Step into the Kinktober ’24 Spooky Story Contest, where four eerie, Femdom-themed tales await! Dive into each chilling story, then cast your vote for the one that gives you the most thrills. On Halloween, we’ll unveil the winning tale, and one lucky voter will score a $50 Amazon Gift Card! This is Story #1 (you can start the series here)

What do cryptids , ghosts , and vampires all have in common?

No one can ever seem to get a good picture of them.

It’s convenient, really.  You can trick yourself, or someone else, into thinking you saw one, but there’s no evidence to prove or disprove it.  In the end, all you have is your story, without any proof.  And if you like stories, then that’s great.

But if you want the truth, then you need cold, hard, indisputable evidence.  And the truth is out there.  It just needs to be documented.

Enter Pete. 

Pete is a completely average 21-year-old.  A junior with a natural talent for photography, his brown eyes are usually hidden behind a camera lens as he documents the world around him.  He’s average in most ways, with a boyish body and an unremarkable appearance.  The kind of person who lets his work speak for him.  He is an artist and the world is his canvas, and the camera is the brush with which he creates his art.

Pete’s typical subjects are humans, because, since Pete is a human himself, he is naturally drawn to them.  Their form, their expressions, their activities.  Pete sees the sensuality of a person’s curves, the way shadows can be used to suggest light, the way the caress of a finger on skin can be felt through film, if it’s captured at just the right angle.

Pete doesn’t typically do landscapes or skylines.  But that was about to change, because I had seen something I needed documented.  And I knew I needed someone like Pete to be the one to do it.

“Igora, my feet are getting cold,” said Pete.  It was pre-dawn, and we were crouched in the damp weeds of a ditch on the very edge of campus, peeking out at the wide, dark, empty track field.

“You’re suffering for your art,” I replied, not daring to take my eyes off of the field.  “Trust me, Pete, if you get a shot of this, you’re going to be a world-renowned photographer.  You’ll be a household name.  Like…”  I tried to think of a famous photographer and came up empty.  “…Leonardo da Vinci.”

“He wasn’t a film student.”

“But if they’d had cameras back then, I bet he would’ve been!” I replied.

Pete shifted, grumbling.  I’d told him to dress warmly, but he’d come in only a sweater.  I bet he regretted it.  It was fall and, though the days were still bright, the nights were threatening frost.  The nights had started getting longer.  That was good, because the thing we were trying to capture on video only came out at night.

For two weeks, I’d seen the strange, dancing lights in the field.  They usually began in the quiet, lonely hours on campus when everyone was sleeping: three, four a.m.  It had been tricky to convince Pete to come out with his handheld camera, but I’d promised Pete that the shots he would get would be worth it.

So far, though, we hadn’t seen anything, except for a passing skunk.  It was alarming, but not the kind of scary thing we were actually looking for.

Pete checked his wrist watch impatiently.  “Igora, if this is some kind of prank–”

“I swear, it’s not.  The lights have been here every night for weeks.  I don’t know why they’re not here yet!”

Pete heaved a sigh and then rose, stretching out his stiff limbs.  “It’s been over an hour.  I’m going back to bed.  We’ve waited long enough.  You probably just saw some freshman with flashlights or something.”

“Pete, wait, just five more minutes!” I begged.

Pete opened his arms wide, the camcorder weighing heavy in one of his hands.  “Five more minutes won’t make a difference.  Nothing’s happening.  Trust me, if it was, I would be shooting it.  But nothing–”

Suddenly, without warning, the sky broke open.

The perfect, calm dark of the field was awash in blinding light, a cold, silvery blue, and Pete yelped, whipping around to see what was happening.  Above us, a circle of floodlights had appeared, blinking on in an instant.  There had been nothing there a second earlier, just the empty blue-black dome of the night sky, but now it was gone, blocked out by an impossibly large, cylindrical silver saucer.  A pair of spinning rings adorned the outer edge of the ship, dotted with lights that dazzled. 

Pete seemed frozen, almost hypnotized, but the cameraman in him moved his arm automatically, bringing the camera to his eye to capture the incredible sight.  The UFO was impossibly large, larger even than the field it hovered over, and it floated perfectly weighless in the air, emitting a very low hum.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” whispered Pete to himself as he trained the camera lens on the ship.

