The Beach
This was for a short prompt-based writing exercise; the prompt was "Consensual tentacle oral sex."; I went with elder gods.
Still really bad at titles.
So he runs into an eldrich horror at the cove. Like, there was that big storm a week ago, and it was just covered in driftwood and dead seaweed and rotting fish and chunks of purple rock, carved all over with sigils of languages no one could identify, so it was closed. Except the next week was full of nice sunny, windy days that would've been perfect for surfing, and the far side of the cove was the best place for it, so after a week he just decided fuck it, and went past the yellow caution tape.
The waves were real nice. The cove was pretty deserted, without the usual crowds; people dotting the beach, other surfers catching waves. Quieter, just sand and sun and water.
After a few hours, though, he completely wiped out, went flying off his board, bubbles churning around him, and when he surfaced he noticed someone on the beach, by the rocky, marked-off end where it turned into a hive of half-submerged caves. He waved as he made his way to his board, and after a few more waves he rolled his shoulders and headed over. The guy was still there, sitting on a rock, watching him as he sloshed ashore.
"Hey, bro," he said, waving. "Sup!"
The guy was big and brawny, and all green-brown, leathery and warty, with these over-large, luminous eyes, milky white with an iridescent sheen. And like, bearded, but they were these thick, flexible tendrils just growing in layers around his mouth, down across his jaw. It was pretty hot. Plus he was naked, like, not that that was unusual; the beach was clothes optional, but he was pretty hot with his churning, slick mat of cocks lying limp all across his thighs, like a hundred rooty filaments budding off from his body, trailing up across his stomach as thin twitching tendrils.
"...Hello," the guy said, after a pause. He got a nice voice, accented like he usually spoke some ancient language from beyond the stars, or something like that.
"Nice day, huh?" He shook the water from his shaggy hair, dragging a hand back through it, flexing a little, all subtle, checking for a reaction. He grinned when he caught the guy watching the slow flex of his bicep.
"Yes," the guy said.
"Not to, like, be a huge bother, but wouldja mind helping with my sunscreen? Like, I was out there for a while, I think it's all washed off; don't wanna get all burnt." The surfer shifted his weight from side to side, fiddling with the zipper of his wetsuit, grinning as the guy's gaze locks to his neck and then moves down with his zipper as he unzips it halfway down his chest. His cocks are starting to stir, all weird pointy-tipped things, sliding against each other in a huge tangle between his legs. "Gotta, uh, get the back of my neck, you know, the suit rides down," he continued, stepping closer until the guy's tentacles grazed against his legs, winding as if of their own volition around his thighs, squeaking against the rubber of the wetsuit.
"Uh," the guy said, only it was way more glottal, drawn-out and liquid. His eyelids fluttered, translucent membranes wicking over his eyes. The tentacles tugged the surfer closer, surprisingly strong, and he hit the sand with a thump, on his knees, fat warty cocks coiling all over his shoulders, pointed tips drooling thin slime. "Usually there's-- screaming?" the guy said distantly, muscles in alien configurations shuddering all up his stomach.
"Yeah, eldrich horror, nightmare city beneath the waves," the surfer said, mouthing against one of the fat tentacles, lips dragging along the dimly moist surface. "No, we got another of you guys last summer, he lives over on the island, but he's straight."
The tentacles pressed against the surfer's mouth, dragging slowly towards the tips, leaving his face coated in a thin sheen of slimy film. More wrapped around his shoulders and chest, until he's practically buried beneath them, enmeshed in a churning coil of tentacles. His arms are buried in the tangle, hands -- individual fingers -- stroking along a hundred different shafts, dragging back and forth over the looping curls of his cocks.
He groaned when a tentacle-tip finally drags against his face: leaning into it, mouth open, trying to pull it into his mouth. The tip spread wide, pale-green internal flesh visible as it spit out pearly bubbles, smearing thick slime all up one cheek, meshing wetly with his shaggy hair, trickling in chunky lines down his jaw. The surfer jerked forward, pulling against the nest of cocks heavy across his shoulders, and sucked it into his mouth. The barely-there crest of the tentacle-tip popped past his lips, the hole at the very tip yawning wide as it spit out more fat pearls, and he swallowed them down whole, as chunky pearls. The guy groaned, cocks smearing slime all across the surfer's face, clotted pearlescent fluid matting his hair down, dripping into the loose collar of his wetsuit.
The surfer opened wider, cheeks bulging as more tentacles try to push into his mouth: a sharp tip digs into the corner of his mouth, and he bobs forward, dragging his tongue down the side to angle it right as it sinks into his mouth, the moist, warty flesh of the tentacle dragging over his swollen lips as the tentacles twine around each other, tips lodged almost in his throat.
They're not thick individually, but with three in his mouth, one trying to push down his throat, -- he swallowed, thickly, Adam's apple jerking as he tries to let it push even further, down into his stomach -- is just about all he could manage. He relaxed his jaw, letting himself drool down the pumping lengths as they fought with each other over his mouth. There were a dozen cockheads smearing across his face, pale-green and pungent, beads popping against his lips, and they spilled salty fluid into his mouth, more just coating his chin and neck.
The guy bellowed, some completely inhuman rattling cry, and the tentacle down his throat spasmed, pulsing, as fat swells traveled up the shaft until they burst tastelessly straight into his stomach. The slow pulse cut off his air in even intervals, giving him enough time to suck in a ragged breath between jaw-cracking bulges, stretching his throat achingly wide. He swallowed in time with them as he worked with the guy, all of it spilling inside him, leaving him dazed and breathless when the tentacle finally pulled out.
All of them pulled out, actually, even when the rest were still hard and dripping all over his face, and he looked up at the guy, who looked about ready to say something.
"Yeah, no, eggs, it's cool," the surfer said, cutting him off, grinding forward against the guy's legs, cock a distended bulge in the front of his suit. "You got like a hundred more clutches to pump out though, right? No reason to stop now, come on." And he twisted his head, mouth slick and coated in glistening slime, lapping across the flushed tips of his tentacles, sucking another one into his mouth. "Keep going."