Page 6 of Beneath the Surface

Jake gasped sharply—then nothing.

Brad paused, floating neck-deep in the lake, and looked back. Jake was gone. “Jake?” he called. “Jake!” He scanned the shore, but there was no sign of the other man.What the fuck?Had he swum back to land and taken off? “Jake, you pussy!” Brad shouted. “When I find you—I’m gonna kick your fucking ass—”

The lake's surface surged in a circular motion around him, the water swelling ominously as if some colossal creature were awakening beneath its depths. “What the shit—” Brad kicked frantically away from the rising tumult in sheer panic. The lake seemed to come alive, its waters churning violently from all sides, as though possessed by a ferocious energy.

“Jesus!”Brad cried out, spinning toward the distant shore as his arms thrashed through the water in a frantic freestyle, driven by a primal instinct to survive, unaware of the biting cold that pierced his muscles like icy needles.Fuck-fuck-fuck!His heart pounded in his chest, each powerful beat forcing ragged gasps from his lips. Every desperate breath brought a rush of icy water flooding into his mouth and throat.

Suddenly, something that felt like a slick, slimy tendril of rope coiled tightly around his left ankle.It’s just weeds! It’s just fucking weeds—But then the “weed” constricted with a brutal tightness, so intense that Brad felt the excruciating snap of his ankle bone and his foot twisted at a grotesque angle. Then it yanked with a force that defied belief. Before Brad could even cry out in agony, he was dragged beneath the surface, the murky lake water invading his nose and gushing down his throat. His screams were reduced to garbled,muffled cries, barely audible through his congested ears as a torrent of bubbles erupted toward the surface, each one a tiny capsule of precious air escaping from his lungs.

Then he suddenly surfaced, his head breaking through the water as he coughed and gasped, retching up lake water. Still, the weed clung to his broken ankle, pulling him across the lake's surface like a speedboat. A powerful wave crashed into his face, forcing water up his nostrils and blinding his eyes. He barely saw the log in the shallows before smashing into it, his ribs cracking. The thing gripping his ankle pulled him back and slammed him again, this time cracking his head against the log.

Blood gushed from his nose and ears, and he managed one more ragged breath before being pulled below the surface again, dragged along the lakebed, and rolled like an alligator's prey as tendrils wrapped around him, spinning him into a cocoon of tentacles. He opened his mouth to scream out of pure reflex, and the lake water rushed in, followed by a thick tentacle, invading his throat, gagging him, pushing deeper, entering his lungs. The organs swelled, and suddenly he could breathe again, eyes bulging as he saw Jake—and witnessed what the lake creature was doing to him through the murky, greenish water.

A guttural scream built in Brad’s chest, torn between the desperate urge to fight and the terror of his fraying sanity, but it had nowhere to go except up into his head, cracking his mind and shaking his grip on reality.

7

Quinn drifted in and out of consciousness, the boundaries of reality blurring as he waited for the men to reach him. The surrounding world was eerily quiet, the lake lying placid and undisturbed beneath the wide-open sky. At one point, he thought he heard the faint sound of a man shouting—or was it a scream?—along with frantic splashing. It seemed like the man was shouting at him, his voice carrying over the water as he swam toward Quinn, but he never appeared.

Turning his head with effort, Quinn scanned the shimmering surface of the lake toward the distant shoreline. Nothing. No movement. No figures. His brow furrowed as a light-headedness began to swirl in his mind, like a gentle, disorienting fog. Why would they abandon him without completing their grim task? Did they believe he had succumbed to the depths, that the lake had already claimed him?

Beneath the water, unseen tentacles supported him, their gentle grip creating a subtle buoyancy that kept him afloat. Then, with an almost tender motion, he was pulled beneath the surface once again. Too exhausted and drained to resist, he found an unexpected solace in the descent. Instinctively, his lips sealed as his head went under, and he surrendered to the lake’s cold embrace, drawing him deeper into its shadowy depths.

Quinn's lungs started to burn as if flames licked his insides, but instead of panicking, he surrendered. His mouth slowly opened, letting icy, murky water rush down his throat, its chillboth sharp and oddly calming. He waited for the darkness to take him, bracing for the lake's final, all-consuming embrace. As the water flooded into his lungs, a small, curious tentacle returned, tenderly probing his lips, exploring inside his cheeks, and gliding almost sensuously over the textured surface of his tongue before slipping smoothly down his throat. This time, Quinn did not gag or resist; he simply allowed it to happen.

There was something deeply intimate, even affectionate, in the way the slick appendage navigated the confines of his throat canal. It pressed further into his lungs, breathing vitality back into the organs and igniting sensation in every nerve throughout his body. The world beneath the surface shifted before his eyes, the murkiness dissolving into clarity until he could see as if peering through underwater goggles. Everything around him was vivid and sharply defined—the water shimmering with newfound transparency. Before him, the scene unfolded with startling detail: two men trapped by the lake, their bodies captured just above the lakebed by numerous tendrils snaking upward from the murky depths below.

