The Grildo

Lucinda Lou is on an alien planet with her crew of fellow space pirates, looking to poach some critters for the black market. She falls asleep on watch and wakes up to find that a particular alien has taken a very personal interest in her...4k words, erotic horror rating.

This story began as a reference to a meme that tends to go around adult twitter at Christmas-time, but no context is necessary to enjoy it. If you know, you know.

Content warnings/tags: monsterfucking (alien/woman); nonconsensual parasitic oviposition; nonconsensual cervical penetration/womb-fucking; temporary paralysis; nonconsensual drugging with aphrodisiacs; dehumanization; trafficking of a person for purposes of unethical medical/scientific studies; untreated sub-drop

Lucinda woke slowly, drifting on a cloying fog of arousal, vaguely aware of a slick feeling between her thighs. She blinked fuzzily into the darkness, only slowly gathering the memories of where she was.

Outside...? She could hear the wind, the rustling of leaves, far too close to be on the other side of glass...

Right. The shelter. Her ship had landed on a nature preserve planet to poach some wildlife for the black market alien pet trade. She was stationed in one of the tree-top shelters around camp, not much more than a wooden platform with a roof and some wind-breaks.

Supposed to be keeping watch. She must've fallen asleep in her chair...she should get up...

Lucinda tried to move, but her body felt so heavy. Finally she managed to shift one of her thighs.

Something warm and wet fluttered between her legs, right against the lips of her cunt, and the burst of pleasure was so powerful that her vision blurred. A noise echoed off the empty wooden walls of the shelter, and it was a few seconds before she realized distantly that it was her own voice--she was moaning like a whore.

What the hell was happening? The thing continued to move between her folds, tongue-like, and her thoughts stumbled in circles. Was someone going down on her? Who would be...?

But it didn't feel quite right, not like any of the times she'd been eaten out before. It felt like they were just shoving their tongue into her, moving it slowly, prodding inside of her like they were looking for something.

It was definitely the worst cunnilingus technique she'd ever experienced--or it should've been, but she was so sensitive that it felt...amazing. She felt amazing. Her body was buzzing with pleasure, and just the light, wet undulations of the appendage slowly moving into her had her high on sensation, desperate for more.

Lucinda tried to lift her head, to look down at whoever was lapping teasingly at her hole, tried to voice a command that they explain themselves or at the very least stop neglecting her clit.

But her head just rolled back and forth heavily, rocking against the back of the chair, giving her slightly different views of the dark wood-slat ceiling that covered the little room. The complaints she tried to voice came out as quiet groans and grunts, the consonants so slurred that any words were completely unintelligible.

Time passed in a syrupy drip, leaving Lucinda disoriented. Surely it couldn't have been very long, because that tongue was still moving and moving inside her. Nothing had changed, so she reasoned it could only have been a few minutes, and yet the darkness and the liquid heat building in her core seemed to stretch out forever, minutes spinning out into an eternity of needy pleasure.

Finally, a thought drifted through the fog: She couldn't move.

That wasn't normal. That was bad.

A brief flash of panic battered through the thick blanket of listless arousal, and she tried to lurch up, panicked, but she only managed to grunt and twitch one knee.

The movement again jostled the tongue lapping at her. The sensation nearly whited out her vision as the appendage dragged against her hyper-sensitive folds, the shelter filling once again with the sounds of her demanding, unfiltered moans.

The panic returned as the flare of arousal dimmed again. What was happening? Did somebody drug her? What kind of sick freak would drug her and then eat her pussy?

And how was their tongue still going in, and in, and in...? It was so fucking long...

She tried to strain her ears, listening for any sounds that might clue her in to which member of the crew thought they could pull this kind of shit on Lucinda Lou. She might not be the captain, but she wasn't some wet-behind-the-ears newbie, either, and she had enough rank to earn her share of respect. If they thought they were going to get away with this--with this--

The tongue pressed deeper, and realization dawned on Lucinda slowly, creeping up her spine like a chill.

The only sounds she could hear were her own panting and the occasional low whine that came from her throat without her permission. Maybe some faint, wet noises, but that might have been her imagination, or maybe the sound of her throat working without her feeling it.

