Page 4 of Clutching Cthulhu’s Pearls (Time for Monsters)

My sheets itch. The Washteria, like all the latest gadgets, has its faults. I didn’t scrub the skin off my hands or pull my shoulders into a strange shape while laboring over a washboard, but this fabric didn’t rinse free of caustic soap either. My body is on fire. Images of slithering tentacles brush the corners of my mind.

Maybe it’s not the sheets…

With Leopold suspicious and on the brink of madness, I should stay in bed. The probability of him following me to the pond is high. His laboratory window faces the backyard, and if he happened to look out, he would see me crossing the muddy mess to the swamp. He would assume I’m meeting a contact to spill his research secrets. Would he investigate himself or wait to punish me upon my return? Would he hide in a dark corner of this room with a knife, crouched behind my vanity chair, or wrapped in my bedside curtains?

That assumes he looks up from his research notes or isn’t asleep on his desk.

He doesn’t notice my presence when I collect dishes from the surfaces of his lab, so why would he glance out a window? If he followed me, what was the worst he would see? My skinny dipping would frighten him if this morning’s retreat from my bedroom was an accurate assessment of his feelings. He didn’t have the capacity for sexual desire on our wedding night. Ten years later, we’ve aged to the edge of child-bearing years—despite men’s seasons lasting decades longer. The memory of the flaccid worm he carries in his trousers makes me gag. I have no need of his tiny cocklet when the mystery man outside can pleasure me senseless with pond creatures…like a sensual, freshwater Poseidon.

I can’t believe I’m considering returning to the pond, but the ache within me will keep me awake all night if I don’t do something. My fingers skim over my nipples. They are as hard as diamonds. Down my clenched belly, I reach for the hem of my nightgown. My feet dangle over the sides of the bed as I work my cunt. The coiling inside me intensifies, but I can’t topple over the edge to oblivion. I don’t have enough fingers to stuff myself like the mysterious pond man.

No sleep tonight without going outside. All the pleasures of life are denied to me for the sake of Leopold’s research—including his newest mandate, canceling our trips to Boston. My physical needs must be met, and sexuality is one of them. Leopold can track through the mud and discover this with his own eyes. If I don’t hide my egress from the house, his unstable temper won’t allow him to wait inside to kill me. I can’t believe my best outcome is to be caught in the throes of passion by my husband while a stranger pleasures me. But then again, look inside the household I run…laughable…as if I’m in charge of anything.

Nothing but my body…

And my body needs more than my feminine fingers.

My feet slap the frigid bedroom floor seconds before my nightdress joins them. The arousal simmering within me will keep me warm and reduce the amount of laundry I must do tomorrow. No sneaking tonight. I brazenly step into the night as naked as the day I was born. I throw a rude gesture at Leopold’s window before running to the pond. My faster, lighter steps don’t sink into the mucky earth. I skip over puddles like a forest nymph. It’s like I have wings! My path morphs into loops and twirls as I enjoy the rush of freedom.

At the pond, I plop onto the stony seat with a loud splash. If I knew his name, I’d call my lover. Would he rise from the murky depths in a bronze suit or emerge from the brush to swim to me? Will he wear his metal dive suit or use a snorkel mask? I’m lost in my fantasies when a tentacle brushes the inside of my right knee.

Oh no, he’s not touching me without showing me his face first!

I want it all—his name, his face, and his cock. If I’m risking my life for a lover, I want a proper one—not just what I formulate inside my mind. I rub the tentacle with my toes. It recoils. My feet clamp together to hold it to the surface. Do I dare pull it from the water?

Hesitantly, I fold at the waist. My arms dip into the brackish water. A moan escapes my lips when more tentacles weave through my fingers. The smooth glide of their tops contrasting with the sucker cups on the bottom was the source of my pleasure last night. A deluge of memories of them wedged inside me opens my legs. The trapped tentacle slivers from my grasp.

