by Cherry Dare
The Billionaire's Tentacles
By Cherry Dare
Copyright 2012 Cherry Dare
All Rights Reserved
Getting an interview with billionaire Hayden Kane was the chance of a lifetime. The reclusive businessman got named "Bachelor of the Year" every year, like clockwork. But magazines usually had to resort to recycling the same old news and the same old photos, since he rarely made public appearances.
I didn't know why he'd allowed a small-time journalist like me to interview him, but I was thrilled to get the opportunity. I tried not to let a silly grin spread across my face as I sat down across from him in his luxurious office.
Since he had refused to allow me to take any photos, I took him in with my eyes, memorizing every detail. He was tall and fit, with muscular shoulders and a fine, tight ass that his tailored suit showed off to perfection. His sleek black hair and icy blue eyes added to his aura of command and dominance, but his luscious lips suggested that he really was as wild in bed as the gossip claimed.
I wondered what it would be like to have those lips kissing mine. I imagined his hot tongue trailing downward, from my belly to my hot pussy. I imagined it flicking between my tender folds, then probing inward...
"You have ten minutes," Mr. Kane said coolly. "That's more than I give most reporters."
He took an antique gold stop-watch from a drawer of his mahogany desk. It clinked down on the polished wood. He clicked the timer. "Begin."
His intense gaze sent a shiver of nervousness through my belly. I was once again self-conscious about the generous curves of my body. A famous billionaire like Mr. Kane had his pick of stick-insect supermodels and anorexic actresses. In fact, those were the only types of women he ever dated. Some men liked women like me, with my voluptuous hips and breasts and ass, but I must be unattractive to this wealthy, powerful man.
I hit the button on my tape recorder with a trembling finger. "Mr. Kane, the whole world is curious about your habit of retreating to your private island every July, and refusing to allow anyone to see you. You don't even let your household staff see you in person. What do you do there?"
His laser-sharp focus on me dissipated. I had clearly bored him. "The whole world knows the answer to that question. I like to take some time to clear my mind in solitude, and come up with new ideas."
I watched him carefully as I sprang my trap, eager to see if I could crack that famous cool with the information I'd uncovered. "Why do you give all your female staff vacation time for July?"
Those ice-blue eyes blinked. I had rattled him! "It's their summer vacation."
I pressed him. "Why only the women? Why break it up by gender?"
The cool façade returned. But now I knew it was only a facade. He leaned back in his leather armchair. "Coincidence. Nothing more."
"Are you gay?" I asked.
He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Being unmarried does not mean that I'm gay. As the entire world knows, I love women. And as you no doubt know from reading the tabloids, Miss Carey, the women who have kissed and told had no complaints about my performance."
It was true. One of them had used the phrase, "The best fuck of my entire life." The rest of them had agreed in more delicate terms.
"Are you bisexual?" I inquired.
He laughed, this time with what sounded like genuine amusement. "You look as if you hope that I am."
"If you are, admitting it to me would make my career," I agreed cheerfully. "Are you?"
I imagined those sensual lips encircling another man's cock, licking and sucking, his blue eyes closed and his head thrown back in wanton lust. My nipples hardened at the image.
Mr. Kane gave me a wicked glance from beneath his long black eyelashes. It sent a tingle through my whole body. "Are you fantasizing right now about me having sex with a man?"
I was caught off-guard. Hot blood rose beneath my skin, and spread over my chest and face. It felt as if my cheeks were about to burst into flame.
Mr. Kane reached out a long finger and brushed it over my cheek. I gasped involuntarily. My entire body trembled.
"You're blushing," he said.
"I... I..." I stammered. I couldn't think of anything but the soft touch of his finger on my face.
He withdrew his hand. Damn!
"So, are you?" I asked. "Bisexual, I mean?"
He shook his head. "As I said. I love women. Only women."
He had spoken softly, so I had to lean in to hear him. I could smell his scent, a mix of expensive woodsy cologne, his natural male musk, and something else that I couldn't identify. My nostrils flared as I inhaled more deeply. It was salty, like sea brine. Or semen. I swallowed.
The stop-watch went off.
"Your time is up," he said, brusquely pushing back his chair.
I felt like I'd been interrupted in the middle of a kiss. "Can I have an extension? Ten more minutes?"
He shook his head, clearly dismissing me from his mind. He had been amusing himself with me, nothing more. That annoyed me.
I put my hands on his desk, palms down. "I want to know what you do on that island. Do you send your female employees away so you can have an orgy with the men who are left?"
The look he gave me was ice cold. "Our interview is over."
"I want to know!"
He flicked his finger, directing my attention to an inset button on his desk. "Miss Carey, you may leave, or I will call security."
I stood up. "Fine. I'm going. Thank you for the interview, Mr. Kane."
I walked across the palatial office and put my hand on the doorknob.
His voice stopped me in my tracks. "By the way, Miss Carey... You may print any speculation on my sexual orientation that you like. But if you write one word about me only having male staff on my island while I'm on my yearly retreat, I will ruin you."
The threat in his voice made me gasp. He meant it.
"I won't!" My voice came out in an embarrassing squeak.
