  Annoyed, Rachel decided enough was enough.  She pulled her panties down, stepped out of them, then spread her legs and grabbed hold of one of the tentacles, tugging at it with all her might in an attempt to pull it out of her body.

But it was no good.  The thing inside her might as well have been a part of her.  Pulling it made her feel as if she was attempting to pull her own guts out.  She let go and ground her teeth in frustration.  But the tryllog apparently was rather annoyed by her action.  Two more tentacles appeared and threw themselves around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides.  She struggled against them, but they held her fast.

As she staggered around the cubicle, trying to get free, she noticed something rather alarming.  Like the changing room in Top Shop, this one had an air vent, but this one was part of a large panel whose lower screws were rather loose.  And the bottom of the panel was being pushed outwards by another tentacle, one that was originating not from her vagina but from somewhere behind the wall.

“How are these things finding me?” muttered Rachel in amazement.  She kicked at the panel in the hope of crushing the tentacle, but it merely lashed out and grabbed her round the ankle.  She grunted and fell backwards on to the floor.  At that moment the tentacle in her anus began to gradually withdraw, and Rachel pursed her lips in pain – the damn thing seemed to be bigger and thicker than it had been when it had gone in!

Finally it popped out of her, and Rachel could see that the last ten inches of the tentacle were greatly distended, and apparently contained something…  In a flash she realised it had just pulled a large poo out of her intestine – she could see its outline through the translucent skin of the tentacle.  Helplessly she watched as the slimy appendage flopped down on her belly, then a hole appeared at the tip and her poo was squeezed out, extruded through such a narrow aperture that what emerged was pure mush which soon covered her breasts and stomach area.

“This is all I could find,” came the voice of the middle-aged saleswoman.

Rachel froze, terrified that the woman might discover her in this condition.  “Um, just throw it over the top please,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage.

“Are you all right in there?” asked the woman as she dropped a flowery white dress over the curtain rail.

“Yes, fine thanks – I’ll be out in a minute,” replied Rachel, hoping the woman would leave the area quickly before the smell of poo leaked out of the cubicle.

“Okay then,” said the woman, and Rachel heard her walk away.

But Rachel, her arms still pinned, could not pick up the dress.  Instead, she watched in mounting horror as the tentacles from the wall panel let go of her ankle, grabbed the dress instead, and pulled it back behind the panel.  As it disappeared, Rachel struggled mightily to free her arms, but it was no use.  Eventually she relaxed and lay back, panting, while a couple of tentacles smeared her poo lovingly over her breasts and belly.

Then, for no apparent reason that Rachel could see, the tentacles holding her arms suddenly let go, withdrawing back inside her cunt.  Those that had been busy smearing poo also withdrew, and in a moment no tentacles could be seen anywhere.  Rachel jumped up and grabbed at the wall panel.  The screws at the bottom popped out almost immediately, but she had to unscrew the top ones with her fingers.  This was laborious and took a couple of minutes, but soon her goal was achieved: the panel was off and lying on the floor.  Rachel stuck her head through the hole in the wall and looked around.

She was surprised to see that there was no ventilation shaft on the other side of the hole.  Instead there was a narrow, dusty space behind the wall with a couple of broken breeze blocks and an abandoned screwdriver.  To the right the space ended at a brick wall, while to the left it continued into darkness.  Rachel caught a glimpse of the dress being dragged away into the gloom but quickly lost sight of it.  Determined to recover the garment, she stuck her arms through the hole and pulled herself into the crawlspace.  Halfway in, however, she hit a snag: namely, her belly, which was rather larger than Rachel was used to allowing for when deciding to crawl through narrow gaps.

Fortunately, with a bit of cautious manoeuvring, she managed to get her huge bulge through the hole with only a couple of grazes to show for it.  Once in the space behind the wall, she stood up and stepped gingerly along between the two walls, glad when it began to widen out.  It also got darker, and soon Rachel’s outstretched fingers met another wall.  Tactile questing, however, revealed that this was merely a corner – the passage turned right from here.  Rachel followed it around and was pleased to see a light ahead.  She made her way towards it, and found that it was coming from a partially-open door that led into a store room.  She entered, and drew in a sharp breath at the sight which greeted her eyes.