She didn't hear the movement of another human. She didn't hear anyone else breathing.

And no human tongue could get that deep.

Lucinda tried to make a noise of fear, but it just came out as a grunt. Her renewed effort to struggle only yielded a jittering motion in one of her feet that didn't even manage to jostle the thing between her thighs, which was halfway now to her womb and still coming, still sliding slowly, slowly into her--

Fuck. It was a fucking grildo.

One of her crewmates had warned her last time they'd made a stop here. At the time, she'd thought he was just making shit up, trying to get a rise out of her, but she'd looked it up later on the 'net and learned that he was telling the truth about all of the important parts--at least, the parts that people knew about.

They were supposed to be rare, although nobody lived full-time on the planet. Nobody civilized, anyway; there were some small, fluffy humanoids with a quaint, pre-digital culture who visitors weren't supposed to interact with. As a result, it was hard to know for sure just how rare grildos really were. There was some speculation that they were as intelligent as the native humanoids, more than capable of hiding themselves if they chose to, and it seemed like they were only interested in interacting with visitors for...well...one purpose.

They needed a warm body to lay their eggs in.

Lucinda groaned as the appendage reached her cervix and began prodding and nudging at the opening that led to her womb.

There was a twinge of discomfort, a queasy rush of sensation as her body reminded her that nothing was really meant to be trying to get in there--but it was diffused through the hot arousal thudding inside of her, transmuting into a raw, filthy pleasure that she immediately craved more of.

Aphrodisiac. The grildo's ovipositor secreted lubricating fluids that contained a paralytic and an aphrodisiac, both temporary but very potent.

She had been drugged, after all; not by a member of her crew, but by an alien life form.

The thing continued gently teasing her, practically rimming her cervix, opening her up with slow, gentle movements. She could feel how much of the fluid it was pumping into her, warm and thick, like a twisted cock that was coming inside of her non-stop. The more goop it smeared against her cervix, the better the touches felt, until she was filling the shelter once more with fluttering cries, her voice echoing pathetically back to her ears.

When it finally breeched the entrance, Lucinda felt distantly sickened by the idea of what was happening: an alien creature violating her womb. But, to her shame, she was also overwhelmed by a rush of tingling pleasure that spread out in rocking waves throughout her body, lighting up every nerve ending until she felt like one big erogenous zone. Her nipples came to little peaks all on their own--she couldn't see them, but she could feel them, the hot pressure as they pushed against the fabric of her sports bra and her stiff canvas shirt.

Her neglected clit gave an almighty throb. Lucinda's hand twitched as she tried to reach for herself on sheer instinct, desperate to give her body the attention it needed. The feeling of the thing inside her, deeper than anything should ever have reached, was simultaneously too much and not enough, overwhelming her with new sensations and new needs and yet--and yet--it moved so slowly, so gently, that none of those needs were being satisfied.

he pleasure was building and building, but there was no outlet, no end in sight.

For all of Lucinda's efforts, she accomplished nothing more than flopping a hand off of the chair's arm-rest. She whined pathetically. She needed more. She'd been horny before--it was inevitable, living in tight barracks in a ship, not always able to find time to rub one out--but she'd never needed to come like this before! And she couldn't move her hand, couldn't reach down and give her aching clit the relief it needed!

Then she had a flash of brilliance. She tried to move her legs again.

Her left leg refused to respond at all, aside from what might have been some twitching in her toes--it wasn't as if she could see them, so any movement could have just as easily been in her imagination--but then finally, finally, she got her right leg to shift inward just a bit.

It was barely a movement at all; and yet, as she'd been desperately hoping, it jostled the thing inside of her, disturbing the grildo's ovipositor and dislodging it slightly.

Lucinda unleashed a loud, open-mouthed cry as she felt the thing drag against every inch of her, felt its soft muscles tighten up and go firm as it locked itself inside of her womb, tugging at the inside of her cervix. More and more of those tingles burst inside of her, and--and--

She didn't come.

