---Ẽ’s perspective---
I set the lightweight board of (very Terran looking) black and white keys down on my desk.
I extend one of my perambulatory tentacles beneath it to pull out the pedalboard.
I sit, flourishing the back of my dress over the bench with two of my perambulator tentacles.
I extend two flexible arms out to the keys and splay out my eight finger tentacles.
It’s a little hard not to think I’m cheating…
Terrans only have ten fingers and two feet.
I have fewer fingers, sure, but then I’ve got six tentacles on my face and eight on my lower half!
Even still, I know I’m not going to be able to make it sound quite like it should!
There’s some X factor that Terrans have when playing which I just can’t replicate, no matter how technically perfect I am in my playing.
Their concept of the ‘tortured poet’ is rather an apt metaphor for their entire species’ relationship to music and, more generally, all kinds of art and creativity!
They take eons of pain, suffering, misery and loss and defy it by transforming it into beauty!
Beauty to delight every sense flows from their hands, their mouths, their minds and… *ehem*… other parts of them as naturally as they breathe!
My every attempt to capture that deathworld spark they have by emulating their works myself leaves me feeling utterly inadequate!
And, yet, I need to keep trying!
I need to believe that I can get there myself, one day!
Two pairs of keys light up, an octave apart, and I bring four finger tentacles to them as they get brighter.
At exactly the right moment, I briefly depress the upper of both pairs, then the lower, then hold on the upper.
Though no actual pipes are present, my room is filled by the resounding wails of them.
The sound is one of dread, of horror, of despair… and still beautiful…
---Yasmin’s perspective---
I watch the green skinned squidgirl’s back as she does her Davy Jones act on the pipe organ.
The tips of her twenty two boneless appendages work furiously against the keys and pedals, giving a layered performance it would take two Human organists to pull off!
The way the keys illuminate for her gives her a dramatic backlighting effect (or frontlighting? Her front but behind her from my perspective?) that fits the spooky tone of the Bach piece very well!
Five long, drawn out notes conclude.
I stand and clap, loudly congratulating “Brava! Brava ragazza!!!”
Ẽ startles and whips around in her seat in a way that makes obvious that there are as few bones in her torso as there are anywhere else in her body.
“By the Song, Yasmin! How long have you been there!?” she sings in her monophonemic, tonal language, not actually saying the (unpronounceable to her) name ‘Yasmin’ but using the Ėꬴ Ĕēȇè name she gave me when I started learning her language.
“Since pretty much the beginning of that song you just played…” I sing back, smirking.
She gives an irritated curl of the oral tentacles on her lower face before correcting “It’s not a ‘song’, it’s a piece! Songs must be sung and I’m not aware of anyone ever having put lyrics to this piece!”
I cock an eyebrow and tease “Ah(!) Thank you for the correction(!) I suppose we’ve started our session now, then(?)”
I see realisation dawn on her face as she turns back around to check the time, comprehending why I was sat waiting for her to finish being dramatically spooky.
“I’m… sorry, Yasmin… I lost track of time…” she mumblesings, apologetically.
“It’s no problem, honey… I enjoyed watching you embracing your R’lyehian heritage with the spookiness and such(!)”
She sings a high, steady, flat note, equivalent to an exasperated sigh, and answers “Yes, yes… I’ve got tentacles on my face which makes me look like the terrifying evil god character whose name I can’t pronounce, from the sunken city that’s name I can’t pronounce, in a book that’s title I can’t pronounce because it has the god’s name in it, in a mythos that’s name I can’t pronounce, by an author whose name I can’t pronounce… Right?”
“Yes… but you’re much sexier, though… Like Cthulhu’s hot daughter(!)” I chuckle.
She gives another monotone sigh and stands, turning around on her eight tentacles and keeping them straight enough to make her half a head taller than me (adorably).
She ambles her way over and brings out her jointless arms to wrap around me.
