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Deep in the Nether, a pocket of netherrack sat below the Nether hub and tucked above a pool of lava. Inside, Tango blocked it off with two pieces of netherrack.
The hole was small and warm, with a bed tucked in one corner, a chest beside it, and black carpet lining the floor. It was lit by a soul lantern hung in a corner, though some light came from his hair, the tips burning gently. This had been Tango’s resting place during his Nether hub work, and now it was his place to relax away from Decked Out 2.
Tango placed down a shulker box, then began to strip. He folded the pieces of his outfit into the chest. On top of the chest, he placed bottles of water and food. The potions of regeneration stayed in his inventory.
Still in his boxers, he cast a longing glance to the skulker box.
Patience.
Groaning, mostly at himself, he sat down and extended one leg for a stretch. His body would thank him later. As Tango changed positions, his head was already clearing of block placements and redstone. His plans for the night bumped to the forefront of his mind, and arousal began to simmer.
Muscles satisfied, he opened the shulker and withdrew the sculk he’d gathered from his farm. He broke the shulker into his inventory, then slid his boxers off and tossed them onto the bed. He didn’t shiver with the heat of his home dimension wrapping around him, unlike when he stripped to shower at his base in the Overworld.
Finally, sculk was placed to cover the floor. Their tentacles peacefully waved as Tango’s feet sunk into the wool carpet around them. Once finished, a strip of carpet remained between the bed and sculk. After storing the sculk away and ensuring his netherite hoe was in his hotbar, he set one foot onto the squirmy sculk bed.
The reaction was immediate, with tentacles waving and their chirrs rippling out. Tango quickly brought his second foot up so he wasn’t struck off balance.
He took a few wobbly steps to the middle of the patch, then sank onto his elbows and knees. Curious sculk brushed against his fingertips, wrists, ankles. He didn’t withhold his chuckles at the ticklish touches.
Like past experiences, longer tentacles stretched towards his mouth at his laughter, and he playfully lapped at the tips as they met his lips. They jerked away, then dove forward for more. He grinned as much as he could around his small mouthful, then put weight on his left forearm as his right hand reached back.
Tango’s own hand smacked his ass, making it burn like his face. Then, he unceremoniously sprawled out, fully pressing his front into the soft wriggling mass. From there, the sculk took over.
His cheek pressed to one side, his moan was muffled as the sculk wormed up his asscheeks and gripped them hard. Tango’s arms rested at his sides; he rubbed his thighs together. The sculk took it upon themselves to slither between skin pressed together and spread him open.
His asshole, now on display, clenched around nothing, and his cock, now weeping pre-come, twitched where it was trapped between two different types of flesh. As he was manhandled to their liking, Tango took note of his short and quick breaths through his nose.
His eyes fluttered shut as his breathing evened out, his body going from tense to a relaxed anticipation. The sculk approved, with one tentacle stroking his bulging cheek and another brushing ungelled hair out of his eyes.
Tango whimpered, his chest rising and falling with their surges against skin. With a testing jerk, he confirmed sculk had wrapped around his ankles and wrists. A clenched right hand ensured he could summon his hoe at any time.
The sculk slowly felt around his asshole. As Tango waited, he sunk into the secure bindings, jerked every once and a while, then moaned when they scarcely tightened. Good. He wanted marks.
Finally, a slick tendril, smaller than a finger, breached his hole. He hummed approvingly, and soon after a second joined it on its exploration. It was barely a stretch, but they alternated between reaching deep and probing his walls. Tango did his best to stay relaxed, but as they pressed on his prostate, he clenched down. He whined, fidgeting as the tentacles rubbed it, making his cock leak pre-come into the sculk bed.
They moved once he relaxed, pulling out and pushing past his rim with loud squelches. A third tentacle, maybe the size of a couple fingers, joined them, sliding inside on the next entrance—only to firmly rub against his prostate. The high-pitched noise he gave only encouraged them to harshly press past it as they began fucking him in a slow, but hard, motion.
Pleasure coursed through Tango in a slow wave; then he nearly choked on his own spit. His throat worked against nothing, with his tongue trapped beneath slow-moving tendrils. They withdrew, and steam curled past his lips. He took gasping breaths, drool spilling messily from his lips as his unseeing eyes flew open.
