I may have been a little reckless today in handing over the Superotica Advent Calendar to Sheri Savill & A M Hartnett – what with their bad girl attitudes and love of tentacle porn! But rest assured, normal service will resume tomorrow! In the meantime, be ready to be squicked!
Well, this was certainly unexpected. I had no frigging idea what in the hell I was going to come up with when Tamsin made a request specifically for tentacle erotica until I asked myself, “Okay, what has tentacles? Octopi? Nope. Squid? Not happening. Flying spaghetti monster? Sorry. Slender Man? Not a chance in — no, wait. No, that’s too fucked up … oh God, I must write it.”
So, yes, I’ve written Slender Man tentacle porn for Tamsin in return for giving me the gift of red hot zombie cock.
He’s not real, Lisa thought, and as the writhing thing that had slithered underneath the bedding closed around her ankle, she squeezed her eyes shut.
She never should have taken that dare.
For weeks there had been nightmares. Waking up in a cold sweat and searching every shadow for movement had left her a wreck. There was never anything there. The university counsellor she had visited prescribed pills to help her sleep, but she never took them and she never told anyone about the images in her head.
And now he — was it even a he? — was there in her bedroom, one of those six frightful appendages clasping above the ankle.
As he took possession of the second ankle, Lisa gasped and reached for the headboard, but too late. He was already dragging her down to the foot of the bed.
Lisa couldn’t tell if the rattling sound she heard was in her head or coming from him, but as the covers were pushed off and she felt his eerie closeness looming over her she heard only the thumping of her heart.
She never should have gone into the woods.
Her hold on the bedding beneath her was useless as he cuffed her wrists with two more … God, they really were tentacles, weren’t they? In the next moment she was sitting up and praying that fright would make her pass out before whatever came next.
She remembered what her friends had said, had teased her with around the campfire before the dare. His victims were never found. No bodies. No trace. Nothing for her to look towards now that he had her.
She never should have opened her eyes that first time in the woods.
For the next few moments he simply held her in place. How she could feel the stare of a creature that had no face, she didn’t know, but awareness tingled across her shoulders and down her back. She swore she wouldn’t look, but as he tightened his quadruple grip and drew her legs apart she couldn’t help but open her eyes.
Nothing stared back at her. No menacing eyes, no flaring nostrils, and no mouth pulled tight. Nothing at all but white flesh pulled taut over a narrow skull.
Yet, still she stared where eyes should have been and held her breath as those two remaining tentacles jutting from his back slithered around his pale torso.
Her terror climaxed with the brush of one tapered end coiling around her neck, but she felt no danger in that grip. Just insistence, a request for obedience as that final feeler ran along her inner thigh.
This is real, she thought now as he opened her up, as he slowly stretched her. Lisa couldn’t pretend that this was in her imagination as he drew her legs further apart and that vine-like thing that invaded her began to move slowly against her inner walls.
She couldn’t pretend he wasn’t real as she drew her thighs further apart.
And now here’s Sheri Savill for … God only knows, but good luck topping Slender Man porn.
Most nights, she just let him have his way with her. She’d come to think of it as a “he.” They’d bonded, all those weeks. He really was good, maybe the best she’d ever had. Something about the tentacles. It was like a gang bang, but she didn’t feel slutty because it was still one squid or octopus or whatever the fuck he was. That’s what she told herself. One thing. Not a bunch of them. So it was okay.
In a typical evening she came so many times she lost count. Then they would spoon. His … arms around her. Sometimes a suction cup would tease at her nipple, sending spasms of delight through her.
“Mmm … you,” she’d murmur, near drifting off to sleep. She still had no name for him, which was getting to be a bit awkward. Calling him “you” was better than “thing with the white fleshy skin-like stuff pulled taut over a head, sort of, but with no real face and no eyes.” After all they’d shared, that seemed much too formal. Then again, she couldn’t see calling him “Joe” or “my favorite cephalopod” either.
And there was no one to ask as to matters of protocol in this. She couldn’t tell anyone. Not even her best friend. “Darlene. I’m being fucked every night by this thing. Him. I don’t know what he is. But it’s the best sex of my goddamned life. I need a name for him. He has … tentacles.” And Darlene would think she was joking and go back to her book.
“I’m serious, Darlene. I need a name for him.”
Darlene looked up. Thoughtful.
“How about ‘my imaginary boyfriend with no face and at least six tentacles’?”
“That’s not funny. We’re in love.”
“It is too funny.”
“You don’t know what he’s like. He wears nice suits.”
“Tailored. Very expensive. Custom, of course.”
“Of course. Because, six arm holes, right?”
“Don’t mock me. Don’t mock what he and I share.”
“I’m not mocking you. I’m glad you’re getting laid. Gangbanged, suctioned, whatever.”
Occasionally she would have a fleeting moment of sadness after a rough interlude wherein a tentacle had invaded her too brusquely, to the point of near pain. She’d flash on all the times she’d ordered the deep-fried calamari at Carrabba’s. Even as he brought her to the edge – he liked to torment her, and he liked it rough — she’d find herself wondering if she’d eaten one of his countrymen or whatever they might be.
That’s crazy. He doesn’t have relatives.
Her reverie was cut short as the tip of a playful tentacle abruptly pushed into her ear.
“Ow! Watch the ear … you.” Another sinewy feeler poked at her ass. “Nuh uh,” she warned. “Not without lube … you. I’m still fucking sore from last night. Jesus. I wish you could say something. Or that you had eyes at least. Yet you seem to know me, and what I need. Better than any … thing I’ve ever been with. You make me crazy, though. Strong silent type.”
In an instant, she felt a suction cup attach to her pussy. The force of an industrial-grade vacuum action took her breath away.
“Oh my God! YOU!”
She undulated while he pumped her soft flesh, the blood flowing, making her mad with desire. He released her and she struggled to find her breath again. The show of force was his way of saying, “I’m in charge here. I can attach suction cups to you and make you writhe and scream and come. I’m not angry about the calamari. But I can’t ignore it. It’s a sore spot. It always will be. Behave.”
Ok so now I’m feeling a little insecure. Sheri topped my Slender Man porn with her own Slender Man porn. All that’s needed now is Sam Rockwell cringing in the corner shouting “That’s not right!”
A.M. HARTNETT began writing erotica upon receiving what, at the time, she considered very bad advice from a career counselor. She is the author of the Carried Away series, currently available from Mischief Books.
SHERI SAVILL writes crazy funny things and whatever else she feels like writing. She hates being cornered and shoved into a genre-hole. UGH. NO.