I grin as her oral tentacles part, revealing the glistening blue, suckerlined undersides as they wrap around my lower head, under my shayla, allowing her cute little beak to come to my lips and start nibbling them in a kiss.
I squeeze her back (gently as, even though she has no bones to break, it doesn’t mean I couldn’t hurt her if I squeezed her as tight as I’d want!)
I stare into the pair of pink eyes with shallow U-shaped pupils, enjoying the sensation of the embrace of one of the most interesting lovers I’ve ever had.
Talented (in many regards(!)), attractive (both cute and beautiful) and (the initial draw) a speaker of one of the most difficult (and therefore fascinating) languages I’ve ever learned!
I don’t remember it taking me so long to get as good with any language I’ve learned (with a willing teacher, at least ) since I was a child!
I am not particularly musically inclined, which has been an enormous impediment!
I’m definitely a better singer now than I was this time last year(!)
And… well… the amount of time her language has taken me to learn has allowed me to spend a lot of time with the sexy daughter of Cthulhu currently nibbling on my lips and filling my nose with the smell of sea salt.
Just as I’m reflecting on that, I feel another sensation… tentacles sliding under my dress and starting to wrap themselves around my shins.
I pull my head back enough to sing into the bubble formed around my mouth by her oral tentacles “Ah, ah, aaaah! You know the deal! Session first, then playtime, missy!… Also, no suckermarks on the face!” raising a finger to tap where I can feel her suction cups clamped onto a part of my right cheek “If you leave bruises there, I’m going to have to where a veil until they heal(!)”
Ẽ’s cute upper face pouts as she gingerly detaches her suckers from my cheek and withdraws her tentacles from my legs.
“Alright then…” she sings, curling up her lower tentacles into a nest beneath her as she takes a seat on a couch designed for Terrans “…what have you got for me today, Yasmin?”
I smirk as I take the seat beside the sexy siren and pull out my holo, quickly syncing it with the wall we’re both facing “Well… I’ve got twelve for you today…”
“Twelve…? It says thirteen?” she queries, pointing at the display.
“My mistake! Thirteen!… Thank you for the correction… Numbers are always a little tricky to wrap my head around in a new language!” I sing back, relishing the bitter sting of the error while, at the same time, resolving never to make it again.
“No problem… So, what’s the first one about?” she asks, pointing to the metal song at the top of the playlist.
“Well, the first one is about one… hundred… and eighty… nine…” I start, singing slowly to make sure I don’t give the number wrong “…uhm… soldiers? I don’t know if that’s quite the right word… one hundred and eighty nine men whose job is to fight and protect, protecting the… priest king who employs them…”
“Guards?” she suggests.
“Guards! Yes!” I sing back “One hundred and eighty nine guards, guarding a king of priests (I don’t think there’ll be an exact translation for his title) when their city is being attacked by soldiers who wanted to steal because they hadn’t been paid… Is there a way of saying ‘when soldiers steal’?”
“I think we would just call that ‘stealing’?” she answers “You have a specific word for it in Terran languages?”
“Most do, yes… Anyway, the guards need to be very brave to guard the priest king from the soldiers attacking… lots of them need to die… and they do die!” I finish, not happy with how stilted my explanation sounds.
“Alright then, do you want to play it?” she asks, turning her attention to the wall.
“Playing it now.” I say, tapping my holo to start the song.
The sound of Christian church bells rings out from the room’s speakers, quietly at first…
---Ẽ’s perspective---
I look at the stocky Terran man in the colourful uniform and almost as colourful room.
His brown hair falls to his shoulders beneath his cylindrical, peaked cap and forms a sleek, bifurcated covering on his top lip, extending out from there, left and right.
His eyelids have been painted in a light blue and his cheeks tinted red.
His white gloved hands grasp a plastic microphone and his body moves even more stiffly than is normal for people with any kind of skeleton.
He sings so rapidly it seems impossible to believe he has the breath for it!
