The boy who had taken the white colt and fled into the magical woods does not hear the monsters approach the little clearing in which he dozes. Sleep has only taken the lanky teen deeper into night and all around him, the Forest and its enchantments wake up. He rolls on his side and draws a knee up and his breaths grow slower still and sough in rythym with the wind in the trees. His clear naked skin reflects the light from the moon and the embers of his little fire and seems to glow. He doesn't sleep nude at home, but this place is not his farmhouse and the soft mosses where he lay are not his old narrow bed. The sounds of the Forest click and burble and coo around him and the boy dreams. Some of the things who make these sounds creep and slide and slither closer in.
He's a tall rangy boy with long legs and large feet that plow through water like paddles. Despite his growth below the waist, he's a trim lad with straight brown hair that bleaches at the ends in summer and flops down his smooth forehead nearly to his eyes. He used to have freckles but those have mostly faded just as the first skim of hairs have begun to cover his calves and feather under his arms and between his legs.
The Netherbeasts get to him first. They are mostly human-shaped, save for thickly tentacled arms ending in wriggling masses of smaller, wormy looking fingers. Eel-like tentacles surround their mouths, dangle where lips would be and provide a fringe for swollen fleshy tongues that dart and taste the air. When they come upon the boy at last, they charge forward and fall upon him before he has time to wake.
He is pinned on his back, his arms restrained fast and pulled taut over his head, his ankles gripped and legs stretched; the gangling teenage boy twists and braids his body over the ground and hollers. His pony is beset upon as well, the pack of monsters crowding him and lacing their tentacle arms around to confine the animal. The young stallion flags its head and attempts to rear, but the monsters grip his legs and flanks and hold him securely. Their lubricious appendages fasten to his flanks and whorl down his barrel, exploring his contours and muscled dimensions, sliding into the crevices between his legs. They pay little attention to the stallion's twitches and flutters, his whinnies and snorts. Tips of tendril-like digits massage the heavy smoothness of the colt's massive balls and probe the sheath guarding his penis; they bore inside and grip the spongy head and draw it slowly out.
The monsters cover the prone boy with their tentacled limbs – touching and feeling and sliding and grasping. The boy's naked skin: arms and legs, flat stomach and nearly flat chest soon sparkle with dew. The tentacle arms are pliant and move so freely they seem almost to ooze, there doesn't seem to be any bones to them but they are fantastically strong. And they are covered in suckers – tiny, sensitive dextrous cups that both caress and probe. The suckers and the arms they cover coil around the boy's limbs, slither across the corrugations of his ribcage, glide down the slope of his tightly drawn belly. The beasts lean in close and lick the boy which renews his frantic squirming; the lad's stringy muscles tense and flex. They lick and grope over his whole body, but leave his face alone.
One monster delicately licks the pale sack between his legs and drags its slippery tongue up the length of his penis, which trembles – or perhaps that's the boy. Maybe the monster enjoys the taste, maybe it doesn't want to share this part of the boy with the others, so it licks again. And again, and still again and keeps licking. The boy's penis wobbles in air and flops on his abdomen. But the boy's struggles falter and even though he wasn't meaning for it to happen, even though he's stopped resisting and is just waiting for the monsters to be done with him, his penis extends and hardens.
The monster continues licking, in fact it starts licking even faster. It wants to see how much longer this peculiar part of the young human will get, and how stiff. One of the other monsters brushes its hand over the boy's organ, the shaft flexes to meet it, two of the digits from the hand pinch around the root and pull. The boy gulps air at both the jolt of stimulation this induces and the apprehension of having monsters licking and stroking his erect penis. He cranes his head forward to watch – the stroking beast has cupped his ballsac and is kneading it with its fingertips. The monster who is licking pauses sometimes to look at the teen – its fathomless black eyes look deeply into the boy's face then back at the penis which glistens and throbs over the clenched muscles of his abdomen. Then it lowers and keeps licking. It begins to dawn on the boy that he might not be eaten alive this night -- or at least, not in the way of monsters who usually eat children.
The boy grunts and pants, his breath catches and expels in sharp gasps. The space between his eyes creases into deep lines and his head bends forward, his eyes screw tightly shut. His penis stiffens so that it becomes like cordwood, tensing and springing, the glans is flared and pink. A single strand of clear fluid seeps from the opening and is licked away in the relentless bath. He knows what this is building toward, the question of whether the monsters know sparks in his brain and is snuffed in an instant as a tongue brushes over the circumsized head and slit, twirls at the ridge, and pulls down. His thighs and buttocks are clinching and releasing, instinctively he pushes himself off the ground and relaxes back down, little thrusts in the air.
His cheeks balloon and the breath he's been holding ejects in a loud puff. His ejaculation begins with a burst of a dozen watery drops across his stomach, then a thick forked stream of semen that splatters up to his chest. The teen's stomach has gone rigid, spurts of cream continue to jet -- three, four, five more squirts -- his head arches back, his grunts become snarls. The monsters are in a frenzy, lapping up the ejacualate from his torso, cleaning the dribble from his penis, polishing around the head, sending the boy into a frenzy too.