The light coming in from a small, partially obscured window high above her head illuminated the bizarre alien bodies of dozens, if not hundreds, of tryllogs which were clinging to the walls and ceiling.  Slime ran down the walls and dripped on to her from the ceiling, and Rachel’s first inclination was to back out of the room and into the crawlspace.  But the sight of her dress disappearing down a flight of steps in the far corner of the room made her hesitate.  The tryllogs, for some reason, did not seem interested in her – they held their positions and merely watched her with their four small, diamond-shaped eyes.

Taking her courage in both hands, Rachel trotted over to the steps and began to descend into what appeared to be a storage basement.  The light down here was abysmal, and when she felt the walls to try to find a light switch, her hands plunged into a mass of slime and tentacles.  She hastily withdrew it.  Straining hard to see in the gloom, she thought she spied her dress being pulled through a doorway ahead and to the left.  Making her way over to it, she saw an old wooden door, half rotted away, with gaps between its planks large enough for a tryllog to get through.  She tried the handle; it came off in her hand.  She pushed at the door – it resisted at first, then gave way.

Stepping into a low passageway, Rachel was now in total darkness.  The walls were thick with tryllogs (what were they doing? she wondered.  Roosting?).  The floor was damp.  Occasionally she heard the squeak of a rat, and she heard plenty of scampering sounds.  Feeling around ahead of her, she advanced down the passageway, hoping to stumble across her dress at any time.  The slime dripping constantly from the roof soon coated her hair and upper body, and she had to keep wiping it off her face.

Then the tryllog inside her decided to make a nuisance of itself again.  It began to stir within her womb, and extended a tentacle – not outside her cunt this time, but just outside her womb – and it started rubbing her g-spot.  Rachel tried to ignore it, but it was no good – the creature was doing a great job of turning her on.  Horny despite herself, Rachel reached down with one hand and began to rub her clitoris while continuing down the passage.

A moment later she stopped, feeling weak at the knees.  She sank down to the cold stone floor and lay back, opening her legs wide, while she masturbated in mounting ecstasy.  But then her arms were grabbed; the tryllogs had apparently woken up.  Rachel screamed as her ankles, knees, wrists, elbows and shoulders were all grasped by slimy tentacles.  Her legs were pulled even wider apart, and her anus was immediately probed by first one tentacle, then another, then another.  Rachel blinked back tears as the three tentacles stretched her anus to its widest limits.

Something small and furry jumped on to her chest and began licking at the slime.  Rachel was gripped in panic as she realised it was a rat.  Her fear increased as other rats got in on the act, apparently enjoying the taste of the slime.  One or two of them nipped her flesh and she squealed.  Then a tentacle lashed out from the tryllog inside her womb and there was a muffled squeal.  When the tentacle withdrew, it dragged one of the rats, still struggling and squeaking, into Rachel’s cunt.  Rachel gasped in pain as her vagina was stretched to an unprecedented degree, then she began to whimper as the rat was finally pulled completely inside her.  She could feel it struggling and kicking, but soon its movements ceased.

For the next couple of hours the tryllogs had their way with Rachel, raping her constantly and deluging her in so much slime that she was almost drowning in it by the time they let her go.  Finding her arms and legs released, Rachel sat up wearily, wiping slime from her face.  Her body was covered in it, and the passage floor was so deep in the stuff that it covered her outstretched legs.

She was desperate to get rid of the dead rat in her vagina, but when she stuck her fingers inside her cunt to pull it out, she found that the tryllog in her womb was still holding on to it tightly.  Giving up, she got up on to her hands and knees, turned around, and crawled back towards the basement, sloshing through the six-inch deep slime.  Wearily she hauled herself to her feet as she reached the broken basement door, and she staggered through it, making her way towards the steps leading up to the room above.

