The Duke of Tentacles

Introduction

In which she is rudely awakened.

pisces“This one.”

Those were the words I remember. Next the iron grip of a dozen hands—wrists, spreading my legs, pushing my belly into the mattress by the small of my back. They forced my pussy to lift behind me. There was a sharp tug at my pajama bottoms—my own shocked breathing.

“Yes,” one of the guards said, “this is the one.”

They knew by my pussy?

They lifted me to my feet, by the hair, and turned me round. I fought to free myself but they easily kicked my ankles apart, and bound my wrists behind me. I spat and cursed. They bent me over and yanked my head back until I moaned.

“Do you need help behaving, little girl?”
They produced a gag, a fat and ornate cock made of gold with straps to hold it in place.
“Stick out your tongue, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl!”
One of the men pushed a finger into my ass. “It could also go up your ass.”
I panicked and stuck my tongue out.
“Good girl.” They pressed the fat tip onto the cup of my tongue, into my mouth, then out again with a string of saliva following. “Will you be a good girl,” they asked, “or do you need help behaving?”
“No,” I breathed. “No. I’ll behave.”
“Good girl.”
One of them put my glasses on. “You’ll need these.”
I was pulled upright with a fistful of hair and led out of my room.
“Why me?”
“The Duke likes your pussy.”
“Every pussy’s like every other pussy!”
“Not yours,” said one.
“Yours is worthy of sacrifice,” said another.
“Sacrifice?”
“Not all pussies are worthy of sacrifice.”

When I was threatened with the cock gag, I glowered defiantly. I was brought before the Duke. I had heard rumors: ruthless, powerful and insatiable rumors. They brought me before him, then bared my breasts and unseeded abdomen. Pajama buttons rolled cross the cold, marble floor, one of them between the Duke’s boots. I waited.

“Very good,” said the Duke, finally. “You may kneel.”
“What?”
“Kneel. Bend over. Pussy up.”
“No way!”
“As that any way for a girl to talk?”
“I am not a girl.”
“You most definitely are.” The Duke parted his robe. His cock slipped from between: hooked, heavy and thrumming with his heartbeat.  “Do you need persuading?”
“There’s nothing that could persuade me.”
“Nothing?” He kissed my throat. Then lower: my collar bones, between my breasts, then abdomen. “Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.”

He returned to my nipples. I squirmed, ground my knees together, gave an angry exhalation, then yelped with something like outrage and relief when he released me. My nipple stood up—swollen, jutting, and enflamed. “You taste like a girl,” he said. Then he began twisting my tit. I rose to my toes and bit my lip. “You squirm like a girl and I bet you take come like one too.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“So how can I persuade you?” he asked. He let go of my tit and exhaled with the sudden rush of blood. His hand slipped between my abdomen and the waistband of my jammies. The guards kicked my feet apart and I rose to my toes, stiffening, as his two middle fingers pressed between the lips of my pussy. “This feels like a girl too—soft, wet, where a cock would slide right in.”

“I’m a woman!”
“Not until you submit.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I screwed my lips into a sneer. “And what are you the Duke of anyway?”
“Tentacles.”
“Testicles?”
“Ten-ta-cles,” and then with a flourish of his hands, “as in the Tentacle’s Pit.”
“Wait, what?” But the guards were already roughly shoving me out of the throne room. “Where are you taking me? Is there seriously a pit?”

They jeered. We stopped before a tall double door. They yanked my pajama bottoms to my ankles. The doors began to open with the heavy grinding of stone, iron and chains. I saw a circular chamber. I smelled brackish waters and felt a spray of humidity. Three rows of stone seats, with eager spectators, encircled a pit that was like a deep well. There were black waters in the pit and the double doors opened onto a narrow stone walkway that was like a plank. At the end of the walkway was a bolt, chain and leather collar. As soon as I saw it I panicked, fought and kicked. They forced me onto the walkway. The spectators murmured  as a leather collar was buckled round my neck. I tugged against it, frantic, my wrists still behind me. The guards left me on the walkway and the giant double doors, like the gates of a dam, slowly closed behind me.

“Delicious little pussy.”

