Ellory thought back to the days when she was human. How long had it been? Years, to be sure. Maybe decades. The clothing on the men she'd rescued seemed to have changed since then. No more leggings and pantaloons: Now they all wore strange fabrics and styles she didn't recognize. This one seemed to have on some fancy black-and-white clothing, and the only thing in his pockets had been a hard little black box about the size of her hand, and it glowed with strange words when she touched it, but it didn't seem to do anything else.
The octogirl wrapped another of her tentacles around his chest to hold him steady while three of her tentacles stroked his genitals. The tentacle holding his hand to her ample breast loosened; he seemed to have gotten the idea, and he was playing with her nipple now. He was softer and gentler than some of the others she'd caught — he definitely wasn't a sailor. He'd fallen off that big white ship that had been passing by and seemed a little drunk when she found him. She wondered what they'd been doing there.
She'd rescued him, of course. Only six hundred forty-seven more rescues and the voodoo curse would be lifted and she'd be human again and could finally go home. But it got so lonely out here. And the witch-doctor hadn't said she couldn't have fun with the men she rescued, so she usually did. An orgasm or two or twelve couldn't hurt them before she dropped them off on one of the islands, could it?