But as she reached the top of those steps, she noticed with surprise that the door through which she had entered the room was now closed.  She hobbled over to it and tried the handle, but it was locked.  This worried her and she rattled the door handle uselessly.  Turning around in frustration, she suddenly noticed another door that she had not spotted before, perhaps because it had been partly covered with tryllogs.  Now, however, it was mostly visible, though Rachel could not help thinking that, if somebody had been in here, he or she would have seen the tryllogs and raised the alarm.

At any rate, this new door also proved to be locked, so that Rachel was forced to head back down the steps into the basement.  Maybe there was another way out of there.  But investigation of this option proved fruitless, and Rachel was forced to paddle back out into the darkness of the slime-filled, rat-infested passage.  This time she continued on, making her way down the passage until the tunnel came to an abrupt end.  In the darkness, however, there was no warning of it, and Rachel found herself stepping out into nothingness.

She screamed as she fell, though she did not fall far.  She landed on all fours in ankle-deep, vile-smelling water, and realised she had found her way into the sewer system.  Her knees were bruised and her belly had taken some of the shock of the landing – for all she knew this might have killed the tryllog inside her, but she cared little about that.

Getting up, she limped along the sewer tunnel for thirty yards or so before coming to a ladder, which she climbed.  This rose vertically twenty feet before ending at a manhole cover, which she pushed upwards with all her strength.  It cleared the hole and she pushed it to one side before sticking her head up through the hole.

Immediately she ducked as a car’s undercarriage swept overhead.  She was in the middle of a road!  She cautiously peered over the rim of the manhole and looked along the road.  Another car drove by, and then there was a gap.  She looked in the other direction – it was clear.  She pulled herself up as quickly as she could, and clambered out on to the road, hurrying to the nearest pavement with a sigh of relief.

Except that now she was naked apart from her tennis shoes and a liberal coating of slime and her own poo, and (although she did not realise it) there was a rat’s tail dangling from her cunt.  Pedestrians recoiled from her in disgust, partly at her appearance and partly at the smell.  Cars hooted like mad, and shouts assailed her from all directions.  In a panic, she took to her heels and ran.

She recognised the road – she was a couple of blocks away from the hospital.  She steered towards it and made her way straight there – her disastrous quest for clothing was not an experience she wanted to re-try.  Five minutes later, she was walking into the hospital’s casualty department.

“Excuse me,” she said to the girl at the desk, “I need to see someone about this…”  She gestured to her enormous belly.  “And some clothes would be nice – I’ve just had a rather nasty experience.”

The receptionist stared at her in astonishment.  Then she recovered herself.  “Wait right there,” she said.  “I’ll get someone.”  And she left her desk and trotted off down the corridor.

Rachel wearily staggered back from the counter and sat down on a chair in the adjoining waiting room.  A tentacle emerged from her vagina and plunged into her anus, but she barely flinched.  Nothing could surprise her now.

The tapping of high heels signalled the return of the receptionist.  Accompanying her was a tired-looking Indian doctor.  He took one look at Rachel and smiled humourlessly.

“Hello,” he said.  “I’m Doctor Singh.  And your name is…?”

“Rachel Owen,” she replied.  “Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but…”

“Well of course it is!” exclaimed Dr Singh.  “You don’t suppose we get any conventional cases in here, do you?  No!  The moment I laid eyes on you I knew instantly that you had been raped by a giant poo monster!  Or wait – perhaps it was aliens that operated on you and made you poo endlessly?”

“Well actually…” began Rachel, puzzled.

“No wait!” cried Dr Singh, his voice rising higher and higher, his eyes shining with a singular madness.  “Perhaps those particular complaints are old hat, yesterday’s news…  Am I behind the times?  What is it these days?  Flying poo?  Sentient vomit?  Snot with the power to impregnate?”

“Could I have another doctor, please?” Rachel asked the receptionist, backing away from Dr Singh.

“Oh you don’t need another doctor,” snapped Dr Singh in sudden irritation.  “Come on, spit it out – don’t tell me there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this?”

