Malware

Malware

(c) by the author 2016

The updates were ready. Everything checked out. Michael Hewson, the creator and moderator of the Gay Mind Control Portal (GMCP), took a deep breath, mentally crossed his fingers, and clicked the upload button.

Deep in the bowels of Hell, where whip-wielding demonic legions flayed the flesh off sinners and searing fires of burning pitch roasted the souls of the damned, Basil Wraithebone, the head of the Infernal Temptation Department (or the “IT crowd” as they were jocularly known among their fellow demons), chuckled as he watched. Poor Mr. Hewson. Little did he suspect what he was unleashing on the feckless lads who visited the GMCP in search of stimulating stories.

Quantum computing made hacking so easy that Basil almost regretted the old days when reaching out from the Dark Web had been more of a challenge. True, adding to His Infernal Majesty’s collection of subjects required much less effort now, but somehow the swelling numbers failed to gratify Basil. The orgasms Basil got from contemplating the weekly intake figures were nowhere near as stupendous as they used to be. The new streamlined procedures deprived him of the savor of victory that came with the blood, sweat, and tears of the old methods. Not that it had ever been a question of Basil’s shedding blood, sweat, and tears, but he had enjoyed the agonies of the tormented souls assigned to the IT Department as they struggled to break some programmer’s attempts to forestall the schemes of His Infernal Majesty (or HIM, as he was commonly known throughout all the levels of Hell). Basil consoled himself with the thought of the tortures HIM had planned for the first few thousand fresh men the new recruitment tool the IT Department had created would ensnare. Contemplation of the sufferings HIM would inflict on them did much to soothe Basil.

And here was the first victim. That hadn’t taken long.

***

Peter Smith smiled with delight when he saw the first listing on the GMCP. One of his favorite writers, Tentacular, had posted a new story. Without looking at the tags, Peter knew that it would feature one of the prolific author’s signature stories featuring a superhero caught in the tentacles of an evil monster. Peter loved tentacle sex. Granted, Tentacular’s plots were cartoonish and idiotic, and his prose frequently charged headlong into the purple zone, but the thought of the images he would find in the story of muscular hunks struggling vainly to escape the assaults of multiple tentacles on every orifice made Peter hard even before he read the first sentence.

Nor did the story disappoint. By the end of the second paragraph, Peter had torn off his T-shirt and pushed his jeans to his ankles. With his right hand, he stroked his cock, as he pinched his nipples with the fingers of his left hand. He managed to reach the end of the story without cumming, but that had required ferocious concentration on keeping his jism locked inside his churning balls. He eyed the ten-inch dildo on the shelf above his computing table. Should he lube up and shove the dildo in before he read the story again? Or should he write a comment first and tell Tentacular how great his latest story was? He loved to impale himself on the dildo and bounce up and down on it as he stroked himself while reading. On the other hand, by the time he finished, he would be too exhausted to write a comment, and he should let Tentacular know that his most devoted fan loved the new story. He owed the author that much.

Peter’s eyes shifted back and forth. Dildo? Comment? Dildo? Comment? As he dithered between the choices, he noticed a new row of icons above the comment box. There had been something about new features on the main page above the list of stories. He had glanced at the headline and the first sentence but then he saw the listing for the new Tentacular story, and he had been so excited that he couldn’t wait to begin reading it.

As his eyes scanned the row of icons, he saw the solution to his dilemma. Among the new icons was the familiar “thumbs up” like button. He could click the like button, lube up, insert the dildo, and jerk off as he reread the story. Problem solved.

Peter grabbed his mouse, positioned it over the like button, and clicked.

The IT Department’s hack worked flawlessly. The mind-softening ray shot out from the screen and injected Peter with the insidious MC virus. Instantly it invaded Peter’s mind, multiplying so rapidly that it switched off the mind’s defenses before they had time to react. Peter experienced a momentary feeling of dislocation. There was a flicker in reality and then—

High above the dangerous streets of Maltropolis, Peter Smith lurked in the shadows on the roof of the Franchise Building, the tallest structure in the crime-ridden city. Below him villains did dastardly deeds, perpetrated pernicious plans, and engaged in evil endeavors. Peter’s superhearing picked out the call for help from the tumult of voices clamoring for attention. Somewhere in the nightscape of the urban maelstrom, a frightened and tortured soul screamed in agony. Peter levitated a few feet up to clear the parapets of the Franchise Building and rotated his head to use the bilateral sonar array built into his helmet. In less than a microsecond, he located the origin of the distress call. Without a moment’s hesitation he launched his sleek body into the air and sped toward the source. No one on the ground witnessed his passage. The only evidence anyone peering at the night sky over Maltropolis would have seen was a momentary blotting out of the stars as the superhero sped past.