It took her ages to realize that her plan had failed. Her mind was moving slow as molasses through the swamp of pleasure. For a while, she was somehow convinced that the movement had unlocked more of her muscles, that she was humping her hips, riding the thing, fucking herself into a state of bliss; but then her mind slowly cleared and she realized that that was a sort of hallucination or a dream, that she had maybe blacked out for a few seconds with the strength of her arousal.

The grildo had softened again inside of her, no longer at risk of being disturbed. Her cunt shivered, not quite able to contract with the paralytic working its dirty magic on her muscles. The brief flash of sensation had done nothing but drag her tantalizingly along the edge of the peak she was trying to reach.

Lucinda moaned, despairing. Her clit gave another stiff, angry throb. It felt swollen, the skin tight, like it had been at attention for hours. When she concentrated, she could feel her heartbeat in it, the ebb and flow of sensitivity from the minute fluctuations in blood flow.

Or maybe that was just a hallucination, too.

Lucinda stared dizzily at the dark ceiling for a time. Her mind wandered, dipping in and out of consciousness.

She dreamt that she was at work, at that shitty minimum wage data entry job she'd worked for a couple of years after she'd dropped out of school--before her paychecks had started bouncing, before the place had shut down and she'd found more lucrative work as ship's crew.

She dreamt that she was at her desk...or was she in her boss's office? Was she sitting at her boss's desk? She was sitting at her boss's desk, and her boss was trying to show her something on the computer, but there was something inside her, licking right up into the deepest parts of her, and it felt so good, but she couldn't let on what was happening in front of her boss, she was so close, but she couldn't, she couldn't...

Lucinda drifted slowly back to awareness again and shuddered in a pang of revulsion as she remembered exactly what was inside of her. She couldn't see it in the dark, but she knew what it would look like: long, green, worm-like, extending out into the darkness. And that was just the ovipositor; the grildo itself was probably perched on the roof of the shelter, or maybe hanging off the side. It could even be in another tree. Their ovipositors were nearly forty feet long, allowing them to implant eggs into a host without endangering themselves.

The image in her mind made her sick.

Not that she had ever seen one, not even an image. Nobody had gotten any pictures. But there were descriptions...she remembered one story from a man who had gone camping on the planet with his girlfriend. Or was it fiancée? Had they gone camping to celebrate the engagement?

The appendage inside of her shifted, and Lucinda let out a faint whine as the small movement stoked the inferno in her body. She felt her cunt cramp down in one quick, aborted squeeze before it released into soft flutters again. In response, the thing pumped more fluids into her, filling her womb with a hot soup of paralytics and aphrodisiacs.

Lucinda groaned. Focus. The guy and his fiancée...

No, girlfriend. He hadn't proposed yet. He was supposed to propose on the trip, that was it.

Anyway, he'd woken up in the middle of the night because his girlfriend was moaning and moaning, and when he finally got the light on, he found this thing--this long, slimy thing, green and wet like some kind of jungle worm--trailing right through the entrance of their tent, up under the blanket and into his girlfriend's tight little cunt.

He said at the time he thought it was ribbed or segmented, but later he realized that those were the eggs. It was pumping his girlfriend full of eggs right in front of him.

He'd pulled it out of her, of course, and then they'd had to get lifted to a nearby space station to get the rest of the eggs sucked out. He said he felt really guilty because his girlfriend had been whining and moaning the whole time, and he hadn't realized until after that she'd been really desperate to come, that she'd been begging him to help her get off.

The ovipositor inside of Lucinda moved again. It flexed and bunched, the muscles rippling, and it squirted out more of that thick, soupy fluid. Lucinda groaned quietly in complaint. She was starting to feel like she'd slosh around if she were able to move.

Then it flexed again, down near her entrance, and Lucinda's eyelids fluttered at the feeling.

It was really wiggling around, kind of pressing on her--it was--oh, fuck, it was getting bigger--an egg, it had an egg in it, oh fuck.

She tried to swear out loud, but only managed a slurred whimpering noise.

The muscles inside the thing's horrible pseudo-dick flexed and tensed over and over, slowly drawing the egg into her. As her entrance stretched around the girth of it--a bit wider than a typical cock, she thought, but with how sensitive she felt, who the fuck really knew--little bursts of pleasure ricocheted through her pelvis, small individual peaks like little faux climaxes that brought her no relief, just echoing up through her aching clit and deep into her throbbing cunt and making her need the real thing even more.

