Robin Michelle Writes











Lisa slid down into the hot steaming bath, enjoying the pulsing of the jets against her tired aching body. She’d been waiting for this bath all week long, through meetings and arguments and messes that apparently only she could clean up. Coming home, she’d lit some aromatherapy candles, opened a fresh bottle of moscato, and let the tub fill. Dan had promised he’d leave her alone until she was out of the tub. Past experience led her to believe she’d get maybe twenty minutes of alone time before he came bursting in, needing her for some stupid thing that he really should be able to take care of on his own. So she was making the most of what time she did get. Relaxing music was playing, calming scents filled the air, and a cooling mask covered her eyes. Lisa sipped her wine and released a deep sigh.

It’d hadn’t been more than maybe fifteen minutes when Lisa felt Dan running his hand along her leg.

“Dan, come on, you promised to leave me alone.” She didn’t hear him respond, but his hand stopped. For a moment. And then it was joined by a second hand, wrapping around her other leg.

“Dan, I said stop!” Lisa tried to pull her legs away from him but the hands just tightened their grip. She reached up to remove the eye mask, to look him in the face, but then her arms were grabbed and pinned down. “Dan?”

Lisa fought the rising panic, focusing on what she was feeling. Clearly not hands, though they gripped her. They slid over and around her body smoothly, wrapping around her arms, her legs, her waist, holding her down in the tub. She counted – one, two, three, four, five, six… At least six, but maybe more… Three or more people? But she didn’t hear anyone. And really, whatever was grasping her, it didn’t feel human…

Tentacles. They felt like… tentacles.

Lisa wiggled, but it was no use – they only tightened more.

The tentacles on her legs pulled them apart while the ones around her waist moved up her torso towards her breasts. The touches were not in any way menacing. In fact, they were calming, soothing. Lisa felt herself relaxing into them, trying to think of it as an odd massage.

That worked, kind of, until they reached her breasts. The feeling was… arousing. The tentacles curled over and around her breasts, and she finally felt what could only be suckers on her nipples, pulling and squeezing them. Lisa whimpered as her nipples hardened and she felt a corresponding tingle in her pussy.

This was so not right, but she was trapped, unable to get away. She tried calling for Dan, but immediately a tentacle was there, covering her mouth, preventing her from crying out. And her body was betraying her, responding to this wrongness with arousal, no matter how much her mind fought it.

Another tentacle writhed its way up between her legs. The tip of it found her clit and stroked and rubbed. Without conscious thought, Lisa arched her hips, pressing forward against it, pleading wordlessly for more. The creature slithered yet another tentacle between her thighs. This one didn’t stop but slid right into her through labia lubricated by her arousal. And it kept sliding in, filling and stretching her until there wasn’t room for more. Then it started moving, pulsing.

Oh, god, she thought, I’m being fucked by a monster… and I’m enjoying it… Lisa gave up and gave herself over to the sensations, drowning in the caresses of the many tentacles wrapping and filling her body. She felt her orgasm building, rising to a higher peak than she’d ever felt before. At the moment of release, Lisa let go… and dissolved into foam.

**********

“Lisa? Lisa, honey, it’s been half an hour… Can I come in?”

Dan stopped just inside the bathroom and stared in horror as foam covered tentacles disappeared down the drain of an empty bathtub.



{1 April 2014}   Americano

I never learned his name, but thought of him as Americano as that was the drink he ordered every morning at the torrefazione. I watched him rush in, dressed for work in a fine suit, silk tie, and Italian leather shoes, briefcase in hand. He’d place his order imperiously, no ‘per favore’ or ‘grazie’, just a blunt “un Americano”. He’d check his watch while waiting for his drink, practically grabbing it from the baristo’s hand. I was amazed that nothing was ever dropped or spilled.

Even with this rude behavior, or perhaps because of it, I found him incredibly interesting, wondering what he did for a living, was he married (no ring), was he in fact American? As good as he looked in a suit, would he look as good in jeans and a t-shirt… or naked?

I envisioned and tried scenarios where I might be able to find out. I could follow him; or bump into forcing him to slow down. Or maybe get in line behind him and try to strike up a conversation. Following ended when he got into a taxi. Bumping into him just caused him to curse at me. And he completely ignored all of my attempts to talk with him.

Then one evening, while out for a head clearing stroll, I watched him exit a taxi and walk into a building just down the street from the torrefazione. As I passed him unlocking the entrance, I took a chance. “Good evening.”

He whirled around, grabbed my arm and forced me into the entry way, pressing me against the wall. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

My heart was beating so fast, my breathing was so rapid and shallow, the shock of his behavior so alarming, that it took me a moment to even begin to formulate an answer. He shook me, his hands gripping my arms so tightly I knew there’d be bruises.

“I-I’m not following you. I-I-I just recognized you from the torrefazione. I’m only trying to be nice.” I tried to wriggle free from his hold. When that didn’t work, I glared at him.

He stared at me as though trying to read my mind, then sighed and released me. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Rough week.” He passed a hand over his face, and I noted that his suit was rumpled, his tie loose, his expression one of fatigue.

“I truly didn’t mean to startle you,” I started as I moved away, back towards the street, “I’ll just leave now, okay?”

“Yes, yes, good night.”

I didn’t look back, but I could feel him watching me as I walked down the street towards my own apartment.

I never saw him again. A few days later, after noting his absence in the mornings, I walked back to the building he’d been going in to. It was locked up tight with a large ‘For Let’ sign in the front window. I thought back to that night, remembering his body against mine as he pressed me against the wall… I was pretty certain that was a gun I’d felt.



et cetera