Warning: This story is unsuitable for minors and contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity considered taboo (and illegal) in most (if not all) jurisdictions. If such activity offends you, please DO NOT read any further. I do not condone any illegal activity and stress that this work is fiction, fantasy, and in no way meant to reflect reality. Sexual abuse of minors is a very serious issue and I encourage anyone tempted to engage in such behavior to seek help immediately. Title: Chapter Three: Grade School Discovery (SciFi, Bondage, Tentacles, b) Date of Latest Update to This Story: 3/28/17 Dear Reader: Thank you for taking the time to read my work. If you wish to drop me a line, feel free. My email address is (CreepingDawn@protonmail.com) and I look forward to hearing from you. Additionally, proofreading is not one of my better skills so if you find errors you believe impact the story's readability, please let me know. Offers to proofread will be welcomed with open arms. This story is broken up into chapters. As such, the order you should consider reading it is: Chapter 1 Memory Interlude 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Memory Interlude 2 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Concerning the Privileged Life of Cameron Seymour Riley III Memory Interlude 3 Chapter 8 Epilogue Without further adieu... ......................... "Art time is great" thought Matt Arroba. He loved the colors and the paper and the way he had to concentrate really hard to make sure the project he was working on was perfect. Sometimes, when it was really good, Ms. Arnett would give him a gold star and his mom would even put it on the windowsill for the neighbors to see! At first, he didn't think he'd like first-grade because he wouldn't get to do as much art as he did in Kindergarten and would have to have more difficult classes. But now that he was an "old pro" as his dad would say, he found that he enjoyed the reading classes and the mathematics; though he was grateful that Ms. Arnett still let her first graders do lots of fun art projects too. "Speaking of the Ms. Arnett..." Matt thought to himself. "Where is she?" Looking around for the first time in quite a while, Matt realized that Ms. Arnett and all the girls were gone. It was weird because he could have sworn they were here a minute ago. Before he could ask the question though, Daniel Parsons stood up and asked loudly "Hey! Where is everybody?" "I don't know," responded David Burelle, "I think they left." With that, the class broke into fragmented conversations which all revolved around asking each other where their teacher and female classmates had gone. As everyone had been deeply involved in the art project, none had really paid attention to what was going on in the room. For the six and seven-year-olds, this was a unique occurrence. Sometimes, they knew, Ms. Arnett would leave the room but she always had one of the nice ladies from the front office come in and watch them when she did. And she never left with all the girls. Now, the boys glanced around nervously, unsure of what was going on. "Um.... Should we go look for them?" asked Jonathon Carroll aloud for the third time, hoping that someone would volunteer. He'd go himself, but really didn't want to. "Geez Johnny, shut up!" hissed Jamie Washington, the boy aggravated that Johnny was so annoying and his own nerves getting the better of him. "You shut up!" responded Jonathon, now pissed at the other boy. "No, stop being a whiny baby!" resorted Jamie. "Only if you quit being a jerk!" responded Jonathon, not one to back down when challenged. With no teacher to stop the budding argument, the two seven-year-olds prepared themselves for a long match of insults. Before it could get out of hand, however, each boy in the first grade class froze as they were suddenly overcome with strange and powerful feelings. Light headed, the boys spaced out for a moment, completely forgetting their concerns and their arguments. When their minds finally became their own, none felt as nervous about the absences of Ms. Arnett or the girls as they had only a moment before. In fact, they felt excited and twitchy and full of energy. Their skin tingled. They got goosebumps. They started to perspire a little bit. Suddenly unable to sit still, all the kids hopped up out of their group tables and began to dance in place, hoping that doing so would bring some relief to the new feelings coursing through their bodies. "I don't feel good" Jaylen Smith said as Ryan Malone announced, "I feel funny." Cries of "me neither" and "me too" and "I feel weird" echoed throughout the classroom as the eighteen first-graders looked hopefully at each other for some answer to their current predicament. Then, almost as one, each boy froze as all his attention left his classmates and focused entirely on his genitals. Every single one of the boys found themselves with little woodies as their blood rushed into their immature