Author's preamble:
The human character is over 18.
Subject: consensual tentacle sex.
With a sigh of contented relief
Chapter One.
With a sigh of contented relief, I slipped the straps of my backpack off my shoulders and lowered it to the grass. Flexing my shoulders, I stretched the muscles and tendons, easing out the kinks. Reaching behind, I plucked my sweat-sodden shirt away from my back and flapped it, relishing the cooling caress of the fresh air wafting up. I removed my hiking boots and heavy socks and curled my toes into the wiry hill grass, feeling its springy texture massage the soles of my burning feet as I walked the few steps into the stream, turned and sat on the limestone slab which Mother Nature seemed to have left behind for just this purpose.
As the chill stream washed over my feet I cast my eyes about to take in the beauty of the vista spread before me. My back was warmed by the early evening sun making its slow journey towards the rising slopes of the hills scattered with clumps of bushes which competed with the tenacious grass amid the rocky outcrops. To my left the hills curved away, the low range ending in an escarpment overlooking the rich floodplain of a river, dotted about with farms and villages and a small fishing port at the river mouth. The sea, some five miles away in front of me, reflected the pale blue of the cloudless sky. To my right the ridge of hills rose to meet the craggy mountains of which they were just a spur.
Nearer, I noticed the dark ribbon of trees marking the road as it snaked between the woods and patchwork of stone walls and fields reaching down to the sea. My eyes rested upon a dozen rabbits peacefully nibbling the vegetation: now and then there would be a bobbing flash of white as one of them hopped a few feet to another patch. From somewhere in that vast blue canopy above me a couple of skylarks trilled an enchanting duet, the bubbling stream setting up a counterpoint as it tripped and trilled over its rocky bed.
I stretched my weary body and looked more closely at my immediate surroundings. On the other side of the stream was a piece of flat green sward guarded on two sides by a small pile of boulders and thick clump of bushes: they would give partial protection against any errant night breezes. Further over was a small stand of trees. This would be a perfect place to camp, I thought, then decided on the spur of the moment to do just that. I had intended walking on for a couple more hours to a small market town on the river and spending the night at the hostel there before retrieving my car from the pub car park the next morning. But this was such a lovely place I changed my mind. Much nicer to sleep alone and free under the stars than share a dormitory with strangers for my last night. I wouldn't even put my tent up, I decided, just snuggle into my sleeping bag and breathe the sweet, fresh air. Tomorrow I'd finish my route then drive home.
I grabbed my backpack and walking staff and deposited them by the bushes. Opening the pack, I rooted out my camp moccasins and my sling. My father had taught me my love of the countryside and trained me to be self sufficient. Before too long I had a fat coney skewered over my fire, my newly-washed clothes were draped over the bushes to dry and I was sitting in the stream gasping from the cold as I sluiced away the day's accumulated dust and sweat from my body. I dried off and dressed in my spare set of clothes, humming happily to myself as I went about my tasks.
I was at the end of my two week break. The completion of my last contract had coincided with a weather forecast promising a good hot and dry spell so I got my maps and guides out and worked out a long, testing circular itinerary then packed my bag. The initial kinks and aches in unused muscles had been walked off in a couple of days and the rest was just a sheer heaven of solitude, walking across this rich and beautiful realm.
Now, on this final evening, I felt mentally fresh and alert with the normal pressures of life and work washed away. Using one of the boulders as a backrest I sat on my sleeping bag and took out a book from my pack. I had decided to re-read one of my favourite novels and had read a couple of chapters each night of my holiday before retiring. I thought I'd be able to finish the book tonight and indeed I was straining my eyes peering in the gloom of falling dusk as the heroine triumphed in the last chapter.
I put the book away in my pack, slipped into my sleeping bag and lay there watching the sky darken and the stars come into view. I live in a city and the light pollution renders all but the brightest constellations invisible so I was able to thrill anew to the glory of the heavens in the clear air above my hillside camp. As the tendrils of sleep gently eased me towards oblivion I exhaled in a sigh of contented relief.
Chapter two.
In a dream I was floating in a warm glow, suffused by a feeling of security and the repeating thought, "Do not worry," impinging itself on my awakening consciousness. Why should I worry, I wondered? There was a strange tickling sensation in my hair but I felt too relaxed to do anything about it. Then I felt, I can't describe it -- maybe like a gentle pushing and probing in my head -- then suddenly it was like a light being switched on inside my mind.