Capture by a tentacle girl

[Warning: This contains Futa content!]

Tatsumaki got into a unexpected situation as she was restrained with tentacles by a tentacle monster girl.

You see Tatsumaki was sent to deal with a tentacle monster at downtown, the reason is not that the monster was powerful or extremely dangerous as the monster is tiger level at best, but Tatsumaki was bored having nothing else, so she take a upon herself to deal the monster herself and she doesn't take it seriously.

When Tatsumaki arrives at the location, she started searching for the monster until the monster ambushes her by wrapping their tentacles around Tatsumaki’s limbs and restraining her.

Tatsumaki was surprised that the monster had sneaked attack, but she was not impressed at all, so she believed that the tentacles monster is not strong enough to restrain her for long.

“Cute, but unfortunately I going to turn into sushi!” Tatsumaki said as the esper hero trying to use her psychic power, but nothing happens.

“What the?! What is going on!?” She tried again and again to use her psychic power, but nothing happens at all, if her psychic power just disappeared. Then the tentacles monster girl started laughing.

“Hahaha! Silly girl, if you knew about my special power you shouldn’t let your guard down as my tentacles can drain any energy!” The tentacles girl said to her.

Tatsumaki’s eyes widened as she finally noticed that glowing green pulse flowing through the tentacles going from her body into the tentacles monster girl body as ot was true that the tentacles was draining when it grabbed her.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tatsumaki muttered, though the usual venom in her voice was replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed curiosity. She tries to gave a psyhic tug against the suction cups gripping her wrists, but the very concept of 'effort' was being siphoned out of her body. Each time she tried to flare her aura, the green pulse in the tentacles surged with a hungry, rhythmic intensity, humming against her skin like a low-voltage current.

Tatsumaki had short stature as she always lack physical strength, so Tatsumaki always along on her psychic powers to overpowered everything in her way as she is the strongest esper, but because the tentacles is siphoning on her powers, Tatsumaki is practically just human with no powers at all at the tentacles monster mercy.

“Hahaha! How the might had fallen! How it feel to be defeated by a lowly monster like me?” The tentacle monster girl mocked the the rank 2 hero as Tatsumaki couldn’t do anything. The monster girl’s tentacles tighten around the hero's limbs, making her feel as if she was being squeezed by giant rubber bands.

“Hmm… when I get off of this, I will turned you into sushi and feed it to the street cats,” Tatsumaki replied, though the threat lacked its usual seismic intensity. She stopped fighting for a moment, letting her body go limp. She noticed that the harder she pushed against the restraints, the faster the green pulses traveled as Tatsumaki barley feel her psychic powers anymore.

“Oh, how cute! The little girl is threatening me despite being suspended in the air by my tentacles?” She mocked Tatsumaki’s threats as she knew that Tatsumaki couldn’t do anything if she want to and no people will rescue since Tatsumaki do things on her own and never ask for help for anything. Practically, they are isolated at the dead side of town.

“You know, for a ‘mighty hero,’ you’re surprisingly light,” the monster girl mused, her voice dropping an octave as she began to circle her captive. She drifted closer, her large, iridescent eyes scanning Tatsumaki with a predatory curiosity that had nothing to do with combat. As she shifted her angle, a subtle, unfamiliar silhouette caught her eye—a small, firm bulge pressing against the fabric of the black dress, situated exactly where there shouldn’t have been one.

"Wait a second," the monster girl whispered, her predatory focus shifting entirely. She drifted in a slow, hypnotic circle, her gaze locked on the unnatural line of the black fabric. The curiosity that had been mere amusement moments ago sharpened into something more intense. With a fluid, almost lazy motion, one of her free tentacles snaked forward. It didn't strike with the force of a weapon; instead, it moved with the precision of a fingertip, hooking into the hem of Tatsumaki’s dress.

"Hold on," the monster girl murmured, the mockery in her voice replaced by a genuine, puzzling intrigue. She had expected the typical vulnerabilities of a human—fear, desperation, perhaps a hidden weapon—but the silhouette beneath the black fabric defied her internal anatomy textbook. The tentacle didn't just brush the hem; it snagged the fabric with a calculated flick, mirroring the way a curious child might lift a curtain to see what was hiding behind it.

The tentacle didn't just lift the fabric; it peeled it back with a slow, deliberate curiosity that made the air between them feel suddenly thick. The monster girl leaned in, her iridescent eyes widening as the black material retreated, revealing a startlingly bare expanse of skin. There was no lace, no silk, no modesty to be found—Tatsumaki was wearing nothing beneath her dress. But it wasn't the lack of undergarments that caused the monster girl to let out a soft, audible gasp of surprise.

