Curiosity Killed the Cat
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Curiosity Killed The Cat free porn video
It was in the depts of the hostile sea that covers planet SG-58231 that it was found. Though found is not the right word to describe what happened. Agnes was there, the one, lucky intern in Nasa’s most coveted crew, the crew that gets to plant an American flag in new worlds, unveils environments never before seen or touched by humans, plans and executes the initial research necessary before anything found is deemed safe enough to be shipped back to Earth for further examination.
They entered the planet’s atmosphere after extensive surveillance, hoping to gather a sizeable sample of water – the smaller ones, collected by machines, had come back perfectly potable. Earth water. The ship shone a light over the impenetrable surface of the black sea, made only as much contact with the water as necessary. It was then that the alien rose to meet the humans, tentacles swaying along with the current in such way that it took the ship’s equipment blaring warnings for the crew to notice it. The creature allowed itself to be hoisted up, put into one container, a tank, then another, a glass cage in the form of a small room. It shrunk to better fit the entrapment of the ship, as if it could understand the need to share space with the humans. Agnes was fascinated by it from the first second her eyes landed on its clearly living, moving, willful form. She glued herself to the back of the head scientist, Doctor Mackenzie, curious and greedy for any chance to study the creature, to understand it.
There’s a full glass wall in the alien’s room. Often, in those first couple of weeks, a dozen of people could be seen standing by it, watching the creature’s slow, languid movements in nothing short of disbelief. This is, after all, the first multi-cellular, living organism found outside of Earth, even after centuries of relentless search. However, all novelty loses its shine as days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. 243 days after the finding, as the ship is barely a week away from home, and Agnes is the only one who can be consistently found in front of these glass walls.
If she has annotated its movements, its moods, its tendencies in both paper and her mind, that’s only her job. The creature eats through osmosis, and she could swear she notices a spike in activity when its environment is charged with the microorganisms it ingests. The alien splashes, swims, behaves. As if it feels. As their schedule is consistent, Agnes made sure to annotate that the creature is intelligent enough to anticipate the times it is supposed to receive nourishment. Like any animal that walks the Earth, it knows food, can be driven by it.
If Agnes starts to refer to it as he, in her mind, no one would be too put off by it. That’s her job, after all. To watch the creature as closely as humanly possible, to observe and convey each of its behavioral idiosyncrasies. For months and months, she has done so. Faithfully, to her best ability. Eventually, his mysterious, obsidian tentacles creeped into her dreams. There, she could feel them against her skin, so impossibly smooth and yet, hard, unyielding. Fuzzy memories of said dreams made her cheeks flush during the day. For the first time in her 5-years deployment, she missed the opportunity of intimacy. Of course, as a virgin so shy it can be described as borderline debilitating social-anxiety, Agnes couldn’t really know what she was missing. Yet, she still missed it.
It is a strange evening, 56 hours before they reach Earth’s atmosphere, that Agnes realizes something. This creature, he, is the first complex, life-form ever found. Sure, he didn’t respond to any of the many sentiency and intelligence tests the crew tried to administer, but, how could he? When he came from a world of relentless storms, impenetrable darkness, aggressive and ever- present tactile information? Safety measures dictated no direct contact could be made with him, so all of the tests were given through the glass, using food. Weak and inconclusive. Couldn’t the creature be proven intelligent, if only it were allowed to use the sole sense it seems to have?
Agnes’ heart is beating in her throat as she punches in Doctor Mackenzie’s code. Interns go unnoticed so easily, she knows all the codes, all the accesses, and as much as she has used them to gather information before, the main crew never noticed. In her hands, she takes only a small case of the creature’s favored food. A gift, she hopes. Truthfully, this is insanity, and she knows it. But Agnes has dreamed of the starts ever since she was old enough to support her neck and look up at the sky. She has made up stories about aliens and astronauts, about humankind conquering the universe. It’s her greatest desire, her whole life. Is it really so out of the realm of possibility that someone such as her would walk into a glass cage with an alien? How could she not?
