Page 15 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

“Oh, god, yes, Art,” I murmur as his tentacle reaches my ass, gently caressing it. I can’t help imagining his tentacles aroundmy dick and in my ass, and I groan again, panting against his mouth.

“You like this, Dean?” he asks, and I’m happy to note he’s breathless as well. “You taste so good. I cannot help but wonder how you taste everywhere.”

“Art, you can taste me anywhere you want to. Please,” I murmur against his lips, and then I trace my lips down and suck on his neck, making him arch his back. Our cocks rub together with the movement, and we both moan.

I manage to reach down and free myself from my pants, and then I reach into Art’s pants, freeing his own erection. He’s thick and hot and hard in my hand, and his head falls back against the couch as I grab onto his dick.

“Dean!” he cries out, and his hands still, but his tentacles seem to get more frenzied. The one in my pants reaches down to my hole, and I am so fucking grateful right now that I didn’t wear tight pants. Another tentacle reaches down and wraps around my dick, making my own hand useless. I can barely focus, the pleasure is so intense.

Art’s tentacle is gently pressing against my hole, and although he doesn’t enter me, the feeling is amazing. Another one is coiled around my cock, and holy shit, he latches his suckers on, and it’s like a dozen little mouths all along my dick, sucking.

“Art!” I cry out.

Precum leaks out of my dick, and the tentacle tip dips into it. It’s like it’s licking at my slit, and the feeling is intense.

Art groans, and I realize my hand is wrapped around him, but I’m barely even moving because I’m so overwhelmed with what he’s doing to me. I try to focus on jerking his cock, using his own precum to make it slick, and from his moaning I must be doing something right.

“Dean, you taste… Gods, you taste so good,” he murmurs, his tentacle squeezing my dick again, undulating against it, another one sucking at my hole. A tentacle is wrapped around my back, gripping me tightly, and another reaches around to suck onto my nipple again, and I can’t take it.

My orgasm rushes over me, catching me by surprise in its intensity and suddenness. I come all over Art’s tentacle, my hand rhythmically squeezing him and jerking faster as the pleasure rides through my body.

That seems to do it for Art, because his cum spurts out onto my hand.

“Dean!” he cries out, and I lean in, pressing my lips against his. We kiss as our orgasms wane, our grips on each other easing. His tentacles stop pulsing against me, and he just holds me tightly.

When we’re out of breath and spent, I let my head rest against his shoulder, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. I’m still encased in his tentacles, and I realize I really don’t want to be anywhere else.

Art

I’m not certain how long it’s acceptable to keep one’s tentacles wrapped around a sexual partner post orgasm. There’s probably some social rule that specifies I’m only allowed five or ten minutes before I have to uncoil my many limbs and let Dean go.

But I’m not ready yet. I like sitting here on his couch, holding him close. Even though we’re both a little sweaty, and I’m getting cold, I’m not quite ready for this to be over.

Orgasming with Dean was far better than I ever could have imagined.

“Did you know that most male cephalopods die during sex?” I ask, hoping a conversation might prolong our time together.

Dean’s head jerks up. “What?”

“It’s true. The female cephalopods kill them. They often eat them too.”

He winces. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s actually necessary. Cephalopods are cannibalistic. The females kill themselves after laying their eggs, possibly so they don’t end up eating their young.”

Dean bites his lip to hold back a smile.

“Did I say something wrong?” I ask. “Should I not talk about cephalopod mating practices after sex? I thought it would be on-topic, seeing as how we just shared orgasms.”

He chuckles. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong at all.” He rests his forehead against mine. “As luck would have it, I’m neither female or a cephalopod, so I think you’re safe.”

“Obviously. I’m a shifter. Shifter cephalopods don’t kill each other after sex. That would be murder.”

He chuckles again. “Right. Of course.”

“We enjoy cuddling, though,” I admit.

He leans back to look me in the eye. “We could do a bit of that.”

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