The War of the Worlds

Much has been written about the Martian appetite for blood and the horrifying efficacy of their weaponry, both the invisible heat-rays that levelled churches and melted battleships, and the black smoke that sucked the very breath of life from all it encountered. Comparatively little has been reported of their more sinister goal to breed the subjugated humans for purposes we can only begin to guess at.

Perhaps it is the nature of their experimentation that has resulted in this deafening silence, for what man wishes to talk of his emasculation and what woman would confess to immodest behaviour of the sort induced by our alien captors.

For to humanity’s profound shame, while England burned before the advance of Martian machines, not all the screams were of mortal terror or inconsolable grief. No, some were a wholly different anguish as moral conviction surrendered again and again to pleasure of the flesh, or as once human flesh was sculpted into monstrous forms that no unjaded eye could behold without revulsion.

This was no demonic magic but rather scientific knowledge far in excess of our own. To these alien intelligences we were nothing but animals to be domesticated and bent to purposes that neither God nor Darwin could have conceived of. What was done to us was done with steel and electricity, as if by the hand of Dr Frankenstein, and if our prayers were heard by any deity they went unanswered.

Others have written accounts of how the Martians came to Earth, and I have nothing to add there. I saw no cylinders streak across the sky and heard no impact of their landing. What little I knew was in those earliest reports, before there were no more newspapers. My attention was wholly on preparation for my wedding, for which every detail of dress and decoration was of utmost importance. That my fiancé should find the news so extraordinarily distracting was a profound irritation.

We were in love, and that was all that mattered – or all that should have mattered. In the end, nothing mattered except that we were together when that ululating cry echoed through the valley and filled me with such a dread that all strength left my limbs. Robert, my fiancé, pointed up in the air behind me, his expression one of astonishment – that gave way to abject terror as the air filled with a tumult of screams and shattering timbers and rock.

I twisted round to see the village that I loved, that had always been my home, wreathed in sudden and destructive flame, and people that I must surely have known by name now charred beyond recognition. This place that had only ever known peace and tranquility now burned as if war had burst out from Hell itself.

And there stood the Devil. A giant on three legs, surveying the destruction it had wrought. Like a great metal spider it advanced through the chaos, its three arms whipping out to snatch up a woman here, a man there, their screams of bewildered terror barely heard above the conflagration below.

“Isabelle!” my fiancé yelled at me, tugging at my arms. How long he had been shouting my name I cannot say. I could not look away from the horror unfolding before my eyes. Only when Robert struck me sharply across my cheeks did my senses return to me. “We have to run, Isabelle!”

I nodded and managed to stand with his help, and then we were running like the Devil himself was in pursuit – which he was. A metal serpent slipped about my waist and wrenched me into the air so swiftly I was above the level of the blazing rooftops before I could even draw breath to scream. Far below me, Robert stared up at me in shock for vital seconds, and when gathering his wits to run it was too late. Another serpentine arm plucked him off his feet.

It was no Devil, of course. It was an infernal machine piloted by an alien intelligence, carrying a huge net into which it deposited its captured prey. I found myself squashed together helplessly with dozens of others – acquaintances who were scarcely recognisable, so changed were they by this incomprehensible terror.

Few who were netted lived to tell of it later. I wish to be honest in this account, even when it reflects poorly on me, so let me confess that such was my fear that I lost all control of myself, though I was not immediately aware of it. I was not alone either. Crushed together as we were, some staring out through the net, some reaching inwards to connect with others – I was close enough to Robert that our fingertips could touch, and that was a dear comfort for me – the stink in that confined space was one of urine and worse.

I didn’t like to look out. The landscape was dotted with columns of black smoke, and the increasingly familiar glint and spidery outline of the Martian machines. For some of my fellow captives, shock gave way to tears or to indignation (“Someone will pay for this!” Fred the butcher muttered over and over), but it was not until our captor deposited its catch at its base that we understood at last the desperation of our fate.