As the dress was hoisted higher, the source of the mysterious bulge became clear. Nestled against the curve of her thighs was a slender, well-formed member, though it wasn't hanging free. In a feat of surprising physical discipline and commitment to a silhouette, the organ had been pulled firmly backward and tucked securely into the crease of her posterior, held in place by the natural tension of her body and the tight fit of her attire.

Tatsumaki froze, her face flushing a deep, vivid crimson that rivaled the color of her dress. For a moment, the power struggle was forgotten, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like it had its own gravitational pull. The "Tornado of Terror" looked less like a world-ending force and more like a startled kitten caught in a rainstorm, her eyes darting around the desolate street as if hoping a sudden building collapse might provide a timely distraction.

“Well, well, well, the Tornado of Terror had a cock! I guess that is the reason why nobody was unable to see what under your dress because you use your psychic powers make your dress hide your body?” The monster girl’s voice had lost its edge of malice, replaced by an almost giddy fascination. She didn't release the fabric; instead, she held the dress aloft like a prized trophy, her gaze scanning the intricate way Tatsumaki had tucked herself away. It was a mechanical curiosity, the way a biologist might look at a strange new species, wondering how something so small could be so carefully packaged.

“Stop looking! Put it back!” Tatsumaki snapped, her voice cracking in a way that betrayed her utter lack of composure. But the monster girl was far beyond the point of listening to commands. To her, this was no longer a battle for dominance, but a puzzle that demanded a solution. With a mischievous glint in her iridescent eyes, she signaled a free tentacle to dive beneath the fabric, the slick, muscular appendage sliding with precision toward the small of Tatsumaki’s back.

The sensation was jarring—a cold, wet pressure that hooked firmly around the tucked member. With a singular, fluid motion, the tentacle yanked backward, effectively 'unclogging' the tight space between Tatsumaki's glutes. The release was instantaneous and dramatic; freed from the oppressive compression of her dress and her own physical discipline, the organ sprang forward with an almost elastic velocity. It didn't just emerge; it unfurled, stretching out with an improbable length that seemed to defy the laws of human anatomy.

When Tatsumaki’s cock sprang forward, it revealed that her cock was thick as soda can and long at sixteen inches. The release was so violent that the tip almost flicked the monster girl's chin, bouncing with a heavy, meaty momentum that seemed physically impossible for someone of Tatsumaki's diminutive frame. It was a jarring contrast—the petite, waifish build of the S-Class hero paired with a member that looked more like a piece of biological architecture than a human organ. The sheer mass of it, now fully liberated from the suffocating grip of her dress and the tight valley of her posterior, pulsed with a sudden, rushing bloodflow that made it throb against the air.

“Well that is interesting, I knew that you have big ass for someone with small stature like your, but that you have a huge fat cock too?” the monster girl mused, her voice now dripping with a genuine, almost scientific appreciation. She didn't let go; instead, she let the sixteen-inch length drape across her tentacle, feeling the surprising weight of it. It was an anatomical anomaly that defied every proportion of Tatsumaki’s petite frame. The sheer mass of the organ, thick and pulsing, seemed to anchor the hero in place more effectively than the restraints on her limbs ever could.

“Don’t you dare!” Tatsumaki shrieked, though the command was undercut by the way her breath hitched. The monster girl didn't listen; instead, she let out a humming sound of approval, her iridescent eyes shimmering with a playful, predatory hunger. She began to coil two of her thinner, more agile tentacles around the shaft, the slick, cool surface of the appendages contrasting sharply with the searing heat of Tatsumaki’s skin. The grip was firm but not crushing, wrapping in a spiral that mirrored the way a vine claims a trellis, claiming every inch of the thick, pulsing length until it was completely encased in a glistening, rubbery sheath.

The first movement was slow—a tentative, experimental slide from the base up to the crown. Tatsumaki’s back arched instinctively, her toes curling in mid-air as a jolt of raw, physical sensation shot through her. It was an alien feeling; for years, she had existed in a world where her mind did everything, where the physical realm was something she simply pushed aside. Now, stripped of her psychic shield and physically exposed, every nerve ending was firing at maximum capacity. The monster girl noticed the reaction and let out a giggle, increasing the pace. The tentacles began to move in a rhythmic, undulating motion, the suction cups creating tiny, vacuum-like tugs against the skin that sent waves of electricity crashing through Tatsumaki’s core.

As the friction built, the monster girl drifted closer, her face inches away from the throbbing tip. She didn't just want to watch; she wanted to taste the reaction. With a sudden, fluid motion, she leaned in and flicked her tongue across the slit. It was a precise, wet stroke that elicited a strangled gasp from the hero. The monster girl lingered there, her tongue swirling with a slow, deliberate curiosity, tasting the salty sweetness of the pre-cum that had begun to bead at the opening. Each lap of her tongue was like a spark to a fuse, turning Tatsumaki’s indignation into a dizzying, swirling fog of pleasure.

