Page 37 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

In a matter of moments we’re both naked, and he backs me up onto the bed, where I sprawl out. I love how he looks at me—hungrily, like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. I love how forward he’s become, how he isn’t so shy anymore and enjoyslooking at my body. His cock is rock hard, sticking out in front of him, and his tentacles are reaching out toward me, gently touching my legs and sliding up them.

“I want your sexy tentacles, Art. I want all of you,” I tell him.

“Would you like me to penetrate you with my tentacles?” he asks.

I think Art knows that his straightforward talk during sex makes me a little wild, because he’s got a little smile on his face as he asks, and one wandering tentacle reaches up to playfully nudge at my balls.

“Yes,” I hiss out. “I want you to fuck me. I want you everywhere—inside me, touching me, sucking on me with your tentacles.”

“I will taste you everywhere, Dean Miller,” Art says, and he crawls onto the bed, hovering over me. One of his tentacles is caressing my face, and I turn my head to suck the tip into my mouth.

Art groans as I explore the tentacle with my tongue. It’s silky and firm, and the lubricant it emits is surprisingly tasty—slightly salty yet somehow also refreshing, like a drink of water. The suckers on the tentacle gently press and release against my tongue as I explore, and I suck harder, making Art groan again. I can’t believe I haven’t tasted his tentacles before. It’s surprisingly like having a hard cock in my mouth, and knowing that it gives Art pleasure is turning me on even more.

“Yes, Dean Miller. That feels lovely. I will fill you up everywhere,” Art moans.

A tentacle reaches down and softly caresses my hole, rubbing lubricant against me. It’s hot and wet, like a tongue licking me, and I moan around the tentacle in my mouth. Art’s other tentacles reach out and gently press my arms against the bed. The tips reach over to my nipples, flicking at themboth simultaneously, sending little lightning bolts of sensation through my body.

I moan again, Art’s tentacle emitting more lubricant into my mouth. Fuck, it’s like he’s precumming in my mouth, and that only makes my own dick harder. With that, the tip of his tentacle penetrates my ass, sliding smoothly in, wiggling against my walls.

“You are so very sexy, Dean Miller, and you taste so delicious,” Art groans.

I cry out around the tentacle in my mouth as he finds my prostate, gently flicking against it. I know I’m writhing around on the bed in pleasure because I can’t control myself, and something—his arms, his legs, his tentacles—I don’t know, and I don’t care, presses my legs wider and holds them against the bed. I’m barely able to concentrate on sucking him amidst all the pleasure.

I feel like I can come at any moment, and a tentacle reaches around the base of my cock, squeezing it, like Art knows he’s driving me to the edge.

He pulls his tentacle out of my mouth, asking, “Are you enjoying this, Dean Miller?”

“Fuck yes,” I cry out. “Want you to fuck me, Art. Want you to get pleasure too.”

I flick my tongue out to lick along his tentacle again before drawing it back into my mouth. I love the feeling of being filled and surrounded. Art is pressing into me everywhere, gently flicking my nipples and suctioning on my skin in a dozen places. My mouth and my ass are both full of him, and my dick is leaking like crazy as I try not to come. It’s like he’s turned my entire body into one huge erogenous zone.

The tentacle in my ass withdraws and I mewl in disappointment, but then something thicker is pressing againstme, and I know it’s Art’s dick. I moan in approval, and he presses in.

He’s thick and long, and he eases in, stretching me. I’m full of him everywhere, and another squirt of lubricant enters my mouth as he begins moving inside me, fucking my ass with his dick and my mouth with his tentacle. I close my eyes in bliss, letting my tongue lick against him as he fucks my mouth.

He’s slowly rocking into me, one tentacle still wrapped around the base of my cock, then there’s something wet licking at my hole where his dick is pressing in. My eyes shoot open, and Art is above me, looking down at me.

I nod my head as much as I can without letting go of the tentacle in my mouth, and Art’s eyes close in pleasure as the tip of a tentacle slips into me alongside his dick.

Holy fucking shit. The pressure is intense. His tentacle is sliding in alongside his dick, and he latches onto my nipples with suckers, gently pulling at them. I’m sucking at the tentacle in my mouth like it’s giving me air as I moan.

“Dean,” Art groans out. “Want to taste youeverywhere.”

I nod again, because isn’t he already tasting me everywhere? But then the tentacle curled around the base of my dick slides up, wrapping around me as it goes, secreting Art’s lube and curling tightly around my cock. If the grip wasn’t tight I’d probably come, but I’m teetering on the edge, my orgasm just out of reach.

I’m moaning steadily now, my mouth and my ass both full, his tentacle gently pushing against my prostate even as he fucks in and out of me with his cock. My nipples are sparks of pleasure where his suckers are latched on, and just when I think I can’t take any more, the tip of Art’s tentacle brushes against the slit of my dick.

Fuck. He wants to taste meeverywhere. I don’t even recognize the sound that comes from my throat as the thin tipof a tentacle flicks at and slides into the tip of my cock. Art’s tentacle is squeezing and releasing my hardness at the same moment, and I can’t hold back.

I scream in pleasure. It’s too much—my entire body is one giant nerve ending, raw and exposed. My orgasm barrels out of me, my entire body shaking, spots dancing behind my closed eyelids as I groan. It goes on and on, and I dimly register Art’s moan of release even as my body flies apart into a million pieces.

When I come back to reality, I’m snuggled in Art’s tentacles, and the bedding is pulled up around us. I vaguely recall Art gently pulling out of me, cleaning us up, and tucking us in, and I snuggle closer to his body.

“Are you awake, Dean Miller?” Art asks sleepily.

“Mmmhmmm,” I murmur, because I am, but only barely. My body is sated and snuggled, and my mind is floating in a sea of bliss.

“That was… amazing.Youare amazing, Art,” I murmur.

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