“Pete!  Get down!” I hissed, trying to reach out to grab his ankle.

It was too late.  The spotlights circled the track’s ground, sweeping around in a waltz of light, and one of them swept over Pete.  The lights stopped sweeping; every single of the lights snapped over to Pete, fixing him in a brilliant beam.

Pete tried to jump out of it, but the lights followed him easily, the way metal sticks to a magnet.  And then he cried out, and I saw his feet slowly leaving the ground, like he was jumping upwards in slow motion.  But he didn’t fall back down to the ground.  It was like gravity had left him; he kept ascending, slowly, up, up, up toward the hue, hulking, alien ship.

I acted without thinking; he was halfway to the ship, drifting at least two stories above the ground, when I jumped out from the ditch and into the edge of the column of light.  I felt the pull, like a riptide but in the air, and then I was floating, too.  I tried to paddle in the air to catch up, but I had no control over the speed of my ascent.  I could twist and turn any way I liked, but I couldn’t go faster.  Pete was far above me, and in the side of the sheer silver ship, a round, black hole appeared.  Pete disappeared inside of it.  The lights were already so bright that they hurt my eyes, but they lit up even brighter once Pete was inside, and the hole began to close.  I was drifting so far above the ground that I knew if I was suddenly dropped, I would probably break a leg, but I couldn’t do anything but helplessly wait to see if I would be sucked into the hole, too, or cut free to fall back down to the ground.

The huge, looming side of the ship got closer and closer, the hole in its hull getting smaller and smaller.  I stretched out an arm and grabbed the metal edge of the hole, yanking myself through it.  It snapped shut behind me, and the floor under my feet rumbled with indescribable power.  And then I felt us accelerate, and I was thrown back against the wall as we zoomed dizzyingly up and away!

Where were we?  I scrambled against the wall to duck behind a large control panel.  The room we were in was very tall, twice as tall as a regular room, and every surface was shiny chrome.  It was well-lit but it was hard to see where the light was coming from.  Along one wall, there was a bench, and along two others, there were control panels like the one I was hiding under.  They were covered in a huge array of bright, blinking buttons and inscribed with strange symbols that I couldn’t read.

In the middle of the room, Pete was still hovering in a bubble of light.  He’d dropped his camera when we took off; it had clattered to the floor and was pointing at him, a small red light blinking on it.  He was still recording, but he was no longer behind the camera; he was in front of it!  He was the subject of his own, unwilling documentary.  He tried to speak, but the bubble he was in absorbed all the sound, so when he opened his mouth and moved his lips, it was like he was a TV on mute.  He thrashed in the air, but he couldn’t leave the bubble or touch the ground.  He was helpless.

Along the wall with the other control panel, a door opened.  There had been no door there, not that you could see, but with a soft mechanical whoosh, a rectangle suddenly opened, and through it, a line of creatures unlike anything I had ever seen emerged.

How can I describe them, except as alien?  They were taller than the tallest person I’d ever met, at least seven or eight feet tall.  They were gray, just like in the movies, with skin that looked soft and moist.  Their hind legs were like a dog’s, and they stood on the tip-toes of their little padded feet.  They had four arms, or, more accurately, they had two arms and two tentacles.  The appendages were long, hanging down to their knees.  Long, skinny fingers dangled from the arms, while the tentacles waved animatedly all around them.  All of them seemed to be female, and they were all naked, with plump bodies and round, bouncing breasts that had pert slate nipples.  Their faces were almost human, but they had no hair, and their eyes were large, obsidian orbs.  Instead of mouths, they had a patch of smaller tentacles or whiskers that reminded me of a catfish, and I wondered how they communicated.

My question was soon answered; one of them approached the bubble in the middle of the room and stretched out a finger, touching its surface and making the light warble like it was water.  Pete screamed soundlessly, trying to get away, but of course, he couldn’t.

“⎅⍜⋏’⏁ ⏚⟒ ⏃⎎⍀⏃⟟⎅!  ⍙⟒ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⏁⏃☍⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏚⏃☊☍ ⏁⍜ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⊑⍜⋔⟒ ⌿⌰⏃⋏⟒⏁ ⌇⍜⍜⋏!” said the alien, her mouthparts waving wetly.  The sound was garbled and nonsensical. 