We tumbled out of the net into an unearthly prison, its walls the crater formed by the blistering arrival of the cylinder at its heart. Like an iceberg, that steel tube that had been flung impossibly between their cold, distant home and our lush, vibrant planet was visible only at its tip, and the creatures that crawled out of its aperture were born of deepest nightmare.

The pictures of them that are so familiar to us now do not truly capture their macabre nature. Imagine if you can the black, bloated body and the ten spidery tentacles, but add eyes with the cold intelligence of a scientist studying a frog he intends to dissect.

I pray you forgive me my weakness, but my memory of what followed fails me. I know only that we were stripped of clothing and washed clean with brutal jets of water, and that we were prodded and pierced by all manner of cruel instruments. My next clear recollection is of being wrapped in Robert’s protective arms, though he was trembling as uncontrollably as I.

We were both naked. We all were. Men and women alike. Young and old. A hundred of us corralled together, some faces familiar, all forlorn of hope, too distressed to feel humiliation from exposure. This was no Garden of Eden full of innocent delights, nor was it a pleasure garden inviting revelry and immodest games of pursuit and conquest. Though we did little more than sit, we were too exhausted to care about appearances.

The young and elderly were the first to be taken, metallic tentacles coiling about their waists with little warning and snatching them away from us, cries of alarm turning to bone-chilling screams of terror. We did not know their fates then, but there can be no doubt now the Martians were feasting on their blood.

Hour by hour our number was thinned, till only a handful of us remained. Robert and myself. Lotte, the butcher’s daughter; Robert’s cousin Bess, who had tormented me for years when younger; Tom, the post boy; and George, who I had not known before. We were all of a similar age, and should by rights have been absorbed in thoughts of matrimony and impending parenthood. Instead we huddled together and flinched away fearfully from even the merest suggestion of an alien tentacle.

Often still I wonder if we survivors were the unlucky ones. Those that were taken met a swift end, while we endured indignities that robbed us of our very humanity. The feeding tubes were the start of it, plunged down our throats and pumping some foul sludge into our bellies while our bodies cried out for air.

The taste of it was bitter, but its poison was subtle. My own unnatural arousal I might have dismissed as a perversity of spirit, but there was no concealing the arousal of the three men. Never before had I seen a man in a state of excitement. There was something very compelling about it, and I hungered to see more. Only the principles drilled into me throughout my life gave me the strength to look away and deny my primitive craving.

Robert, profoundly ashamed, covered his piece as well as he could. “I can’t help it,” he whimpered, “I’m sorry.” Instinctively we had paired up during our captivity, Tom with Lotte, George with Bess, and I could see in their expressions the same conflict of denial and desire that afflicted me. I found myself staring at Bess and Lotte’s breasts, my eyes drawn to their nipples that looked as hard and swollen as mine felt.

Once again we were captured in a net and carried by a Martian machine, and in the confusion I was afforded my first unobstructed view of Robert’s proud member. Were it not for the Martian invasion, I would have been introduced to it in the much more intimate setting of the bridal chamber. It took all my strength of will not to reach out and caress it.

Perhaps you are wondering why I would care or indeed dare to share this tale of lewd cravings and worse. It is precisely to explain the insidious nature of Martial technology, that not only do they possess machines and weaponry far in advance of our own, but also their understanding of our bodies far surpasses our medical science. They may have been defeated once by Earth’s smallest inhabitants, but do not be complacent and imagine yourself forever safe from their predation. They are still up there, watching and waiting, planning and preparing.

We were deposited by a small house that had been abandoned in haste. A small stream beyond the garden provided fresh water, but there was little to eat and one of the lesser machines stood guard to prevent our leaving. Prisoners we might still be, but we were soon clothed again and the pretence of normality worked wonders for our spirits.

For the first time since it all began we dared to hope there might be a return to the lives we had once lived – but this was short-lived. That all three men were suffering was plain to see, but it went beyond simple arousal. One by one they surrendered the trousers and underwear, revealing their members that were not only still engorged and drooling copiously but were also much enlarged.

“I need to -” cried George as he grabbed that virile shaft and stroked it furiously. Astonishing as this sight was, it was the grotesque nature of Robert’s scrotum that fascinated me most, his balls swollen to the size of apples. I should have been appalled to see him this way, but I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to wrap my hand about that rigid flesh.

