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Chapter 3. Twist and Surprise: from Eight Notes, to Octopus.
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I kept playing without missing a single note: I was like hypnotized.
THING kept moving his thumb in wide circles around my clitoris, never pressing it directly. The third and fourth fingers were firmly embedded in my soaked pussy, and I felt them arching like a hook. Maybe THING could have lifted my weight!
Now my bottom cheeks were no longer touching the wooden seat, because I had risen a little on my thighs. THING moved Index and Little finger... I could feel them fumbling around the base of the anal plug. I thought, terrified, "No! If it slips and falls on the floor, other people will see them! It will be caught on film! I will be fired!"
But the fingers, which before were wide and hard, became thinner and thinner and more pliant. But what's going on? They were long, very long-they looked like two tentacles of an octopus. Even the thumb was like a tentacle with suckers: a sucker had come close to my clit and was sucking it making a vacuum around it.
Pop! The anal plug had slipped out. "No, THING, please don't go in..."
Too late. The index finger was all stuck inside my highly lubed asshole. It had regained the texture of a finger: knuckles, and bones. I could feel it perfectly because THING was rubbing my flesh between his index and middle fingers, knuckle against the knuckle.
My perineum was on fire. Glowing lava.
Usually, when I masturbate, I stroke a nipple. It's silly, I know, but I missed it.
The tentacle in my anus was changing shape. It was getting harder and harder and the knuckles were getting thicker. Like the shape of Dumbledore's Elder Wand (could that be a sex toy? Imagine an auntie "here your gift, dear nephew, is a Magic Wand...").
The middle finger was also changing shape. It was getting wider and wider. I have heard of girls gigglingly telling about boyfriends with long dicks. But when I masturbate, the most important thing is girth. I need to feel my flesh dilate as if I were giving birth to a newborn baby. I know it's not the same thing, but I need to feel volume! Some of my friends masturbate with a pencil or pen, I need a tube of Pringles for the moment.
THING knew what he was doing. The finger in the pussy was getting wider, and harder. It was not smooth: it was like the big cock of Badass Dragon, with raised scales.
I was all soaked and I remember thinking, "Stay still, THING, I will move myself, just stay still...." Instead, he started rubbing the two poles: the one shaped like many consecutive spheres and the one with the raised scales.
I gritted my teeth. I didn't want the musicians around me to hear my moans: they would reveal how much I was enjoying it. My forehead was all sweaty, and I was playing the cello with all the energy of a girl about to have a magical orgasm... although I don't understand how I was keeping the notes straight because my mind was completely blank.
Or maybe that's the trick? If you have an absent mind do you play better?
THING wrapped a thin tentacle wrapped around my right tit, bare under the dress. The costume designer had insisted that I wear nothing underneath because it was part of the acting method and so on. This tentacle was different from the others: it resembled a long tongue, like that of a Chameleon, or a Giraffe. Gosh! A tongue licking my pleasure nipple... I thought I was going to faint (but instead, I kept playing my cello).
Before that day, I had masturbated hundreds of times in my life. And I had had lovers who masturbated my pussy with their hands. Sometimes it was a guy with hasty, inexperienced hands, who didn't know where to touch, who just had an urgency to get rid of "duty" before he could penetrate me and spurt his mess as soon as possible. Each guy I was with was only ever thinking about his sperm. Sometimes, it was a girl, who masturbated my pussy, with her delicate, experienced, and knowledgeable hands. But even on those occasions, the girl had her own expectations: she would touch me, but she wanted me to touch her. All natural, all inevitable, and yet, to me, it was distracting.
Now, THING was like a dream. He didn't want anything in return. I was not supposed to reciprocate. Never Reciprocate.
He was playing my body like a musical instrument: the harmony of the movements of the five fingers (now five tentacles!) was like a melody, complex and persuasive.
The tentacle in my anus was like a double bass or a cello: tenacious, continuous, ostinato, giving rhythm to all the other movements. It might have seemed almost motionless, like the chord progression of Pachelbel's "Canon," or the "Bolero." But instead, it kept moving slowly up and down. It penetrated no further: it moved forward and backward, like a turn of notes.
In the pussy, one tentacle was as rigid as a marble column, and it was rhythmically strumming. It was like the drums of a rock band: rhythmic strokes, rubbing my flesh beyond the perineum. They were always perfectly synchronized with the double bass in the rectum.
The other tentacle was like the bow of the violin: it plucked a single note here and there, like a guitarist focused on the Solo.
The thumb gently probing the flesh around the clitoris was like the pianist running his fingers across the keyboard. At times slow and solemn, at other times rapid like a jazz pianist. Sometimes, one key at a time, at other times, dozens of keys are pressed in seconds.
The little finger, transmuted into a long tentacle-like a giraffe's tongue, was focused on teasing my nipple. It was the solo voice: it rarely intervened, but it was so delicate and precise in its rapid lashes that I thought I would lose consciousness in a very long "petite morte."
Continuing to rub the tentacle in the Pussy against the tentacle in my Asshole, THING wrapped the tongue and sucked my nipple with his shapeshifted pinky finger. The squeeze made my brain melt: I still had muscle and bone to play cello, but inside, my body was just a single puddle of warm jelly. I don't remember what happened next. The nipple is my berserker button: as soon as someone touches it my orgasm takes off like an airplane taking off over the airstrip, relentless.
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Chapter 4. Conclusion.
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I have no idea how I did it, but I played the "Bolero" perfectly. I didn't miss a single note. And my body was as taut as a violin string, nervous and focused.
The director and colleagues complimented me: they all said I had played as if in a trance as if I were hypnotized, and this is perfect for imitating our character's abnormal behavior. Now they'll shoot some close-ups of Jenna Ortega, with fake sweat and a hand-playing cello framed close-up, but my mesmerized posture will remain on the movie.
Result: best stand-in nomination for every award imaginable. New job offers, and even invitations to play classical music in auditoriums!
And all thanks to my friend THING and his magnificent magical 5 fingers!
How can I say it? "Why thank you, Thing".
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My contribution to both the
"Karaoke 2023" Author Challenge
and the
Halloween Story Contest 2023
. I hope I have not frightened anyone! The whole thing is pure fantasy, with no relation to people or events in real life. I do not know if there exist some doubles or stuntwomen for the talented Jenna Ortega, but I exclude that THING can masturbate a girl in front of the cameras (although he may have affectionate friendships).
Do not try to imitate characters! They act in the tale as professionals (is a hazardous activity, don't do it at home).
As you may have noticed somehow, English is not my mother tongue, so please forgive the mistakes. ##############
