Victoria and the sea creature
I dress on trembling legs, the fabric of my day gown scratching against my oversensitive flesh.
I need to see her. I need to tell Vicki. I find her in the drawing room, the curtains drawn tight against the sun, as if she, too, prefers the dark.
She looks up from her book, her eyes dragging over my dishevelled hair, the flush still staining my cheeks, and a knowing smirk curves her lips.
"You look delightfully mussed," Vicki says, her voice low and teasing.
She sets the book aside and pats the velvet cushion beside her.
"Or perhaps you finally realised that your own fingers are poor substitutes for a mouth that knows how to devour?"
I sink onto the sofa, the shame warring with a desperate, gnawing hunger.
"It wasn't enough," I whisper, my voice cracking.
"I... I touched myself, but it felt empty. Like drinking water when I crave wine."
Vicki laughs, a dark, husky sound. "I told you, Victoria. Masturbation is solo dining. Being pleasured—truly pleasured, being sucked out until your soul tries to escape through your slit—that is a genuine feast. Feasts are shared."
She reaches under the table and pulls out a heavy, leather-bound portfolio.
"But perhaps you need to see what true depravity looks like to understand your own hunger."
She undoes the strings and spreads the volume open on her lap. It is a woodblock print, colours vivid and obscene against the cream paper.
Hokusai's The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife.
I gasp, my eyes locking onto the image. The woman, her body arched in a spasm of ecstasy, her legs spread wide as two octopi entwine her. The large one buries its head between her thighs, its beak presumably kissing, sucking, eating her most private flesh while the smaller one fondles her mouth.
"Look at her face," Vicki murmurs, her finger tracing the line of the woman's open mouth.
"That is delightful. That is the moment the mind shatters. That is what a tongue can do. It's not just licking; it's possession. He is consuming her."
I stare at the print, the image burning into my retinas.
The tentacles, slick and muscular, wrap around her waist, squeezing her breasts. The creature's head wedged firmly against her beaver.
A fresh gush of wetness soaks my drawers, sudden and humiliating.
I imagine the texture of a suckered tentacle against my clit, the tickly, wet friction, the inhuman strength holding me down.
"I want that," I breathe, the words torn from my throat.
"God help me, Vicki, I want to be eaten like that."
"Tonight, in your room," Vicki says, snapping the book shut, "Close your eyes. Ask for it. And see if the dark answers."
I enter my bedchamber as the sun dips below the horizon, bathing the room in muted greys. I strip naked, the cool air raising gooseflesh on my arms, and climb onto the mattress. The sheets are still stained from the night before, the scent of my own musk rising to meet me.
I lie back, spreading my legs wide, mimicking the posture of the woman in the print. I close my eyes, focusing on the ache between my legs, the emptiness that demands to be filled.
Sleep drags me down quickly, heavier and darker than before.
I am paralysed again, but this time, there is no fear—only anticipation.
The air turns frigid, smelling of ocean depths and seaweed. The weight returns, settling not on my chest, but on the end of the bed.
I cannot move my head, but I feel the stealth.
My God!
Tentacles!
My thighs wrapped, my hips, my breasts fondled.
My throat swept.
My hair caressed.
"Please," I beg into the darkness, my voice a ragged whisper.
"Eat me."
My thighs draped as another suction arm ghosts over my dripping gash.
But it's the mouth. Positioned at my wet girly grotto.
It's the suck.
It sucks!
It's the syphon motion.
A vacuum, drawing, drawing my flesh from my body.
Drinking every drop of my fem-cum.
The sucking makes me leak more, yet every drop is drained.
Delicate.
Delicious.
Invasive.
The most sensational dragging tease imaginable.
Fem-juices decanted from my pussy to an all-devouring mouth.
Then a tentacle tip teases my opening. Followed by an amazing texture, a slick, suctioning slide from my asshole to my clit in one agonisingly slow, wet stripe.
"Ahhh—yes! Your touch is so—so Goddamn amazing!"
It sucks at me again, gathering the cream flowing from my hole, the sound loud and lewd—slurp, schlick, slurp.
Then it focuses on my entrance, spearing an arm inside me, fucking me with it.
My inner walls clamp down, trying to trap the tentacle, but he is relentless, thrusting deep, curling the tip to scrape against that sensitive spot inside me.
"Oh God, it's so deep!"
He withdraws, leaving me clenching around nothing, and then his mouth seals over my clit. He sucks. Hard. It feels like a vacuum, pulling the bundle of nerves into his mouth, tormenting it.
My entire womanhood enclosed by a mouth.
My cowl and clit, drawn.
Pulled.
My crinkly lips, sipped, slurped, swigged.
My mound of Venus enveloped.
My quim, quaffed and gulped.
His lips create a seal that refuses to break.
The pressure builds and builds.
Shards of peak delight.
"O-oh god! Don't stop! Suck my cunt! Yes, yes, just like that!"
He puck-pucks against my flesh, the vibration travelling straight to my core.
His mouth lashes my clit, side to side, up and down, the insane, around and around; a relentless, rhythmic assault.
My hips buck involuntarily, grinding my pussy into his face, seeking more friction, more pressure.
I am nothing but a dripping, needing hole for him to devour.
"Aah—right there! You're so strong! Your mouth is... fuck... I'm so close—"
The suction increases. He scoffs me, his nose pressed against my pubic bone, his chin grinding against my perineum.
The sounds are wet, filthy—squish, smack, gulp.
Pucky gulp. Slickly gulping. Squelchy gulp.
My thighs tremble violently, the muscles pulling tight.
"Ah..ah! I, I I can't stand it! I'm about to cum! Help! Help! Ahh—ahh!"
The coil snaps. My back bows off the mattress, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my quim gushes.
Upsurge after groundswell of pleasure; rolls through me, violent and overwhelming.
The beautiful release. The sought-after release. The frickin' deserved release.
He drinks me down, his tongue lapping up every drop of my climax.
Lap, lap, lap.
Prolonging the ecstasy until I am a limp, sobbing wreck in the dark.
Held by tentacles, sweeping gently over thighs, breasts, buttocks, as the reverberations ripple through my body, owning me completely.
Exhausted, I slink to the world of dreams, and my sea creature returns to its hidden place.
I dream I am a fisherman's wife and from the sea comes to me….