I turned, hearing the Duke’s voice. He sat above the doors on a rough hewn throne draped with a scarlet velvet. His robe was parted and a woman knelt between his legs, sucking him. She was clothed like a Saracen’s slave, in a golden top that just covered her nipples and a belted cloth that had slid to the side, revealing the golden dildo piercing her from behind. His hands rested decadently over the broad back of his seat. Two narrow sets of stone stairs, on either side of the double doors, led down to my walkway. He gestured and I heard something like pulleys and chains. Several sluices opened beneath the balconies and water began to pour into well.

“So,” said the Duke, “I give you a choice.”

I leaned hard against my leash, ankles tangled in my jammies, hands uselessly fidgeting behind me.

“Look into the water. Behold the tentacle, my girl. Little by little the water will rise until the monster can reach you. If you don’t want to be sacrificed to the tentacle, then submit your pussy to my balls.”

“You think I’d let you breed me?” I snarled defiantly. But the room was filling with the noise of the spectators. I didn’t believe him. I walked carefully to the end of the stone walkway, leaned a little and peered into the dark and churning waters. I screamed. The spectators laughed, hooted, and jeered. How many girls had screamed just like me?

But I saw it.

Not the monster, not yet, just the horrible tentacles, the tips like orange and purple cocks corkscrewing above the water’s surface. The skin of the tips was peeled back. There were other arms too, covered in suckers, unraveling from the water’s surface like feathery feelers sensing prey, sensing a female, sensing a sacrifice. I could hardly breathe. I turned and run back toward the double doors, tugging, leaning, trying to break the collar that tied me to the walkway like bait.

“It may not be such a terrible fate” said the Duke.
“How would you know?” I struggling against the collar.
“Because other girls have turned me down.” He leaned forward and laced his fingers in the hair of the woman sucking his cock. “I’ve had exquisite orgasms in the mouths of my slaves, just like this, watching defiant girls like you inseminated by the monster as they’re pulled into its monstrous depths.”
“What happened to the women who weren’t?” I asked nervously.
“They submitted.”
I bit my lip and looked over the edge.
“All you have to do,” he answered, “is get on your knees, put your head down, and give me your pussy like a good girl.”

First Ending.

In which she submits to the devious Duke.

I snarled in frustration and awkwardly ran as far from the edge as the chain would let me. I braced my feet, turned so the collar wouldn’t choke me and tried to break the leather at my neck. When it wouldn’t break I cried out in frustration. All the while, the din of the rising water threatened. I stumbled back to the bolt, but saw nothing like a latch or lock.

The feathery tentacles, like living, knotted, thickening rope, floated and twisted ever closer. The other tentacles, like large disembodied cocks, were already beginning to drip. I turned to the Duke. He remained as he was, both arms back and casually stretched over the seat back. The slave girl’s blonde head bobbed up and down.

“Okay!” I cried.
“Okay, what?”
“I submit!”
“Words, words, words.”
I glanced frantically at the gawking onlookers. “Here? Like this?”

But the Duke didn’t answer. He leaned forward, reached under the slave girl and squeezed her nipples. She spread her knees and arched for him. The dildo impaling her glistened with submission.

I turned back to the stone walkway’s edge and the frothing water. A trickle of fear ran down my ankle. One more time I struggled to free myself from the collar—pushing, bracing my feet, growling with the effort, then finally fell to my knees in exhaustion. I saw the monster’s tentacles almost reaching the lip of the promontory and spread my knees. I lowered my head and lifted my pussy. Each minute was an eternity. The Duke finally rose from his seat and gently pushed aside the slavegirl. She glanced at me with a smug smile.  Her lips glistened. I jumped with fright at the touch of the first tentacle. Just a wisp, a living thread that slid curiously over my thigh. The pungent odor of salt, brine, and a musky humidity like semen drenched the air.

The Duke descended the stairs and parted his gold trimmed robe. His cock jutted arrogantly. Then, standing just a hand’s width before me, elbows back and hands on his buttocks, he waited. “I’m not convinced,” he said.

The wiry end of a second tentacle was already tightening like a noose around my nipple. “Please,” I babbled. “Fuck me! I didn’t mean any of it! Free me! I’ll do anything! Breed me! Make me your fuck slave!”

“Words,” said the Duke. “Your mouth can do better, girl.”
“What?”
“Use your mouth like a good girl.”
Then I understood; I reluctantly rose to my hands and knees, mouth opening for his cock. He stepped backwards. Another tentacle touched the back of my neck, began to encircle it. I crawled on hands and knees. He stepped back again. I followed until I was at the end of the leash, frantic, panicked. This time he didn’t move. This time I strained against the collar, strained against the wiry tentacles tugging me away from the Duke, almost choking myself, just able to touch the end of his cock with my tongue and lips. I peered at him, pleading, licking him.