I wasn’t raised to be meek, and my acquired shyness has led to my captivity. If I want to change my life, I must be bold. Take what I want. I clench my fists on the nearest tentacles and rock backward. A growl drowns out the cricket chirps. The tentacles go taut and slap against my chest. My back arches with the sting on my breasts.

My groans turn to silent screams as my eyes follow the tentacles to their origin. They are two to four feet in length and number over a dozen. They attach to the lower half of my lover’s face like a beard. Flat nostrils open and shut as he breathes without a nose…and the pair of appendages stabbing at my thigh confirm my lover is male. His teardrop-shaped eyes dominate his face and glow lime green. Otherwise, his massive shoulders block all light from reaching me. Webbed fingers sink into the mud by my ears. His arms shimmer with reptilian skin. With each movement, it changes between green, blue, and black.

A fin starts between his eyes, and when he drops his head, I catch a glimpse of it between his shoulder blades. He sniffs at my breasts, and my eyes roll in bliss at the contact. Deep inside my heart, a little voice tells me not to judge him for not being human. The differences between our bodies make him interesting, not frightening. He’s powerful enough to rip me to pieces but hasn’t attacked me once…unlike impotent Leopold, who held me at knifepoint this morning.

“Harriett, I’m Harriett,” I whisper, reaching for his face. He leans into my palm as I near his cheek. The rough texture is familiar, and goose pimples break out on my thighs in memory.

“Hairy, Hairy,” he grumbles. His gravel voice struggles to make the sounds, as does his mouth on the phonetic shapes. I watch in fascination as he chews on my name. Will his frustration become anger?

“Hairy, hairy tea, hairy ate,” he says, stroking the curls over my mound.

“Hairy,” I repeat with a giggle. How deliciously impertinent to accept a nickname in reference to my cunt! Civilized society would combust if they knew. “I’ll be ‘Hairy’ for you. What’s your name?”

“You will be Thin’s Hairy,” he says with a growl. His rubbing fingers clamp over my mound with possession, and I reward him with a palmful of my arousal.

“Thin, your name is Thin. Where do you live, Thin?” With one hand on his cheek, my other hand roams the landscape of his body. He’s lean but not skinny, with leathery scales covering every inch. As I near his Orian’s Belt, his cock—wait—two cocks jump to greet me.

“I live here. Hairy in my home. Be my—” His words end in a groan as my curious fingers learn his shape.

A thin cock, shaped like a human man’s, oozes slime from the tip. My fingers buzz and tingle where they touch the goop. I squeeze my thighs together, so I avoid experiencing the buzz in a more delicate place. Below it, his second cock is a ringed tube. My fingers don’t touch when I measure its girth. I shimmy with anticipation of trying to take the pole into my body. Will it fit? Will I bruise or tear my opening? Do I care after the rapture I experienced impaled on his tentacles? The way the rings pulse may scramble my brain. His mouth drops open as his eyes flutter shut with inhumanly long lashes. His brain may be scrambled already.

“Is my touch okay?” I fish for compliments, but I feel desirable for the first time in my life.

“Learn me,” he whispers with a sigh. “Learn your male.”

“Do you want to learn my body too?” I ask too quickly. I don’t know if he’s a virgin or if he has a fishy wife in the pond. What if I’m strangled by a she-creature instead of sliced by Leopold?

“I know Hairy. I know Hairy is my place,” he says, rolling to my side. He stretches his webbed fingers on my abdomen, below my navel. “I choose Hairy.”

I may be wanton, but my legs fly open at that. A male is choosing me? Wallflower Harriett, with the strange father and dubious dowery, thrust into a loveless marriage because she never attracted suitors when in her prime…is a lifetime away from where I offer myself to Thin. I’m delighted when he wastes no time claiming the nectar dripping from my cunt with his tentacles.

“Oh, your tentacles!” I cry with my hips thrusting upward.

