Tentacles and Reparations

I had the dream again last night. I tried to describe it to my boyfriend, but he called it a nightmare and told me that is what I should expect for pursuing "unnatural interests". Those interests being my PhD thesis on female marriage to sea goddess as earliest form of ritual same sex divine marriage as covenant for coastal villages in stone and Bronze Age Scandinavia.

I woke screaming from the dream, surprised my mouth was free, or I was unbound. I awoke soaked in sweat and thrashing violently. I also awoke cumming so hard I am not surprised my boyfriend did not recognize it. Not sure that qualifies as a thesis side effect.

The goddess of the deep sea, of ship killing storms and village destroying waves cast her nets and tentacles for men, as they cast their nets and harpoons for the children of her sea. It was for the women of the village to make an offering of love to her who drags down, lest she take their men in offering of blood instead.

The practice was limited to small villages by the Viking age, and burned out root and branch by the rising Christian church. Not big on pagans, lesbians, sex magic, public sex or tentacle porn your old-time witch burners, so not much evidence survives in anything but fragments.

Still, my thesis advisor was so excited he shook loose funding for me to go to Haida Gwai, the old Queen Charlotte Islands of Northern BC Canada to visit a dig of the Octopus people. There had been a tribe there whose women braided their hair in tentacles and held a special magic with the sea through their relationship with the Octopus woman. Of course, the Anglican Church and Residential Schools wiped out all their culture, language, history, and tolerance for wandering redheaded female grad students. Easy doesn't get you PhD.

I found myself on the strand in Sandspit, hiking boots and wool socks tucked into khaki pants that flapped against my legs in the whipping northern wind, save for the ass where they were stretched tight. I had a loose-fitting fisherman's knit sweater that was one of the few things that could downplay breasts my boyfriend compared to the frontal armament of the Bismarck. My red hair was cut to shoulder length and kept mostly out of the way by a no none sense hair band. My nose was sunburned, my nose both pert and freckled, and there was a blue pen forgotten behind my right ear. Enter Wendy Thomas, grad student, exit sanity.

Dr Khol met me by the strand the sea plane dropped me off at. He babbled nonstop, and less than linearly until he dropped me with his grad students at the cave. They added the last half of all the intriguing sentences he left in scatterbrained remnants as the great professor wandered.

There were a lot of parallels in the physical items at the dig between the sacral female sea marriage of Ran and the Octopus woman ritual site we were at. Local legend called it bloody virgin sacrifice, but it read like an 18th century sermon, not like anything typical of known coastal Salish practice, so the professor and I doubted that version as modern propaganda.

We had gathered on the dark of the moon at the cave where such ritual was supposed to be done. We had gathered all the items local legend said were traditionally offered. Weaving the baskets with our own hands to hold them. I argued for women only at the ritual, citing all known similar cults from Japan to Norway were women only, but was overruled on university diversity guidelines.

Charles, Anna, Michelle, Anwar and I descended into the cave by the light of oil lanterns. We began the traditional songs, and my dream seemed to creep up on me. I noticed my own chanting began to change, following into new rhythms, different stresses, and notes. Anna and Michelle followed with me. The blush on little Japanese Anna, and the visible nipples poking through the pleasantly plump Central African Michelle's blouse argued they were feeling the sexy vibe as well. Charles and Anwar's voices were getting shrill, as they were getting pale and sweaty. Whatever the men were feeling, they did not like it.

Then She came.

The bottom of the cave was the sea. Dark black water that had never seen the sun boiled as she rose, huge and terrifying. Naked and with skin that shifted colour like an octopus, her form was that of a mature woman, heavy breasted and hipped, with a rounded belly. Where her legs should be was a forest of impossibly long tentacles. Her hair was the dark green almost black of sea weed, and her eyes the black on black of a shark. Her human half alone was easily two meters high.

She rose from the sea serene and beautiful; her song rang from the walls both wordless and wonderful. Her body rippled with light that sang a song of loneliness and ancient aching need that tore a groan of answering lust from me.

Then Charles and Anwar screamed. Anwar threw the camera he was filming with, as Charles took up an oil filled lantern to throw.

''Demon from Hell". Charles shouted.

"It is going to kill us" screamed Anwar.

I wrestled the lantern from Charles, but it was too late. Her song had changed, and she flashed in anger as her tentacles struck at us.

I watched the outward battle begin. Saw the tentacles take up Charles and begin to choke him out. I lay where I was thrown and fought my inward battle. Was I a colonizer come to mock or end an ancient covenant? Was I a supplicant, come to offer myself as bride and offering to that most ancient she from the sea. Mind said run, pussy said strip, heart knew love or blood were the only offering the elders honoured.

I stripped.

Charles was going limp. Anwar being dragged by his legs to the sea. Anna and Michelle were hugging each other in fear.

Naked, I held my arms to her as I walked. Once she struck me, a lash across my back that struck me down. I felt the blood flow as I staggered upright and staggered forward. I could not remember the native words, so used my own. In English and Deutsch, I said it.

"I come for you in love, I am your bride!" I say it again and again.

She wraps me in tentacles and spreads wide my arms and legs, but I do not fight her.

The loop around Charles neck slackens, and I hear him gasp. Anwar sobs at the water's edge, no longer dragging down.

She rose before me, sea green hair almost black in the dancing light, skin flashing her anger, and I could feel the betrayal, the loneliness, the loss. She was wounded, all I had to offer was my dream, and my hunger.

