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Teniel Cae, whose friends called him Ten—and it never took him long to make friends—was currently wishing he was not on an oxygen-based world. If he could breathe through his gills and not his mouth and nose, the fact he was being smothered would be a lot less of a problem.
Still, he couldn’t hold it against the Osith currently suffocating him. From what he’d heard, it had been a long time since she’d had the chance to penetrate anything. Her boyfriend wasn’t into that sort of thing, and was more than a little possessive. What with him being a violent drug lord and all, people weren’t generally lining up to let his girlfriend release some sexual tension into them, especially not when that sexual tension came in the form of not only a dripping wet hole, but also four extremely pent-up tendrils that were a length uncomfortable for most races. Osith weren’t exactly small, being around five meters long on average. Not counting the tail.
Ten, however, was a good sport, and more than happy to let her smother him between her back legs while shoving all four tendrils down his throat. That this was because she had access to a great deal of her boyfriend’s goods was beside the point, as was the fact that Ten was currently Blissed the fuck out on aforementioned goods. At that exact moment, even breathing seemed like something he could do without. If she fucked him unconscious, at least he was too high to have nightmares.
Even without the Bliss coursing through his body, it would have been gratifying to an extent just due to how much she was clearly enjoying herself. He managed against the odds to navigate his tongue between the writhing tendrils and lap at her entrance, and the noise she made was almost world-shatteringly orgasmic. He couldn’t see much other than fur with the way she was grinding her entire pelvis against him, but he could hear the sharp, metallic scraping of her claws against what was probably the headboard of the very not-meant-for-Osith bed she was rutting him on.
“I’m going to cum,” she cried out, which from an Osith woman was more of a warning than an exultation of pleasure, although to be fair to her, it was probably intended as both. This announcement was a little alarming, given how much he absolutely needed to breathe, but on the other hand, at least it would be over somewhat soon. He felt her middle limbs come down onto his ankles—69 would have been nice but wasn’t really feasible for a creature as long as an Osith—gripping them and pinning him down, as if he could have moved anyway. She ground violently against his face, shoving him into the cheap mattress. Her tendrils abruptly spread out inside of his throat, stretching it wide, which was not something that was really intended to be done to a throat, and she came, gushing her fluids down his stretched-out throat. The taste as it rushed over his tongue was musty and sickly sweet. Swallowing wasn’t really an option with the way his throat was gaped open by the muscular force of her tentacles; it was going down his throat regardless.
Osith were not remarkably sexually compatible with Levir, or Humans, or really any of the generally leviroid, bipedal species in the galaxy. The genital setup of their men and women was such that sexual partnering outside of the species had to get creative, and about the only part on a Levir capable of being penetrated and penetrating at the same time was the mouth, ft. tongue. This all made sense, from a logistics standpoint. It was just sort of an unfortunate reality that most species of this particular physical setup tended to also need that part to breathe. Ten’s head was spinning and his vision—such as it was, being filled completely with white, fluffy fur—was getting spotty, and his partner was still very much cumming. As darkness crept in around the edges, he could hear the sullen call of silence, almost petulant after his multi-day absence.
He could feel the fear rising in him, despite the Bliss, but told himself it would be okay. As high as he was, everything would be dulled, distant. He could slide into the darkness if he wanted.
The Osith collapsed on top of him, which was only not dangerous because of the amount of fluff and also the fact he was on a mattress. She also immediately rolled off, pulling her tendrils out of him with a pop, followed by his loud, desperate gasps for air. Reality surged back in, and the rush of air hit him at the same time as the rush of Bliss. He let out a ragged moan. The Osith laughed.
“Only you could get off to that shit, you freak,” she panted, chuckling. He could hear her language, lyrical and sing-songy. He didn’t know a word of it, but he understood her perfectly, his translator implant simply providing the understanding directly to his mind. From the ground where she lay sprawled out next to the bed, she kicked him half-heartedly. “That moan means I failed to tear your throat open, correct?”
“Yeah,” he wheezed. “I’m good.” It came out hoarse, and his throat would probably ache for days, but with as much Bliss as was in his system right now, he didn’t really have to care yet. Frankly, with as much as she’d give him for that and maybe repeat performances, given her lack of options and how much she clearly enjoyed herself, he wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while. Given the nature of Bliss, he probably wouldn’t have to worry about anything for a while, presuming he remembered to eat.
After a bit of enjoying the afterglow from where she lay on the floor, the drug lord’s girlfriend rolled to her feet. She had six of them—or, well, six limbs. Whether you considered what came at the end of them six feet or six hands was a matter of pedantry and how you personally felt about thumbs. An Osith could balance on two, walk on four, or gallop or climb at frankly alarming speeds on six. At one time, there hadn’t been a differing word for hands vs feet in their language, which had led to some pretty funny miscommunications. If Ten remembered correctly, the word for feet now literally translated to “bottom hands” which was pretty great.
“Let’s do this again sometime,” she suggested. “So make sure you don’t go bragging.”
Ten didn’t personally think that suffocating on an Osith’s tentacles while you tongued her cunt until she came was something to brag about in a general sense, particularly not when you were doing it to a drug lord’s girlfriend, for drugs. He didn’t say that, however, because he was too busy being Blissed out on a cheap mattress in slum housing, and also because saying anything right then was extremely difficult. The esophagus does not generally appreciate being gaped, as a general rule. He just gave her a Human thumbs up—a fun, sarcastic motion on Jandith-3 that he was developing a taste for.
He’d never spent much time with Humans before his exile, but once you left Sanctym Noctym, or Levir space in general, the little buggers were everywhere. They were a Union species now, but that didn’t seem to change how much space they took up on nonunionized planets and stations, like this one. They hadn’t been spacefaring for very long, but they spread like algae and got along with seemingly everyone. Ten had made a lot of Human friends since his exile. Whether they hated or were in awe of Levir, the end result was still fascination, and Ten was not only Levir, but Drakai. Apparently he looked a bit like a mythical beast from their world, so who could blame them for being curious? And these days, Ten was in no position to turn down any kind of friends—not that he’d been in the habit of turning them down before.
This was a Human’s residence he was crashing in now, actually. Well, the whole thing was a tall building of small residency apartments that had been turned into a squatter’s den, but the person who unofficially ruled it now was Human. The specifics weren’t important as long as there was a roof over Ten’s head. He’d had enough of sleeping on the streets; even a shit mattress in a broken-down room with no climate control was better than the brutal rays of the twin suns, and even a stuffy room with closed windows kept out the fucking sandstorms. Ten didn’t think he or his clothes had been sandless since the second he arrived on Jandith-3.
He didn’t like thinking about the second he arrived on Jandith-3, nor did he particularly care for thinking about the seconds after. Or before, come to think of it. Closing his eyes, he let the Bliss take him, idly wishing that the Osith had stayed. A furry cuddle wasn’t much good in the heat, but at least he would have had some company and something soft to distract himself with.
Teniel took a deep breath, and tried to think of nothing.
Nothing thought of him, too.