The War of the Worlds

The men were still by the stream, but much transformed by the Martians' poison. I sat beside Robert, having brought him some breakfast. He had little appetite for human food, though. His legs had become roots burrowing deep into the earth alongside the stream, and it seemed his balls had grown to enormity but were buried in the soft soil beneath him. From the base of his cock, long tendrils grew like ivy in several directions with pale red leaves unfurling to capture the morning sun.

You know of course about the red weed that grew wherever the Martians came, feeding on the blood of the dead and dying. This must have been similar, though it fed not on blood but on the vital essence of the men, their balls like factories producing an endless stream of that creamy syrup. Over the following days, those tendrils thickened into vines as the pale-leafed weed spread ever outwards, but always at their centre was the original cock, proud and pulsing erotically.

I had not come outside with the intention of resuming the previous day's excess, but my restless night had made me tense with need and I felt such pity for Robert. I kissed him good morning as I settled onto his lap, absorbing that thick and eager length into the core of me. There was no pain this time, only the delight of being wonderfully stretched, of being utterly filled, once again. Of having his hands and lips attack my large breasts and swollen, sensitive nipples once again.

Of the Martian machine there was no sign, but as I bounced joyfully on Robert's length, and as Bess and Lotte did likewise with George and Tom, I heard that fearful call in the distance. Ulla... Ulula...

Though we ate sparely, the cottage's store of food diminished until we were forced to look elsewhere, but any attempt we made to leave the immediate environ was swiftly curtailed. We might not see them, but the Martians were always near. One night I made a run for it, maybe making it half a mile before leathery tentacles snared my legs. It was so dark I could see only a shadow of the creature, and I screamed as it dangled me upside down, more tentacles tearing my clothes away and touching me in intimate places as if curious about me.

It plucked at my nipples and squeezed my clitoris, and despite my initial panic over this molestation I could feel my body becoming aroused. It took so little to trigger my body's arousal that even my revulsion at being touched by that grotesque creature could not prevent it, and my screams gave way to squirms of denial and pleas for mercy - though whether it understood I do not know. "No, no, no," I wailed as a sinuous appendage penetrated where only Robert had before. To my eternal shame, I was so wet that it encountered little resistance and was able to slip in and out with ease.

"No!" I cried desperately, but further complaint was prevented as the invading tentacle thrust instead into my mouth and throat while a thicker invader took its place, fucking me with relentless strength. It was all I could do to catch my breath as I choked about the other that slipped in and out of my throat.

I doubt it had any real desire for me, but clearly it took pleasure in playing with me like a toy. My struggles achieved nothing, and though my heart and head sought to deny the monster, my body surrendered to its manipulation. I screamed again, this time in pleasure as I contracted blissfully about the Martian tentacle that ravished me.

It dropped me onto the ground at last, and I peered around me to see the cottage. The Martian had returned me to my prison. I learned my lesson that night, and made no further attempts to escape.

We were hungry, the last of our food almost gone, and took to munching on the pale red leaves of the alien vines. I forget who first thought to do that, and it seems particularly perverse considering their source, but they proved safe to eat, if a little bitter in taste. Also, the thicker stalks were filled with a milky liquid not unlike the men's essence in consistency but sweeter in flavour. They proved to be nutritious too, for they were soon our sole source of food and our health did not suffer.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the swelling of our bellies became undeniable. This was why we had been chosen by the Martians, we and many other groups dotted about the country where the Martians had first landed. A breeding experiment, and a successful one too in contrast to their greater failure.

In the world outside our secluded gardens, the Martian invasion ground to a halt, their machines cried one last time, and the red weed turned to dust, but we continued. The pale weed thrived and fed us as our pregnancies developed, and it was only when humans discovered us that horror returned to our lives. The surgeon's knife was cruel to the men, and the asylum we were all brought to for monitoring left deep emotional scars.

But our daughters were born healthy and human, and in time we were set free to live again.

I returned recently to that garden to find the cottage still standing. Our rescuers had set a fire to burn the pale weed, but their fire did not penetrate deep enough. Where once Robert sat for months, I spied a circle of slender shoots with pale buds. I wonder if one day a cock will sprout there too, so that I will again have the pleasure of its inhuman dimensions within me.