A Betty Sullivan Super Natural Tale
“Hey, Sarah. Could you give me stats on a few properties I have my eye on in Barrow County?”
“Of course, but you are out in the middle of the sticks!”
I laughed. Sarah was the best assistant I had ever had as a real estate agent in my three years. She worked as many hours as I did, and I compensated her handsomely. “I know, but I have the Wilkerson’s looking for farmland, and there isn’t shit on the MLS that fits what they are looking for. Plus, it would be a sweet deal for us to get both sides of the transaction.”
“Of course! Text the addresses as you get them, and I will send back names and numbers plus comparables so you will be armed when you reach the owners.”
“Sound great, love! You are the best!”
Happy hunting, Miss Betty!”
“Thank you, Sarah!” I hung up and navigated my Lexus NX down the long, overgrown driveway. I wasn’t sure if a house was on this lot, but my senses tingled. This could be a goldmine. I wasn’t wrong, as the house came into view with a wrapped porch and at least two huge outbuildings.
The place looks abandoned. I stopped my car in the driveway and jumped out. I saw house number 1969, large and bold, next to the front door and sent a quick text to Sarah with many heart emojis to let her know I might have scored the one. There weren’t any other cars or signs with inhabitants in it for quite some time.
I approached the door cautiously. Some of these farms had squatters or even legitimate owners who didn’t take kindly to a female visitor stepping foot on their porch. I heard movement in the house, and it wasn’t a tiny sound—like the sound of heavy, methodical feet warning the little lady not to persist. I was hungry for that commission check, and I was packing a SIG P365 pistol.
“H-Hello! My name is Betty Sullivan. I am a real estate agent in the area and would like to chat about your beautiful property.
There was no response. Then, there was the thud of more heavy feet and a commotion that I couldn’t put my finger on. I saw a shadow passing what I assumed was the living room from the window facing the porch, and it jarred me due to its size and cast. A minute passed, and there was still no recognition of my presence.
I was startled when the door opened. My eyes tried to compensate for the cloudless morning sun to the now fully open entrance and the complete black darkness enveloping it. Only the screen door was between us. It was a man. A huge, tall man opened the screen door. “Can I help you?” His voice was unnaturally deep, and it unnerved me. He didn’t have a distinctly Southern accent or any noticeable tone.
I regained some composure and stepped toward him, handing him a business card. My name is Betty Sullivan. I am a real estate agent. I would love to talk to you about your beautiful farm.” He took it, and I noticed his vast meat sausage hands and overstated arms.
“And you are Betty?” His question did not come across as a question, but more from an English as a second language person. I realized his frame was easily over four hundred pounds, and his bald head creased to almost look like a ripple effect, but it wasn’t consistent.
“Yes. I am Betty. Are you possibly looking to sell?”
“Possibly looking to sell. Please come in.” He turned his back as soon as the words came out, and I opened the screen and followed him. He had a red plaid long-sleeve button-down and a pair of blue overalls, the only thing that fit him.
We passed through the living room, noticing the couch facing the turned-on television. It was caved in the middle, and the support legs buckled. I imagined his massive weight bearing down as the poor couch gave up. A sadness I couldn’t explain crept in as we walked into the dining room. He turned toward me. “Would you like some coffee?”
I felt a sense of horror as I saw his face and what I could only describe as a glitch. It was like his face slipped for a split second and then became normal again. “Y-Yes, please.” I didn’t feel like I was in danger for some reason. I wanted this listing, and the depth of my sadness grew.
I sat at the table. He returned with the coffee and took his place in a throne-type chair across from me. “Thank you. I apologize, but I didn’t get your name.”
The glitch happened again when he started to move his mouth. “Smith. Mr. Smith.”
“How long have you lived here, Mr. Smith?”
“Longer than I wanted. I am stranded here.”
Stranded? It was a strange word to use. “Do you live here alone, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes. All my family died.” It was the first time his tone changed. It began to match. His face glitched harder, and I saw the left side of his face sag to reveal a white under the skin.
“Mr. Smith, your face.” I didn’t scream out in fear. It was just an overwhelming feeling of sympathy.
“The shell is too small to fit me, Betty.” He allows the other side of his face to disengage entirely. I recoiled in complete fear at the white skin. Around the edges of his brow and below his eyes were red like makeup, but it was part of his skin. His lips were the deepest black. He reaches down and unbuckles his overalls. The creature’s coil falls below the shoulders to show the skeletal truth. “It slows me down, Betty.” From behind his back, he slithers out three tentacles on each side.
“What the fuck are you?” I finally found the words to speak.
“Don’t be afraid, Betty. I am not going to harm you in any way. I come in peace. My family died on impact as our ship crashed. I have been able to make contact with the mother ship, but they won’t pick me up until I complete the mission.”
“What is your mission?”
“To harvest data from humans.”
“How do you do that?” The tentacles were long and seemed to move separately from each other.
“My tentacles extract data by pleasuring humans. I have watched much television to learn the methods of how this is done.”
“Like sexually?” I already knew the answer, but I had to question everything in this insane situation I found myself in.
“I believe that is the correct term.” He responded, and the tentacles seemed to join as one and vibrate, turning shades of green to orange and deep blue.
“Is that what you want to do to me?” Again, the answer was obvious.