Pete’s mouth opened wider, screaming silently.

Two of the aliens had positioned themselves behind a control panel; fortunately, it was not the one I was hiding behind!  Another six had shuffled into the room and sat at the bench to observe Pete.  Four of them were holding flat metal tablets with flashing symbols that kept changing; they tapped away at them.  Were they students?  Was this some kind of lesson?

<Telepathic universal translator speech enabled.  Earth-being, can you understand me now?> asked the alien.

Pete’s mouth moved soundlessly.

<It attempts to communicate!  …the Earthlings are very simple and they may be unable to form telepathic language yet,> said the alien beside Pete’s bubble.  One of her tentacles reached up to drape over the bubble.  Pete flinched away from it. 

<Matron, is this specimen a male or a female?> asked one of the students on the bench, raising a tentacle.

<I believe this might be a young female.  Let’s observe!> 

The bubble, which was an iridescent off-white, suddenly glowed red.  Pete writhed, trying to escape, but it glowed redder and redder.  A moment later, his clothes disintegrated, and the bubble’s glow dimmed back to the clear, plain color it had been before.

<I was mistaken.  This one is a male.  You can see here,> said the alien, poking both tentacles into the bubble.  The ends encircled each of Pete’s ankles and pulled his legs apart, spreading him and showing his genitals to the students.  They all nodded, making wet noises with their tentacled mouths and peering curiously at Pete’s anatomy.  He had shaved recently, so his manhood looked particularly prominent.

<The males of this species are very motivated by their pleasure-organs.  This is only the fourth male we have obtained!  Today, then, we will make a lesson of examining the male’s behavior.  You see that there are three elements that make up the male’s pleasure-organs.  The hose, the sacs, and the entryway,> said the teacher.  She reached into the bubble with one of her long, long arms.  Her fingers circled around Pete’s dick, stretching it out to show it off.  Then she cupped his balls, stretching them out, too; Pete struggled a little.  Finally, she placed two fingers on either side of Pete’s asshole, stretching it a little to show the small, puckered hole to her students.  They all leaned in, curious.

<In the last male we seized, we were able to provoke a very interesting response from the hose.  Perhaps today we can replicate this exciting result!  A tame human male is more than willing to accept gratification, but the wild ones can be fearful.  We will see if this one allows me to play with it.  It seems young so I am hopeful it might accept my friendship.>

One of the students raised her hand.  <Matron, what is the purpose of the sacs?>

<I believe they are ornamental,> said the teacher, putting her hand on Pete’s testicles and weighing them, rubbing them affectionately.  <In our observations of human coupling, it seems that this species inserts the hose into the entryway.  The sacs merely hang there.  Glorbet, you have not yet seen a human female, but they look similar to the male, having a second entryway and no hose or sacs.>

One of the aliens, presumably Glorbet, nodded.

Another one raised her hand.  <Matron, if the female of the species has two entryways, why does the male have only one hose?  This is very illogical.>

<An excellent question, Grobash!  We are not yet certain why they have only one hose.  Perhaps they are still evolving.  Their design is very primitive.  For example, you will observe that the hose is not prehensile.>  She let go of Pete’s balls and then gripped his dick, flopping it back and forth, stroking upward and dropping it, demonstrating that it couldn’t grasp her hand.  <Despite this design flaw, they seem to be very proud of their organs.  There are many nerves in this area and you will see how easily excitable they are when properly stimulated.  Observe.>

She reached into the bubble with her other arm.  With both of her hands, she began stroking Pete’s body, dragging her long, knobby fingers all over his skin, sliding over his chest, back, sides, and thighs.  Her tentacles were still wrapped around his ankles like snakes, holding him spread-eagle.  Pete was shivering with fear, but not cold; it was very warm in the room. 

After a few moments of caressing him with her long, bony fingers, the teacher, the one they all called Matron, determined that Pete wasn’t responding the way she wanted.  Her tentacles uncoiled from Pete’s ankles and he immediately crossed his legs, but she gripped his legs with her hands and pulled them apart again, leaving her tentacles to begin slithering over his body.  They left long, shiny tracks of moisture where they touched, so that soon, Pete was a gooey mess of warm slime. 

