When Timothy woke up, he was lying on a cold, metal surface. He could feel that it was cold because he was completely naked. This was odd, because he could not remember going to bed naked; usually he slept in boxers. The last thing he remembered was sliding between his bedsheets. And this definitely wasn't his bedroom, anyway. Where was he?
The room was blindingly bright white, so much so that it hurt Timothy to open his eyes. He felt woozy, uncertain of what was going on. Confused, he reached out and felt around him with his hands, coming quickly to the edge of the surface on which he rested. From the feel of it, it seemed as though he rested on an operating table of some kind. He tried to sit up, wondering if he'd been in an accident of some kind, only to find that he was somehow restrained. He couldn't feel any ropes or straps binding him down, but when he attempted to sit up more than an inch or two, a strong force held him down.
Feeling the beginnings of panic, Timothy squinted once again into the brightness. He could make out dim forms now, swimming in and out of his vision. His strained retinas protested and he closed his eyes once more. He could hear something too, now. Not quite music, but a series of tones. There was no order to the set of pitches. Some were high, some were low, some short, some long. It could almost be a disjointed melody of some kind, except for the small, pointed pause after each note. Timothy shook his head, a grunt of pain and fear escaping him. The musical tones paused for a moment, and then suddenly reappeared closer.
Startled, Timothy attempted to open his eyes once more. They had adjusted a little further, and the sight they revealed would have made Timothy leap into the air, had he not been restrained.
The being at the foot of the operating table was not even remotely human. It resembled nothing so much as a giant translucent amoeba. It had no discernible face or facial features, appearing as little more than a giant, vaguely oblong shape. Around its midsection were an array of thin, tentacle-like appendages, uneven in size, and loosely gathered in four clumps, two higher and towards the creature's sides, and two lower and towards the center. The creature had a slightly greenish tint to it, and spots, which were slightly less transparent than its base color, but Timothy was certain he could see through it. He was certain because on the other side of the creature was another table, by the look of it identical to the one on which he was lying, and resting on it, another man. Timothy swung his head around as much as his strange restraints would let him; everywhere he looked he saw more men lying on tables, and here and there between them roamed more of the large, amorphous creatures. They must be at least seven feet tall, Timothy guessed. It was difficult to judge while he was lying down, and they shifted when they moved, so that their bodies bunched and bobbed.
The creature at the base of his table moved forward slightly, and Timothy squirmed, trying to wrench himself away. Again, his limbs froze when he tried to move them more than an inch or two beyond their resting places. There was little he could do other than writhe in terror as one of the clumps of tentacles was extended towards him, brushing over the top of his naked thigh.
He expected the creature's skin to be slimy, but it was not. It gave slightly under the pressure of his flesh, but the surface was firm, much like a plastic bag filled with water. The tentacles slithered over his thigh until they brushed against his limp cock, waking it from its slumber. Timothy gasped in unexpected sensation.
Several of the tentacles in the clump - Timothy judged that the clump itself was made up of about eight of the narrow appendages - separated from the mass and writhed over Timothy's genitals, fondling them in a way he'd never before experienced. The others delved down behind his balls and pressed against the ring of his anus. Timothy had only a second to gasp and brace himself before the limbs were thrust abruptly inside of him, wriggling around and pushing against his inner walls, shoving and filling him full to the brim, full to pain, so full that he screamed at the feel of it, but they were relentless, pushing forward and forward as though seeking something.
And then they found it. Timothy's entire body spasmed as the tentacles came into contact with his prostate. The creature seemed to notice this, as the group of tentacles stopped acting as a squirming, writhing mess inside him, and turned suddenly into a concerted force, jabbing into his prostate over and over until Timothy saw stars behind his desperately closed eyelids.
The penetration was painful, but the pleasure from his genitals and the repeated stimulation of his prostate was overwhelming. Soon the obscene pain of his wrenched-open anal muscles began to fade into a light sting, as the waves of sensation crested higher and higher inside him. It didn't take him long at all to come, his entire body shaking with a roaring mixture of pleasure and pain and shame and glory.
When he could breathe again, Timothy opened his eyes, wincing as the tentacles slithered out of his anus, which was now very sore indeed from the pounding he had taken. His eyes were drawn to a golden ball of light, hovering at the tip of his penis, even as his member began to sag and droop once more. Like the creatures themselves, the ball of light was translucent, and Timothy could see a pale liquid sloshing around the bottom. His cum. The creature that had so recently tormented Timothy began to move away, and the ball of light rose into the air and floated gently after it. Timothy stared in fascination, but not for long as the adrenaline in his system quickly drained from his body, and he passed out.
He was not sure how much time had passed when he next awoke - all he knew was searing pain as a familiar sensation pushed against his already raw anus. He tried to struggle, but the tentacles were relentless. They worked their way inside without hesitation, and he was once again subjected to their writhing and flailing against his insides as they searched out his prostate. The tentacles on his genitalia were less distracting this time around, as the pain in his anus was sharper. But once again, when the creature found his prostate and began to batter against it, the other tentacles licking and tickling and stroking at his penis, he was helpless under the onslaught of the pleasure and came hard into the little golden sphere.
As the creature left him, Timothy decided that it was different from the first one. This one was slightly more blue than green, its tentacles a little less even. The tentacles of all the creatures were grouped vaguely symmetrical clumps, but this one's tentacles were slightly more asymmetrical than most of the others.
He did his best to analyze his surroundings, to quell the screaming panic that threatened to overwhelm his mind. What were these things? Where was he? Could they be aliens? There seemed no other reasonable explanation. More frightening still, what were they going to do with him? He didn't want to think about the answer.
Timothy quickly lost track of time. Sometimes he slept, more often he passed out. Periodically he would be visited by the creatures and their ministrations. By the fourth time, he could feel his anus bleeding from where the constant invasion had torn it open, but the routine did not change. Far less frequently, a sort of thin grey gruel was poured down his throat, doing little to alleviate the furious hungered growling of his stomach. But, quicker than he liked, he became used to it.
At first he tried to communicate with the other men he could see around him. But he learned quickly that this was a bad idea. If the creatures noticed that he was awake and energetic enough to talk, they came quickly to his side and he was subjected once again to the hideous milking, tentacles writhing about inside him. So he descended into a nearly comatose state, barely thinking, eating when fed, cognizant only of the waves of pain eclipsed by briefer and briefer flashes of pleasure, only to dissipate once again into pain when the creatures left him and he became once again aware of his injuries.
Timothy had no way of knowing how long he'd been the captive of these creatures. Days? Weeks? Perhaps even months? Any choice seemed just as likely as the others. However long he'd been here, he didn't think he could survive as long again without finally giving in to the pain and hunger and just dying where he lay.
The creatures visited him twice in quick succession after this thought, and as he lay panting afterward, bleeding and violated on the table, he thought that if they came to him again, it would be the last time, and it would certainly kill him.
It was shortly after thereafter that their rescuers arrived.