The lyrics are dense with double meanings!
The whole video has been an uncanny, creepy, off-kilter mixture of elements that look as if they were intended for children and elements that very clearly seem intended to be terrifying… especially that fluffy blue creature with the razor sharp teeth who wants to ‘melt my intestines’ with his hugs!
The singer moves his eyes and body in a way I’m almost positive aren’t actually possible for Humans.
My three hearts are pounding in my chest and my breaths are fast and shallow.
mf♫Don’tthinkthattoyshavegotthingstosay?
ThenLookatthesepointsofarticulation!♫mf
He raises one hand and lowers the other in an angular formation to spin them around at the wrists several times, the translation informing me of a play on words with ‘articulation’ pertaining both to speech and joints.
His head spins around, 180°, for him to repeatedly jab a thumb to a large ring of plastic tied to the middle of his back as he sings
mf♫Pullonmystring,haveaconversation
Oh,soyouthinkwe're…♫mf
he whips his head forward again and screams
fff♫…ABOMINATIONS!?!?!?♫fff
his voice Demonic, his eyes glowing red, one fixed forward, the other spinning wildly, his teeth suddenly two rows of sharp, pointed, predatory fangs, his skin grey and cracked and the ambient lighting red.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Stop it! Please!” I demand of Yasmin who pauses the video, thankfully on an image of the singer looking unDemonic, just pulling an intense expression through a sheet of clear plastic he has his hands against.
I sit, panting through my funnels, my hearts feeling like they’re in danger of failing under the stress.
“What’s wrong?” queries Yasmin.
I extend a hand to wave at her before gasping “…it’s… too much!… I can’t take it!… I don’t have… Terran fortitude!”
Her untentacled face falls as she says “Oh… sorry honey!… I guess it was a bad pick… I just thought… Because you said you wanted ones with interesting or unusual themes!… I thought this one was interesting, I didn’t think about it being frightening!” her body language (though alien) letting me know she’s not lying and, in fact, did not register that terrifying image as anything to be concerned about at all!
It wasn’t just that one either… over the last eight songs, I’ve been a triumphant warrior, a heartbroken shell, a silly little trickster, a juicy piece of meat about to be hunted and four hundred and eighty two other different things!
I feel stretched out… like a [squid] on a drying rack!
“There are still a few more? Do you want to skip this one and keep going or…”
“I can’t!” I sing over the end of her sentence, discordantly, (an enormous faux pas to the Ĕēȇè) “I can’t handle any more! I’m sorry!”
She answers with a Terran laugh before singing “You don’t need to be sorry, honey! If you can’t handle any more, you can’t handle anymore! We can stop there, it’s completely fine!”
“Thank you…” I sigh before my orals twist in discomfort to ask “…and… uhm… can we still…? Is it alright if we still… play?”
Flatly, she cocks an eyebrow and sings “Honey… you seem to have misunderstood the terms of our arrangement! This isn’t an exchange! I’m not paying you for lessons with sex! The exchange part is, I bring you obscure songs, you correct my descriptions of the songs and we have a little discussion about them afterward! When that’s done, we have sex because I think you’re sexy!… The only reason I insist on having the session first is because I know we’re less likely to get to it otherwise, not because I’m holding playtime hostage to reward you with afterward!… Yes, we can still play if you still want to!… Just try to recover first though!”
“OK… that’s a relief!” I say, curling my orals in happiness.
---Yasmin’s perspective---
I sit on Ẽ’s bed, watching my lover as she removes her dress with two of her tentacular legs rising up her body to lift it off.
From the waist down, her eight tentacles obviously look absolutely nothing like a pair of Human legs but it’s actually astonishing how Terranlike her upper body is in size, configuration and proportion!