I fled the office, feeling like a mouse that had barely escaped a cat.
But once I got outside, my fear faded and was replaced by curiosity. What did he do on that island, anyway? And if his secret really was gay orgies, why did he say I could speculate about his sexual orientation? Shouldn't he have ordered me to say he was straight? What could possibly be going on that required women to be kept away at all costs?
I had to find out.
It took me a long time to work out the details of how to get to Kane's island, but I finally managed it. I am a journalist, after all. Getting information is my job.
That July, I stepped out of a boat on to the sands of Hayden Kane's island. It was midnight, with an enormous harvest moon shining overhead. The night was warm, the air was humid, and the scents of exotic flowers filled the air.
I waved my hand, dismissing the man I had hired to get me to the island. He would return at dawn to pick me up. I had only a few hours to ferret out Mr. Kane's secret.
I crept along the beach, avoiding the staff quarters, looking for Mr. Kane's mansion. I expected it to be as big as Buckingham Palace and twice as fancy. But what I discovered, in the middle of a lush tropical garden, was a beautifully designed but comparatively small cottage. Was that really where a billionaire would live, on an island that he owned? Why would he prioritize privacy over luxury?
What was he hiding?
I snuck through the garden and up to a curtained window. I peered through a crack in the curtains.
I had found him! Mr. Kane was in his lavish bedroom, pacing. He was barefoot and shirtless, and the muscles of his chest and
belly and shoulders were sharply defined. The treasure trail of hair leading down his belly and vanishing into his pants was as dark and damp as the hair on his head.
His torso glistened as if it had been oiled. I figured he was sweating from the heat. It was a delicious sight. I longed to go inside and lick up some of those beads of liquid. They glistened strangely, as if the fluid was thicker than sweat. It looked more like lube, or even pre-cum.
Stop it, Sheila, you nasty girl, I warned myself. I was here to get the dirt on Mr. Kane, not to indulge in sexual fantasies.
He threw himself on to the huge bed and yanked off his pants. His cock sprang out, erect and huge. He grabbed it in his hand.
I knew I shouldn't watch him jerk off. I had never been a voyeur. But I couldn't resist seeing him in such an intimate moment. I took a soft step closer to the window.
Mr. Kane reclined on the bed, his entire gorgeous body glistening with sweat or oil. His black hair was damp and tousled, no longer carefully styled like it had been when I had met him in his office. His ripped chest moved up and down as he breathed heavily, as if he was already on the verge of orgasm. It was incredibly sexy to watch him when he wasn't so in control of himself.
I was sweating, too. My own arousal sent flutters through my belly and moistened my pussy. I had an intense urge to slide my hand down into my panties and touch my throbbing clit. It was so strong that I jammed my hands into my pockets to stop myself.
I felt my own breath coming faster as I watched him slide his hand up and down his massive shaft. I wanted to see what he looked like when he came. I wanted to see how his face changed, and hear whatever sound he made. I leaned forward, my face almost touching the curtains.
His cock was amazing— by far the longest and thickest I'd ever seen. Mr. Kane pumped at his shaft, his features tight with urgency. He moved his hand harder and faster. Beads of gleaming liquid flew from his hair as he flung his head back and moaned aloud.
I couldn't take it any more. I had to get myself off, or I'd explode. I'd just have to be very, very quiet. I pressed the back of my left hand against my mouth, clenched my teeth tight together, and began to rub the fingers of my left hand against my slick pussy.
As I masturbated, I timed my strokes to Mr. Kane's, imagining his hand stimulating my swollen clit.
He shuddered and groaned, as if he was coming. But he didn't ejaculate.
Two long, slender tentacles emerged from his groin. They wrapped themselves around his cock and slid up and down, working in tandem with his hand.
I was so amazed that I pulled my hand out of my pants.
Was I hallucinating? Or was he a... a tentacle monster?
Don't be ridiculous, Sheila, I told myself. It must be some kind of rare birth defect.
Now I knew his secret. No wonder he hid away on the island. This must be his time to take advantage of his strange mutation for masturbatory purposes, without anyone around to discover it. Though I still didn't know why he was more worried about women catching him than he was about men.
I took my mini-camera out of my pocket and snapped some shots. This was going to be the scoop of a lifetime!
More tentacles emerged from his body, at his groin and waist and wrists. All of them were pink as the palms of his hands, suckered like an octopus, and glistening with that slick liquid.
I was fascinated. But, to my surprise, I was not repulsed. The weird organs moved like the tentacles of a sea anemone, twisting and probing at the air. They should have been grotesque, but they looked oddly natural.
I took more photos. But by the third, I was overcome with guilt. Mr. Kane must be self-conscious about his body. Why else would he go to such great lengths to keep it a secret?
I could identify with that. I often wished I was thin, like the women who get photographed in the magazines I wrote for. Every time I went grocery shopping, I was reminded that beauty was defined as being size six, at most. I knew what it was like to worry that my body would be rejected by others.
How could I expose Mr. Kane to rejection, disgust, or even horror? What sort of person would that make me?
I ejected the memory card from my camera and snapped it between my fingers. In the silence of the night, the crack was louder than I expected.
