A Tentacle Temptation
Copyright© 2026 by Snowman
Chapter 2
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Sisters Jill and Sarah discover a new esoteric shop in their neighborhood that sells a variety of unusual items, including a small, almost magical tentacle monster designed to give women sexual pleasure. Sarah is immediately drawn to the creatures and convinces Jill, who is hesitant, to buy one as well. The sisters return home and bond with their new companions, experiencing an intense and unexpected connection that awakens deep, primal desires within them.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Consensual Lesbian Fiction Science Fiction Aliens Incest Sister Light Bond Exhibitionism Masturbation Squirting Voyeurism AI Generated
Sarah clutched her wooden box to her chest, her knuckles white. The creature inside—her creature—seemed to radiate a warmth through the polished wood that seeped into her skin, a low, persistent hum that echoed the frantic beat of her heart. The bonding ritual in the living room had left her body feeling electric, hypersensitive. Every brush of her cotton shirt against her nipples felt like a deliberate caress. The air itself felt charged, thick with the scent of their shared anticipation and the strange, petrichor-like smell of the symbionts.
“I can’t wait,” Sarah breathed, her voice a hushed, excited rasp. Her green eyes were wide, the pupils blown dark. “I have to ... I have to see.”
Jill stood rooted to the spot, her own box held loosely in one hand. The arm where her symbiont had wrapped itself still tingled, a phantom echo of that cool, silken touch. “Sarah, maybe we should ... I don’t know. Read the instructions first? All of them?”
But Sarah was already moving, a whirlwind of red hair and nervous energy. “We did the important part! It’s bonded. It wants me. I can feel it.” She shot Jill a look over her shoulder, her expression a mixture of wild excitement and something deeper, more intimate. “Don’t you feel it, too? That ... that pull?”
Jill did. It was a low thrum in her lower belly, a gentle, insistent pressure that made her thighs press together. It was an ache that was both foreign and deeply, personally familiar. It was want, but a want shaped by an alien intelligence. She gave a tiny, jerky nod.
Sarah’s face lit up. “Then I’ll see you after! We’ll compare notes!” And with that, she practically sprinted down the short hallway to her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the suddenly silent apartment.
Jill let out a long, shaky breath. The silence was oppressive, ringing in her ears. She looked down at the box in her hand. The wood was smooth, almost warm. The hum was not just in her arm now; it seemed to resonate in her very bones, a quiet, waiting frequency. Her small breasts felt heavy, the peaks tight and straining against her bra. The junction between her legs felt swollen, sensitive, the trimmed red curls there damp with a slickness that had nothing to do with her own thoughts and everything to do with the living thing in the box.
No, she thought, setting her jaw. She was the older sister. The sensible one. Well, the more sensible one. She wouldn’t just jump into this like Sarah. She needed ... control. Context. She carried the box to her own room, her steps deliberate.
Her bedroom was a sanctuary of order compared to Sarah’s cheerful chaos. Books were neatly stacked, clothes hung or folded. She placed the ornate box on her nightstand, as far from the bed as possible. She sat on the edge of her mattress, hands in her lap, and tried to breathe. She just needed a minute. To think. To let the strange, heady feeling from the bonding fade to something manageable.
The wall separating her room from Sarah’s was thin. Old building. They’d shared whispers and secrets through it for years. Now, it felt like the flimsiest of barriers.
For a few minutes, there was only silence. Then, a soft, rustling sound. The distinct shush of fabric—jeans being shimmied off, maybe. Jill’s breath hitched. She shouldn’t listen. This was private. Sarah deserved her privacy.
A soft, muffled thump. Something—the box?—being placed on a wooden surface. Then, a sharp, sudden intake of breath from the other side of the wall.
“Ah!”
It wasn’t a sound of pain. It was a sound of pure, startled sensation. A gasp punched out from a place of deep surprise.
Jill went utterly still. Her own body clenched in sympathetic response.
Then, a low, trembling moan seeped through the plaster. “Oooooh...” It was long, drawn out, saturated with a pleasure so rich it was almost painful to hear. Jill’s hand flew to her own mouth, stifling a sound she didn’t even know she was making. Her free hand pressed flat against the wall, as if she could feel the vibrations of her sister’s bliss.
She heard the soft creak of bedsprings. A rhythmic, gentle shifting. Sarah’s breathing became audible—short, sharp pants that grew increasingly unsteady. “Nnngh ... yes ... there...” Sarah’s voice was a broken whisper, but it carried through with crystalline clarity. There was a wet, slick sound, subtle but unmistakable, followed by a choked-off cry.
Jill’s eyes were wide, fixed on the blank wall. Her own skin was on fire. The tingling in her arm had spread, becoming a full-body awareness. Her nipples were hard, aching points rubbing against the lace of her bra. Between her legs, the dampness had intensified, a warm, slick heat that soaked through her panties. She could smell her own arousal, a sweet, musky scent that filled her nose. She was listening to her little sister discover a pleasure so profound it stole her words, and it was making her throb.
