S S TENTACLE SANCTUARY ♥ INCLUDES THE FORBIDDEN BONUS CHAPTER ♥ “The First Harvest” – where the new stud learns his balls were only the beginning... First published by s s 2025 Copyright © 2025 by s s All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. First edition This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy. Find out more at reedsy.com Contents 1 Chapter One: The Moonlit Tide Pulls Her In 1 2 Chapter Two: Eggs in the Moonlight 6 3 Chapter Three: She Wasn’t Supposed to Watch 12 4 Chapter Four: Covenant of the Swollen 18 5 Chapter Five: The Tide Turns Inward 24 6 BONUS: Chapter Six: The First Harvest 33 1 Chapter One: The Moonlit Tide Pulls Her In Mara Caldwell had chased ghosts across three oceans, but none had ever answered back. Tonight, the ocean answered. She stood barefoot on the black volcanic sand, the last sliver of sunset bleeding violet into the Pacific. Behind her, the jungle was a wall of wet heat and insect drone; ahead, the hidden cove curved like a secret smile. No trail led here. No satellite had ever caught it. The lagoon existed only in the frantic scribbles of a dying Tongan fisherman twenty years ago, a man who’d babbled about “the glowing womb that eats women and gives them back shining.” Mara had written those words in red ink on her cabin wall and stared at them every night for six months. Now the full moon hung low and swollen, so bright it bleached the color from everything except the water. The lagoon wasn’t reflecting the moon; it was generating its own light, an electric cobalt that pulsed like a heartbeat. Something under the surface was breathing. 1 TENTACLE SANCTUARY Her skin prickled. She told herself it was the salt wind. She lied well; she was a scientist. Mara set her headlamp and waterproof recorder on a lava rock, peeled off her tank top, and let it fall. Sports bra next. The air kissed her bare breasts, tightening her nipples to aching points. She left her khaki shorts on (some thin pretense of professionalism) and waded in. The water was blood-warm, silkier than any water had a right to be. It slid up her calves, her thighs, licking at the seam of her shorts like a tongue testing temperature. Ten steps in and the glow intensified, rising from the sandy bottom in slow, deliberate pulses that matched the sudden throb between her legs. She should have been taking measurements. Instead she was breathing through her mouth, shallow and fast. Twenty more steps and the bottom dropped away. She treaded water, moonlight pouring over her shoulders, and stared down. Something stared back. It rose slowly (no sudden horror-movie lunge, just the calm inevitability of tide). A living silhouette against the cobalt glow: a central mass the size of a small car, suspended in the water column, and from it spilled dozens (no, hundreds) of tentacles. Thick at the base, tapering to delicate, questing tips. They moved like kelp in a current that didn’t exist, every motion graceful, intelligent, ancient. One broke the surface five feet away. Moonlight slid along its slick obsidian skin, revealing rings of pale suckers that flexed open and closed like mouths. It hovered, tasting the air, then dipped beneath again. Mara’s heart slammed against her ribs. She should swim for shore. Instead she whispered the only word that felt honest. 2 CHAPTER ONE: THE MOONLIT TIDE PULLS HER IN “Hello.” The water answered with a low thrum she felt in her womb. A tentacle brushed her ankle (cool, deliberate, curious). It didn’t grab. It mapped the curve of her calf, the hollow behind her knee, learning her the way she’d learned reef systems and deep scattering layers. A second joined the first, curling gently around her thigh. Suckers kissed her skin with soft, wet pops that sent sparks straight to her clit. She was panting now, fogging the inside of her dive mask. She hadn’t put it on. She realized she was naked from the waist up and couldn’t remember taking off her shorts. They floated somewhere behind her like a discarded alibi. Another tentacle rose in front of her face, slow enough that she could have turned away. The tip glistened, a bead of clear fluid trembling at the very end. It smelled like ozone and sex. Mara’s tongue touched her lower lip without permission. The tentacle painted that bead across her mouth. Salt and something sweeter. Her lips parted on instinct, and the tip slipped inside (just an inch, just enough to stroke her tongue with deliberate care). The sucker on the underside latched gently, pulsing once, twice. A soft moan escaped her, muffled around living flesh. More limbs found her. One thick tentacle coiled around her waist, lifting her until her breasts broke the surface. Cool air tightened her nipples further; then warm suckers closed over each one, tugging in slow, rhythmic pulls that felt exactly like a mouth that knew every secret her