Quinn's eyes widened in a mix of terror and strange fascination. The men grappled frantically, their faces masks of panic and horror, as thick, slithering tentacles lodged in their throats kept them painfully alive and keenly aware of their grim situation. The water around the tall man churned with spirals of blood, seeping ominously from fresh wounds that hadn’t been there before, staining the liquid with a dark, crimson hue.

Ensconced in a cocoon of soft, undulating tentacles, Quinn observed the scene with an unsettling detachment, as other, far less benign tentacles violently stripped the men of their underwear. The slippery appendages coiled mercilessly around their genitals, while other tendrils intrusively invaded their anal cavities, probing and exploring with unnerving precision.

For a fleeting moment, a spark of unexpected sexual pleasure flared amidst the men’s overwhelming panic. The tentacles seemed to stroke and manipulate the men’s bodies, both inside and out, as their members rose to full, throbbing erection. Engorged and glistening, they leaked precum into the swirling water, teetering on the brink of an involuntary climax as the bizarre and horrifying spectacle continued.

Brad's mind screamed in utter panic and disbelief.What the ever-loving fuck is happening?!A soul-shattering sense of violation ripped through him as thetentacleforced its way up into his most intimate sanctum, stretching his hole wider than he ever thought possible.Exit Only!That had been his goddamn motto.Nothingeverenteredhim—until this fucking moment. And he was helpless to stop it.

He convulsed, retching on the monstrous appendage that choked his throat, somehow sustaining his breath under the water. His revulsion and agony morphed into a white-hot static when additional tendrils wrapped around his cock and balls—and began to throb with a sickening rhythm. To his absolute horror, his dick started to stiffen, and his balls swelled, heavy with cum. The thing inside him discovered a spot he never knew existed and began to exploit it relentlessly, sending electric jolts through Brad that made his entire body convulse, then spasm in twisted ecstasy. His throat clenched around the vile “slug” as he involuntarily tried to whimper and gasp, overwhelmed by the perverse sensations the intruder in his ass was brutally forcing through his system.

Brad's self-loathing boiled over as his cock betrayed him, engorging and pulsating while tentacles invaded every orifice. His mind shattered, thoughts spiraling into a mad frenzy. Death was imminent, but his body and mind revolted, screaming,“I'M NOT A FAGGOT!”Yet his ass clenched,suckingthe tentacle deeper, stimulating that spot inside that milked him against his will.

No... no...he whimpered in his head, feeling his orgasm barrel down on him like a freight train, his cock throbbing violently within the tentacle's grip. His eyes, wide and wild, fixed on Jake, who was also being ravaged by the creature. Jake's body jerked like a puppet, the thick tentacle ramming into his ass, while smaller ones whipped around his cock.

Jake's face was a picture of sheer terror and revulsion, a silent scream echoing Brad's own horror. Both men were being forced to the brink, their bodies hijacked, orgasms coerced by the monstrous violation.

Brad shrieked around the invasive horror lodged in his throat, his body convulsing as an explosive orgasm unlike any other tore through him. But the creature wasn't sated; it continued to feast on that secret spot within, its tongue-like appendage relentlessly stroking, driving him to the brink of madness. Brad thrashed, sobbed, and violently shook his head as his cock swelled again, the brutal cycle renewing.

This time, the creature's hunger grew ravenous. The tentacle impaling him thrust deeper, more savagely, its smooth, slimy surface erupting into razor-sharp barbs as it pulsed and expanded, as if about to spew its own vile load ofcum.

8

The once-luminous underwater realm was bathed in a hellish scarlet glow as torrents of blood erupted from the men's anal cavities. Their bodies contorted not in rapture, but in anguish, as if puppeteered by some macabre marionettist. The thick, ropy tentacle impaling the tall man's ass had sprouted razor-sharp barbs and relentlessly shredded his insides into a pulp of raw, weeping tissue. With each brutal, backward lash of the appendage, his body evacuated a grisly slurry of blood and flesh, like some obscene volcano spewing forth its gruesome offerings.

The broad-shouldered man endured the same brutal torment, his eyes rolling back in his head as he choked on the tendril lodged in his throat. His muscular frame jerked and spasmed in excruciating pain, the creature relentlessly driving him toward a gruesome, inevitable end.

Quinn bore witness to the hideous spectacle, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm of sheer terror, his mind shattered by the grotesque scene before him. Yet, the excruciating pain coursing through his own body served as a brutal reminder of what these men had done to him, seeking to extinguish his life, to snuff it out like a mere candle flame, their actions fueled by a single, hateful motivation:Because I’m gay.

Go ahead and scream, faggot. No one’s gonna hear you but the lake. And it don’t give a fuck.

The tall man’s words swam inside Quinn’s head as he watched “the lake”give a fuck,in extreme brutal fashion.

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