members. Not an entirely new experience, as many of the boys had experienced erections before, this time felt different. There was some sort of strange heat coming from their tented pants and, as that heat turned into an itch, each boy felt like a spring was coiling tighter and tighter inside himself. For several minutes, the children stayed quietly absorbed in their own bodily functions, bouncing from foot to foot and looking at their pelvic regions as if they might understand what was going on if they stared long enough. A lusty haze overcame them, making it harder to think about anything but their itchy demanding little cocks. Quite suddenly, the door swung open and the windows all rose - filling the quiet room with a loud and obvious "bang." The six and seven-year-olds all jumped and immediately turned to the front of the classroom, expecting to see Ms. Arnett standing there like a beacon of hope. For of course, Ms. Arnett could explain what was going on! Instead, there were these things there. They looked like snakes or, as Grant Freedman thought to himself, like the kind of tentacles he'd seen on the jellyfish pictures his dad had shown him last night. For a long moment, the first-graders stood stock-still and starred at the motionless apparitions. Then, without a thought, Matt Arroba, always one to be outgoing, walked slowly and cautiously to the door with his tiny erection throbbing the entire way. As he approached, the tentacles there seemed to focus on him and regard him with curiosity. Reaching his destination, Matt stood up as straight as he could (all of 3'10''), shifted his shoulders and weight (an imposing fifty-two pounds), and confidently asked, "What are you?" Unfortunately for Matt, those words broke the silence and the tentacles entered the room with purpose. Unlike what was going on in most of the rest of the area, the tentacles proceeded slowly and soon had surrounded the boys; unhurriedly wrapping them up and lifting them throughout the room. The creature, aware that these were some of the youngest prey it was going to feast on and that they were years away from their sexual maturation, wanted to be extra careful and extra sensitive with their delicate bodies and undeveloped minds. It didn't want to hurt them and it knew that the feelings they would be experiencing soon, indeed that they were already experiencing but were too young to understand, were going to confuse and frighten them. Therefore, it would be extra cautious with them so as not to do any harm. Oh, it was still going to rape them to peak after peak after peak, fucking their tiny bodies with abandon and relishing in their pleasure, but it would do so sensibly and, the creature affirmed to itself, lovingly. The children were stupefied. Though used to utilizing their imaginations constantly, what was happening now was well outside their experiences, both real and imaginary. Met with such strange and unique circumstances and with their bodies still emitting strange and wonderful feelings, none of the boys had the presence of mind to so much as struggle as the tentacles casually bound them and moved them like marionettes. Then the tentacles began their fun. Sliding Prodders down pants and up shirts, into socks, shoes, and underwear, the tentacles carefully began to shred the clothing and reveal to the world eighteen naked, horny, cherubic boys. "Hey" whispered Liam Tressalm, hazily aware that his favorite pair of pants had just been torn in half despite the intense feelings between his legs, "that's my favorite. Stop it." Heedless of Liam's half mumbled order, the creature soon completed his task and the six and seven-year-olds of Ms. Arnett's class found themselves naked as babes, floating in a sea of tentacles and strange funny feelings. "Sammy" little Marcus Casey announced, shock making him lucid for a moment as he found himself turned face to face with his best friend Sam Johnson. With only two feet between the boys, Marcus's attention was immediately on the fact that his best pal was naked - an occurrence Marcus had never seen before despite knowing the other boy forever. "You're naked!?" he stated, a bit of a question in his voice. Sammy flushed red with embarrassment (or somewhat more red as all the children were slightly flushed with their arousal), acutely aware of his nudity and mortified beyond belief. An obsessively modest boy, he despised being seen naked by anyone, his own mom and dad included. Before poor Sammy could respond, however, the tentacles darted forward and began their pleasurable assault on the boys. Arms, legs, feet, hands, tummies, backs, shoulders, necks, ears, cheeks, chins, and noses were massaged, stroked, fondled, and teased. Moans sprang up around the classroom as the floodgates were opened and the children were subjected to new intense and unexpected pleasure. Though all erogenous zones (genitals, anuses, nipples, and mouths) were avoided, the children felt their need increase tenfold. The little boy-boners