body had ever kept. Under the water, slick pressure eased between her thighs. A blunt, ridged tip nudged her folds, parting them with obscene patience. She was dripping (had been since the first touch) and the tentacle slid through her slickness like it belonged there. It 3 TENTACLE SANCTUARY didn’t thrust. It circled her entrance, teasing, mapping the way her hips rolled helplessly forward. “Please,” she heard herself say, the word garbled around the tentacle still stroking her tongue. The creature understood. One moment she was floating; the next she was underwater, cradled in a living cradle of limbs, lungs strangely unafraid. The glow enveloped her. She could see every detail: the deep indigo veins beneath translucent skin, the soft bioluminescent spots that flared brighter when her pleasure spiked. The thick tentacle at her entrance pressed forward. Slowly. Relentlessly. She felt herself stretch, burn, open in a way no human ever had. Her eyes rolled back. When the first ridge popped past her ring of muscle, she came hard, clenching around the invasion, muffled cries vibrating into the tentacle filling her mouth. It didn’t stop. Another inch. Another. Until she was impos- sibly full, belly distended, every heartbeat echoing around the living shaft buried inside her. And still it moved deeper. A second tentacle (thinner, flexible, wickedly clever) wriggled between her cheeks. The tip circled her tight rear entrance, spreading warm slick that tingled and relaxed. She tried to shake her head (too much, too soon) but the tentacles holding her breasts tightened, suckers pulling harder, and pleasure crashed over the panic. She took the second one with a broken cry that tasted like surrender. Completely impaled now (mouth, pussy, ass), she floated in the creature’s embrace while the moon burned above and the lagoon glowed around them. The tentacles began to move in 4 CHAPTER ONE: THE MOONLIT TIDE PULLS HER IN slow, rolling waves, fucking her in perfect, opposite rhythm. Every withdrawal left her aching; every thrust stole her air. She lost track of orgasms. They blurred into one long, shim- mering unraveling. When the first egg began its slow, deliberate push into her womb, Mara did the only thing that still felt sane. She wrapped her arms around the tentacles holding her, pulled them closer, and begged (without words) for more. The moon had hours left to shine. And the creature was only just beginning. 5 2 Chapter Two: Eggs in the Moonlight Mara no longer knew which way was up. The lagoon had become a universe of warm water, pulsing cobalt light, and living flesh. She floated in the center of it all, weightless, impaled so thoroughly that every heartbeat rippled along the tentacles buried inside her. One thick shaft filled her pussy to the hilt, ridged and flexing in slow, deliberate pulses. A second, slimmer one claimed her ass with steady, claiming strokes. A third kept her mouth full, sliding across her tongue in gentle, possessive waves, feeding her that addictive ozone- sweet taste that made her clit throb harder than any drug. She had come so many times the orgasms no longer had edges; they were simply the new rhythm of her blood. A low thrum vibrated through the water (not sound, but pressure), rolling through her bones, her womb, the swollen lips of her sex. The creature was speaking, or singing, or preparing. She felt it in the way the tentacles tightened, the way the suckers on her nipples pulled harder, milking her breasts until they ached in the sweetest way. Then the first egg began to move. 6 CHAPTER TWO: EGGS IN THE MOONLIGHT She felt it long before it reached her: a slow, heavy pressure traveling down the length of the tentacle inside her pussy, a smooth bulge the size of a small fist. The tentacle thickened around it, stretching her even wider, and Mara’s back arched in the creature’s embrace. A broken moan vibrated around the limb in her mouth. The egg pressed against her entrance (no, inside her entrance already), nudging at the tight ring of muscle that had already surrendered once tonight. The tentacle paused, letting her feel the impossible weight of it. She should have been terrified. Instead her hips rolled forward, greedy, desperate. Please, her body said. Please, please, please. The creature obliged. One slow, relentless push, and the egg slid inside. The stretch was exquisite agony. Her walls fluttered wildly around the intrusion, trying to accommodate something never meant for human flesh. The ridges on the tentacle dragged against her G-spot as the egg traveled deeper, deeper, until it settled against the mouth of her womb with a soft, intimate kiss. Warm fluid followed (thick, creamy, alive), pumping into her in steady pulses that sealed the egg in place and set off another climax so violent her vision whited out. She was still shaking when the second