There was in my beloved’s eyes such a yearning need for me, coupled with humiliation at being reduced to this animal state. As much out of pity for him as my own secret, selfish lust, I knelt beside him and reached out tentatively. The raw, musky scent of his crotch was intoxicating and served only to excite me further. I was not surprised to see the same scene play out between Lotte and Tom, and between Bess and George.

It was as if our dire peril had been forgotten and our morals cast away. The heat of that hard, wet member astonished me as I stroked it gently. Robert’s sigh of contentment and expression of enraptured bliss was all the encouragement I needed. I studied every fascinating detail with my eyes and fingertips, and tried to imagine what it must feel like to be penetrated as must necessarily happen in the natural course of things.

“That’s so good, Isabelle,” Robert said. “Keep doing that.” Tom and George cajoled likewise. I gasped at the sight of a milky fluid bursting suddenly from George’s cock as he seemed to suffer a seizure of sorts. Bess screamed as the creamy eruption narrowly missed her face, but she maintained her grip on the offending member and if anything stroked it with greater determination.

You have to understand that this was entirely at odds with my character. I was a virgin, raised in a good family, a devout Christian. As far as I know, we all were. The idea of casual sex outside wedlock had, only the day before, been inconceivable. Add to all that, our whole world had been shaken in a most profound and terrifying way, so that such idle pleasures should have been furthest from our minds, yet the reverse, inexplicably, was true.

Like an uncultured savage, I cared only about what was before me. The raw, animal smell of Robert’s crotch was like a drug to me, and my hand made urgent love to his engorged, swollen cock that wept such tears of desire. I wanted to drive him to that same startling finish that Bess had brought George to. I wanted to hear my fiancé cry out in ecstasy as his hard flesh convulsed within my possessive grip.

My eyes widened at the sight of Bess wrapping her lips about George’s member that was still engorged and dribbling a milky fluid. Bess sucked hungrily as if determined to extract every last drop, while with one hand she massaged the itch that had grown intolerable for me too.

Indeed, seeing Bess brought so low, I could no longer deny myself that same shameful release. While with one hand I continued to worship Robert’s divine member, with the other I sought out my own aching core. I was wet like never before, so that even the fresh underwear I had so recently donned was now soaked through, and beneath the thin material that nub of pleasure that previously had always been so shy now jutted out like some miniature version of a man’s noble member.

I can only imagine your revulsion as you learn that as I knelt there pleasuring myself with fingertips, so also I licked at the clear fluid that seeped incessantly from Robert’s throbbing cock. The taste was good – slightly sweet, slightly salty – and once begun I had no thought of stopping. Lotte, likewise, had surrendered to this seemingly inevitable act, so that all three of us women were soon moaning with delight as we attended to both our own buried craving and the visible need of the men.

“Oh! Isabelle!” Robert cried suddenly, and it was all the warning I got before he jerked powerfully in my mouth and flooded it with creamy victory, so much that I choked on it as its unfamiliar smell filled my nostrils. I flinched away reflexively, only for more to burst out from his dancing member to splash across my face.

I pulled away with a cry of dismay, my hurried attempts to clean away the slimy, sticky substance having the effect of getting it all over me instead – while Robert thoughtfully directed the continuing stream away from me.

But once I was over the surprise of it and regained something of my equilibrium, I had to admit it tasted good. I licked my lips that were still wet from him, and eyed the milky stream that trickled down his length that had definitely grown since I first touched it.

His balls too were growing, now twice what they had been so that Robert was forced to sit with his legs spread wide. Tom and George were similarly afflicted. I watched as Tom finished in Lotte’s mouth, impressed despite myself with the way she swallowed so much that only a little escaped her lips.

“I need to go outside,” George muttered, and shuffled carefully towards the door, his enlarged and engorged groin like something out of a comedy. Nodding agreement, Robert and Tom struggled to their feet and shuffled after. Bess, Lotte and I, all blushing furiously as we reflected on the immoral act we had just performed, wordlessly followed the men into the garden.