Mr. Kane's tentacles instantly whipped around, their blunt heads facing me. Before I could react, he had leaped off the bed and flung open the door.
I spun to face him. We were so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell that same scent I remembered from our first meeting at the office. But the salty undertone was much stronger now. It was coming from the glistening moisture that covered him, like he'd been drenched in lube from head to toe.
His handsome face twisted in horror as he stared at me. "You! What are you doing here?"
I held up the broken memory card.
"It's okay!" I said. "I won't tell anyone. I destroyed my photos."
I saw the delicate skin of his throat bob as he swallowed. "I can see that."
"I'll go now. I'm sorry I spied on you."
I started to back off. His hand shot out and grabbed me. Despite the slippery stuff on his palm, he was so strong that he gripped me tight.
"It's too late," he said. His voice was ragged, desperate.
His tentacles had lengthened and thickened, and they stretched out toward me. One began to wind around my wrist. It was hot, much hotter than human flesh, and coated in slick fluid. The suction cups pulsed and sucked at my skin, like hungry kisses.
The sensation was like nothing I'd ever felt before, but it sent a jolt of pleasure through me that was so intense that my knees got weak. I gulped back an involuntary moan.
"I understand." My voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "You were born like this. I'll never tell."
"You don't understand!" Mr. Kane's voice rose in an anguished shout.
The tentacle around my wrist went rigid. Another tentacle lashed out, cracking the air like a whip.
"I'm not human," Mr. Kane said, his voice thick and tortured.
Somehow, I wasn't surprised. Now that I could feel his tentacles probing at my skin, I knew instinctively that they were no defect. They were part of his body the way it was supposed to be, as much a natural part of him as his arms or legs.
Or his cock. I could also sense that they were sexual organs. As soon as I had that thought, another tentacle reached out and began to probe under my shirt, extending a slim tendril toward my nipple.
"Stop that!" Mr. Kane exclaimed, apparently to himself.
With visible effort, he released my wrist and forced himself to move away from me. The tentacles released me and withdrew with what felt like reluctance. I longed for their hot, slippery touch to return.
"It's okay," I said hopefully. "I don't mind them touching me."
"You would if you knew what they'll do," Mr. Kane said grimly. "But since you're here, you might as well come inside. There's something I have to tell you."
We went into his bedroom. He sat down on the bed, and indicated a chair across the room for me. Reluctantly, I sat in it, wishing he'd invited me into his bed.
Maybe it was perverted to want to be fucked by Mr. Kane and his tentacles. But I wanted it. I ached for it. I'd been hot for him ever since I'd met him, and I wasn't put off by the strangeness of his body. Those tentacles had slid across my arm and chest so sensually, like a hot, slick caress...
A warm blush spread over my face. I wasn't ashamed of my desires. But I had to face the truth: he didn't want me. Maybe if I was one of the skinny size zero models he usually dated, the thought of me watching him masturbate would have turned him on. But I was a big curvy woman, and he only saw me as a pushy, mercenary, spying stalker.
If all I was to him was a nosy reporter, I might as well satisfy the curiosity that had made me a journalist in the first place.
"I won't write about this," I promised. "But I'm really curious. How did you get here? Are there more of you here on Earth?"
H
e shook his head. "My parents fled their planet. They'd rebelled against the government, and their side lost. They had nowhere else to go. Their ship crashed here, on Earth, and my father was killed. My mother only lived long enough to raise me— she never adjusted to this planet's atmosphere. And she warned me to keep my secret. Until now, I have."
Mr. Kane's fists clenched, and his tentacles writhed together. Drops of the lube-like liquid spattered to the floor, sending up more of that salty scent. It smelled like sex. It was agony to have to sit still in my chair. Especially since I could read his tension in the tight line of his mouth and the taut muscles of his body. I wanted to go over and comfort him.
"You must be so lonely," I said.
He stood up abruptly, his blue eyes ice-cold again.
"Don't you pity me," he spat out. "I have everything I need. Except..."
"Love?" The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Mr. Kane glared at me. "Don't be sentimental. You have no idea what you've walked into. You shouldn't..."
His voice broke off as he doubled over, then fell to one knee. His tentacles all pressed flat into his body.
I jumped up. "Are you all right?"
He looked up at me. His face had gone so pale that I thought he was going to pass out, and his jaw was clenched as if he was in pain.
"No, I'm not." He sounded like he could barely get the words out. "You shouldn't have come here. It's my yearly mating cycle. If I avoid women, it ends by itself. But female pheromones send it to the next level."
A long shudder went through him, then another. He was shaking as if he was naked in a snowstorm, though the room was hot.
I reached out toward him. "You should lie down."
He pulled away, and stared up at me, anguished. "If the mating cycle reaches the imperative phase, I have to breed with the woman who set it off. I have to."
"What happens if you don't? The world's worst case of blue balls?"
His silence seemed to fill the room. Finally, he spoke. His tone was quiet, but the words sent a shockwave through me.
"I die," he said simply.
"What?" I exclaimed.
His eyes were cast down. "I don't... I didn't want to make you feel like you have to have sex with me. I've never forced a woman in my life. I can't."
