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Mrs. H.

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Mrs. Harrison threw her head back, biting at her bottom lip to keep in the moans that wracked her fevered body.

At the apex of her legs, Tony Harrison moaned, the vibrations furthering her pleasure.

This was why she was still married to Tony Harrison after all these years. Frankly, the sex was mind-blowing.

She loved him, of course. Three hundred and sixteen years of matrimony tended to engender at least a measure of love. There were a host of reasons she loved Tony Harrison. The sex happened to be Number One.

He did that swirly thing with his tongue and she whined, high and breathy. He pulled back enough to say, “Shit off, you love it, you slag.” The words made her cunt clench as he dove back in, eating her for all she was worth.

The dirty talk was just part and parcel. After so many centuries together, it had become a contest between them: who could say the nastiest things and still get the other going.

The second reason she loved him was because they had always remained true to their wedding vows. For three hundred years, through sickness and health, poorer and richer, good times and bad, they had always come back to each other. The first eighty or so years had been that golden hazy honeymoon phase. Eventually things had started to grow stale, and they decided, for the sake of the partnership, that they should have an open marriage. It was mutually agreed to by both parties, and neither had deprived themselves of partners. Between the two of them, they had slept with every race, species, gender, and creed in the known multiverse. And it had only strengthened their bond. They each saw their extraneous endeavors as scientific research, fieldwork, if you will. They went into the field, gathered data, and brought it back to the lab (or bedroom) to test their findings with one another. At this point, it was like a game: who could find something truly new and unique and deviant to show the other.

Mrs. Harrison moaned, remembering her favorite times: when Saboo was off his tits enough to join them. Saboo, with his hair ruffled, his voice low and gravelly with sex, his skilled fingers playing her like a guitar--

Tony gave her clit a soft bite, and she bucked. She knew he could tell what she was thinking about. So be it. She knew he thought about those girls from the Orion nebula (and honestly, so did she, they had sounded so delicious). His tentacles held her open, prised open like a piece of fruit as he devoured her.

The tentacles were a whole entity unto themselves. They were perfect for stroking, caressing, filling, prodding… and there was the benefit of Tony being able to sense, taste, and smell through them as well. That’s how he knew what she was thinking--he felt it.

She forced herself to think of the filthiest thing they’d ever done in the Shaman Lodge, with Dennis and all the others one thin wall away. Her muscles spasmed at the memory of Tony pleasuring her as she stifled her moans and gasps. Tony pulled back again.

“Better, pet. Think about me. I know I’m thinking about you.”

She sat up a bit in the bed, legs still spread, pussy aching for him to resume his ministrations. He grinned that toothy, manic grin at her and she laughed. She couldn’t help it. She loved him so, so much. She always had.

Her father hadn’t wanted to marry her to Tony Harrison.  He was a nobody, barely even gifted with the Sight which would later help him rise through the ranks of the Shaman. He was young and careless, and utterly in love with her. He’d worked tirelessly to afford her bride price, and when he had presented himself to her father as a suitable prospect, she had convinced the old patriarch to give her to Tony. She knew, after all the hard work he’d put into getting her, that he’d care for and treasure her always. She’d been right.

She angled herself over his face, those sharp cheekbones and pointed chin making the perfect seat for her to rest on as he ate her out. His beaky nose was bent in just such a way that it rubbed her clit perfectly with every thrust of his tongue in and out of her. She let out the guttural moan she’d been keeping back, crying his name. He worked a tentacle inside her as he continued to suck, crooking it to hit that spot inside her. She almost came, but she was, after all, very practiced in carnality.

“Tony, please,” she begged. He pulled back, his face damp with her juices.

“Beg for it,” he commanded, licking his lips greedily.

“Please, Tony, please. Fuck me.”

“Ask for it by name.” She rolled her eyes. He scuttled back from her a bit, as through threatening to not finish the job if she didn’t say what he wanted, and at the same time brushed the tip of a tentacle ever-so-lightly against her slit, causing her muscles to spasm with need.

“Please, Tony. Please fuck me with your multi-hexagonal textured alien barbed penis.”

He grinned and nearly yelled, “All right!” as she tipped her head back and waited. His tentacles held her open, one tickling her clit, as he unsheathed himself and slid into her. “Aw, fuck, pet,” he groaned, “you are hot and wet as a bowl of noodles!” She was too fucked out to even reply.

Though she hated asking for it by name, Tony’s multi-hexagonal textured alien barbed penis was a thing of wonder. The six sides massaged every inch of her needy cunt, the barbs causing little tingles of pleasure with every thrust. Tony delegated the use of two more tentacles in teasing her nipples, and she knew wouldn’t last long, overstimulated as she was.

She forced the strength of her desire and her capacity for love through her skin so Tony could feel it. He was close, too, she knew. Centuries of fucking meant they were so in tune with each other, they didn’t need to speak. She knew they were moments away. She bucked her hips up to meet his thrusts as he babbled nonsense in that nasally voice.

“Cum for me, little one,” he begged. “Take it like a bitch in heat, gonna make you cum so hard you can’t sit for a week without thinking of me head between your thighs, you dirty slut, take it like the little whore you are…”

She answered with a litany of “Yes, fuck me, fuck me with your alien barbed penis, fuck yes, fill me up, you sexual tyrannosaur...”

It was utter nonsense, but within moments they had both reached fever pitch. A tentacle between her ass cheeks and one more angled thrust into her was all it took. She came spectacularly, crying out his name over and over as he met her climax, spilling himself deep inside her.

This was the best part. As her pussy milked him through his orgasm, she felt his cock blooming inside her, the hexagonal-shaped star filling every inch of her as it grew and knotted within her, keeping Tony’s pink semen trapped inside for roughly the next half hour. They’d discovered long ago that his cum contained a potent mix of pheremones and chemicals that triggered an almost narcotic response when properly spilled into its recipient. Mrs. Harrison felt her vision blur, as colors and edges softened and she felt boneless, weightless, and utterly sated. She ran her fingers over the twin bulges of Tony’s sensitive head, and he keened in pleasure, pressing kisses to her skin, his tentacles rubbing up and down her sides as they lay locked in mated bliss.

At long last, the stars cleared from her vision and she felt herself coming back into her body. Tony withdrew, and kissed her lovingly, tentacles twining in her hair, with all the passion and tenderness of any loving husband after mind-blowing alien sex.

People always teased Tony by asking how he’d managed to con her into staying with him for three centuries. The sex was phenomenal. Hell, it was addictive. But it was Tony’s open-mindedness and absolute adoration of Mrs. Harrison that made her stay. It truly was a marriage of equals, and one of love. Untraditional, but unconditional, love.