Page 12 of Tasty Tentacles

“If you like,” he says. He kicks off his boxers, turning around and giving his long, snaky cock a few flips. Then he’s ready for the main event, demanding, “Let’s get to it.”

I follow his shapely ass to the bedroom, and he plants himself on the foot of the bed, legs wide and leaning back, completely accessible and ready for attention. I unbutton my pants, but he points toward the light switch and says, “You know I need to have the lights off. They feel great, but they put me off my game when I can see them.”

“My mistake,” I say, flipping off the light. My hormones take over whenever he gets naked and I forget to be considerate of his feelings. “Your cock is so damn sexy. Let’s make this perfect.”

I fumble quickly out of my clothes in the dark and unmask my tentacles, hungry for the tastes I have in store.

Enzo is a no-nonsense fellow, so I get right to work. He’s still entirely soft, but we’ll remedy that in short order. I take him in my mouth and let my hands wander up to his furry abs, then I let my tentacles loose. This is what they’ve been waiting for all day.

The lip tentacles, the most sensitive, dive immediately into the sweaty tangle of his pubes, and my mind reels. There’s so much man in the flavor of sweat and salt. The lower tentacles explore the familiar contours of his balls, squeezing the base of his sac and stroking over the firm contours. I keep the chin ones in reserve until I have him good and stiff.

“Rye, yes, Rye, there,” he growls. “Faster.”

I love it when I get feedback. It’s the best way to please him.

I bring a hand to his cock, now that he’s almost there and plenty slick, popping my lips off and letting the tentacles do the work, infiltrating his foreskin and dancing around the head, and soon, they’re rewarded with the piquant flavors of precum.

I’ve raised him to full mast, but he gets frustrated if I take too long, so I get down to business. I take him in my mouth all the way to the base and unleash my secret weapon. The chin tentacles, strongest and most sensitive to touch, stroke their way around his balls and down along the perineum.

Enzo is groaning wordlessly, arching his back, lost in the sensation. He pulls his knees up, ready for what’s next.

The chin tentacles continue their journey, dancing around his pucker. I feel every detail as they stroke in narrowing circles, finally converging and teasing his hole.

“I’m getting close,” he growls. “I want to taste your cock.”

This is an unexpected pleasure! As always, I’m completely hard, lost in my sensual pleasures, poised on the edge. I want to keep him at the edge of pleasure, though, so I jump up on the bed and straddle over his face, feeding him my cock as I get back to work on his. It doesn’t take long. I can tell he’s also at the very edge, so I jam my cock to the hilt, just the way he likes, and after half a dozen strokes, shoot all I have down his hungry throat. As the pleasure flows through my body, I give him the long, slow strokes he likes best, synchronizing with the bucking of his hips, bringing lips and tongue and hands and tentacles to bear on my handsome boyfriend’s pleasure.

“Mmmmmf,” he says around my cock, still stuffed in his mouth, and gives me his load. I take most of it, but allow some to dribble out to my insistent tentacles. The tastes of man are unique, indescribable, and what they beg for.

I let them dance around his diminishing cock, teasing his sensitivity, until he gives me the signal.

“Enough! I’m so sensitive. Damn, Rye, that cock of yours.”

I roll off him, happy with his pleasure and my own. He scampers off the bed and pads into the bathroom, and I get a quick glimpse of his sexy butt as he turns on the light and closes the door.

I lie back, letting my tentacles explore the mess in my beard, teasing out every trace of his taste, and count my holiday blessings. A steady job. A wonderful dog. And the sexiest boyfriend in the universe.

5

BERTIE

“I’m running late, BertieBear,” Hideo says on the phone. I’m so glad he called instead of texting—it’s wonderful to hear his sexy voice. I’ve been tingling with anticipation all day. “I haven’t forgotten our date. Should I pick up something for dinner?”

“Me too, hon. I’m still at the shop and I’m up to my elbows in paperwork. We have a few of the caprese sandwiches left over. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great. I’ll stop and get some wine.”

“I’m in the mood for beer,” I suggest. “A nice IPA will fit better with the filthy things I have planned for you.”

He laughs and answers, “Even better. It’s been a beer kind of day. See you and that sexy cock soon-ish.”

I work through the last of the stack of bills (they never seem to stop) and pack up the sandwiches. I add a lemon tart at the last minute—just one to share. My sexy husband is on a perpetual diet, since the city’s foremost plastic surgeon needs to keep up certain appearances, but I can probably tempt him with one bite before we move on to the serious temptation.

He beats me home and meets me at the door. He’s wearing one of his silk kimonos tied loosely at the waist, inviting my tongue with an exposed triangle of smooth golden pecs and teasing me with those long, muscular legs, just waiting to be spread. Dinner just might have to wait. He immediately takes the bag and sets it on the entry table, pulls me into his arms, and I wait for it, loving every second of expectation.

He bends down (he has some height on me) and buries his face in my neck, taking a deep breath.

“You smell so good,” he says, and I melt. He’s been saying this for twenty years, and it still feels like the first time.