I was startled to see one of the Martian machines – perhaps the same that had brought us to this idyllic location – towering over us. So consumed with lustful thoughts, it was as if I’d forgotten about our alien captors. It was a brutal reminder that this was no hedonistic pleasure but rather an unnatural manipulation of our flesh that we were powerless against.

The men in particular seemed driven by instinct. They each settled, some distance from each other, on the muddy bank of the stream, their feet in the water, their bloated balls sinking into the wet earth, their glorious cocks pointing up at the blue sky.

I sat beside Robert and kissed him. He looked so miserable that my heart ached. But there was another part of me that ached too. My maidenhood, untouched by man, dominated my thoughts, and I knew I would know no peace until it had been satisfied. “I need you,” I whispered, ashamed of my need but determined too.

Lotte was already undressed, standing naked beside Tom, her breasts beautiful and seemingly larger than I remembered. The dark bush between her thighs glistened wetly and Tom sniffed at her there the way a dog does with its mate.

I tugged off my own dress with difficulty, discovering thus that my own breasts were significantly enlarged, with thick, sensitive nipples jutting out like never before. Robert pulled me towards him, burying his face in my crotch, sucking on the soaked fabric that did little to conceal my wanton lust. His tongue flicked at the prominent bulge made by that nub of pleasure, my yearning clitoris, and I cried out in ecstasy as I convulsed helplessly and nearly fell.

Instead, Robert stripped me of that flimsy garment and guided me down onto him so that I straddled him where he sat by the stream, his huge, thick cock breaking me apart as it penetrated ever deeper. I screamed with pain and exultation, a scream echoed by Bess and Lotte as they too descended on their respective lovers.

You would not have believed your eyes, had you been there to witness our orgy of lust. I scarcely believed it myself, but cared only about bringing Robert’s cock once again to a spectacular finish. His hands grabbed at my breasts and he sucked fiercely on my nipples, driving my excitement ever higher, and each time I thrust down onto his length, loving the way it stretched me to an immaculate fullness, I prayed to feel its vital dance and the bursting of his fertile seed into my womb.

But you weren’t there. Only we were there, and the Martians who observed our frantic coupling. It was no tender love-making, but rather a crude and increasingly weary fucking as muscles unused to such activity struggled to maintain an effective rhythm.

Harder and harder I drove myself down onto Robert’s beautiful cock until at last I was rewarded. He gave a strangled cry as he stiffened within me, and then I cried out too as the sensation of his creamy essence erupting deep within me triggered a profound, orgasmic climax. “Yes!” I cried out, uncaring who witnessed my utter abandon to this wild moment, convulsing in blissful relief as Robert’s gorgeously pulsing cock filled me to overflowing.

Until at last I was done, sated, though still trembling with sweet aftershocks of pleasure as I hugged Robert tightly and tried not to think about what else our cruel masters planned for us.

We slept together that night, we women. There was only one bed, and we shared it. The men resisted our attempts to move them from their positions by the stream, so instead we brought blankets for them and took shelter for the night in the cottage. In our confusion and misery and deep shame, it was a long time before we could meet each other’s eyes without fearing to see condemnation, despite the knowledge that we were all equally guilty of yielding to base instincts.

In bed, though, we yielded to the fundamental human need for intimate and compassionate contact and slept like sisters in mutual embrace. I hoped my sister Anne was safe and well. She lived in London with her husband and children. When we were younger, we often shared a bed, an innocent pleasure. With Bess and Lotte it was different, not least because my dreams were full of Robert’s cock, and by their quiet moans and murmurings my companions suffered similarly.

Though we had all washed thoroughly before bed, we could not wash away all evidence of the day’s activity, and the smell of it lingered about us like a subtle perfume that only intensified during the night. I awoke several times during the night in a state of profound arousal and terror, the former like a devil seducing me into more pleasures of the flesh, the latter taunting me with the fearful consequences of what I had already done. At one point, Lotte’s hand rested on my breast, my swollen nipple pressing against her palm, and I lay awake both wishing and fearing she would do more.