Page 24 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
Then there’s another—slick and warm—sliding along my thigh, over the curve of my ass, and dipping lower. I gasp around him, almost choking as it strokes between my legs, teasing the hot, sensitive flesh there. His cock jerks in my mouth.
My hips roll instinctively, chasing the contact. I brace one hand on his thigh, fingers splaying for balance, the other drifting down to palm his balls, gently rolling them with slow pressure.
He groans—low and gravelly.
“Careful,” he mutters. “You keep that up, I’m going to fill this clever mouth with my cum.”
I moan, the sound strangled by the fullness of him. My tongue glides over the ridges that line his shaft—each one distinct, almost textured like coral—and I feel him twitch again, like he likes that. I test the pressure, licking slow and firm, and he makes a sound that borders on obscene.
The tentacle between my thighs shifts, pushing past the thick, wet line of my slit, just enough to slide up through the soft, slick lips of my pussy, the ridges catching every swollen, trembling inch. I whimper, eyes fluttering. The sensation is maddening—just shy of enough, and almost too much in equal measure. My body rocks on instinct, chasing rhythm, chasing friction.
He doesn’t stop me, and he doesn’t stop fucking into my mouth in slow, steady thrusts.
Doesn’t stop teasing me open with that thick, sinful limb.
It presses in slow. Not all the way—like I even know what all the way would entail—but just testing with a warm, ridged, impossibly smooth few inches. My hips jerk down hard, like I’m trying impatiently to seat myself. I moan again—louder this time—and he shudders above me as the vibrations radiate through his dick.
“You like that,” he says, voice strained. “You want to fuck yourself on it, don’t you?”
I nod, drool slipping down my chin. I ride him—both of him. My mouth full, my cunt fluttering around a tentacle that doesn’t stop moving, adjusting, flexing inside me with a precision that makes me feel both helplessly owned and transcendently worshipped.
“My good little trespasser,” he rasps, thrusting into my mouth. “So greedy for me.”
The tentacle inside me slides deeper, thicker now, stretching me open as it shifts and pulses with ridged movements that have me grinding down, chasing each flex with a shameless roll of my hips. I moan around his cock as I bounce on the throbbing limb inside me.
Cal groans—deep, guttural—and his grip in my hair tightens just slightly.
“Fuck—just look at you, love,” he grits out, bracing harder against the back of the sofa. “Look at how desperate you are for it.”
He rocks into my mouth again, tentative at first, then more sure, more insistent. Not quite fucking my throat, but testing, pushing, making me take him deeper.
I do so willingly, eagerly,urgently. My consent is enthusiastic, a great big steamingyes-train as my thighs tremble and my pussyclenches. I feel myself gush around the tentacle fucking into me, and he groans again, sharp and possessive.
“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he pants. “You like when I use you. Like when I fill your greedy little cunt with my tentacle. You want me to fuck you open with it until there’s nothing left, just a dripping mess on my floor.”
My eyes roll back. My hips snap harder. I can’t help it—I moan again, loud and unrestrained, around the thick length still stretching my lips.
“I can scent how wet you are,” he growls, his grip tightening in my hair, but his hold is still possessive, not harsh. “Can fucking taste it in the air. You’re soaked. Begging. You want to be ruined, don’t you, love? Want to be my perfect little toy. Just mine.”
A second tentacle slides around my thigh, curling close to where the other one thrusts in and out of me, and I nearly sob from how sensitive I am already. It teases at my clit, brushing circles over the slick, swollen nub like it knows its part exactly in this impossible symphony of sensation.
“You like the ridges?” he hisses through gritted teeth, fucking just a little harder into my mouth. “You want to feel every last one splitting you open? Stretching you wide?”
I nod frantically, sloppy and desperate, around the length of him.
He laughs—dark and delighted and devastating.
“I’ll give you everything you want,” he murmurs, his voice lilting down into a low, velvet softness. “Anything for you, love.”
The tentacle inside me pulses, then begins to thrust deeper, the ridges swelling—thicker now, dragging along my walls with every insistent roll of my hips as I try and grind down harder. I cry out around his cock, the sound lost in the stretch of my throat. The pressure inside me builds fast, searing and deep.
And then it swells further, locking inside me with an impossible fullness that makes my back arch and my thighs tremble and tighten.
I gag, sputtering around him. Cal retracts from my mouth instantly, drawing back with a soft, wet pop and cradling the back of my head.
The tentacle inside me withdraws too, slick and slow, and I feel its absence like a wound. But he doesn’t look conflicted this time—not like the first time. No flinch of shame. No angry, self-loathing silence.
Still, something inside me lurches. My breath catches. I blink up at him, my voice small and cracking as I whisper, “No—wait, I—please, don’t stop. Cal, please.”