“Well, I’ve got this weird creature growing in my womb … it’s not a baby, it’s some bizarre thing with tentacles…”

“Tentacles, eh?”  Dr Singh feigned delight.  “Well why didn’t you say so?  We have an entire wing devoted to the treatment of women impregnated by tentacled fiends!”  He took her by the arm.  “Come this way, my dear – we’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

And, strangely enough, he did.  Whether or not Rachel’s fall into the sewer tunnel had stunned or killed her tryllog child, it was extracted without difficulty and did not struggle.  Dr Singh laughed hysterically when he saw it, shouting “See?  See what I mean?  This kind of thing happens to me all the time you know!”  Not taking any chances on whether it was alive or dead, he chopped it up into little pieces.

Rachel’s mother, who had by that time called the police, her own house and several other hospitals in an attempt to find her daughter, was finally alerted and reunited with Rachel.  Dr Singh made no mention of the tryllog, explaining it as a ‘freak build-up of gas’.  Rachel was quite happy with this, though she found it harder to explain what had happened to her clothes.  She remained in the hospital overnight for observation, and in the morning her mother brought her a fresh change of clothing before taking her home.

Back at her house, Rachel climbed the stairs and went into her bedroom, where she was shocked to see Steve.  “Where have you been?” she demanded.  “You’ve got a lot to answer for.  Have you any idea what I’ve been through?”

“Yeah, I saw it all,” he replied jovially.  “Very entertaining!”

“You sicko!” hissed Rachel.  “Get the fuck out of my bedroom, and my life – I never want to see you again!”

“Oh, that’s fine with me,” said Steve with a shrug.  “But I’ll be seeing plenty more of you, I assure you.  And in time, you’ll look back on this little adventure with a certain fondness.  After all, it was just the first of many…”

“Oh no you don’t,” warned Rachel with a twinge of fear.  “You wouldn’t…”

“Why not?”  Steve smiled happily.  “When I hit my reset button, none of this will have happened … in my universe.”

“Yeah, in yours,” snapped Rachel.  “But what about me, in mine?  I don’t have the luxury of switching back to your timeline, you know!  Nothing will reset for me – all this will still have happened!”

“True,” admitted Steve.  “And I think you’ll find the tryllogs hard to get rid of.  Once they’ve imprinted on someone, they and all their progeny will use every means at their disposal to arouse you.  They feed off your arousal, had you figured that out yet?  And they have some great tricks up their sleeves, including a bit of temporal and spatial manipulation.  You may think I put all those tryllogs in the tunnel, but in fact they put themselves there.  They knew you’d be there, you see – they carefully engineered it that way…”

Rachel sat down on her bed and put her head in her hands.  “Please,” she whispered, “please get rid of them for me.”

Steve got to his feet.  “No can do, I’m afraid,” he said.  “They’re pretty uncontrollable.  I only brought one with me, and released it in such a manner that it imprinted on you.  The rest was all their doing – I couldn’t stop them now even if I wanted to.  But cheer up – in time you’ll come to enjoy them.  After all, they exist to give you pleasure.”  He walked to the door and opened it.  “Have fun,” he said with a smile, and then he left.

Rachel groaned in misery and lay back on her bed.  For a while she turned everything over in her head: what Steve had said, what she now knew of the future, and what had happened to her over the last few days.  And, eventually, she reached the conclusion that there was little point in fretting about what she could not control.  Sure, she was in for some troubled times.  But she was also in for some interesting times.  And who knew where it would all lead?  Proof of alien life, fame, fortune?  And licence to behave in the most outrageous ways, safe in the knowledge that she had the most infallible, albeit unfathomable, excuse of all time.

At last she permitted herself a small smile.  Perhaps, next time she was impregnated, she would carry her tryllog baby to full term.  It might be quite an experience to give birth to such a creature.  She looked down at her chest thoughtfully.  Her breasts, she realised, were still almost as large as they had been while she was pregnant – an F cup?  Possibly a G.  What were the implications of that?  Whatever, she decided she quite liked the effect as she stared at herself in the mirror, wearing her skimpiest top and a miniskirt that barely covered her buttocks.  “I think I’ll wear this to school tomorrow,” she told herself, and she smiled again.

THE END
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