Ashley wondered if the eight ball was a thing of sentience, a thing that could pull from the imagination whether he directed it or not.
Horrifyingly, it seemed all the more likely.
He leaped with a yell; while he watched the others in a frozen uncertainty, something wet and slimy wrapped curiously around his leg.
Up until this point, he was holding out strong, but if the eight ball could read minds to tempt, Ashley would certainly not be shocked to hear it; he spent a few nights a week jerking off to tentacle hentai.
Without a doubt, Ashley knew that the MidnightSphere had gotten directly into his head and pulled out the most perfect fantasy he could conjure.
In fact, it might have produced something better than anything he could have imagined, even when he had copious time with his drawing pad.
That really stuck in his craw. He was annoyed even while he was so unbelievably horny. Ashley would not budge to this amalgamation of his desires instantly pulled from his mind.
The wet, sloshing head of the bright red octopus, the suction cups of its underbelly pink like sakura, sucked at him further. It was a monster, an abomination, its eyes trained on one thing.
Ashley swallowed, breaking into a sweat.
It was wrong, how well it knew him.
It was...
It was better than any real person, the animation he liked to watch from the other side of the screen, wishing to be dragged down by the very thing he spent his nights viewing.
To be taken by what inspired timeless beauty, such as The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife, into its slimy maw. To be wrapped around and ravaged by his truest weakness.
Mark, though he loved him so, could never give him this. He had to accept that nobody could ever give him this, that in reality, it could never come to fruition.
Now, trapped in the headset with no escape, his biggest fantasy creeping toward him slowly yet inexorably, he felt his own doom inescapable.
And he was thrilled about it.
Ashley gripped onto the wet, slippery surface of the octopus, slipping out of his hands as it vacuum sealed to his lower body. He went down.
The sounds of sex continued behind him, though it slowed as the group watched the creature trap his limbs and open him in a starfish position on the rug, splayed out over the cool sand.
The slimy tentacles slid up his bare legs as the creature positioned itself between his thighs. His whole body shuddered under the weight pinning him, and the breath was knocked out of his lungs as a small tentacle slid between his ass cheeks and pried them apart.
"Oh, Poseidon," he wheezed.
The mouth, wet and hot, teased maddeningly around the base of his cock. He bucked his hips upward, and a practiced tentacle slid into his ass.
He resisted any person trying to tempt him, but he really didn't want to pass this up, his ultimate fantasy come true, if only in a virtual world.
It was so vivid. Like a dream, as he'd posited to Mark, a teratophilic wet dream. Ashley felt a tinge of guilt.
It wasn't real.
Two larger tentacles slithered upward, like warm jelly, wrapping around his torso, and two tips circled his nipples.