Then he stepped away once more, out of reach. “Show me where it goes,” he said.

I stared at him, eyes wild with desperation as more and more tentacles caressed, tasted, dampened my skin. Slipping out of the tentacle’s wiry coils, each growing thicker as the water rose, I awkwardly turned around, spread my knees, and offered him my pussy.

The stratagems of men. There is no house he will not build, no desert, no sea he will not navigate, nothing he won’t concoct to beguile a woman. There is no use for gold unless it bind a woman: a necklace to leash her throat; a bracelet to manacle her wrist; a ring to bind her will to his.

The wait was interminable. I panted, then cried out with surprise when he opened me, entered me, slid into the mouth of my womb. My short, fleeting gasps turned to a guttural groan. My eyes rolled. My fingers, trapped behind my back, opened in a flurry of submission. He yanked my gaze forward with a twist of my hair and I surrendered the plane of my sweating abdomen to his thrusts. The Duke’s newest concubine submitted and the onlookers cheered. The chain connecting my collar to the walkway’s bolt rattled with each thrust.

More and more of the monster was appearing over the lip of the plank. “Please!”
“Please what?”
“Please Master!”
“Please Master, what?”
“Please Master. Come in your slave!”

He pushed at the small of my back, tilting my cunt receptively, pulled my hair with the other hand, and sunk into me. I came as he inseminated my orgasm with his own. With a wave of his hand the sluices were shut and the water began to drain as if from a bathtub in a Boston suburb. Though the monster could float no closer, the tips of the fiend’s tentacles continued to taste my nudity. My master released the buckle of my collar. Still inside me, he pulled to my spread feet. The tentacles rising out of the churning water reluctantly released me leaving trails of saltwater at my nipple, belly and throat. Water and come dripped on the stone beneath between my ankles. My Lord, the Duke, continued to convulse in my womb, slipped a finger in my mouth, and I sucked submissively.

“Come to my bed, girl,” he said.

I obeyed.

Second Ending.

In which she sacrifices herself to the horrible monster (rather than give in to the fiendish Duke).

I snarled in frustration and ran as far from the edge as the chain would let me. I braced my feet, turned so the collar wouldn’t choke me and tried to break the leather at my neck. When it wouldn’t break I cried out in frustration. All the while, the roar of the rising water was a threatening din. I turned the chain with my toes, where it was bolted to the stone promontory, but saw nothing like a latch or lock. I was helpless.

The feathery tentacles, like living, knotted, thickening rope, floated ever closer. The other tentacles, like large disembodied cocks, were already beginning to drip. I turned to the Duke. He remained as he was, watching, both arms back and casually stretched over the seat back. The slave girl’s blonde head bobbed up and down.

“Okay!” I cried.
“Okay, what?”
“Do you really think I would ever submit to you?”
“Wait, what?”
“Never.” I trembled, though I defied him. “Time you learned what a woman is capable of.”
“You’ll beg me to save you!!”

I turned my back to the Duke. Once more I struggled to free myself from the collar—pushing, bracing my feet, growling with the effort, but to no effect. The monster’s tentacles reached the lip of the promontory. I was to be sacrificed. There was no use freeing myself, I returned to the promontory’ edge and peered into the frothing water. A trickle of fear ran down my ankle. Little by little the spiraling tentacles rose with the water until the first wiry wisp touched my ankle—a living thread that slid curiously up my calve. Rising with the monster was the pungent odor of salt, brine, and a musky humidity like semen-drenched air.

Another tentacle twined round my other ankle.

Soon enough the roar of the water brought a third, fourth and fifth tentacle within reach. One circled my waist. Another braided itself into my hair. A fifth tentacle discovered my collar and the bindings that kept my wrists lashed to my elbows. “What’s the matter?” I taunted. “Does a big monster like you need a little girl like me all tied up?”

The creature tried to pull my ankles apart but was frustrated by my jammie bottoms. “I’m not moving!” I shouted, taunting the creature, just before it lifted me into the air by my ankle. It plucked my jammie bottoms off and waved them in the air like a flag. Then down they tumbled into frothing water. Still held aloft, my ankles were pulled apart until I nearly did a split, another tentacle pulled my hair back, forcing my back into a tight U. I groaned.

