#elf man

Seaside towns are a penny a plenty. Saltend Wharf was no different. The caravan was parked at the very edge of town, right where the mass of buildings ceased their height, becoming two or single-story structures.

They were being led into town by a man who was ostensibly human. He had massive eyes and not a single hair on his head. His neck was flabby and fat with deep marks that resembled something like gills.

“You have to understand,” said the man, Peter Fairweather. “This is a deeply religious community.”

“We’ve encountered religious communities before, but mostly they shy away from us,” said Glasha.

“You uhh, misunderstand,” said Peter Fairweather. “The Seadwelling Order is very pro-sex…I think to a kind of unhealthy degree, but that’s just me. There’s a sort of sacredness to it.”

“Okay,” said Ailuin, looking down at Jessup as if to wordlessly tell them to take notes.

“Now, we’ve already got you a co-star picked out for you, she’s a bit on the green side…She’s nineteen,” said Peter Fairweather.

Peter Fairweather walked them into a saloon further into the town. A run-down little gin joint whose air was thick with cigar smoke and the stench of pipe weed.

There were men, women, and a motley assortment of others scattered around the inside of the saloon. Some were at tables playing cards. Some of them were huddled at the bar. All of them seemed fishy. Not in the suspicious sense, but in the very literal sense. Some of them had big, bulging eyes like Peter Fairweather. Others had long moustache-like feelers, akin eels or lobsters. One of them even had a long crustacean claw.

The bartender was the most alien of them all. She stood six feet tall. Tall enough to make eye contact with Ailuin, but not tall enough to make eye contact with Glasha. What would have been her hair was a writhing mass of green tentacles that lacked suckers. They were fluttering around and assembling cocktails for the crew as they approached.

“Dolores, love, these are the folks I was telling you about,” said Peter Fairweather.

Dolores extended a hand and shook both Glasha and Ailuin’s hands. She would have shook Jessup’s but she didn’t notice them until they made the mountain climb up the barstool.

“Howdy folks, what can I get you started off with? How about a touch of necromancy?” asked Dolores.

“We don’t drink…liquor,” said Glasha.

“Alright, how about your miniature friend? What does he want?” asked Dolores.

“They,” corrected Ailuin. “Can have whatever. Jessup’s habits mean little in the grand scheme of the universe.”

“It’s eleven in the morning, I think I feel like being necromanced,” said Jessup.

The tentacles thrashed around wildly. She emptied into a glass some sparkling water, some whiskey that was so brown it was nearly black, and brandy bitters. It was served to the goblin in a crystal pedestal chalice that seemed to weigh more than them.

Jessup was very quick to sip the beverage, their eyes widening about being served that much booze in a single drink. They speculated that they didn’t get many goblins in Saltend Wharf.

“Anyways, brass tacks,” said Dolores. “You folks are pornographers. We like that here. It’s approaching the divine.”

“You’re coming off a bit strong,” said Peter Fairweather.

“I’m just speaking honestly,” said Dolores. “What’s more divine than sex? Like when we get right down to it. It’s an act of pure creation. Not just the creation of life but of orgasms and who doesn’t love that?”

Jessup tried to focus on their cocktail and ignore whatever the bartender was saying.

Ailuin shifted around, a touch uncomfortable. Glasha stood firm and smiled. “So, have you ever had the chance to be with two people simultaneously?”

“I’ve never had the opportunity to. Apparently, I’m what the local fellas call ‘an acquired taste’. I think they just can’t stomach what I have to offer,” said Dolores.

A single, long tentacle ceased thrashing and approached Glasha. The tip of it ran down along her cheek and curved along her jawline. Before he could react with protest, another tentacle did the same thing to Ailuin. Though neither one would admit it, the married couple found themselves flustered by how forward the tentacled woman was being with them.

Jessup was ignoring all of this and drained their glass. They upturned it and attempted to siphon a little more liquor out of it, but it remained dry.

---

Vial strutted onto the stage wearing nothing, as was his custom. But unlike every other show he’d been the preamble of, he was carrying a drunk and half awake Jessup over his shoulder like luggage.

“Ignore them, they’re drunk, and I’m supposed to watch them,” said Vial.

During Vial’s act, Jessup kept trying to reach down and grab his rocking cock, and Vial kept having to gently smack their hand away like they were about to grab a hot skillet.

“And without further ado, slaves of the elder gods!” shouted Jessup as he finished up his act and walked the drunk and horny Jessup off stage.

The curtains parted, and Ailuin and Glasha stood in the centre dressed in black robes like virginal monks, but everyone in the audience was painfully aware that these were some well-trained and professional sluts. Battle-hardened, one might say.

“We offer ourselves,” entoned Ailuin.

“We offer our bodies,” shouted Glasha.

“We offer our minds,” continued Ailuin.

“We offer our souls,” concluded Glasha.

The floor opened up, and from the rising platform emerged the naked form of Dolores, the tentacled horror. Dolores wasted no time. She immediately seized the two of them and tore their robes, freeing their bare bodies from uncomfortable black burlap. She then seized their arms, raising the two of them up so that their legs and arms were spread and restrained to keep them from fighting back or touching themselves. More tentacles emerged from her, and she grabbed the length of Ailuin’s limp cock, a writing mass pumped up and down along his length. She was more gentle with Glasha. A pair of tentacles rubbed her labia and the tips gently probed inside before forcing their way in. It was with this that Dolores realized that there was a secondary means of pleasure for the vampiric elf as well. She parted his ass cheeks and worked the length of a thick, lubricated tentacle inside him. She mirrored this action with Glasha as well and silenced the moans of both parties with tentacles forcing their way into their mouths.

All the while, other, lesser tentacles were free to explore their bodies, tracing scars and muscle tone of Glasha and examining the slender form of Ailuin.

One of the town’s sad wizards placed a light enchantment on Dolores’s tentacles so that it looked as though white, sticky cum was spraying from their tips as they toyed with the couple. The audience likes cum, you understand. What they didn’t quite grasp is that Dolores’s tentacles didn’t quite function like penises in that sense. Sure, they were highly sensitive, and stimulation led to Dolores having repeated orgasms as she penetrated the couple, but they weren’t capable of producing semen.

Dolores released her grasp on Ailuin’s thick, monstrous cock and slid her tentacles free from Glasha’s dripping cunt. She repositioned them so that the elf was on top of Glasha, both of them being roughly used as the tentacled woman guided Ailuin inside of his wife. He needed no further prompting and started rolling and bucking his hips with reckless abandon. He tried to pull his hand free from one of the tentacled bonds, but he couldn’t. He just wanted to toy with Glasha’s clit while he pounded into her.

Dolores seemed aware of what he wanted, and a smaller tentacle wrapped around Glasha’s clit, tightening, loosening, and overall encircling her as she produced choked moans on Dolores’s tentacle.