“Very much so, yes! But it would only be with your permission. We are only capable of collecting data that is harvested from a willing provider.”
“Oh wow! It turns out aliens are more civil than human men. I didn’t see that coming!” I laughed but was serious. “So, I could walk out that door, get in my car, and you would not stop me?”
“Of course. I have no interest in holding you against your will.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Quite the opposite. You will experience pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.”
“That is also not what I expected. So, if I agreed to this…what would it entail?”
His tentacles convulsed and shuddered. “I would begin by undressing you.” One of the tentacles arched and moved toward me. I was frozen with a bit of trepidation and excitement. It was mere inches away from my face pulsing. “You will notice I have suction cups protruding from the surface on either side. This is for pleasure as well as data collection.”
“Ribbed for her pleasure…I guess Trojan stole that technology from you guys.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. So, you keep talking about data collection. What kind of data are you collecting? What is your purpose?” The tentacle stayed close to my face. It emitted a purring sound as it changed color, turning slowly like attempting to seduce me.
“I am a low-level collector, Betty. I have no idea what the powers would want, but I know every attempt to reach your planet has failed. I am the first to have survived. May I touch your face to demonstrate the feeling?”
I sighed. “Why not. What is the worst that could happen.”
The tentacle registered the response by moving in closer. He isolated one suction, increasing its length and size until it barely caressed my left cheek. I was overcome with a spectrum of physical and emotional feelings. It was utterly satisfying, yet I hungered for much more.
The suction proceeded down to my jawline, and I felt my eyes close and lean in to get more than just the tip. He must have sensed my eagerness because a second tentacle slipped into the fray and began massaging my neck. They ebbed and flowed in concert with one another. It wasn’t awkward or rigid. It was fluid and existential.
The first tentacle slipped down below my collarbone. I had on a silk button-up blouse. It ceased on my top buttons, and I watched as the tentacle sprouted a two-finger type organism that effectively undid them. I smiled at Mr. Smith, and his black lips parted as if he were going to return the gesture, but he didn’t. Maybe he was, and I didn’t recognize it.
I had on a black lace bra which was now visible, and the cleavage of my 36C tits. Nothing could have prepared me for what had already happened and what was happening. I was vulnerable, and that had not happened in a long time. The touch became more confident from the tentacles as the following button, and the final one opened up my blouse fully.
“Are you getting data from me, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes, Betty. You are doing great, and you are so beautiful.” His voice was the same—no more passion than when he invited me.
“Thank you. Your tentacles seem to know exactly what to do. It’s like having two different men simultaneously touching me, but it’s way better than even that. I can’t explain it.”
The first and second tentacles moved on each side to remove my blouse. A third tentacle wrapped around behind my back. It was slithering up from the start of my dress pants to my bra. It unsnapped while the two front tentacles effortlessly pulled down the straps over my shoulders and down my arms. As the bra fell to the floor, I was utterly relaxed, revealing my tits to Mr. Smith and the data-seeking tentacles.
I had always been told by previous lovers that I had great tits, but I had never experienced the worship of my body. The first and second tentacles moved sensually around my boobs. It was as if I were receiving the most erotic massage. A suction cup clamped onto my nipples on each side. I felt the hunger of it as they sucked and applied pressure. I let out an unexpected moan. The third tentacle flattened, enveloping my back from the spine to the curve of sides.
I leaned on the third tentacle, and it held me. I cannot explain the ecstasy having two inputs at the same time.
“Mr. Smith?” I whispered the question breathlessly. My mouth was open, and feeling like I might orgasm just from the tit play.
“Yes, Betty. Are you okay?”
I laughed, and a moan caught in my throat. “Holy fuck, Mr. Smith! I am better than okay. Your tentacles are so good! So fucking good!”
“It pleases me to please you, Betty.”
A fourth tentacle slipped down my stomach without me realizing, quickly unfastening my pants and pulling them down. I stepped out of my pants while they tugged at my black lace thongs. I was now completely naked, standing before the alien.
“I want to lay down, Mr. Smith. I want to experience all you have to offer.”
The third tentacle elongated, encasing me from my neck to my butt cheeks. “Lie back. Trust me, it will hold you.”
I did as I felt the suctions move over my spine and neck. It was intense, and I knew Mr. Smith would not let me fall. The second and third tentacles alternated between caressing and sucking on my nipples. I never felt irritated like I did when most men would suck for too long. They balanced perfectly.
The fourth tentacle moved between my legs. A suction cup moved lightly over my pussy. My head leaned back, and the back support tentacle elongated to my head. Its ability to sense what needed to happen in split-second timing was a turn-on. There was no way to describe the pleasure I enjoyed. My clit tingled with expectation as it moved from the outer edges to the center. It seemed to be almost preparing or even teasing me. I writhed in delight as it thrust into my pussy. I was so wet already as it slid in and out in perfect rhythm.
I began to scream, and I am not that type of girl. It sensed the moment and pushed in deeper. It hit my spot repeatedly, in a cadence I had never dreamed of. I cried out again as the second and third tentacles moved up and down the front of my body. The final push hit me so hard that I came in multiple orgasmic successions.
The fourth tentacle slowly disengaged as the second and third flattened and held me. No man had ever satisfied me so profoundly, and receiving such respect was beyond beautiful.