that had been hard became achingly ridged. Lost in this new sensation and with no way to comprehend what they were feeling, the boys threw their heads back and began to howl in frustrated bliss. Carlos Esparanza, his body betraying him, began to feel something, some power, coalescing in his guts. The things rubbing his armpits and legs felt unnaturally wonderful and seemed to be sending some sort of magic through his limbs, feeding the growing ball of power in his lower tummy. Instantly, that ball of power dropped lower, into his private parts, and he felt that all the energy in the universe was traveling through him to destinations unknown. Carlos climaxed. "Ah!" he screamed loudly as his body thrashed and jerked, his little boycock twitching rapidly and his immature prostate screaming in confusion. "Help! Help! Ahhhhh!" he shrieked, the pleasure of orgasm being met for the first time and his six-year-old mind unable to understand. Across the room, seven-year-old Grayson Hall was hitting his own climax at the same time. His body lurched and twisted, his face frozen in a silent scream as the pleasure overwhelmed his little pricklett and mind. Several feet from him, Nathan Yorkstern began to cry, not from pain or sadness but because his little woody was sending such powerful feelings through him and crying seemed the only way to express his sheer and unbridled joy. For what seemed like an eternity, the boys climaxed, their moans and screams and pleadings for help falling on deaf ears. Collectively, it was their first orgasm. As the seconds ticked by, though, and the feelings began to fade, the children, some of whom followed Nathan into tears and some of whom followed Grayson into stunned silence, began to collect themselves. Infants only a few short years earlier, their instincts from that age kicked in and they slowly began to self-sooth. It helped, of course, that the tentacles had retreated for a time. As the minutes past, the children began to calm down and evaluate their situation. "What was that?" asked Freddy Corvalas, unable, because of the way the tentacles held him, to look at his tiny woody that had seemed to be the epicenter of the strange feelings moments earlier. Instead and as a substitute, he began to closely scrutinize the cock of the boy next to him, Julian Texmara. "I don't know," replied Dennis Hopper close by, his little member finally soft. "Something bad?" he questioned, hoping someone in his class could explain what he felt. "No," replied Jeremiah Lux from across the room, "Something good. It felt funny, but felt good." That assertion seemed to relax the class further, all worrying to some extent that what they had felt had been something bad. Soon, the sex and seven-year-olds were talking in groups. Some continued to speculate as to their orgasms, their analysis rudimentary due to their age and inexperience. Yet despite this, several mothers and fathers would have been proud because their first-graders were doing an admirable job of theorizing, reasoning, and articulating their theories. A couple of the boys were giggling at their nude classmates or trying, without success, to cover up their own nakedness. A few more spent the down time trying to untangle themselves from the embrace of the tentacles. None were prepared for the second wave of arousal when it hit. "Oh no! Oh no!" squealed Tyler Jamison, the little six-year-old's cocklett becoming ridged again as the familiar but unnamed emotion, years later understood to be lust, swept through his immature body. "It's happening again!" pleaded Jesse Marano to the crowd, desperate at first for someone to do something and desperate moments later to get off again. Quickly, the room was filled with cries of confusion and moans of excitement. Without warning, the Prodders attacked again, resuming their previous positions across each body with the addition of three new and strategically placed Suckers; one sliding into the mouth of each child and latching onto their tongue in a perverse imitation of a French kiss while the other two sought out, fastened onto, and began to tease and torture each child's vulnerable nipples. With this new and very sexual pleasure, each child's libido was kicked into overdrive and they immediately found themselves writhing and seizing in the tentacles grasp. Moans became yells. Yells became shrieks. Shrieks became screams as child after child soon climaxed brutally, pushed over the edge by the relentless assault on their bodies and, most especially, on their taunt little titties. By this point, the creature's venom had done wonders to the little boys' testicles and, as each boy came for the second time in his life, his little prostate contracted and a few small jets of clear semen erupted from his otherwise totally immature genitalia. These weren't the geysers seen across the yard in the high school, but each boy did contain and fire off enough spunk to get some on himself and his neighbors. Eventually, after the