Jack’s Sack: Jack And The Vibronious Tendrils of The Octopussy
Good day, and welcome to Jack’s Sack. Miss the last entry? You can catch it here. Today, we’ve a first for the blog-our first vibrating toy! However, doing an average entry for this thing just didn’t seem fair. We’re changing up the format a little this week. It’s my sincerest hope you enjoy it. Without further adeu, let’s begin.
Dec 8th, 20xx
From the Desk of Jack L., Archduke of The Church of Infinite Grin
Dearest J–,
Good tidings and health your way, my love. Though we be far from each other I keep you close in my heart always. As the yule season draws ever upon us, ‘tis a time for reflection and renewal. Introspection and self discovery seem to dominate the month. Given my proclivities for both, I arrive at the subject of this letter.
J–, something found me. Or rather, I found it. Can one truly find anything that finds its own way to us? No matter. By thine tip of tongue and the kindness of a stranger, I found myself in possession of a strange artifact. It came in the most usual way-by post. Yet had the delivery boy only been aware-gods! All post people, so blissfully ignorant of the horrors and secret within their sacks. Why, should their curiosity only grip them for a moment, they-
Pardon, love. You know how my mind enjoys meandering. All the same-
T’was an unusual thing within the most usual box. Cardboard and smooth, black and embossed. Were I a less intelligent, observing and handsome lad I’d have assumed it was nothing. Perhaps perfume, perhaps a new quill with which to express my love for you. It had arrived courtesy of an anonymous admirer, with a single set of instructions:
“Pet the cats”.
So, being a massively original and self-motivated person completely and utterly in control of his faculties at all times, I followed the note to the letter. Batcat was right pleased. But then came time to move the fat puss out of the room. Can’t have the old boy around when I experiment with mysteries of the arcane. His dander does so irritate the universe. With a mewl and headpats, he made his way into the hall. I locked the door behind him, and turned my eyes back to the box.
Often I find myself in just a moment like that. A box upon the bed, nary a clue with which to guide me. There comes a moment of trepidation before I steel my nerves. For anything can truly find its way through the secret cabal of the post. Do you recall the fertility statue sent from Innsmouth? What of the “non-wife” sent from the Nile? With my studies of late, there seems to be an ongoing conspiracy. What use doth the inanimate have of my love butter? What’s more, why does there always seem to be a crowd eager to encourage the practice?!? Is this a new pagan offshoot you’ve yet to tell me about? Do, when you’ve the time.
I opened the box with the aid of my pen knife, and pulled it from the embossed surface. I flick of the wrist raised the lid-and laid bare what had found its way to me. J–, do you recall our vacation at the beach? The one cut short my that one evening?
Dear gods, I think they’ve found us again. I can hear the buzzing even now. A vibration from within the without, one that makes my very skull sh-
…I digress.
Within the box laid a fetish object, one smooth and black as oil. Yet no part of it was stiff or tacky-rather, it was quite pliable. With half a chuckle, I realized it looked like an octopus-perhaps a flower. A small cord included was to be shoved into a pin-prick sized hole near the “head”. This was how it was supposed to be “charged”, something I’ve yet to behold in my arcane studies. I plugged it up, and watched a strange blue glow pulse from the “eye” of it. I didn’t give it another thought, and went about my evening.
Were that I could end this letter there. J–, do you remember your incessant teasing of my “moods”? Of course you do. I can still feel the warmth of your skin on my-
AHEM.
Regardless, that teasing-how it had a way of worming into my mind. You recall that, yes? At first, I thought it but part of your talents. You’re all too aware of what you are-and the gifts that bestows. I’ve yet to encounter a being or thing that can claim the same blushing accomplishment.
Until that night.
J– I’m fully convinced this fetish is craftwork from the cult. For as I went to exercise, that’s when I heard it. A soft whirring at first, something I was so sure lie in the realm of imagination. I pumped it away with dumb bells-only for it to grow in timbre. It’s octaves raised within my mind until every thought was rattled by it’s grip. I left the dumb bells at the bench-and made my way back to the abyssal tendriled thing.
The eye had extinguished.
My curiosity had not.
What happened next was something so beyond my control. My hands and body moved of their own accord, puppeteered by unseen hands. The belt was the first to go-then the pants. My breath grew heavy as the walls bore in on me, the droning sound shaking the very foundation of my skull. It was only then, turgid before the tendriled imitation of a nameless god, that I finally realized something.
The droning vibration was coming from IT. And that sound, that pulsing vibratto-it could CHANGE.
I’m not ashamed to admit what happened next-save that it surpassed all expectations my studies could have formulated. As my fleshy pride drew near it’s tendriled embrace, the tips graced along the curve of the head. I let out the most unmasculine cry, and bucked my hips towards it. Deeper into its grip, deeper within the pulsing wanton lust of it’s design. Fortune had it that my thumb pressed upon the eye-and the vibrations came anew. A pulse, a higher intensity-ten different tones I counted in all. All which made me a weak, sweating and mewling lump of flesh.
Then came a moment of ecstasy, one which had my turgid flesh stiletto spasming in the most unseemly fashion. Thank goodness I had a towel down. I glanced down breathlessly at the octopus. I thumbed at the eye-and it fell still. I would go on later that evening to find it could hold such energy for almost an hour.
Dearest J–, I tell you these things to warn you. This fetish was cunning in design. For it’s not just for fellows like myself. Those tendrils could easily make even the strongest of women like you succumb to it. Be warned, my love. I know not how the cult managed to find me. I don’t imagine it would be of much trouble to find you either.
I shall end this letter for now. Save but for one last thing-
That sound. That pulsing rhythm. I feel it in my length even now…and I know not how much longer I can resist it.
Be strong for us both, and may the infinite grin blind you in it’s humor.
Yours in Hellfire,
-J
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