egg began its journey. This one was larger. Or maybe she was simply more sensitive now, every nerve raw and singing. The tentacle in her ass picked up speed, fucking her in shallow, teasing strokes that kept her right on the edge while the new egg stretched her pussy impossibly wide again. Her belly, already distended from the first breeding, began to round further. She looked down through the glowing water and saw the faint outline of the eggs inside her, glowing softly like twin moons beneath her skin. 7 TENTACLE SANCTUARY A third tentacle (one she hadn’t noticed before) slithered between her legs. It was thinner, almost delicate, with a flared, petal-like tip that bloomed open the moment it found her clit. Soft, velvety fronds unfurled, latching onto her swollen bundle of nerves with gentle, relentless suction. At the same time, two smaller tendrils wriggled up to her breasts and slipped into the ducts of her nipples (not painful, just a strange, perfect pressure that made milk bead at the tips even though she’d never been pregnant). The creature was everywhere. Inside her mouth, her ass, her cunt, her nipples, her clit. It owned every hole, every inch of skin, every breath she took. And still the eggs came. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Each one bigger than the last, each one accompanied by a fresh flood of that thick, warm come that tingled where it touched. Her womb felt heavy, sloshing, impossibly full. The tentacle in her pussy began to swell at the base (a knot, she realized dimly), locking inside her the way a wolf knots its mate. The pressure against her G-spot was constant now, unforgiving. She came again, soundless, tears mixing with the saltwater on her cheeks. The creature pulled her closer to the surface. Moonlight spilled over her bloated belly, illuminating the soft glow beneath her skin. She looked eight months pregnant (no, more), round and obscene and beautiful. A tentacle stroked the curve with something like reverence, tracing the stretch marks that had bloomed across her hips in minutes. A moment of stillness. The only movement was the gentle rock of water and the throb of the knot inside her. Then the second wave began. The tentacle in her ass withdrew slowly, leaving her clenching 8 CHAPTER TWO: EGGS IN THE MOONLIGHT around emptiness. Before she could whimper, a new one took its place (thicker, heavily ridged, already slick with something warmer than the lagoon). The flared tip pressed against her loosened hole and pushed inside in one smooth, claiming glide. At the exact same moment, the knot in her pussy deflated just enough for the original tentacle to begin moving again, slow, grinding thrusts that stirred the eggs inside her and made fresh slick gush around the intrusion. They fucked her in perfect opposition: when one withdrew, the other slammed home. The rhythm built fast and brutal. Water churned around them, glowing white where tentacles met flesh. She lost track of everything (time, shame, her own name), only the stretch and the fill and the endless, rolling pleasure. Another egg (this one for her ass). She felt it coming and tried to shake her head, but the tentacle in her mouth slid deeper, blocking every protest. The egg pressed against her rear entrance, slick and insistent. Her body opened for it the way it had opened for everything else tonight (eager, traitorous, perfect). The stretch burned bright and hot, then melted into pleasure as the egg slid home, settling deep in her bowels with a pulse of warmth. More followed. Three in her ass, five still nestled in her womb. She was so full she could feel them shift when she breathed. The creature changed its grip. Two thick tentacles wrapped around her thighs and spread her wide, exposing her gaping, swollen cunt to the moonlight. A smaller limb (this one clear, almost gelatinous) rose from the water like a periscope. At its tip was a soft, bulbous sac that pulsed and glowed. It hovered for a moment, then descended, latching over her clit like a mouth. The suction was gentle at first. Then it began to milk her (steady, rhythmic pulls that drew blood to the surface and made 9 TENTACLE SANCTUARY her scream around the tentacle in her throat). Clear fluid leaked from the sac, seeping into her folds, making her skin tingle and burn with need. She came again, harder than before, hips jerking helplessly in the creature’s hold. The sac pulsed once, twice (then released). Warm, thick ropes of come shot directly onto her clit, coating her folds, dripping down to mix with the slick already leaking from her stuffed holes. Another tentacle caught the overflow and pushed it inside her pussy, packing it around the eggs like sealant. The sensation was too much. She blacked out for a heartbeat, maybe ten, surfacing to the feel of gentle tentacles stroking her hair, her face, the curve of