There are differences of course; her boneless arms bend along their length (like an early 20th Century rubber hose animation), her hands are each missing a finger, her chest is missing its breasts, her skin is a vivid green, her U-pupiled eyes are a vivid pink with pale blue sclerae, the scalp of bright pink integument she has isn’t quite hair but fine tendrils of keratinised flesh (a fact much more obvious on her short eyebrows of the stuff) and (most noticeably nonTerran) then there’s her lower face of Cthulhu tentacles.
She is shockingly attractive overall, neither in spite of nor because of her many nonHumannesses but inclusive of them!
The most erotic thing about her, though, is that voice of hers.
She sings with a voice of such ethereal beauty that I don’t think she’d have any problem luring even a crew of ace sailors to their deaths on the rocks(!)
Listening to her sing is intoxicating and I praise Allah for creating her to speak a language of song…
Part of the reason her language has taken me so long to learn is simply that it’s incredibly easy for me to get lost in her voice and forget to actually try to understand the meaning of the tones she sings(!)
Her eight legs *thud* lightly against her floor as she approaches me.
She reaches a leg up to my shayla and pushes it underneath, wrapping it into the fabric before pulling it off my head.
I give a seductive smile up at her as my hair falls back to my shoulders.
She brings that tentacle along with three others down under the hem of my dress. First, deftly pulling off my shoes before extending the appendages along my legs to drag my dress upwards.
I lift my weight off of my arse to allow the fabric to pass beneath it.
I spend a few moments blinded by my dress before it comes off, leaving my body (covered in suckermark bruises in various states of healing) only clad in a set of light blue lingerie.
I lie back on the bed and pull my feet up.
She takes her cue and climbs up over me.
Looking upwards and getting an (absolutely delightful) upskirt of the underside of the membrane between her eight lower tentacles, I see her cute little, mostly Human looking cunt as she lowers it toward my face.
The only difference between hers and any of my Human lovers’ is that her labia majora are bright green and her minora are pale purple.
The frontmost portion of her membrane skirt is hooked beneath my nose, allowing me to look up at her, as she brings her green and purple pussy to my gold tongue(!)
Contact…
She wraps the sucker bearing ventral sides of her tentacles around my body as much as she can, encoiling my arms and legs, though she’s not able to get beneath my torso at all, due to its weight.
I feel the pleasant sensation of her suckers latching onto my skin… not as pleasant as I know I will feel when they’re pulled off… leaving me with a hundred new little lovebites(!)
I taste her salty sex as I watch her eyes close, her oral tentacles curling in pleasure.
I would describe her taste as ‘fishy’ but I would have to specify that it’s the pleasant, complex, rich taste of fish that’s been grown in a lab or killed with the ikejime method, not the off, sour, bitter taste of fish that’s been killed with the suffocation method, filling its body up with adrenaline, cortisol and lactic acid, which most people who lived before lab grown fish was an option probably just thought was how fish tasted!
She herself is not a sea creature.
Though she’s much better suited to swimming and diving than a Human, she’s still an obligate air breather.
However, seafood makes up such a large portion of her healthy diet that I guess it ends up imparting its taste into her(!)
I realise the show’s about to begin and snap my focus away from how she tastes to how she’s about to sound!
High, amatory, staccato whines escape the flared breathing funnels she has just behind her oral tentacles.
The sound would put any Human singer of The Queen of the Night Aria to shame both for its beauty and its difficulty to reproduce!
Hers are definitely my favourite pleasure moans of any lover I’ve ever had, beating out those of that Dommy Don princess on Fennoscandia!
---Ẽ’s perspective---
Screaming…
Her tongue’s and lips’ dance always reduces me to screams and I don’t understand how!
Sure, they’re dextrous for what they are but, considering the nature of the sex organ mine is adapted to accommodate, it doesn’t make sense that the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had have been given to me by that little pseudotentacle in this woman’s mouth!
I pull myself off her (not carefully breaking the seal on my suction cups the way I did with her face earlier but pulling them off, just as she’s requested, in a way that lines her body with rows of fresh, light, circular suction bruises) and collapse beside her, panting.