Another of the many tentacles undid the collar my neck.

The collar fell away and dangled from the end of the walkway. The chain clanked and echoed in the cavernous pit. Another tentacle undid my wrists and elbows. I twisted and struggled, trying to hasten my freedom. One wrist was almost loose when I stiffened, penetrated from behind by a tentacle’s tip. My muscles clamped as if I could somehow stop it, but my legs were firmly apart. The tentacle continued to slip inside until my eyes rolled and I shivered with the depth of it. The wiry feeler was like a tickle in the core of my abdomen.

Then both my arms were finally freed. I reached for the tentacle penetrating me. Three, then four more encircled my arms. I fought one off, then the other, then the other, but soon as I slipped free another was encircling an arm, a nipple, my clit, my throat. My skin gleamed with sweat. My womb spasmed, my cunt, and abdomen with the first flicker of orgasm. My body, despite my will, had already begun its slide to surrender.

To be fucked by a tentacle isn’t the same as to be fucked by a man. A man thrusts, but a tentacle pushes and pushes as if to fill a woman from cunt to mouth. The deeper it penetrates, the wider a woman’s cunt and ass are opened. She inhales, struggles, stiffens again, groans, gips whatever she can, toes and fingers spreading. You might almost say she gives birth the way she arches, pants, breathes, plants herself on hands and knees. But the agony is a different kind. The monster births an impossible pleasure bursts from her solar plexus, nipples sprouting, thighs opening in submission. Few men know how many women they lose to the tentacle.

The tentacle doesn’t defeat a woman by brute force.

It breaks her by a hundred delicate touches, a thousand persuasions and penetrations, kisses and embraces. Just when a woman thinks there’s nothing more to be penetrated, the wiry feeler probes a little deeper, tickles her from the inside out. A woman feels the orgasm build from no place and all places. She may think the orgasm begins at the tips of her toes and fingers, or in the curl of her tongue, or somewhere in the impossible center of her breath. Neither does the orgasm come unexpectedly. A tentacle’s orgasm is like the trickling of a salty, thick and dark water that finds out every nook, cranny, and watercourse in a woman’s body. She cries out, mated, womb flooded by its own need for inseminate.

I fought the monster bravely.

But the monster toyed with me. It set me on the walkway, made me think I was free, and when I ran, it caught me with a tentacle at my ankle—a cat with a mouse. Each time I thought the tentacle would be careless. Each time it let me run a little further before it caught me by an ankle. Then it would lift me into the air, draw back my head by the hair, pry my thighs apart and drive the fleshy spaded tip of its largest tentacle deeply into my womb. The whites of my eyes showed. It’s thrust were firm and evenly spaced, as though it punished me. I felt them as if in my stomach. I dripped. Moisture spurted from me with each thrust. I grunted, each bringing me closer to orgasm before it let me go.

My hair was drenched. My skin was a sheen of sweat. My tormented nipples stood red and stiffly. I was out of breath, eyelids heavy, legs shaking, dripping from my cunt. I wobbled unsteadily forward, exhausted, and fell to my hands and knees. The tentacle had won. Somehow the monster knew the time had come to take his prey. He leisurely twisted a wiry tentacle in my hair, shoved my shoulders down, and almost bent me almost double as he drew back my head and forced me to lift my cunt behind me, He drew my knees apart with two more tentacles He prepared me. I was locked in position. I couldn’t turn my gaze from the Duke but could only moan as he leaned forward with a satisfied smirk. I waited for any sign of mercy. None came. He raised his arm and  a thumb down like a Roman emperor.

The giant, spade-tipped tentacle that had been aimed like a question mark over my up-turned pussy descended. Impossibly, a jet of milk spurted from my nipples as if there weren’t enough room inside me for that and a tentacle. The whites of my eyes showed once again and I came, trembling like a leaf, impaled, trembling as inseminate poured into my convulsing womb. A vaguely heard the gratified and appreciative applause of the onlookers. I felt stretched. Filled. The monster’s come, squeezed through stretched lips of my cunt, ran down my thighs and pooled at my knees.

The tentacle enslaved me.