A second and third tentacle whipped my back, scourging me for the betrayal of the covenant, for the presence of men at the sacred marriage, and at the violent rejection of her proffered love.

I screamed then, to Anne and to Michelle.

"Love or blood, she will have one from us. We called her for love, which will you offer?"

Tentacles wrapped around my throat and I kissed the suckered angry hardness that gripped my chin and thought to bind my mouth from speaking.

Opening I accepted it in, like my boyfriends cock, only thicker and far longer. The song began to change, her flashing to slow, as once again the song of love beat from the stirring waters and bounced from the walls.

I groaned in lust as the tentacle in my mouth thrust down like a lover's cock. A second and third questing tentacles wrapped my breasts in cruel bondage, distending them like some punishing rope, and I whimpered my submission to her punishment, my eyes locked with hers, unflinching.

Soon the punishing coils crested my aching breasts and sucking mouths latched onto turgid nipples and my legs began to thrash now in want, not in fear as the magic of her touch played my nerves like the colours under her skin. Faster and faster, whirling and flaring along with my racing heart.

This was not the dream, this was more intense. I felt my arms try to drag her tentacles to the center of my need but what was I to her but a plaything? I hung in desperation, in naked animal hunger, who would howl her lust like a bitch in heat, were in not for a thrusting tentacle already raping my throat.

Michelle struggled out of her blouse and dusky skin on a plump frame that mirrored my bone white like a shadow. Hands out as she struggled from her jeans, she squeaked in surprise as the tentacles took her up, but gently. Caressing and binding her. Probing and tasting her charms.

"Take me, take me please!" Michelle screamed, as her thick thighs were pulled apart and I heard her scream in joy as between them thrust another.

No such release was mine, for I it was who held the skin of those who drove her priestesses away, and stole even the memory of her name from them.

Anna came now, singing softly in Japanese, and the tentacles plucked her from the shore like a maiden picking a rose from thorned bush. Wrapped in tentacled embrace I heard her cry as her small breasts were bound and suckled; the triumphant cry of a falcon as she felt her womanhood taken by the tentacles of the Sea Mother. Screaming joy at her union until another tentacle approached her lips, teasing her with gentle kisses until, half maddened she lunged to take it in her mouth, and dare its thrusting conquest. I noticed Anwar was sobbing and crawling free, the tentacle choosing to take Anna's love over Anwar's life.

I felt the tentacles part my bunching cheeks and the cold slime of tentacle teased and worked my puckered ass. Maddened and broken by the hungry sucking of my breasts, the lusty promise of the taking of my throat, I pushed back to force the gentle questing member into the ass I denied my tepid boyfriend.

I felt the tentacles binding my breasts and wrists stretching me wide, as the tentacle to my rear impaled me in an obscene parody of the Christ that took her priestesses and people. Thrusting into my ass and mouth in sequence, sucking on my nipples in savage hunger, my aching pussy knew a hunger and need beyond all reason.

Staring into her eyes, the forsaken lady of the deeps, I knew our offering was no repayment for shattered covenant and stolen peoples. I accepted the cost of blood and love, and raised the throat she violated for her to end me.

End me she did.

A tentacle broad and hot slapped my aching sex, driving me back onto the thrusting tentacle in my ass. Sucking on my clit as others upon my breasts it tore an orgasm from my cleanly as opening my offered throat would have taken my life.

Lash tearing at my back again and again, red welts crossing me with sucker marked brands of her punishment, she tore orgasm after orgasm from me, drowning my screams in her thrusting penetration of me.

I thrashed now, desperate to complete my sacrifice, yet powerless to do anything other than open my soul as I gazed into her eyes and played my tongue over her tentacle in a lewd acceptance my boyfriend neither earned nor received, clenching my ass and working my hips to take her offered impaling of my ass.

At last she smiled and I felt her great sucking tentacle shift, and the gag from my throat pulled out like a sword pulled from its sheath to hang above me in promise of final release.

Arching, I offered myself to that sword, hers to take, to own, to end.

She pulled me to her lips. Taking mine like a lover, like a mother, like a goddess. I felt that great tentacle that had taken my throat and screams now thrust into my needy and burning center, my womanhood clamping and writhing around her questing member with the hunger of a feeding serpent, as my own scream was stolen by the Sea woman's tongue.

Three of us hung in screaming ecstasy, in glorious agony, mindless surrender and earthly worship. One by one, as blossoms in her hand she would bring us to her face to examine, to smile upon and to kiss. Then she would bring us each to the other, and soon we were kissing each other, tongues snaking inside each other's mouths as Her tentacles danced inside of us.

Gathered to her breast, we nursed upon her, drawing strength from her milk as we kissed across her breast, trading her essence with our sister wives. She nursed upon us, drawing from us such pleasure no woman should know, and screams that left our throats raw as the whip welts on my back.

In time no more could be wrung from us, and we found ourselves laid side by side, spent, upon the shore as our lady withdrew.

From my ass and from my sex, shocked spasms wrung out strange and eldritch liquids. Wives of the goddess, would we bear her a new generation of priestesses? Or simply bear her love out to a world that had forgotten her. Hugging each other, we slipped into soft and dream filled sleep.

Anwar and Charles were never able to speak again. Among ourselves we chosen determined that we would remain. We were her wives, and she our goddess. It was ours to give her back to her people. Besides, after her love, what interest had men for us?