tentacles had retreated and the boy's collective orgasms had subsided, they began to focus on what they perceived to be the two most glaring points of contention that needed to be discussed. First, did they all just pee on one another? (A debate that lasted several minutes and contained a lot of "Did not" and "did too" type arguments) Second, and surprisingly intuitive, was whether this thing was going to happen again. Indeed, when Matt Arroba first broke through the "pee" argument and asked "Are we finished, or are we going to go again?" each child paused to let the possibilities sink in. Not having any pre-conceived notions about sex and thus no frame of reference to tell them otherwise, it was soon decided after brief debate that yes, this thing was going to happen again. For several kids, the conclusion was based on the fear that they were trapped. For others, their support came because they kind of enjoyed the strange and overwhelming feelings. For the rest, herd mentality felt comfortable and once some of their classmates began to concede that this business was not finished, they quickly voiced their support for that train of thought. Just as the class seemed satisfied with their logical assumptions and began to steer the conversation towards the "so what do we do then?" step, their reprieve was over. Arousal and tentacles hit en mass and William Jespin, who was in the middle of a sentence, found himself unable to continue as a rather rude Sucker shoved its way into his mouth and began to suck persistently on his tongue. Not that William was complaining, mind you, because at that moment, his little cocklett had sprung to attention and was alight with passion, causing him to moan loudly. Very soon, puffy nipples were being teased, mouths were being violated, and arms, legs, backs, shoulders, toes, fingers, and tummies were being rubbed and petted. Additionally, the tentacles began to slowly and carefully pry each boy's legs apart so that their sex was obscenely on display. Tiny Prodders and Suckers coiled around hips of each boy and momentarily appraised virgin cockletts. Then, as one, they began to descend. Boys throughout the room were immediately jerked out of their pleasurable haze by the most intense feelings of their lives. Suckers slipped tightly over the hoods of boycocks and slithered down to the base while Prodders began to fondle each pair of boyballs. Then, without warning, the inside of each Sucker began to slide up and down their tiny poles, stroking them smoothly and quickly. For seven-year-old Derrick Smith, it was an absolute shock. Sure, he'd felt his legs open slightly while his tongue was wrestling with the thing in his mouth and those delicious things on this chest were torturously teasing his nipples. But at the moment, he'd thought nothing of it. Then, all of a sudden, warmth and tightness and slipperiness enveloped his hard boyhood and began to descend on it. At the same time, warm wet things began to rub vigorously his little scrotum and its precious cargo. When the thing finally seemed to be on his penis entirely, Derrick was jolted by a second shock as something inside it began to move up and down his rigid pole incredibly fast, sending bursts of lighting to his brain and leaving him utterly and totally dumb while living in a world made up completely of pleasure. Six-year-old Rory McNamara, his legs stretched apart and his hard boyhood available for the entire world to see, had no idea what was coming. Like Derrick and the rest of his class, he was floating in the pleasure being generated by his sensitive titties. Without warning, one of the things began to touch him down there and, as the pleasure of the Sucker engulfing his stiff sex, the first thought that passed through his head was a memory of his mommy talking about good touches and bad touches. When the sucker finally latched on, Rory's mind screamed "Bad Touch!" However, a heartbeat later, as the Sucker began to masturbate him furiously, his internal commentary changed to "Good Touch! Good Touch! Good Touch!" before his mind shut off completely and he swam in a sea of bliss. Sensing climax approaching in its prey, the creature redoubled the efforts of its Prodders and Suckers. Within seconds, the Prodders gently stroking boyballs began to rub furiously while the Suckers on the tiny boycocks began flying from base to tip and back at near imperceptible speed. Then, just as each child as about to cum for the third time in their lives, the Suckers molesting each boy sent a tiny Prodder deep down into his urethra. This intense shock, combined with the pleasure emanating in genitals and nipples, sent each boy past the point of no return. Screams were torn from throats as climaxes hit. With the assistance of the Suckers, the boys spunk, now thick and creamy and plentiful thanks to the creature's venom, flooded into all the glassy-eyed children's mouths and they swallowed it as greedily as they had swallowed their mothers milk only