Page 14 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

“Fuck, Art, you’re killing me,” I murmur.

He looks surprised at that. “That is certainly not my intention,” he states stiffly, and his tentacles start to withdraw.

I grab onto the one on my thigh, holding it in place and taking a deep breath. Words. Words are good. I can use my words to reassure Art.

“Not literally, Art. In a good way. Hasn’t anyone ever said that to you during… ah, intimate moments?” I ask.

Art shakes his head, and I wonder if most cephalopods are as literal as Art. I don’t know if he actually has any experience with a human or not.

“Have you ever been intimate with a human before?” I ask gently, stroking his tentacle on my thigh. It starts to gently knead the fabric of my pants again, and the one against my neck, which has been still, tightens slightly against my skin.

“I have never had an intimate encounter before,” Art explains.

“With a human?” I clarify, because surely…

“With a human or cryptid. Is this the part of the dance where we give each other orgasms? I am very much looking forward to that,” he states.

Holy shit. Art has never had sex before.

He leans back then, his face scrunching up a bit in thought, his tentacles stilling. “I am unsure how mating practices among humans are carried out. I have watched pornography for research purposes, but I do not think it is always an accurate portrayal of mating customs. I am unsure how to proceed in this situation,” he admits.

“You want to proceed?” I ask, a little breathless.

“Oh,, yes, I very much would like to proceed, but I am unsure of the correct course of action,” Art admits, and his tentacles squeeze tightly around both my thigh and the back of my neck, sending shivers coursing through my body. He looks embarrassed and goes to pull away, the suckers on the back of my neck making little sounds as they pop off my skin. I can’t help it, I groan. I didn’t realize my neck was such an erogenous zone.

“Good,” I murmur, reaching out and stroking his tentacles, following one up to his torso and stroking that as well. “I mean,” I add, “good that you want to proceed. Because so do I. And there is no correct course of action when it comes to intimacy. We just… we do what feels good. There’s no right or wrong. But that means we have to talk to one another and say if we don’t like something. So if I touch you in a way that you don’t like, you have to tell me.”

“I cannot imagine that there is any touching from you I would not like, Dean Miller.”

I smile at his use of my full name while we’re talking about sex. “Same for me,” I admit. “I like all your touches.”

“Even my… even my tentacles?” he asks unsurely. “Because they might…” he trails off, embarrassed.

I groan, thinking about what they ‘might’ do. “Yes, please,” I say. “I would like your tentacles oneverypart of me, Art.Inevery part of me. I think your tentacles are sexy as hell, just like you, and I can promise you that if I don’t like something, I will tell you. But I’m pretty sure I will like just about anything your tentacles do to me.”

With that, I lean forward and kiss him, because I can tell I’m going to have to take the lead here, and I don’t mind that one bit.

We start off slowly, pressing our lips together, our mouths opening and our tongues gently touching. It doesn’t take much for Art’s tentacles to pull me in closer, though, until I’m on his lap. One traces up under my shirt onto my back, and the suckerslatch on, providing an amazing sensation like he’s sucking on my skin in a million spots.

I can’t control the moan that falls from my lips, and I don’t even try. I do need to feel his skin though, so I mumble out, “Too many clothes. Off.”

It’s not that great when it comes to using my words, but Art doesn’t seem to mind, because his tentacles and hands end up stripping off my shirt and his shirt. I unbuckle my pants and reach to unbuckle his, but his mouth is back on mine then, and we’re both groaning as we kiss.

His tentacles have totally surrounded me and pulled me in close, and the tip of one reaches around and latches onto my nipple. I pull back, gasping. “Holy fuck,” I cry out as it pulls off with a pop.

“Is ‘holy fuck’ a positive reaction?” Art asks.

“God, yes,” I say, and his tentacle latches onto my nipple again, the tip of another one reaching around to my other nipple. “Fuck, Art, that feels so good.”

“You taste delicious, Dean,” he murmurs.

I have a moment to think about himfinallyusing just my first name, and then another moment to think about the fact that he istastingme, which is hot as hell, and then both suckers are plucking at my nipples, and all I can do is groan in ecstacy.

I somehow manage to lift my hands and rub against his chest, finding one of his nipples to rub and pluck.

“Oh,” Art breathes out with a sigh of pleasure. “Yes, that is holy fuck,” he murmurs.

I laugh a little, and then we’re kissing again, our chests pressed together, and a tentacle is inching its way down the back of my pants.

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