“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?” the monster girl teased, her voice vibrating against the sensitive head of the organ. She began to alternate between the rhythmic pumping of the tentacles and the wet, fluttering attention of her tongue, creating a sensory overload that left Tatsumaki unable to form a coherent sentence. The hero’s face was no longer just crimson; it was a deep, burning scarlet, her eyes glazed over as she fought a losing battle against her own biology. The sheer absurdity of the situation—being held captive and pleasured by a monster in a dead-end street—should have been infuriating, but the physical release was becoming the only thing that mattered.

The monster girl’s movements became more confident, her tentacles tightening their grip just enough to heighten the pressure. She began to treat the sixteen-inch length like a prized instrument, varying the speed and the grip, sliding the rubbery appendages up and down in a blur of glistening motion. Tatsumaki’s breathing had devolved into shallow, ragged whimpers, her chest heaving beneath the black fabric of her dress. Every time she tried to summon a shred of her usual pride to tell the monster to stop, another flick of the tongue or a sudden, firm squeeze would shatter her resolve, leaving her shivering in the monster's hold.

“Shut... up...” Tatsumaki managed to choke out, though the words lacked any real bite. Her head lolled back, exposing the pale line of her throat, as the monster girl shifted her strategy. Instead of just focusing on the shaft, the creature used a smaller, more dexterous tentacle to drift downward, finding the sensitive weight of the hero's balls. With a playful pinch and a slow, swirling massage, the monster girl triggered a deep, resonant thrum in Tatsumaki’s lower abdomen that felt like a physical bell tolling through her entire frame.

The world had shrunk to the size of a few square inches of skin and the relentless, rhythmic pulse of the monster girl’s grip. Tatsumaki felt a strange, floating sensation—not the controlled levitation of her psychic powers, but a genuine, light-headed vertigo. For the first time in her adult life, she wasn't the one in control of the atmosphere; she was merely a passenger in it, subject to the whims of a creature she had dismissed as a "tiger level" nuisance. The irony wasn't lost on her, but it was currently being drowned out by the sheer, overwhelming volume of pleasure radiating from her groin.

The monster girl noticed the shift in Tatsumaki’s eyes—the way the sharp, emerald focus had softened into a hazy, unfocused sheen. It was a victory more satisfying than any combat win; she hadn't just neutralized the S-Class hero's powers, she had dismantled her composure. With a playful hum, the creature shifted her weight, pulling Tatsumaki’s bound body closer until her crotch were close to her face. As the monster girl is going to deepthoat her cock to make her cum.

The monster girl didn't just plunge in; she teased the entrance first, swirling her tongue around the crown in a dizzying circle that had Tatsumaki’s hips jerking involuntarily against the rubbery restraints. Then, with a sudden, wet slurp, she took the head and the first few inches into her mouth. The heat was instantaneous and absolute. Compared to the cool, slick sensation of the tentacles, the monster girl’s throat was a searing, velvet vice that clamped down with a surprising amount of suction.

Tatsumaki let out a sound that was half-shriek, half-sob, her spine snapping taut like a bowstring. The sensation of being engulfed by that searing, wet heat was an assault on her senses that no amount of psychic training could have prepared her for. As the monster girl began to slide further down, the sheer girth of the sixteen-inch member stretched the creature's cheeks, creating a tight, airtight seal that amplified every pulse of blood. Each downward stroke felt like it was pulling the very soul out of Tatsumaki’s toes, dragging it up through her core and concentrating it into a single, blinding point of intensity.

The monster girl’s throat was an adaptive marvel, stretching with a wet, rhythmic elasticity to accommodate the sheer volume of the hero's member. She didn't stop at the halfway mark; driven by a mixture of predatory instinct and genuine fascination, she pushed further, her iridescent eyes watering as she attempted to take as much of the sixteen-inch length as physically possible. The depth of the penetration created a vacuum that seemed to tug at Tatsumaki’s very organs, sending tremors through her petite frame that made her bound limbs twitch in a desperate, mindless rhythm.

Tatsumaki’s world narrowed to the rhythmic, wet slide of the monster girl’s throat. The sensation was total, a suffocatingly perfect heat that erased the desolate cityscape and the humiliation of her capture. Every time the creature’s throat constricted, it felt as though a physical switch was being flipped in the base of Tatsumaki’s spine, sending electric jolts racing upward. She had spent her entire life as a fortress—impenetrable, untouchable, and distant—but here, stripped of her psychic armor and pinned by rubbery limbs, she was nothing but a raw nerve ending.