a few years earlier. Boys thrashed about in ecstasy, trying desperately to dislodge the offending tentacles but unable to escape the powerful crushing pleasure. Unfortunately for the worn and weary children, their post-orgasm reprieve was outrageously short. Only a minute after their latest climax seemed to subside and just as some of them began to think coherently, the mass arousal hit again like a tidal wave. For each and every one of them, it had seemed that they had just finished cumming when the tentacles, which had not left their body this time, began to speed up. Cries of anguish quickly became cries of lust as the boys, able, as children are, to adjust to situations better than adults, quickly capitulated to the onslaught of sexual assault and accepted that their tiny bodies desperately needed to be pleasured so as to calm the raging inferno of arousal that seemed their now constant companion. Shortly after their seventh climax of the day, the boy's got the surprise of a lifetime as their legs were spread even further and their tiny boyholes were put on display. Marty Halsom, the seven-year-olds eyes locked on Derrick Smith's backside only a few short feet from him, watched in horror as another one of the things began to creep across his buddy's butt. Though they appeared huge, the Prodders now seeking virgin assholes were in fact very thin and slick so as to cause no discomfort when entering their chosen victim. Feeling one traveling across his own cute tushy, he was about to cry out a warning when the Prodder on his rear found his tiny quivering hole and gave it a quick and friendly "hello." Marty squeaked, as did every other boy in the room. Suddenly, all the other Prodders and Suckers, having slowed down their own ministrations while the children rested, began to pick up speed. Marty moaned, his tiny half-hard cocklett springing to life and rigidity. At the same time, the Prodder at his hole gave a solid push and, despite Marty's best efforts, forced its way past his clenched bottom and began to slither up his boypussy. Marty was not alone. Within moments, every boy in the room had a Prodder embedded deep in his ass - his once virgin boypussy now wrapped tightly around the Prodder that was gently beginning to fuck him. And boy did it feel great! The long and graceful strokes of the Prodder sliding in and out of his ass sent waves of joy up each boy's spinal column and deep into his brain. Each boy felt the pleasure in his boycock merge with the new pleasure in his boypussy and his mind found bliss. The room was alive with the near constant moans of arousal and the "slap slap slap" of Prodders fucking assholes vigorously. With the intense pleasure in their genitals, asses, nipples, tongues, and seemingly everything else, the children quickly and efficiently were driven to their eighth orgasm of the day. Right before their loads were released, the tentacles holding the boys all shifted slightly and each boy found the angle of the Prodder relentlessly fucking him had changed so that his immature prostate was directly in its path. Ruthlessly, the Prodders sped up, brutally pounding each boys defenseless prostate. While the boy's had all wailed and writhed in pleasure during their previous orgasms, those reactions were was nothing compared to their reactions now. Every boy in the room screamed loudly, the sound seemingly not human in its intensity and pitch. They twisted and flailed and writhed under the assault, trying desperately to end the devastating pleasure that was drawing each and every one of them toward madness. They climaxed once, twice, three times in a row without recovery as the creature, lost in its own joyous pleasure, sawed it's Prodders furiously over the boy's ravaged prostates and its Suckers rapidly flew up and down their abused little boycocks. The helpless boys continuously shot their load, expelling so much cum that their balls were literally milked dry and their final climax looked like it should for a boy their age: completely dry. Sensing distress, the creature's awareness resurfaced and, realizing that the bodies of all its prey were making preparations to shut down, it quickly stopped its offensive. As the minutes ticked by and all the boys in Ms. Arnett's first-grade class got a well-deserved rest, they began to quietly discuss what was going on. Thanks to the venom being pumped exhaustively into the room, none were terrified and most were only slightly concerned. Still, while there was a certain desire for this experience to be over, the children had started to really enjoy the creature's manipulations and many of them eagerly hoped for another round. They got their wish. Some time later, as the six and seven-year-old boys were again overcome with insatiable arousal and the Prodders and Suckers began their work, the first-graders felt contented to submit themselves to this new and wonderful ride. Some, like Matt Arroba, even did so with a smile on their face. To be continued...