It awakes as if from an eon-long slumber, long limbs tasting the water in the tank, creeping out to feel the air in the room. Sensitive nerve-endings pick up on vibration, not quite sound, but as close as tactile receptors can get. Steps, the human way of moving. There are particles of food in the air, it can feel them. It splashes lazily as it waits, luxuriates in the meal when the human deposits it in its tank. They have never been so close before, however. It’s curious, the air tastes like something it should know. Warmth, softness, fertility. Of course, it knows what to do. In hostile environments, life subsists. In welcoming ones, it reproduces.
The doors to the enclosure snap locked at Agnes’ first scream. It’s a security measure, she knows. It’s there for a reason, that being aliens can be fairly unpredictable. The system assumes at any distress signal that the foreign life-form in the ship must be contained. It also blares an alarm, deafening, unmistakable. Agnes knows the whole crew will be on the other side of the glass in moments.
The creature has enveloped her in a thick, black tentacle, picked her up as if her weight is negligible. She notices, even as terror freezes her limbs, that his surface is not smooth, but littered with patterned bumps that somehow couldn’t be seen, but are keenly felt. Not that it’s rough, on the contrary. The tentacle holding her is slick with slime, softened by a life in the water. Even then, Agnes can’t escape. She wriggles and thrashes, pushes the limb away and grunts with the effort. The creature simply adds a second tentacle to the assault, holding her legs in place.
“Agnes!” The voice of the head scientist, Doctor Mackenzie, reaches her through the intercom. “Agnes, what the hell is going on?”
Panic seems to freeze the blood in her veins. Her career is over, Agnes knows. She might die in the hands... well, limbs of this creature, but even if she survives, she won’t be allowed in a spaceship ever again. The realization is so, so crushing it takes her a moment to notice that the alien isn’t ripping her to pieces or bashing her against the walls. He doesn’t even pull her into his tank, where she would drown in minutes. For a moment in time, he just holds her, strong, huge and imposing,
but gentle. As if he understands how easily she could be broken by him.
“I’m sorry.” Is all she can bring herself to utter to her colleagues. She hears their steps as a crowd forms behind the glass. The alien envelops her with a third, smaller tentacle, this one slithers against her neck. “I’m so sorry.” Agnes whimpers, terrified, when a black limb closes around her throat.
But there’s no pressure, she can still breathe. Agnes stares at the mass of darkness that is the creature’s body and, for the first time, wishes it had a face. What wouldn’t she give to be able to read emotions off of it? To have an inkling of what’s next? But the only clues are to be found in his handling of her, suspended in the air, a ragdoll for him to play with.
“How did this happen?” The Doctor asks, speaking through the intercom.
“I-I don’t know...” She manages to squeeze out. What the Doctor doesn’t say, Agnes already knows: no one is coming to rescue her.
The risk of contamination is too great. The ship is too close to Earth, they need to land, refuel, recharge. Who knows what pathogens the creature is carrying? An alien virus unleashed could decimate the world’s population in days. And his slime is all over Agnes now, staining her lab coat, saturating her clothes. His tentacles don’t stop moving, searching she knows not what for, but the one on her legs pull and push at her jeans, as if he knows the cloth isn’t a part of her, but an obstacle. He traces the curve of her behind, hooks a tentacle onto the waistband of her jeans. When he pulls, Agnes’ heart stutters in her chest.
The alien successfully bares her, ass first, to the dozens of colleagues watching her plight through the glass. Agnes closes her eyes tightly, a feeling of unreality warring with utter, complete mortification inside of her. This has to be a nightmare, she tells herself. She isn’t being held up by an alien, pant-less, for all the people she most admires to see. This can not be happening to her.
The creature rips her white tank top in half with a single swoop of a large tentacle. Agnes opens her eyes, forces herself to look back at the faces of the last people she is likely to ever be around. Tears slide down her face, hot and heavy with regret. Shame burns bright in her cheeks, even as she’s so overwhelmed by fear that she may go into shock. They all see her, faces varying shades of horror, dread, and pity. The humiliation hurts the most, as even when the alien snaps her bra in two pieces, he does so without harming her.
Agnes holds onto her panties tightly, trying to keep at least that last scrap of cover in place. The creature pushes her hands away regardless of her best efforts, slow but firm, like a strict, loving parent might ply a child’s fingers off a beloved toy. When she’s completely bared to the alien and to her co-workers, Agnes just wishes resignation, followed by death, is close. Hope has been smothered; she just wants it to be over.