The monster girl began to pick up the pace, her head bobbing in a frantic, rhythmic cadence that turned the act into a blur of heat and friction. The suction was immense, a vacuum-like pressure that seemed to draw the very breath from Tatsumaki’s lungs. Each time the creature slid back up, the cool air hitting the glistening skin provided a momentary, agonizing contrast before being plunged back into the searing velvet of her throat. Tatsumaki’s mind, usually a precision instrument capable of calculating a thousand variables a second, had completely crashed; there were no more thoughts of sushi, no more calculations of power levels, and no more pride. There was only the thrumming, heavy weight of her own body and the relentless, wet pull of the monster's mouth.

The tension in Tatsumaki’s body reached a critical mass, her muscles locking in a rigid, trembling arc. She felt the pressure building not just in her groin, but behind her eyes, a white-hot crescendo that threatened to shatter her consciousness. The monster girl, sensing the imminent collapse, didn't let up; instead, she used her tentacles to pull Tatsumaki’s hips forward, deepening the connection and ensuring that every single millimeter of the sixteen-inch length was being milked by the rhythmic, undulating contractions of her throat.

The threshold was no longer a line, but a cliff, and Tatsumaki was leaning over the edge with a terrifying, exhilarating momentum. Every rhythmic pulse of the monster girl's throat felt like a countdown, a ticking clock made of velvet and heat that was winding down to zero. The pleasure had ceased to be a series of waves; it had become a singular, crushing tide, an oceanic weight that pressed against the back of her eyelids and made the desolate street around them vanish into a blur of static. She felt her consciousness fraying at the edges, the rigid architecture of her ego collapsing under the sheer, biological imperative of the moment.

She tried to scream, but the sound that escaped her was a broken, high-pitched keen, a sound of total surrender that she didn't recognize as her own. The sixteen-inch length of her member was now a conduit for every ounce of energy left in her body, pulsing with a frantic, drumming urgency that mirrored the hammering of her heart. She was suspended in a state of agonizing suspension, caught in that breathless, shimmering second where the build-up becomes unbearable, where the only thing in the universe that exists is the desperate, screaming need for the release to finally break.

Then, the dam burst.

It started as a violent spasm in her lower abdomen, a sudden, explosive contraction that rippled upward through her spine. Tatsumaki’s body jolted, her back arching so severely that she looked like a drawn bow, and a guttural, strangled cry tore from her throat. The climax didn't arrive in a trickle; it came as a torrential flood, a series of heavy, rhythmic eruptions that surged into the monster girl's throat with enough force to make the creature's iridescent eyes widen in genuine shock. Each pulse felt like a psychic blast in its own right, a physical manifestation of all the tension, pride, and repressed energy she had carried for years, finally venting in a blinding white flash of ecstasy.

The monster girl let out a muffled, gurgling sound of surprise as the sheer volume of the release hit the back of her throat. She didn't pull away; instead, she clamped down harder, her throat muscles working in a desperate, rhythmic swallow to keep up with the torrential flow. For Tatsumaki, the world simply ceased to exist. The desolate street, the towering ruins of the downtown district, and the very concept of her rank as a hero were all incinerated in a white-hot furnace of sensory overload. Her toes curled violently, her fingers twitched in the air, and a long, shuddering moan vibrated through her entire petite frame, echoing off the silent walls of the nearby buildings.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Tatsumaki’s ragged, uneven breathing. She hung limp in the tentacles, her body feeling like a discarded marionette with its strings cut. The blinding white light behind her eyelids slowly faded, replaced by the dull grey of the city skyline, but the phantom echoes of the pleasure still hummed through her nerves, leaving her skin hypersensitive to the slightest breeze. She felt hollowed out, not just of her psychic energy, but of every defensive wall she had ever built around herself.

The monster girl finally pulled back with a loud, wet *pop*, a thin string of saliva connecting her lips to the glistening tip of Tatsumaki's member. She swallowed hard, her iridescent eyes blinking slowly as if she were processing a sudden surge of calories. A look of profound satisfaction crossed her face, and she let out a long, contented sigh that sounded almost like a purr. For a long minute, neither of them spoke; the only sound was the distant, rhythmic drip of a broken water main somewhere down the alley.

Tatsumaki remained suspended, her head lolling to the side, staring blankly at a rusted fire escape across the street. The crushing weight of her pride had been replaced by a floating, gelatinous lethargy. She felt an odd sensation of lightness, not just because she was physically off the ground, but because the secret she had guarded with such obsessive precision—the anatomical anomaly that defied her diminutive stature—was now laid bare in the most compromising way possible. The silence of the alleyway felt loud, amplifying the rhythmic thumping of her heart as it slowly returned to a resting pace.