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“We’re connecting,” Peony moaned. ... connection forming... “Yes, yes, yes,” I panted, her finger driving me wild. I looked over my shoulder...at her, Peony’s face twisting in rapture as she, too, enjoyed sodomizing me with her tentacle as much as I enjoyed being buggered. My own tentacles surged out, ripping at her dress. Cloth tore, her small breasts bared to me, nipples hard, pink buttons. Her black hair fell about rosy cheeks.She moaned as my purple tentacles assaulted her nipples, rubbing. A few times during the evening I almost reached for her hand, as if we were on a real date, but each time I managed to restrain myself. It was as close as I got to overstepping the mark.I learned some, but by no means all, about my delightful young dining partner. She was twenty-six, almost thirty years my junior, single through choice and with no current boyfriend. Although she'd mentioned that when we'd first met, I found that, unjustly, I was pleased about the last snippet. She lived at home. More

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