Sometimes skirts simply do NOT do their job

The pill that’s making you maybe a little malleable, a little more likely to want to splay your thighs open for his touch, to buck up into it maybe.

You whimper and clench your thighs in protest of that thought. He laughs. You both know you’ll give in before too long.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll be there soon, I just need to pick up a few more friends first.”

You wonder if the friends are related to the barely-used packets of zip ties and seatbelt jammers. Or maybe to the pill that was fed down your throat before the glue.

It’s useless. They glance your way and back again, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

You don’t realise you’re whimpering until the driver reaches over, his hand rubbing from your inner thigh over your crotch.

You can moan, but that’s about the extent of it. Your tongue is glued to the roof of your mouth; nothing intelligible is getting past your lips.

Squirming a bit in your seat, you try to make eye contact with someone in the car next to you at a red light.

Tight enough to keep you sitting upright, the ideal passenger.

Oh yeah, two zip ties, a seatbelt jammer, and glue. Glue between your lips fhat keeps your mouth locked closed. Anybody glancing at you on the road would be none the wiser.

That little piece of plastic stuck in the seatbelt lock keeps you from being able to reach around and take it off, but even worse, the belt had been tugged all the out, until the safety feature turned on, the click-click-click as it tightened back into place. It’s unyielding—

Omg 😳 in the most normal way I’m very much a big fan 🙇‍♀️

Arms and legs encased in coils of tight, pulsating tentacles, you can do little more than squirm, mute and deaf to the world as the tingling sensation overtakes your body and renders your mind a useless mush of desire.

Desire that the tentacles will happily fill. You are their experiment after all.

You do start to squirm a bit when one snakes down your crack and, without fanfare, enters your hole. It’s not too thick at the end, a mercy, but it grows thicker as it goes, the slime the only mercy as it fucks up into you.

Your broken moans are lost to the tentacle down your throat—

It’s not long — or maybe it is — before you’re sucking down the tentacle greedily, needing it like you need air. Your body is lax, succumbing to the writhing mass that tightens it’s grip around your limbs. Two smaller ones tickle at your ear canals before plunging in, rendering you deaf—

You moan inadvertently, your bloodstream feels tingly, all of u starts to feel tingly. A tentacle cuts off your moan and dives deep down your throat, despite your weak protests. It’s pulsing and heavy on your tongue, and that same tingly feeling begins in the back of your mouth—

If you could just get to the emergency button under the desk— but the floor is covered in water and broken glass, and when you twist toward the desk you feel shards cut into your palms.

Another tentacle captures your hands, slime seeping into the cuts and — oh. That feels GOOD—