.

Peter’s fists punched through the outer doors of the warehouse. Mere steel never hindered Peter. The warehouse was as dark as the wages of sin, but that did not stop Peter. His night vision as well as his X-ray vision kicked in. There, three floors above him, was the source of the cry for help. Some villain had locked a kitten in a suitcase. Peter flew up the stairwell and landed beside the suitcase. It was the work of a second to use his locksmith power and create a key to open it. He could, of course, have ripped the case open, but it was a new suitcase. Someone could use it. He would recycle it at the charity shop on his way to his day job tomorrow morning. Besides, he didn’t want to contribute to Maltropolis’s burgeoning litter problem.

The kitten purred as Peter lifted it from the suitcase. He was so intent on calming the pussy that he didn’t notice the tentacles slithering across the floor. Nor did the tentacles descending from the ceiling grab his attention until they closed around him. In a flash his ankles and wrists were encircled tightly by bands of pulsating rubbery flesh. Other tentacles grasped the jersey that clung to Peter’s muscular torso and shredded it into tattered strips whose flutterings punctuated Peter’s struggles to escape. His mammoth muscles flexed and expanded as the tights were ripped from his body, leaving his groin and legs exposed. His cock whipped back and forth and his balls bounced up and down as his attempts to escape contorted his body.

But the humongous hunk was no match for his wily adversary. Suckers clamped tight to Peter’s nipples and began squeezing them, sending shockwaves throughout Peter’s body. Peter cursed. The dastardly villain knew how sensitive his nipples were. Peter tried to stifle the moans of pleasure rising from his chest, but he couldn’t help himself. Even his cock betrayed him. It grew hard as it always did when his nipples were sucked.

Another tentacle snaked out and wrapped itself around his cock and balls, squeezing them rhythmically. The sucker at the end of the tentacle closed around the head of his cock and began lubing it with a secretion from glands within the tentacle. The tip of the tentacle rubbed the piss slit until it was enflamed. Peter was in an agony of delight.

His mind briefly screamed “no” when he saw another tentacle appear before him. It ended in a huge cock. The phallic tentacle insinuated itself between Peter’s lips, forcing his mouth open and pushing into his throat. Peter’s cheeks and throat bulged as the tentacle began face-fucking him. Terror—Or was it pleasure?—filled his eyes.

The tentacles holding his legs pulled them apart and lifted his ass into the air. Peter didn’t see the next tentacle, but he felt it. It probed his ass crack—gently at first, but then more insistently. Peter trembled. He didn’t want to be fucked. But the more the tentacle probed him, the more he wanted to feel the tentacle thrust insistently against his tight asshole. The pressure built as he tried to hold it shut until in the end he gave way and let it burst into him, sending a lightning bolt of pain-pleasure coursing through his body.

The tentacles invaded him. He was helpless in their grasp. All thoughts of resistance fled from his mind.

Peter Smith was vaguely aware that he was not just reading Tentacular’s story. He was living it. He was sitting in a chair in front of his laptop, which was open on his desk in his bedroom. But he was also imprisoned within the grasp of dozens of tentacles in a warehouse in Maltropolis. Tentacles were pleasuring his nipples and his cock and balls even as he was deep-throating a cock-shaped tentacle and being fucked by another. The remnants of his superhero costume clung to his sweat-soaked body. His cries and moans filled the air. His muscles grew hard and taut with pleasure.

A voice in his mind said, “Surrender.”

Peter tried to say “no,” but all that came out of his throat was “mmmm.”

The voice said, “Submit.”

Peter’s mind felt so sluggish. He knew he should try to resist but he was exhausted from struggling.

The voice said, “Obey.”

Thousands of monitors in the IT Department’s control room captured the contortions of Peter’s body as he writhed in the imaginary grip of dozens of tentacles.

The IT crowd began chanting, “Cum to HIM. Cum to HIM.”

The sound of their voices was transmitted to Peter’s mind. His body responded. His cock grew even harder. It throbbed with desire. He surrendered to temptation.

When the voice said “Surrender. Submit. Obey” again. Peter shouted, “Yes, Yes.” Even as jets of cum spurted from his cock, Peter was mentally compiling a list of his favorite GMCP stories. He couldn’t wait to beginning clicking the like button on each of them.

***

Basil smiled. Peter Smith now belonged to HIM. Really it was too easy. Any reader who pressed the like button was indicating that the contents of that particular story excited him. It was a simple step to use that knowledge against him—to lure him into surrendering his soul by replaying the story in his mind and letting him experience it in his flesh. From there it was but a short step to conquest. No human male could resist temptation.