“Hold still. They’re deeply sensitive, John. You can’t imagine the sensations I’m feeling right now…”
John whimpered around the tentacle filling his mouth, the sound sending a soft vibration straight to Sherlock’s cock.
He grinned and shifted around until he was crouched above John’s prone form. Four of his tentacles were holding John’s arms and legs, spread wide and pressed down against the bed, while the remaining two were stuffed deep into his mouth and arse.
Carefully, Sherlock pushed the tentacle deeper into John’s mouth, enjoying way John’s saliva and his own natural fluid ran down John’s cheeks. He kept pushing until John’s throat was full, his airway completely blocked, and held there for a long beat before withdrawing just enough. Instantly John sucked in a hard breath, the air whistling around the wet tentacle still filling his mouth, and Sherlock shivered at the feeling.
As soon as John filled his lungs, he pushed the tentacle deeper. He held it a few seconds longer this time, and when he pulled it back John’s whole body trembled in his grip. Again, and then again, keeping the tentacle in his throat just a bit longer each time, until John was writhing beneath him, eyes squeezed shut, spit and slime all over his face.
The next time, while Sherlock held John pinned and immobilized by the tentacle filling his throat, he pushed the other deeper into his arse. John grunted, a short desperate sound, all he could force out around the tentacle in his mouth. Sherlock did it again, once, twice, three times, pushing the tentacle deeper into his arse and then withdrawing it partway, careful to keep John stuffed full the whole time. When he eased the tentacle in John’s mouth, the breath he drew was a shriek and he bucked hard against the grip of Sherlock’s tentacles on his limbs, cock leaking a steady stream of precome.
Sherlock did it again, filling John’s throat and fucking him with the tentacle over and over, a steady throbbing rhythm. He leaned down, careful not to touch John’s skin with any part of him other than the tentacles, and whispered in his ear.
“John, you should see yourself. Your mouth and arse, stuffed completely full.”
John forced out a squeaky little whimper, arching up, but Sherlock squeezed him harder with his tentacles, keeping him spread wide and bound to the bed. He waited a long moment before relaxing the tentacle in John’s mouth just enough that he could suck in a short gasp of air before filling his throat again, and he never stopped steadily fucking his arse with the other.
“You look like such a slut, John.”
John squeezed his eyes tighter, trying weakly to thrash in Sherlock’s grip but unable to move against the strength of the tentacles pinning him down, plugging his mouth and his arse. Sherlock filled his throat again, pushing the tentacle deep until John could not squeeze out a single sound. He pushed the other into his arse, letting the slippery length of muscle thicken and pulse until John was filled and stretched to his very limit. And he held him there.
John bucked in his grip, abdomen tightening and twitching. He tried to thrash his head but could not move against the tentacle pushed into his throat. His face and arse were smeared with liquid, spit and precome and Sherlock’s natural lubricant, and tears were leaking from the corners of his tightly closed eyes. And still Sherlock held him.
John’s throat started to flutter, his body giving in to the demand for air, his lungs beating, drawing hard against the tentacle filling his mouth. The sucking pressure on his sensitive flesh was exquisite, and Sherlock took a moment to enjoy it, eyes fluttering shut, before leaning down to whisper in John’s ear again.
“This is where you belong, John. Spread out beneath me, your holes mine to use as I please.” And just as he finished speaking, he pulled the tentacle out of John’s throat.
John sucked in a harsh shrieking breath and his whole body arched up off the bed. He stayed there, muscles tight, body bent in a perfect arc, for one long second before his cock pulsed, semen pulsing out to splatter across his chest and stomach. He collapsed back down onto the bed, rolling and writhing against the grip of the tentacles as his orgasm continued.
Sherlock held him there, waiting until the tremors stopped, and then withdrew the tentacle from John’s arse, only to stuff it right back in. John yelped in surprise, and his eyes flew open as Sherlock pressed the other tentacle back into his mouth.
“Oh John, I’m not done yet.”
BTW, guys, sorry to break the flow of Sherlock-freaking, but for any of you so inclined, Lazuli wrote some tentacle smut to go along with Archia’s pic.