To her eternal shame, however, it has only started.
Doctor Mackenzie has a scientific mind. He has to, or he wouldn’t have achieved the position he’s at. His priorities are clear and absolute, he’s the kind of man who has no problem following them. On the contrary, nothing gives him as much satisfaction as reaching his goals, fulfilling his life-long dream.
Except, however, the curse – in his opinion – that follows all men. A distraction-inducing, bothersome, ever-present attraction to women. In that, he’s as normal as they come. Images of pretty, young girls are what he jerks off to in his bunk. Nothing too out-of-the-ordinary, really. Intercourse is forbidden during voyages for many practical reasons, but back on Earth he’s more than happy to fulfill his desires with the occasional hook up. Here, he uses his mental fodder. Occasionally, though he feels vaguely guilty about it, he even thinks of his many athletic, young, female colleagues as he masturbates.
If the girl currently being assaulted by a huge alien is often part of his chosen fantasies, no one but him knows. Though the Doctor can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. First, that such intelligent young woman would be as reckless and dumb as to enter the enclosure by herself. Second, that there’s undeniable, glaring purpose to the creature’s actions. It has divested the girl of clothes completely, but not harmed her so far. Its black tentacles slide, probe and explore her expanse of firm, smooth skin, as if looking for something.
As unbelievable as this whole situation is, the Doctor is jealous. Of an alien. Agnes is... her petiteness is endearing, sensual, lights up a primal part of his brain that wants to envelop her, protect her, hold her down and fuck her until she can’t walk. Her face is the very definition of prettiness. It suits her shy nature perfectly, her eyes aren’t sultry, there are no suggestive lines to the angles in her face. She’s charming, attractive in an innocent way, exactly the kind of girl an old man like him is the most drawn to, maybe because he would be so harshly judged if he acted on it. Dainty, feminine, she looks like someone’s daughter, sister, the pretty girl-next-door everyone treats with kindness, for she simply inspires that in people.
Strikingly, he can’t help but notice what a great ass she has. Always hidden behind her lab coats before, the Doctor now sees it in the flesh as it’s groped by a large tentacle, its firmness tested with rubbing, squeezing, slapping. Fuck, he curses to himself. Her ass is big enough it jiggles at the force applied, not too large as to be disproportional to her small body, but as gorgeous and plentiful as it can be otherwise. The creature runs a slimy tentacle between her cheeks, opening her crack up, and the Doctor’s knees go week, his head feels fuzzy. Agnes whimpers pathetically, likely humiliated and terrified, and it’s all the Doctor can do to not grab his throbbing hard cock. He has never been more aroused in his life.
Everyone is dead silent. There are no words for this. If he could tear his eyes away from the naked body of the girl being molested in front of him, Doctor Mackenzie would see he isn’t the only one whose feelings of terror have changed to lust. The creature is not hurting the young woman. It is... playing with her. Even through the haze of overwhelming lust, the Doctor can acknowledge what an incredible occurrence this is. Agnes is turned around and around by the beast, every inch of her skin is touched and tested by one of a dozen of tentacles. At one point, she’s poised with her legs spread, folded in half, her back to the glass where the whole crew is watching.
The Doctor can see the tiny, pink star of her asshole, her small cunt under it. She’s so close that he can watch when she clenches, the muscles in the area tightening. He leans against the glass, overcome with lust. A part of him craves to see the alien go further, press a long, large tentacle against one of Agnes’ holes and push in. Is he a bad man for it? He wonders.
That’s a pointless inquiry, he tells himself. There’s nothing he can do to help her, whatever comes next isn’t on him. If he happens to enjoy it, there’s no harm in that.
Something old and primal drives it. Deep, unknowable. Its kind survives, yes, but they can reproduce as well, under the right conditions. It holds in its tentacles the perfect, right condition. If only it can fill her up. Open her, probe her insides, leave behind the seed needed to make more of itself. The hole on top seems wrong, it tests that and finds sharpness there. Hostile, no. Under, between soft thighs, there’s such warmth, such slick smoothness. Exactly what it likes. But it searches and searches, probes and pokes. The wetness must come from somewhere, it understands enough to know this is the little creature’s reproductive organ, but an entrance to her body can’t be found there.