her impossibly round belly. The knot in her pussy finally began to shrink. The tentacle withdrew with a wet, obscene sound, leaving her gaping and empty for one aching moment. Eggs shifted inside her, heavy and warm. Come and slick poured out in a gush that turned the water around her milky white. But the creature wasn’t finished. A final tentacle (the thickest yet) rose between her legs. Its tip was blunt and ridged, already dripping. It pressed against her entrance (still loose, still fluttering) and slid inside with one slow, possessive thrust. No knot this time. Just a deep, steady fucking that stirred the eggs and made fresh slick froth around the intrusion. It came inside her for what felt like forever (pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed that flooded her womb until her belly rounded even further, taut as a drum). When it finally pulled out, a smaller tentacle immediately plugged her, keeping every drop inside. 10 CHAPTER TWO: EGGS IN THE MOONLIGHT The creature cradled her then, gentle as a lover, and carried her toward the shallows. Moonlight slid across her skin, across the obscene swell of her stomach, the bruises of suckers on her breasts and thighs, the dazed, sated glow in her eyes. As her toes touched sand, the tentacles loosened (not aban- doning, just releasing). One last touch: a single delicate tendril stroked her cheek, traced her parted lips, then retreated beneath the water. Mara collapsed to her knees in the shallows, water lapping at her waist, belly resting heavy on her thighs. Between her legs, the plug shifted, keeping her full, keeping the eggs warm. The moon was still high. Somewhere in the glow, the creature waited. And Mara already knew (with the absolute certainty of a woman utterly claimed) that she would be back long before the next full moon. She smiled, slow and filthy, and cupped the impossible curve of her stomach. “See you soon,” she whispered to the tide. The lagoon pulsed once in answer, and the glow brightened (just for her). 11 3 Chapter Three: She Wasn’t Supposed to Watch Mara should have left. The moon still hung bloated and silver, hours from setting. Her belly protruded obscenely, round and taut, eggs shifting like warm stones every time she breathed. A thick plug of living tentacle kept everything sealed inside her (her pussy and ass both stoppered by soft, pulsing knots that flexed whenever she clenched). The creature had released her gently onto the black sand, stroked her cheek once in farewell, and vanished beneath the cobalt glow. She told herself she would crawl back to her clothes, gather her recorder, limp into the jungle, and never return. Instead she stayed on her knees in the shallows, thighs trembling, come and slick still dripping down her legs in slow, shameful rivulets. The lagoon called to her the way lungs call for air. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. A sound cut through the night (barely audible over the surf). A woman’s gasp, sharp with alarm. Mara’s head snapped toward the cliff path. 12 CHAPTER THREE: SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO WATCH A figure stumbled onto the beach: tall, athletic, dark hair whipping in the wind. Moonlight painted her in silver and shadow. She wore a headlamp (off now) and carried a dry-bag slung over one shoulder. A researcher, like Mara had been six hours ago. Or maybe a photographer. The woman froze at the edge of the sand, staring at the impossible glow of the lagoon. Mara’s heart lurched. Run, she wanted to scream. Don’t come closer. But her voice was hoarse from screaming around tentacles, and the eggs inside her shifted deliciously when she tried to stand. She stayed kneeling, half-hidden by a lava boulder, and watched. The newcomer took one hesitant step, then another. Her headlamp clicked on, sweeping the cove. The beam landed on Mara’s discarded clothes, then on Mara herself (naked, swollen, glistening, eyes wide and feral). The woman’s mouth opened in shock. Before she could scream, the water exploded. Tentacles surged up in a living column, faster than they’d ever moved for Mara. One coiled around the woman’s waist, another snapped her headlamp away and crushed it like a firefly. A third slapped over her mouth before sound could escape. The dry-bag hit the sand and spilled: camera, lenses, a satellite phone that skittered across the rocks. The woman fought (harder than Mara ever had). Elbows, knees, teeth. She managed to rake her nails down one tentacle and draw a thin line of dark blood that dissolved instantly in the water. The creature didn’t seem angry. If anything, it seemed... delighted. Mara’s breath caught. She should help. She should do something. 