“Barbels know your flavor,” he says, lifting a two-foot appendage and rubbing it along my lips. He can’t pronounce the ‘F’ in flavor, so maybe his name is Fin, not Thin. “Not barbel but learn your shape like an en-cul…entacool—" The four-foot tentacle he holds aloft wiggles as he stumbles on its name.

“I understand,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the tentacle. His short facial appendages are barbels, while the longer ones are tentacles. Oh dear, I have one hand wrapped around his larger cock and the other around a tentacle…without invitation.

I must have made a face. When I open my mouth to ask for consent, Fin pushes the example barbel between my lips. It plays with my tongue and explores my gums.

“Round teeth and defenseless hands. Hairy has a weak mouth. She will need Fin’s strength and claws.” He bares his yellow fangs at me, so ‘strength’ sounds more like ‘senff.’ Instead of fearing their sharp points, I focus on his assessment of my weakness based on my tooth shape. I suck his barbel with hollowed cheeks until he stops smiling. He grabs my breasts to cling to reality.

“Soft,” I say, releasing his appendages to tease myself. His barbel retracts so I can explain. My fingers squeeze his scaled hands to knead my breast tissue. “ Hard points are what you want,” I instruct as if my nipples aren’t hard already. My thumb brushes his with increasingly insistent strokes, so the webbing catches and releases my areola to spread my pleasure.

“Will buds spray?”

“Oh no,” I reply while trying not to giggle. “I um… spray below. Spraying is good too…very good.”

“Hairy spray when Fin is good,” he says as he hides his face in the crook of my neck. His breath fans over the sensitive space beneath my ear. A pair of barbels enter my mouth, so I guess my lessons are over. The tentacles become more brazen in their exploration. Instead of tracing circles on my inner thighs, they open my labia and trace the delicate tissues within. I squeak around his appendages as a sucker attaches to my clit. The rhythmic suck and release may be the death of me.

One…two…three…tentacles glide in and out of me while Fin breathes in my scent. He shifts to lay between my legs without his tentacles losing their pattern. I wish I could see his face. In this new position, I can’t reach his cocks. All I can do is surrender to the pleasure washing over me.

My orgasm hits me like a runaway train. Fin rears back to check that I’m screaming in pleasure and not pain. The worry melts from his face, and he adds two more barbels to my mouth to muffle my screams. The stretching of my lips and constant rubbing sends me into overdrive. Who knew my bottom lip was a hot button too? He pumps them once and waits for my consent, but I’m too gone to care. With half a nod, his barbels mimic the tentacles below with shallow thrusts.

He eases me down from my peak with a gentleness unexpected from a creature. I’m treasured like a precious piece of glass or a priceless work of art. Drenched tentacles replace his webbed hands. They smear the evidence of my orgasm over my breasts in an erotic painting that shines in the moonlight. I’m marked as wanton, and I revel in it. I can’t deny I’ve fallen into indecency when I’m naked except for the mud coating my back. I jump when my mound is splashed and massaged. Fin’s hand pumps green goop from his smaller cock until it drips over me. My nerves jump to attention as the tingling chemical soaks into my skin. He massages it between my labia and into my body until I light up like a Christmas tree.

“Opens you,” Fin growls. “Opens Hairy for me, not you, Papa.”

“Yes, good. Follow your instincts, Phineas. Don’t stop on my account.”

My heart stutters. My blood runs cold. My thighs snap shut around Fin.

“Leopold,” I whisper in horror. I knew he would catch me…but he knows Fin. Of course, he knows Fin…err…Phineas. How else would a sea monster get into our pond? Use your head, Harriett! How long has Leopold been watching? What will he do now? How much of our passion was Phineas and I? How much was engineered by Leopold?

“Don’t act so fearful, dear wife. My plan was always for you to join my experiments, but I assumed I would have to force you. We could have been breeding you with many different monsters by now if you had told me about your deviance.”

“My deviance?” Tears drip down my cheeks. Phineas gathers me against his chest and shields my nudity from the deranged light in Leopold’s eyes.

“Phineas—you have my permission. You can give this one your eggs.”