The Rescue 7

Ellory thought back to the days when she was human. How long had it been? Years, to be sure. Maybe decades. The clothing on the men she'd rescued seemed to have changed since then. No more leggings and pantaloons: Now they all wore strange fabrics and styles she didn't recognize. This one seemed to have on some fancy black-and-white clothing, and the only thing in his pockets had been a hard little black box about the size of her hand, and it glowed with strange words when she touched it, but it didn't seem to do anything else.

The octogirl wrapped another of her tentacles around his chest to hold him steady while three of her tentacles stroked his genitals. The tentacle holding his hand to her ample breast loosened; he seemed to have gotten the idea, and he was playing with her nipple now. He was softer and gentler than some of the others she'd caught — he definitely wasn't a sailor. He'd fallen off that big white ship that had been passing by and seemed a little drunk when she found him. She wondered what they'd been doing there.

She'd rescued him, of course. Only six hundred forty-seven more rescues and the voodoo curse would be lifted and she'd be human again and could finally go home. But it got so lonely out here. And the witch-doctor hadn't said she couldn't have fun with the men she rescued, so she usually did. An orgasm or two or twelve couldn't hurt them before she dropped them off on one of the islands, could it?

He was getting close. For safety, she ordered one of her tentacles to reach up and take off his glasses, and loosen his bow-tie. She could taste the sweat on his chest through the suckers on her legs. He tasted delicious, sexy and sweaty and salty. He wasn't the most manly man she'd rescued; on land, he was probably a professor, or a rich man, and while he wasn't overweight, he wasn't exactly bulging muscle either. Still, he was cute enough to be worth her time. Not that there was really anything else for her to do out here but wait for the next man to fall overboard.

Oops! She ought to have been paying closer attention. His body tensed and he came, and she hadn't even gotten herself started. She could taste his cum landing all over her legs as he squirted again and again. It had a good flavor. Some of the other men had lived at sea too long, and had cum that was briny and fishy, but this man had been eating very well, and her suckers could taste the difference. She let her legs lick at the flavor, savoring it, wrapping them around him in a writhing, happy mass. It never tasted as good on her tongue as it did on her suckers.

She loosened her grip on him and laid him back on the beach. He was breathing hard, and looked exhausted. That was a shame; she'd hoped to get at least two or three out of him before she had to return him.

But maybe she could. After all, there was nowhere else for him to go on her deserted little island. He had no wedding ring; he didn't look attached to anyone. The octogirl could make this man her plaything until she was willing to let him go in a week or two. She'd been here for years, and had years to go; what harm was there in taking a little more time? She smiled and dove into the water in search of some lunch: With what she had planned for him, he was definitely going to need it.