The sounds from next door took on a new rhythm. A soft, rhythmic slithering noise, accompanied by wet, intimate schlicks and pops. The bedsprings began a faster, more urgent song. Sarah’s vocalizations lost all form, becoming a continuous stream of breathy whimpers, sharp gasps, and fragmented pleas. “Oh god ... oh ... right there ... don’t stop ... please...”
Jill’s hand, still pressed against the wall, slid down. Her fingers trembled. She should leave. She should go to the kitchen, make tea, anything. But her feet were rooted. Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending tuned to the symphony of ecstasy coming from Sarah’s room.
She imagined it. She couldn’t help it. Her mind, fueled by the bonding and the explicit sounds, painted a vivid, devastating picture. Sarah, on her back, her red hair fanned out on her pillow. Her full, 36C breasts, those soft mounds with their pale pink nipples, bare and trembling with each movement. Her thighs, spread wide. And between them ... the creature. The indigo, iridescent form nestled against her, its tendrils in motion. Some coiled around Sarah’s thighs, holding her open. Others, those slender, questing appendages with their flower-like tips, would be exploring, delving into the slick, pink folds of Sarah’s pussy. Jill’s mind supplied the details: the puffy, swollen outer lips, glistening with Sarah’s juices and the creature’s own natural lubricant. The inner lips, a darker rose, parting eagerly. The tiny, flushed bud of her clitoris, swollen and peeking out from its hood, being traced and circled by a tendril tip finer than a human tongue.
“Fuck! Fuck, yes!” Sarah’s cry was sudden, loud, ripped from her throat. The bed slammed against the wall with a solid thump.
Jill jumped, her own hips jerking involuntarily. A fresh surge of wetness coated her inner thighs. She was panting now, her breath coming in shallow, silent gasps. She pressed her thighs together tightly, creating a delicious, desperate pressure on her own aching clit. It wasn’t enough. It was a mockery of what Sarah was experiencing.
The wet sounds intensified, becoming faster, messier. The slithering was a frantic pulse. Sarah was sobbing now, but they were sobs of unbearable pleasure. “I’m ... I’m gonna ... it’s ... OH MY GOD!”
The climax, when it came, was seismic.
A raw, wordless scream tore through the wall, so loud and full-throated it was shocking. It was followed by a guttural, shaking series of cries, each one punctuated by the violent sound of the bedframe rattling. Jill heard Sarah’s body thrashing, the headboard pounding a frantic rhythm against the plaster. A high, keening wail climbed and climbed, then broke into a cascade of shuddering moans that slowly, gradually, subsided into heavy, wrecked breathing.
Silence.
A deep, profound, post-orgasmic silence. Broken only by Sarah’s exhausted, happy sigh, so content it was a physical sound.
“Wow...” Sarah murmured, her voice hoarse and satiated. “Just ... wow.”
Jill realized she was squeezing her own breasts through her shirt, her fingers pinching her nipples hard. She let go, her hands shaking. Her whole body was trembling. The front of her panties was soaked, a cool, damp patch against her heated skin. The empty, aching need inside her was a yawning chasm. It was more than physical arousal now. It was a deep, psychic hunger, amplified by the bond she’d formed and the explicit, audible proof of its potential. Sarah had just been taken apart and reassembled by a living being of pure pleasure, and Jill had been forced to listen to every second of it, alone and untouched.
She looked at the box on her nightstand.
It seemed to pulse. The warm hum from within had grown stronger, more insistent. It was no longer just a sensation; it was a call. A response. It had felt Sarah’s explosive release through the wall, through the very bond they shared, and it was answering. Her creature was stirring, awakened by the echo of her sister’s ecstasy and Jill’s own rampant, denied desire.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Jill stood up. Her legs felt weak. She walked to the nightstand. The wood of the box was hot to the touch now. She lifted the lid.
The creature within was transformed.
In the shop, it had been beautiful, alien, passive. Now, it was vibrant, alert. Its indigo body glowed with a deep, internal amethyst light that pulsed in a rapid, eager rhythm. Its tendrils were no longer lying still; they were undulating slowly, sinuously, each one moving with a liquid, hypnotic grace. The primary tendrils were thick at the base, tapering to delicate, questing tips. Smaller, thread-like filaments waved around them, sensing the air, sensing her. The central nexus, where her blood had fallen, was a dark, lustrous violet, seeming to drink the light from the room.
It was waiting for her.
All her resistance, her caution, her feigned disinterest, evaporated like mist under a hot sun. It was burned away by the memory of Sarah’s screams, by the throbbing emptiness between her own legs, by the sheer, overwhelming curiosity that had been her true self all along.
“Okay,” she whispered to the creature, to herself. Her voice was rough, unused. “Okay. Show me.”
She didn’t bother with ceremony. Her fingers went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. Her small, A-cup breasts spilled free, the pale skin dotted with copper freckles across the upper curves. Her nipples were a deep, dusky pink, hard and pointed, standing out starkly against the soft mounds. She unsnapped her jeans, shoved them and her damp panties down her hips in one movement, kicking them aside. She stood naked before the open box, her body bathed in the faint purple glow emanating from within.