Agnes clenches as tightly as she can when she feels tentacles touching her there, she remembers reading about women who can contract their vaginal muscles so hard they can only be penetrated if they allow it, and so she focuses on that and tries not to panic even as the creature keeps rubbing her clitoris by mistake, and oh- why does it feel so good? No, no, not there, please- fuck, it feels, no-
But there it is, just a little back, unmistakable. The creature would squeal with happiness if it could. It finds an entrance, warm, smooth, not quite as slick, but that can be fixed. The little human thrashes violently in its hold, but a couple more tentacles hold her in place easily as it explores that tiny hole, closed up by a ring of muscles that must be pushed open. It uses the very tip of its smallest tentacle first, spreading slick there, testing the resistance.
It feels the vibrations as the human opens her mouth, screams. It doesn’t care. All that matters is how utterly warm this little being feels inside. With the tip of a tentacle breaching that welcoming whole, the alien now knows its purpose perfectly. Fill her up, as deep as possible, take advantage of all her soft, hot insides. It gets to it, gleefully.
The Doctor’s mouth is gaping in befuddlement, his cock throbbing to the rhythm of his heart, the alien’s smallest tentacle – which is still thicker than his forearm and thrice as long – is starting to breach Agnes’ ass. The girl is screaming, crying, clearly in pain and terrified. Why does that make it hotter? Why does that make it harder for him to resist the urge to rub his erection? He can’t tear his eyes away. Even scream so pretty. It’s her fault, it has to be...
No, no, no, it hurts! Please, no, stop, please, please, oh my god, it’s going in. Can’t he see it doesn’t fit? Please! Someone help, please! It burns, it’s so slick but it burns, that’s too big, too big- toobigtoobigtoobig!
Agnes hollers so loud that everyone watching is startled into taking a step away from the glass. Her pretty, cute face is twisted in agony, wet with tears, mouth open in a ‘o’, releasing loud and low, pained, pitiful cries. The Doctor watches in morbid fascination. The alien is trying to penetrate her anus. It wants to be inside of her, and it doesn’t care about the anatomical incompatibility. The slick dripping from the tentacle is visible, plentiful. The creature managed to insert the tip, but the tentacle tapers off sharply, and the bulk of its thickness doesn’t seem like it can go in.
Two tentacles wrap around Agnes’ arms, one around her clavicle, another around her waist. With all of those holding her firmly in place, the alien forces the girl’s tiny body down onto the tentacle trying to penetrate her. It works. She screams herself raw, the Doctor watches, fascinated, as an impossible amount of the length of the alien’s tentacle disappears inside her body, at least 12 inches, he guesses. It must be pure agony. His balls clench at the sight.
The creature begins thrusting in and out of her in a fast, punishing pace. Agnes cries out when it’s in deep, and pitifully whimpers when it has pulled out. The Doctor leans against the glass again. Two minutes in, he comes in his trousers like a teenager, without touching himself at all, to the sight of his intern being raped by a non-humanoid, tentacled monster. Not even he can justify that, if there’s a God, it will be straight to hell for him.
Might as well enjoy the show. The creature is not slowing down. *
Agnes loses all sense of time. All she knows is the drag of the creature’s cock in and out of her. Yes, it’s some kind of penis, of that her fractured brain is sure. She noticed it was spurting something thicker than the natural, surface slime that coats the alien’s skin. With each thrust, it fills her up with whatever gooey, foreign liquid it is. Her insides feel bruised, stretched to their limit, pumped full. She isn’t sure she’s human anymore. Thinking has become impossibly hard. There must be some kind of psychoactive in his fluids. Agnes knows she must be in shock, too overwhelmed to be coherent, but there are other things, ones which are harder to explain.
Like, why is her pussy burning? Dripping slick? Why is she now clenching around the member impaling her, raping her, out of arousal?
It hurtshurtshurtshurts-so good, good, yes, oh, fu-fuck, hurts so good, so deep, why, deepinside- hurts-imma-oh, OH!
When she orgasms, it’s like an out-of-body experience. So intense it can’t be described. Her whole body seizes for what feels like hours, pleasure that borders on torturous, heightened somehow by the agony in her plundered loins. In its wake, a fully formed thought pops in her mind.
Will there be an end? ...
Do I want there to be? -->
Brandy
- 25.04.2021
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