13 TENTACLE SANCTUARY Instead her clit throbbed against the plug still lodged inside her. The tentacles stripped the stranger with brutal efficiency. Tank top shredded, sports bra ripped in half, shorts dragged down tanned legs. The woman was beautiful (long limbs, small high breasts, a trimmed patch of dark hair between her thighs). Moonlight turned her skin luminous. She thrashed as the tentacles spread her wide, ankles yanked apart, arms pinned above her head against nothing but air. Then the creature paused (just like it had with Mara), letting the woman feel the weight of what was coming. The lagoon glowed brighter, as if excited. A single thick tentacle rose between the stranger’s legs, tip already dripping. It traced her slit once, twice (curious, tasting). The woman’s back bowed, a strangled moan escaping around the limb gagging her. Her hips jerked (not away, but toward). Mara recognized that moment. The exact second resistance cracked. The tentacle pressed inside. The woman’s eyes flew wide. Her body arched like a bowstring as the thick shaft sank deep on the first stroke (no teasing, no mercy). Another followed instantly into her ass, spearing her open while she was still gasping from the first invasion. Within seconds she was impaled exactly as Mara had been, only suspended above the water instead of cradled in it. Mara’s own plugs pulsed in jealous sympathy. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. The breeding began immediately (faster, rougher than Mara’s had been). Eggs traveled down the tentacles in plain sight, visible bulges stretching the stranger’s belly with each merciless push. One, two, three in rapid succession. Her muffled screams 14 CHAPTER THREE: SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO WATCH turned to high, desperate whimpers that carried across the cove. Mara couldn’t look away. She should have. God, she should have. Instead her hand slid between her legs and pressed against the living plug. The creature felt it (she swore it did). One thin tendril snaked across the sand and coiled around her wrist, guiding her fingers in slow circles over her swollen clit while she watched another woman get broken open and filled. The stranger’s belly was already rounding, skin stretching tight and shiny. A tentacle latched onto each of her nipples and began the same rhythmic milking that had ruined Mara’s breasts hours ago. Milk beaded (impossible, but there it was), pearlescent drops drawn out by relentless suction. Another orgasm tore through the stranger. Her body went rigid, thighs shaking, toes curling in the air. Mara came with her, biting down on her own forearm to stay quiet. The creature wasn’t satisfied with one clutch. It never was. A second, thicker tentacle forced its way into the stranger’s pussy alongside the first (double penetration so sudden and brutal the woman’s eyes rolled back). Eggs followed imme- diately, larger this time, stretching her until faint luminous outlines glowed beneath her skin. Her belly swelled grotesquely, impossibly fast, until she looked ready to burst. Mara’s plugs began to move (slow, deliberate thrusts that stirred the eggs already inside her). The creature was fucking them both now, connected by living ropes of flesh across twenty feet of glowing water. Every thrust into the stranger echoed in Mara’s body, and vice versa. The stranger’s muffled cries turned pleading. Not for rescue (for more). 15 TENTACLE SANCTUARY Mara understood. She always had. A final surge: both women impaled deeper than before, knots swelling to lock everything in place. Come flooded them in unison (thick, endless ropes that bloated their bellies further). The stranger’s stomach rounded past any human limit, skin so tight it gleamed. Mara’s followed, stretching until the eggs inside shifted and pressed visibly against her abdomen. Then, as suddenly as it had seized her, the creature lowered the stranger gently into the shallows ten feet from Mara. Tentacles withdrew with wet, obscene sounds, leaving the woman on her hands and knees in the surf, gasping, dripping, belly resting heavily on the sand like Mara’s own. For a long moment the only sounds were waves and ragged breathing. The stranger lifted her head. Moonlight caught the tears on her cheeks (and the dazed, hungry glow in her eyes). Their gazes locked. Mara saw her own ruin reflected back: lips swollen, breasts bruised with sucker marks, thighs slick with come and slick and glowing traces of bioluminescence. The woman looked exactly the same (only her eyes were wider, shocked into silence by what her body already knew). The lagoon pulsed once, softly, like a heartbeat saying: Mine. Both of you. The stranger crawled forward on shaking arms. Not away (toward Mara). When she was close enough, Mara reached out (trembling fingers brushing the woman’s cheek, smearing a streak of luminescent slime). The stranger turned into the touch like a cat, then leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Mara’s bloated belly. 16