Noises poured freely from his mouth, and he kept his head pressed down as he took what they gave. A waving, questioning tentacle appeared in front of his lips, and he licked at it. They slowly re-entered his mouth, still not deep enough to trigger his gag reflex.
Every thrust was against his prostate, then pressed deeper before withdrawing. Heat coiled in Tango, aided by writhing tendrils circling his nipples and lightly pinching the skin around his hips and belly button. His cock was cradled between two tentacles now, no longer pressed tight.
Then, the small tendrils in his ass withdrew entirely. Tango sucked a breath in; he knew what was coming.
Himself too, apparently. Molten shame coursed through him as the coil snapped with his ass spread and empty, his cock barely touched. He groaned high and long, his entire body shuddering as tentacles wrapped around the head of his cock. He squirmed against his bonds, which gave him no choice but to allow his muscles to work and let heat wash over him.
As the pulses of his orgasm tapered out, something big and squirmy pressed against his fluttering asshole. There were three ridges to be felt as it pushed in, only to be the small tendrils from before along for the ride. Tango breathed through the mild pain, lost in fullness and the sensation of sculk squirming around his balls, then his cock. SInging pleasure was back soon enough, the feeling of being wrapped around something so big sending zips of overstimulation down his spine and up his neck.
The following thrusts were slow and deep. Tango lost himself in it and rocked with it as much as he could, eyes slipping shut again as tears dripped down his temple. Occasionally, it would stop deep inside of him, only for the ridges to gain a life of their own and wriggle about, pressing meanly against the previously learned sensitive spots and his prostate. It drew throaty moans from him, and he sobbed when it once went on for minutes at a time.
The sculk throbbed around his cock, drawing come from it time and time again. It didn’t mind when he went soft, still playing with it, with him. When patterns swirled beneath eyelids, Tango summoned his hoe, flicked it to slice the wrist’s binds, and tilted his head away from sculk to drink a regen potion.
The static faded into something tingly and pleasant, his bones and skin thrumming warmly as he tossed the bottle aside and dropped his arm where it laid before. More sculk reached to cover it.
As if a reward for returning and his cock hardening again, the sculk’s thrusts incrementally sped up. Tango settled back in and let his whines slip out, his mouth empty and jaw sore and slack.
Tango came again when the quick, deep fucking pressed his body back and forth, the sculk tugging binds with its own force. The pleasure swirled above him, like the pinch of thin skin, then buried deep under his muscles. His cock jerked in time with the pulsating thrusts. The netherrack of the room was blurry from his tears, and tentacles writhed up his dick as everything kept going.
The sculk wrapped around his hips and back and thighs, holding him so his body wasn’t dragged, so he could take it. It was so deep, so much, so good. Meaningless words and curses babbled from his lips, heard by no one but himself and the sculk.
Suddenly, the movement came to a halt, the thick tentacle deep inside him, the tendrils wrapped tightly around his cock. Tango squirmed uselessly, his face twisting up, why, don’t stop.
The only response was his binds tightening. This was a new addition to the routine. He froze in place, heart thundering in his ears as his hole clenched around the thickness inside him. The near silence felt deadly, yet he didn’t reach for the hoe.
After a minute of stillness from the sculk and his previously approaching orgasm fading, two tendrils rose up in his peripheral vision.
He eyed them, and they waved back and forth. He smiled, lips slick with drool. They dove for his neck.
Pressure was against his neck, and his next quickly-drawn breath was shallow.
Two more incomplete breaths drawn, and his body seized. An orgasm crashed, and he clenched around the sculk inside of him, his cock jerking against the tight tendrils. Eyes wide open, he let his mouth fall open, high-pitched ‘ah’s falling whenever air was allowed. It went on, and on, until he was limp against the frozen sculk.
Breaths shallow, Tango summoned the netherite hoe and began the easy process of getting rid of the sculk. First his hands, then upper body, then the rest. As appealing of cuddle buddies as they looked, he couldn’t trust them to leave his holes alone long enough to not wake up respawned in bed.
It left him laid on the wool carpet. He turned to his back, sprawled out like a starfish. After a moment of floor-laying complete, the stickiness of sweat and come on his skin was enough to push him to his feet. He groaned as he stood, then wiped himself with the wet cloth in his inventory. He sat on the bed sheets, downed a water, and munched on a steak.
Sated, he crawled under the red covers and wrapped the soft blanket around his shoulders. An alarm already set late into the morning on his communicator, Tango quickly fell sound asleep.