Tentacle erotica

On hot summer nights, when the air is so heavy with moisture that I can barely breathe, I am overcome by a recurring nightmare. The story is always the same. I swim naked in the ocean under the pale light of a gibbous moon. As the cool water refreshes my body, I can feel my nipples harden and goose bumps form on my skin. Before long, my arm unexpectedly brushes past something floating on the surface of the sea. At first, its slimy, gelatinous texture alarms me; I recoil, disgusted. Animated solely by the undulating rhythm of the waves, the opaque, tangled mass appears lifeless: maybe it’s just seaweed. Reassured by that thought, I lean back in the water. With eyes closed, I float undisturbed as an ever-increasing number of warm, viscous filaments graze my arms, slither over my legs… and gently stroke my pussy.

I spread my legs wider. Seemingly impelled by a blind sentience, one willful tentacle responds to my invitation. A shiver steals over me as it slowly parts my labia and slides teasingly over my clit. Thrilled by the sensation, I surrender to the tentacle’s increasingly vigorous, deliberate strokes. My legs begin to quiver. I arch my back in anticipation. All of a sudden, the motion stops completely. Frustrated and disoriented, I open my eyes…

…and gasp in terror. The thick, twisted strands upon which I float are nothing other than the veined, throbbing appendages of a monster of sublime proportions. It was as if Cthulhu itself had awakened from its demonic slumber in the great depths of the ocean to possess me. I struggle to swim away, but cannot break free. Countless tentacles grip me, their ravenous suckers searing my skin and bruising my sex. My arms are pulled apart, my legs violently forced open. An enormous tentacle rips into my pussy, swelling the deeper it thrusts. Another hard, slippery feeler spears into my ass so hard that it sends a shock-wave of unspeakable agony coursing through my spine. I try to scream, but a thick, oozing tentacle coils around my neck and slides down my throat so quickly that I don’t even have time to gag. Overcome by the brute force of the leviathan, I surrender to its assault. Like Dameia in Galaxy of Terror, my agony suddenly transforms into ecstasy as a series of orgasmic paroxysms overwhelm and exhaust me. When I wake up I can feel sweat dripping down my back, my pussy swollen and wet. I had cum in my sleep.

Emmanuelle Undine
My Tentacle Porn Obsession

Tentacle erotica (shokushu goukan, 触手強姦, “tentacle violation”) seems to have originated in Japan and spread from there.

The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife from 1814, a woodblock print, (above) shows a lady going to third base with a couple of octopuses, and is an obvious example of octoporn.

According to Toshio Maeda, a pioneering Japanese erotic manga animator nicknamed “tentacle master” these appendages were a way to flout Japan’s stringent obscenity laws. Today live-action tentacle porn often features slimy puppet tentacles thrusting all 20,000 leagues up a real person.

For myself, boys & girls, I like my squid lightly battered and then deep fried.

HAJIME SORAYAMA depicts tentacle violation for us all.