Then down the monster dragged me, into its lair, to be its grateful plaything, the willing and delirious mother of its monstrous offspring, forever craving the impossible pleasure of its devious ttentacles.

“I can’t breathe,” I said.

The creature rumbled as it dragged me into the water’s depths.

“Seriously,” I said, “I can’t breathe.”

The monster rumbled with irritation and the water poured from my back like a suffocating down comfort.

easy-pencil-drawings-colored-pencil-drawings

Third Ending

In which she rescues the tentacle from the Duke’s pit, marries the tentacle, and lives happily ever after.

I snarled in frustration and ran as far from the edge as the chain would let me. I braced my feet, turned so the collar wouldn’t choke me and tried to break the leather at my neck. When it wouldn’t break I cried out in frustration. All the while, the roar of the rising water was a threatening din. I turned the chain with my toes, where it was bolted to the stone promontory, but saw nothing like a latch or lock. I was helpless.

The feathery tentacles, like living, knotted, thickening rope, floated ever closer. The other tentacles, like large disembodied cocks, were already beginning to drip. I turned to the Duke. He remained as he was, watching, both arms back and casually stretched over the seat back. The slave girl’s blonde head bobbed up and down.

“Okay!” I cried.
“Okay, what?”
“Do you really think I would ever submit to you?”
“Wait, what?”
“Never.” I trembled, though I defied him. “Time you learned what a woman is capable of.”
“You’ll beg me to save you!”
I turned my back to the Duke. I pretended to struggle, as if to free myself from the collar—pushing, bracing my feet, growling with effort. The monster’s tentacles reached the lip of the promontory, little by little spiraling out of the water until the first wiry wisp touched my ankle. The pungent odor of salt, brine, and a musky, semen-like humidity drenched air. I turned this way and that as if to free myself, only wishing the water were quicker.

“The monster will toy with you,” said the Duke.
“I’ll win in the end.”
“He’ll play with you, exhaust you, bring you to the withering edge of orgasm, and finally enslave you with your consent.”
“Better ruled by a tentacle than servant to a prick.”
“Then your fate is sealed.”
And then, at last, the creature lifted me above the waters. It pulled my head back by the hair and spread my knees, binding my ankles to my thighs. With a delicate wiry tentacle and pulled my jammie bottoms aside. I grunted, hair hanging down, when another tentacle easily slipped into my ass, opening my sphincter as it penetrated, felt, searched, and finally plucks out the key I had hidden in my ass. I groaned as both tentacle and key were withdrawn.

“What?” The Duke stood, but it was too late.

The monster triumphantly lifted the glittering, golden skeleton key above us both, then gracefully, with the sinuous motion of a dozen tentacles, undid my bindings, my collar, the chain that bound me to the promontory. He lifted me momentarily, freed and naked, like a trophy before I dove headfirst into the churning waters.

Down and  down we went, the monster and I, until I half stood, half floated on the sandy floor of the pit. There were two doors. One led to the monster’s lair and prison, the other to freedom and was locked. The creature dangled the key in front of me, the tip of its tentacle through the eye of the skeleton. I took it. I swam to the door, desperate to breathe, but more desperate to free us both. Almost faint for lack of breath, I turned the key; and in a muscular burst of joy, the monster swept me into the open sea, carrying me back to the wave-tossed surface where, at last, I could breathe again.

And then we were free.

At a thousand fathoms
(In places where
A girl orgasms)
The tentacle keeps his lair.

He makes her gifts
Of seaweed and pearls:
Delicate shifts
For dancing and twirls.

He takes her at night
Where the seas glow green
Holding her tight
Though she twists and screams.

The places I’ll go
(The things he’ll do)
You’d shudder to know;
If only you knew.

But I’ve sung you my song too soon. On the very day of our freedom the tentacle took me to his underwater lair.

“Is this anyway to treat a girl?” I said.

The poor tentacle was confused. Wasn’t this exactly how a virgin sacrifice should be treated?

“I am not a sacrifice,” I said. “I am your rescuer and I am a virgin. I shall have nothing further to do with your disreputable intentions.”

Monster that he was, he chained me by the waist to the anchor of a sunken ship (one of the many) before vanishing into the wide blue sea. I waited and waited until my wonderful, charming, monster returned The creature knelt in a plume of sand, bowed his hideous head, and offered me a golden ring with a barnacle encrusted diamond.

“The bone,” I said.