<This one seems shy.  But you see that his hose is beginning to become engorged,> said Matron.  Between Pete’s legs, his dick was swelling despite his fear.  One of the tentacles slid over his belly and the tip of it curled around the base of the shaft, enveloping it into a warm embrace of suckers.  <As I have said, the males are very easily excited.  Although Earthlings are a timid species, when their pleasure-organs are manipulated, they become quite docile!  If any of you have considered obtaining one as a pet, you must ensure that you manipulate the pleasure-organs at least once or twice every cycle to keep your human happy.  When I was a young whelp, I had a human pet, and I found that it was very fond of having its hose tickled.  Watch.>

She leaned her face into the bubble.  Pete wriggled desperately, but she seemed impossibly strong.  She placed her strange, wet mouth-parts over his erection, a dozen little tentacles sticking onto it and softly wriggling.  Pete’s eyes closed and he stopped fighting.  He was breathing heavily and his muscles were all tensed, but the feeling of all of those warm, wet, pulsating suction cups massaging his shaft must have been too pleasurable to resist.

The alien nuzzled her face tenderly into his crotch, her tentacles working his boner to its full, impressive length.  The students all leaned forward, those with tablets taking notes, those without watching with clear interest.

<How cute!> said one.  <The pleasure organ has doubled in size.  Will it continue to grow?>

<No, the hose expands only temporarily.  You will see that it wilts shortly.  When excited enough, the humans express joy by spraying a white substance, and then their hoses shrink and they curl up and sleep.>

<What is the white substance?>

<…I believe it is used to mark territory,> said Matron, after a moment of consideration.  Her mouth (if you could even call it a mouth) was still latched onto Pete’s shaft, rubbing and suckling at it.  His head was tilted back and his mouth was open with gratification.

<I have always desired a human pet.  Matron, may I try?> asked one of the aliens.

<Flintop, this is a wild human.  It would be irresponsible of us to get it too accustomed,> scolded the Matron, her mouth-parts sucking and waving over Pete’s thick, veiny cock.

<Please, Matron.>

<Very well.  Only briefly.  Approach.  Be careful not to hurt it; the hose looks hard, but has no bones, and must be gripped very gently!>

One of the aliens rose and walked over to the bubble.  Matron pulled away and stepped back, still holding Pete’s legs open, though I didn’t think she needed to anymore.  Pete was already “accustomed.”  He tilted his head up to look at the younger alien as she crouched a little and leaned in to press her mouth to his cock.  Pete shuddered and then his back arched as the short, wet little tentacles examined him

<Ah!  It pulses!>

<Yes, this one is considerably excited.  The learning-hive we have been observing these last few weeks seems to have particularly friendly and social Earthlings, which is very beneficial to our research.  Their complex social interactions are fascinating, and they are often nervous when caught, they do seem to calm themselves once we manipulate the pleasure-organs.  Now, I will show you all how the entrance is used to expel the white substance, and then we must put it back.>

Flintop pulled away and Pete twisted, still floating naked in the air.  His cock was full and glistening from the slime left there by the aliens’ mouth-feelers.

<The entryway is called this by our researchers because it is the entryway to one of the pleasure-organs.  Make note of that, because it will be on your next exam!  Scientists believe that the purpose of having an internal pleasure-organ is to encourage socialization.  Indeed, we have observed that humans are highly social and enjoy inserting their hoses into each other’s entryways.  They have also been observed to fashion simple toys to access the internal pleasure-organ.  In this manner they bond with each other and make friendships, as we have observed between the female social hive, which calls itself the Zetas, and the male social hive, which calls itself the Deltas.>

As Matron spoke, or thought, or whatever, one of her long, thick tentacles curled slowly around Pete’s thigh.  The tip reached up, slithering down his shaft and over the seam of his ballsack, and then delicately probing the opening of his ass.  Soft and wet, it slipped in easily.  Pete threw out his opposite leg for her as she pushed the long, throbbing tentacle into him and began feeling around.  His cock bobbed and pulsated; she had found his prostate.