The beautiful woman rolls onto her side, facing me and smiling as she pulls me into an embrace, pushing her face through my orals for a kiss, allowing me to taste myself on her impossibly dextrous mouth as she presses the bare green skin of my boneless chest into the brassiered brown skin on the front of her cage of internal armour.
She closes her bright brown eyes and I close mine, just enjoying the nonvisual sensations of her kiss.
Over the next few [minutes] my breathing slows and my heartsrate calms from the soothing embrace…
I finally manage to pull my tentacles (carefully) away from her face and pluck up the courage to ask “How do you… do it?”
“How do we do what?” she smiles, not needing to clarify whether that was a singular or plural ‘you’.
“Everything! How are Terrans just so naturally amazing at everything they care to try!? How is it fair?!" I pout, trying and failing to inject any humour into my tones.
She smiles a knowing smile and rolls over, harmlessly squashing my arm flat beneath her shoulders as she thinks…
“You know…” she starts “…there’s a saying I’ve encountered a few different versions of in lots of different languages but my favourite version goes; kom parrison iz thi thiif ov joi.” switching to a Terran language, dense with phonemes I can neither reproduce nor distinguish, to give the saying that causes her tongue to protrude between her lips twice in quick succession.
“Alright? What does that mean?” I ask, just about managing to keep myself from adding ‘showoff(!)’
She smiles sweetly (making me think she knows exactly what I didn’t say) and illuminates “It means; if you’re always comparing yourself to others, it will make you unhappy! To compare steals your happiness! Jealousy will make you miserable…”
I scoff “Yeah… all well and good to say when you come out better than us by every single comparison!”
She gives a mirthful pout of her lips before negating “Not true;… You want to hear the highest note I can sing?”
Without waiting for an answer, she opens her mouth to let out a note well below [1KHz], a fraction of the top of my register.
“You want to know how long I can hold my breath? It’s about [150secs]!” she says, volunteering a figure that’s around a fiftieth of the time I’d need before surfacing for air.
“You’ve got eight dextrous legs, I’ve got two that are not! You’re ambidextrous, I can’t even sign my name with my left hand! You can drink saltwater, I can’t! You…” she brings a finger to the outside of my orals “…can hold food to your mouth without your hands, I can’t! I can swim at maybe [3kmph] and you’d be… What? ×10 that fast?… Oh! And do you know how many musical instruments I can play with confidence?” she holds up the same finger she just used to caress my face “One! I can play the ney and nothing else! You…” she waves a hand past where the digital pipe organ is, to my collection of instruments in a half open wardrobe “…pick up instruments like I pick up languages!”
I frown “But all that…”
“All that doesn’t prove your point(?)” she interrupts in a way that wasn’t a faux pas, simply because the notes followed melodically from my unfinished sentence.
“No. It’s just… that’s not special! All that’s just normal for my species… except the instruments… but that’s just because I’m interested in them!”
She bobs her face up and down and answers “Yes… at least if they have the capacity for them, people tend to get good at things they’re interested in(!)… I’m interested in languages, Jae’s interested in cultures, Yuán’s interested in fighting, Gammoiwoth’s interested in buildings, Sknz’h’s interested in bodies, Miraala’s interested in seas and you’re interested in music! Your ability is not less than any of ours and you’re only making yourself unhappy to constantly be comparing yourself to others, in all of the ways that you don’t measure up, while rejecting the ways you’re better than us as not mattering! We’re all different and that’s OK! Life isn’t a competition!… At least, I don’t think so!… I think the Creator put us here to enjoy ourselves! He didn’t put us here to be miserable because we’re jealous of what we’re not!!!”
She stops there, looking into my face with an expression I think is triumphant but her lack of orals makes it difficult for me to tell.
I’m in stunned silence, processing all of that.
Eventually, I manage “You’re… a lot wiser than me, Yasmin!”