The monster glanced, spun round as if to conceal his doings, then plucked the skeletal bone from the ring he’d found. He offered it again. I wept. I cried for joy. “Of course I will marry you!” At that, the horrible monster proudly brushed off the barnacle and slipped the ring over my finger. It undid the chain around my waist and, oh, but then it was eager to consummate our engagement.

“But first we have to marry!” I objected.

dreadlocks-planAnd then the horrible monster was beside itself, but arrangements had to be made.

My monster prepared an undersea garden of molluscs, conch and starfish. How he arranged them! The coral’s delicate flowers waved to and fro and luminescent fish swam about us like garlands. Sunlight sprinkled the waters. My monster-groom made for me a wedding dress. Two little lobsters squeezed my nipples. How tortuous they were! They plucked and pulled and plumped my nipples until I yearned for them to be sucked. I was not allowed to touch them. I groaned. I kneeled on the sandy floor. I spread my knees. The pleasurable weight of my swollen breasts hung under me as though I might be penetrated from behind. Oh, but then a little starfish was placed over my clit and all of its countless ampulla caressed me. And if I tell you what he did next?—but I will. A jellyfish was slipped into my bowels and there it pulsated. When it opened like an umbrella I nearly fainted with pleasure. The mouth of my pussy opened—swollen with need. The tentacles of the jellyfish floated out of me like a translucent tail. The tentacles caressed my ass and stung me—not terrible stings, but a stinging like little spankings that only engorged my pussy, curled the small of my back, and reddened my ass. I could not escape them. They punished me. They hastened my desire for the relief of penetration. When my tentacle-groom joined me my lips were parted, my eyes heavy, and every part of me swollen and wet with readiness. Tiny crabs hung from my earlobes, pinched my toes and the tips of my fingers.

“Please—” The jellyfish punished, caressed, and stung me. “Let us say our vows.”

The terrible tentacle stood next to me, half of his many tentacles encircling, caressing, kissing me. The Duke’s guards were dressed like bridesmaids in turquoise dresses and the Duke himself, the Duke of Tentacles, stood before us, Bible in hand. His hair floated, like mine, though by now you must know that we could speak and breathe under the water.

“At last,” said the Duke, “you picked the right ending!”

One of the monster’s tentacles entered my mouth, stretching my lips. I sucked, eyes closed, beseechingly, as my soon-to-be master was asked if he would have, hold, love and cherish me till death did us part. He rumbled agreeable. His tentacle slowly slipped out of my mouth and I delirious followed it with my tongue.

“Do you,” asked the Duke, “take this abominable creature as your wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

I could hardly speak. I felt the monster’s largest, spaded tentacle lodge against the nook of my pussy. I tried to answer but could only utter a choked gasp as I teetered on the brink of orgasm. I widened my knees. My eyes turned upward. “I—” I stuttered. And as I said “do”, the tentacle’s giant parted the lips of my pussy, penetrated me from behind, filling and stretching my widening thighs such that my “do” became I guttural moan. I came. I arched. I let him claim me—his wife.

“You may come in the bride,” said the Duke of Tentacles.

And, oh, he did. I could feel the weight of the filling spurts ever more heavily in my womb. There seemed no end to our lovemaking in the Tentacle’s garden. I wrapped my legs around him, I kissed him, and I was penetrated in every orifice until my stomach, bowels and womb were warm and syrupy with my lover. When we were at last exhausted, we lie back on the sandy bottom, soft as sheets on a midsummer’s evening, and daydreamed.

And then?

And then I and my monster lived happily ever after.

Latest Comments

  1. Aster says:

    This was amazing but also hilarious. I think ending 2 was my fave. Where did she have time to steal a key? Lol :)

  2. willcrimson says:

    Yes, ending 2 has its attractions. For sure! As to the key…. she obviously pulled that one out of her ass… =) *

    * (I was just waiting for someone to ask me that question.)

  3. Princess Crowned says:

    Oh Will. There are times when you delightful twisted imagination startles even me!

  4. vanillamom says:

    I. Love. You. Forever.

    Nilla

    (Oh gods but your imagination is amazeballs!)

  5. Cille says:

    Oooh I do love a good tentacle tale. There should be a prize for most intriguing use of a star fish. 💜

  6. Shy Commenter says:

    This was both titillating and hilarious. I loved it.

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