<The internal pleasure-center is only a few Mindoor units inside of the human’s entryway, and quite small, so it can be easily accessed with any small appendage, such as a finger.  But they benefit from being trained to accept larger items to their entryways.  As you can see, this one prefers when I expand my tentacle to widen the entrance.  You can tell by the way his hose is bouncing around.  Soon, he will demonstrate for us the way humans express joy.>

The tentacle was as wide around as my wrist, but Pete had taken it in easily, maybe because it was so slippery.  The end of it must have been doing something incredible inside of him, because he was shaking with sexual tension, and his cock was harder than I’d ever seen any cock, the tip of it dribbling a thin stream of pre-ejaculate that floated like a tiny Milky Way inside of his bubble, a ribbon of pleasure above his bare body.

The extraterrestrial observers all watched as their teacher pumped her tentacle into Pete, fucking his weightless, limp body until, finally, he came, spasming as ropes of semen shot from his cock.

They all clapped, making wet gibbering noises of excitement at the show.

<There!  A very happy little human,> said Matron, reaching in with her hand to rest it on Pete’s heaving stomach.  Her tentacle was still inside of him, holding him in place as he floated.  <The hose will now become floppy again.  Some humans will lap up their emissions when finished.  They are a tidy species, and what’s more, their substance is nutritional, so they seem to benefit from eating it.  Let’s see if this one does it.>

Pete didn’t seem like he was going to do anything; he floated there limply, completely overwhelmed with the sensations he’d just endured.  His jizz was still floating around in the bubble; eventually it landed on his chest.  The aliens seemed disappointed that he hadn’t gobbled it up as they’d expected, but it was hard to read their expressions

<Well,  This one is wild-caught and in a strange environment, so we can’t expect him to behave as they do in nature,> concluded the Matron after a moment, slowly withdrawing her tentacle from Pete’s ass.  I saw his entrance wink as the tentacle left it, the hole wet and shimmering with the ooze she had secreted.  <I suppose we should tag him and then release him.  Grobash, it is your turn to tag.  I suggest placing the chip into the ornamental sacs.>

Grobash rose from the bench and set her tablet to the side, walking around to the control panel.  She got something from under it, a strange, square, flat gun that reminded me of the scanners at grocery stores.  I was still crouched behind and half-under the other, unused control panel, and my legs were starting to cramp.  Part of me wondered what would happen if I was discovered.  Would the extraterrestrials zap away my clothes and spread me out to make a lesson of me?  Would they put their mouth-feelers over my pussy and tease me with their warm, wet, thick tentacles?  Or would they take the opportunity of having both a “male” and a “female” to see if Pete and I would couple in front of them, show them how Pete’s “hose” could be inserted into my entryway?

I was tempted to crawl out and let them have their way with me, and maybe show them a thing or two, as well, about the superiority of the “female” human.  If I used Pete in front of them, would they come away with the understanding of female superiority in humans?  Did I have the potential, right now, to completely shape their understanding of our species, to model it firsthand for them?  I had the impression they didn’t know very much about humans, yet.  Maybe a lesson would do them good!  Then again, they seemed to at least know about the Zetas and the Deltas, so they had probably figured out the basics.  And they were dead-on in their deduction that males are very motivated by the stimulation of their pleasure-organs.

The only reason I didn’t crawl out (aside from enjoying the show) was that I was scared of being “chipped.”

Grobash approached Pete in his spotlight in the middle of the room, and Pete stirred a little, trying to cross his legs.  Matron pulled them open.

<Just between the orbs,> she instructed Grobash.

Pete squirmed.

<Matron, the human isn’t holding still.>

<I’m holding him.  Go ahead.  The sac has quite a lot of room and the auto-target is on the chipper.>

All four of Matron’s limbs held onto Pete as Grobash reached into Pete’s floating orb and pressed the flat end of the chipping device between his legs, squashing his ballsack up against his body.  I heard it beeping, and then it made a loud chunk sound.  Pete spasmed and reached down to cup himself, his face strained with pain.

<Oh!  Did I hurt it?> asked Grobash, pulling back and leaning in to peer at Pete’s balls.  I squinted across the room.  They looked okay to me.  A bit swollen, maybe, but okay.

<No, no, it was just a little zap.  They always get nervous when it comes to their sacs.  This is a very good way to discipline them, by the way.  If any of you ever obtains a pet human– Flintop–> 

The aliens all made a strange hrrk-hrrk-hrkk noise.  It might have been laughter.  Flintop’s mouth tentacles waved manically, like she was rolling her eyes at being called out for wanting a pet human.