The boy's orgasm has run down, but the monsters continue to lick. The teenager writhes and moans louder, his pelvis corkscrews back and forth, sharp hip bones protruding. Two monsters bear the boy's waist to the ground and lick at his sides. The teen's erection is trying to subside but the persistent intensity of the beasts' lapping prevents it. At fifteen, a boy's penis is especially sensitive but the monsters don't know that (or maybe they do). Right now, the boy is their prey, captive, and he's beginning to apprehend that now that they've enjoyed a taste of him, of what they've made spurt forth, they simply want more.
A pleading squeal – his voice cracks in the midst of it – one of the monsters has begun to twist its tongue around the glans of his penis as if opening a bottle. Between his legs, another monster has positioned the firm tip of a tentacle against the soft knot just at the base of his balls and presses – holding and releasing like a button. When the skinny hairless human was shooting his strings of cream in the air, the clever monster had observed how that part had pulsed and wondered if its actions now could induce a fresh flow of milk.
The teen's face is dewy with perspiration, his breaths come in ragged pants and quivers; his forced erection has been pushed past the awful oversensitive phase and become acutely receptive to proper stimulation again. As he settles, the monsters lick ever more puposefully. Quite on their own, his hips rock up and down, the pale pouch of his ballsac bounces with the motion and is licked in return. His penis fully rigid and flexing inside the loops of squirming tongues, that familiar pressure builds. His hands ball into fists, his forehead furrows, his eyes close tightly again. He gulps in air and holds it, his mouth agape. A thick line of semen, still as richly white as before, fires from the tip and is stopped only by his chin, it lands as a chopped rope from belly to throat. His breath expels in a cough, runnels of cream flow continuously from the reddened penis cap and form a glistening pool in his naval; the boy bucks his hips and thrusts into the morass of whirling tongues. His second ejaculation concludes and the monsters carry on licking.
His penis remains completely solid for a minute or two more, as they do for boys with endurance, even after two consecutive orgasms. The teen begins to regain his bearings again, sounds around him no longer crowded to the periphery by gasping breaths and straining muscles. Nearby, his colt whinnies and snorts, the monsters are crouched beneath the horse, their tentacles and manipulative tongues coiling and seething across the length of the young stallion's intensely rigid penis.
The boy gets his second opportunity to examine his horse's maleness. The colt's erection is as thick around as the boy's wrist and much longer than his arm, fleshy colored with mottles of dark, like calico. The head of the organ has expanded at this stage of the stallion's arousal, it resembles the cap on the teen's own penis in a basic way, but is much wider and flatter. The boy is settling after his last orgasm, his breathing quieting even though the monsters continue grazing over his twitching organ; he watches wide-eyed as his horse is spun closer to its own climax. The monsters have formed a shaft of constantly writhing feelers, every inch of the stallion's penis flickers between the visible and the obscured. The charcoal surface of his pendulous ballsac churns with strokes and delicate laps. The horse commences thrusting his hips, glutinous strands of pasty fluid spit from the tip and sprinkle across the ground, as much as the boy produces in a single heavy spurt.
Two of the monsters compete for access to the penis crown, tentacles tighten around the shaft behind the head, frenetic tongues whip across the gaped duct. The excited colt grumbles deep, his neck and tail lash the air; the young stallion ejaculates. Surges of silvery cum, exploding streams of milk that gush as torrents, soak the fantastical creatures who had believed they might harvest the pony's abundant cream as they had the adolescent human. The boy, watching, gasps again, but this time not due to the intensity of any stimulation visted upon him.
The Forest floor beneath the shuddering horse is drenched in slimy puddles of cream. The animal's penis has already flagged, its shrinking length swings between his hind legs and proceeds reeling back into the sheath. The monsters pay it little attention in their eagerness to sop up what has been sprayed upon the mosses and leaves.
The boy's own penis is tortured into persistent firmness even though an ache has grown in the root of the organ and deep inside the compact pouch of his balls. His head has sloped back, his chest and stomach clench and billow, his knobby knees try to draw up despite the monsters' restraint. The creatures lick while the teenager eventually stills. After many minutes of this the boy has lost track, his eyes half-lidded, his respiration moderated, he barely anticipates the inevitable climax. His third ejacualtion arrives with a sigh, mere dribbles of anemic ooze, nearly transparent. The monsters clean them away but begin to realize they have drained this well. Several peel away from the youngster, his legs are released, one of his arms, then the other. The boy makes a sound that is between a moan and a whimper and curls on his side; one avaricious beast still has the teen's penis clasped in its sucker-cupped digits, but the organ has dwindled and no amount of further stimulation will make it rigid again. The boy does not care to try to make his escape, he knows he will not get far. Exhausted beyond any endless run or long summer swim he has taken, the lad passes out. The monster remains, still gripping the boy's limpid penis, considering perhaps that it need only wait long enough for the milk spurter to sprout again.