She puffs through her small breathing funnels, just above her mouth, and answers “Well, I am more than [30 years] older, honey… Just a shame that you’ve apparently not taken on that wisdom at all, given that the first thing you did after I gave it to you was compare yourself to me again(!)”
I laugh and that makes her smile.
“Alright honey… if you’re feeling better… there’s something I know you’re really good at that I wouldn’t mind you showing off(!)” grins the Terran woman, bearing her calcite teeth.
---Yasmin’s perspective---
The tips of four tentacles wrap around my wrists and ankles while a fifth caresses the inside of my thighs.
Two squashy hands push my pale blue bra up my chest before gripping my now exposed breasts and massaging them sensually.
A mass of tentacles approaches my face below a pair of bright pink eyes at the same time as three (much thicker) tentacles push my pale blue panties aside and begin teasing the place between my sopping wet pussy and my trembling arsehole.
My (upper) lips are pushed open by the tips of six tentacles which force their way between my teeth.
As overwhelming as it might be, I have to keep control!
Remember that it would only take a clench of my jaw to give her a sextuple dismemberment!
If I think I’m about to lose control, I turn my head and she pulls out of my mouth! That’s the deal.
The perineal tease concludes and, just as the exploration of mouth begins, those three lower tentacles split up.
Two travel North, coming to rest between my labia, one travels South, stopping against my arsehole.
“Ready?” sings my lover, quietly.
“Nnngh-hnngh!” I confirm, my mouth full of tentacles.
“Alright then…” she says, plunging all three of the lowers inside me.
Allah! This sensation!
I’m quite sure this girl has utterly ruined me for men!
If I ever become brave enough to finally take a male lover, what cock could possibly compare to this!?
The two in my pussy have their ventral surfaces (with the suckers) facing outward, while their dorsals are back to back.
They slide in and out of me, alternately, allowing for a panoply of different sensations as the suckers slide against my walls and the smooth dorsal backs contact my insides with each forward thrust!
The one in my arsehole twists and coils around as if it were searching for something that it can’t find.
The six in my mouth give me a sextuor of French kisses while the only lower that’s neither wrapped around my limbs nor inserted into my orifices continues to tease my inner thighs.
I moan as Ẽ builds my ecstasy like a conductor conducting an orchestral crescendo!
My limbs seize and I turn my head.
She manages to withdraw in time to let me clamp my teeth in an orgasmic grimace without sending her to the medical ward(!)
I scream from the pleasure… not the operatic, staccato, supersoprano screams that she gave when I made her orgasm earlier…
No, this is much more of an animalistic growl!
I crumple as the torturous pleasure subsides.
The hands are removed from my tits and the tentacles are unwound from my limbs and withdrawn from my holes with amusing, wet *pop*s.
“How was it?” asks my lover, coiling her oral tentacles nervously.
“*huff*…Incomparable!…*huff*” I sing back with a smirk.
Her nervous coil turns into a happy curl.
---Ẽ’s perspective---
I lie beside Yasmin, basking in the afterglow, when I her the familiar *ping* of her holo.
She lifts it to her eyes and reads the text of blocky angles and circles that looks completely different from the flowy cursive script she showed me and told me was the writing of her first language.
“Hey…” she says, turning to me “…Jae’s doing dinner in Elysium and just asked if I’ll be joining. Would you like me to ask if you can come too? You should be safe to eat what she’s making.”
Slightly surprised, I ask “Is… that really alright?”
She grins “I can’t imagine anyone will object! The only reason I think I should ask is so that she knows to make enough for you…”
“Well… alright then… I’d love to join you!” I say with a curl of my orals.
“Great. I’ll ask her then.” smiles Yasmin, tapping out a response in the same angular character’s as the other Terran woman’s message.
She sends it.
“Uhm… out of curiosity, Yasmin… what is she making?” I ask.
“Haemul-pajeon.” she answers in a Terran language.
“And, what’s that?”
“They’re, like, seafoody pancakes.” she explains.