<–then you will find that light, sharp pressure to the ornamental sacs is an excellent means of discipline, and they will learn very quickly to behave.  They are a simple species, yes, but very easy to train!  So long as you ensure they are satisfied.  But if you meet their nutritional needs and engage with their pleasure-organs twice a day, you will find they are very affectionate and easy pets.  Even easier than a Donabak snake!>

<Can’t we keep this specimen, Matron?>

<No, no, it would not be responsible to keep a wild-caught human.  This one must be released now that we’ve tagged him; after all, our mission is only to observe and learn.  But perhaps someday we can come back for him!  Humans live very short lives, you know.  Less than one Earth century!>

The aliens all seemed to recoil at the idea.

The ship shifted so suddenly that I nearly fell right out in front of the alien audience.  I had forgotten we were in a flying saucer, because although the room looked like something right out of Star Trek, it was so stable that you could easily forget you were moving.

But we must have dropped back down, because the alien students were all rising to shuffle out of the room.  The wall had opened up again into a door.

Matron walked around to Pete’s head and leaned down over his face.  Her face-tentacles stretched and hooked into his mouth, forcing it open.  Although they had fingers, I got the impression that the aliens’ fingers were very delicate and weak, and they used their mouth-parts more.

Pete thrashed impotently, but Matron held his head steady, her face inches from his open mouth, her tentacles dripping ooze into him.  And then she popped a small, blue pill into his mouth before she forced his mouth closed, reaching to his throat to caress it and force him to swallow.

Pete’s eyes fluttered closed and his body slowly went limp.

In the wall behind me, a port suddenly opened.  Matron gathered Pete up into her arms, cradling him, and walked over to the window.  Unceremoniously, she tossed him out, and then turned away.

Now was my chance!

I darted out from my hiding place, snatched the camcorder than had been dropped on the ground, and then flung myself toward the window, not knowing where it would take me.

Luck was on my side.  We were back where we’d started, and much lower, too, hovering about ten feet over the track field.  Pete had been dropped onto one of the mats used by the pole-vaulters, and he was curled up peacefully there, asleep and butt-naked, with a look of pure contentment on his face.  The pill he had been given would wipe his memory of the night and ensure he had nothing but the sweetest dreams.

As for me?  I left him there on the field and stole away to the sorority, camcorder in hand.  I had gotten what I wanted.  I had proof.  I had evidence.  The truth was out there… and I had found it.

*

I told my friends my story, and they all gaped at me.  I had expected applause for being the one to definitively prove aliens were real, but everyone just looked confused.

“So… where’s the tape?” asked Rachel, finally. 

“The tape?”

“The tape of Pete getting his ass explored to infinity and beyond.”

“Oh!  The tape.  It’s in my room,” I said.

“And you didn’t think to take it to the news or something?” asked Rachel, deadpan.

“Well, not yet.”

Rachel frowned. 

.“You expect us to believe a ghost stole a buttplug from you, but not that aliens exist?” I demanded.

Rachel shrugged and crossed her arms. 

I hadn’t told my story to anyone because I was waiting for the right time.  Admittedly, this probably wasn’t it.  Geena had gathered her friends into her apartment to share scary stories as part of a Halloween contest, and so naturally, everyone probably thought I had just made it all up to try to win the contest.  And Pete couldn’t verify my story, since he’d been drugged before they let him loose.  All Pete knew was that there was a day he’d woken up groggy, naked, and feeling extraordinarily happy in the middle of the track field.

But I knew the truth.  I had the tape.

…the only issue was, well… the lens cap had sort of been left on.  So there was no visual.  Only audio.  But that was evidence enough, as far as I was concerned.  Because you could hear the hum of the UFO’s engines, the beeping of the alien equipment, the wet sucking noises of strange alien tentacles as they explored Pete’s exposed human body. 

And at the very end, you could hear, clear as day, a strange and inhuman voice, speaking in a strange an inhuman language as it soared off into the sky:  “☊⍜⋔⟒ ⟟⋏ ⌿⟒⏃☊⟒!”

– The End –

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