Date: Thu, 21 Apr 2016 14:33:38 +0000 (UTC)
From: z119z 2000 <z119z2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Malware

Malware

z119z

© 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.