Then it slipped inside her, traveling up--up--rubbing briefly over her g-spot, which tingled almost unpleasantly--and into her...

And then there was another egg, before the first one was even that far in, a second one stretching her open, sending feverish sensations crawling through her overheated sex.

Lucinda tried to utter a denial, tried to say it was too much, not enough of a break between the eggs--as if that would do anything for her; the grildo didn't give a shit about her comfort--but all that came out was a fuzzy groan.

The second egg popped inside and began working its way into her, too.

And then there was a third egg at her entrance, and she had the thought that maybe if enough of them rubbed through her there, she would come--but the first one was pressing against her cervix, and her body did not like that.

Her uterus cramped hard, trying to keep it out, making Lucinda wheeze as she was subjected to a mash of dull pain and an aching stimulation that was close enough to pleasure to make her crave more of it.

The tip of the ovipositor shifted inside of her, stroking the inside of her cervix, oozing more hot liquid into her as it tried to convince her body to relax and to accept the egg. One of Lucinda's legs trembled on its own, her foot scraping against the floor; a reaction to the overstimulation and the pain and the strain on her nerves.

She tried to do her part, willing her body to give in, just because she wanted the cramping to stop, but everything in her body was beyond her command.

Finally, inevitably, the grildo won. Her muscles slowly went lax, the pain subsiding into a low, burning heat, and then--with another pulsing movement of the ovipositor--the egg pushed through her cervix and was deposited into her womb.

"Hhhg," Lucinda exhaled, caught between disgust and an overwhelming, deep arousal. She was sore, she was revolted, but there were more eggs...more eggs...pushing into her, rubbing in long, slow, dragging movements along her insides, and then another one was stretching her cervix open, and it wasn't so unpleasant any more now that the lingering ache of the cramp was fading.

The second egg was followed by a third, and a fourth, and each one just made the need inside of Lucinda grow even more acute. She'd never felt anything like it before. It was simultaneously mind-numbing and mind-blowing: the eternal movement inward and inward and inward without drawing out; the staccato rhythm of the eggs moving through her, stretching her one at a time, each one only giving her its brief pleasures in turn; the sensation of her womb, nerves singing from the aphrodisiac, slowly filling with a mass of eggs.

She wondered for a moment if there was someone else in the shelter with her after all, or maybe a dog, because there was some sort of animal whimpering noise and she didn't think it was the grildo.

Then she realized that the whimpering was coming from her, thin and needy, and she had been doing it for a while.

The arousal built, plateaued, waned, and then built anew. Lucinda ached. Her fingers twitched over and over as she tried desperately to move her hand. She couldn't focus on anything else any more except how badly she needed to rub her clit, how earth-shatteringly hard she would come if she could just get a single finger on the tight little bundle of nerves between her thighs...

Time passed. She thought she made some progress in moving her hand; her fingers were fluttering against her thigh. Or maybe she was imagining that. Still, precious inches lay between her and her goal.

Lucinda's pelvis felt heavy. Her uterus was tight with eggs. Surely she couldn't fit much more, and yet the grildo continued to stuff them into her.

Her ceaseless whimpering became high and thready as the pressure of the eggs began to squeeze against her cervix, stimulating it from the inside. She tried to hump her hips, confused about why she wasn't able to, then remembered the paralysis; she focused again on her hand.

Finally, she managed to creep her hand up the inside of her thigh. Her thumb brushed tantalizingly close to her throbbing cunt, but she couldn't feel it.

It was long minutes before she realized why: her hand was on the outside of her shorts.

The grildo's ovipositor had wound its way up through one of the open legs of her shorts and pulled her underwear aside, leaving her clothing mostly in place, locking her weakly-twitching fingers away from the place where she most needed them.

Her womb felt so full that her stomach must be distended. She could feel her heartbeat there, now, too, answering the pulse in her clit. Her whimpers sounded so pathetic, but she was in too much need to care. She was pathetic. She had become one giant, throbbing nerve, tormented by the feeling of her own blood pumping through her hypersensitive flesh.