POD: Orshalu, 1 of ?, The New Door (m/?, tentacles, oral, anal ...)

[lum...@my-dejanews.com]

Orshalu -- episode 1 -- The New Door
by
John Thomas <lum...@hotmail.com>

NC-17 adult language, adult situations
m/? explicit manual, oral, genital, anal, tentacles

no violence

Xenophilia, anyone?

A sweet, gentle encounter equally at home on alt.sex.stories
and alt.sex.cthulhu. Enjoy.

Footnotes follow, with trademarks and literary references.

The New Door
by
John Thomas <lum...@hotmail.com>

The new door that showed up in my bedroom wouldn't have bothered
me so much if it hadn't replaced a bookshelf -- the one with my
favorite stroke books. The door matched the decor perfectly. There
was an inconspicuous lock built into the doorknob, just like the
one on my front door.

"What the f--" the curse I bit off was too appropriate for the
missing books; the coincidence made me laugh. My hand, already
out to pick up a book, reached for the doorknob instead. The knob
was cool, smooth brass. It didn't turn when I tried it.

Maybe my front door key would work? The key slid in easily, and
after jiggling it back and forth for a little while (more
book-thoughts), it started to turn.

I froze. What was I _doing_? When I was a kid, I'd always thought
Alice was stupid for drinking from a bottle with no more label on
it than "Drink Me," but here I was trying to open a door that at
the very least would open into empty air ten stories above the
ground, and at the most impossible ... _Alice in Wonderland_ wasn't
half of it; I remember a _ST:TNG_ episode where Picard opened a door
into a starscape.

My toe nudged something on the floor. At first glance, it was a
book from the missing shelf: a plain cloth-covered hardcover novel,
pages of cheap paper already starting to yellow from their acid
content. But when I picked it up to see which of my "treasures"
had been spared, a piece of paper fell out -- folded, with my
name written across the front in green ink, in an elegant hand.

I tucked the book under my arm while I examined the stray sheet.
_Not_ paper, but real parchment. The writing wasn't ballpoint, either;
there were signs of snags and small blots.

The note inside was only a few sentences long:

"My dearest Lummie,

"Thank you for the loan of your reference library.

"I have questions about some of the activities described
in your books, and the illustrations don't explain as much as they
raise fresh questions.

"May I call on you this evening to discuss the matter?

"Your ardent admirer,

"(an illegible scrawl)"

Whew! An "ardent admirer," no less, who wanted to discuss ... ulp.

If I had just found the note without the new door, I'd swear one
of my friends had planted it to jerk my chain. But "Lummie" was a nickname
I called myself inside my head, usually when I was jacking off, imagining
that I was a woman. _No one_ knew that name; I didn't even write it when
I scribbled down my fantasies.

The phone rang, startling me. I dropped the book, almost dropped
the note. "Hello?"

Static, then a voice from the bottom of a deep well, by the sound
of it, "Johnny? Are you there?"

"Yeah, Mark, I'm here. Where are you? Inside a barrel?"

"I'm not sure. I'm lucky my cellphone works. Look, get over to my
place. The damnedest thing's happened. Somebody put --" noisy static,
then low volume white noise, then a dial tone.

I jiggled the cut-off button a few times, hoping to restore the
connection, then I hung up the phone, absolutely certain Mark had been
going to tell me about a new door in _his_ apartment. Which he had gone
through -- hence the bad, now severed, connection. Okay -- going through
the door was survivable, at least for a little while.

Whistling past the graveyard ... The cliche' used to be the theme
music from _Twilight Zone_. Recently I'd favored the _X Files_ music for
weird happenings, but this time I decided to go with the classic; Mulder
and Scully probably didn't have jurisdiction on the other side of the door.

The letter in my hand reminded me that my connection to this was
more than a mysterious door, even if its twin had lured a friend of mine
down the rabbit hole. Mark's call had been cut off, but he hadn't sounded
distressed; he was more bemused than anything. But the note ...

Evening, evening ... it was four in the afternoon now. If I was
expecting an evening guest, I'd better get ready ... I laughed. Short of
collar, leash, and cuffs, what was appropriate dress for meeting someone
who knew me mainly from my collection of pornography?

No. They -- she? -- knew enough to match _their_ door to the rest
of _my_ apartment. I'd been watched, investigated. More than investigated:
how had she learned that nickname?

The letter-writer was female, or was that wishful thinking? Back
in college, I'd had sex with other men twice, once with "ho hum" results,
once with unpleasant results (too much rough stuff for my tastes). That
was the extent of my gay experiences, outside of jack-off fantasies. But
what if my "ardent admirer" was male?

Well, what if he was? Maybe I should be "Lummie" for him. I
didn't have any women's clothing here, but I could improvise something
... My head spun as scene followed scene in my mind. Each scenario
was more arousing
than the last.

_No._ I would present myself as me, as John Thomas. Anything more
elaborate, more bent, could wait. A negotiable point, sort of.

Shower, toothbrush, shave, a bit of cologne, dress slacks with a
sports shirt. I cleared off the kitchen table in case the "reference
library" excuse was real, then hastily made up the bed. I was gathering
dirty laundry up from the bedroom floor when the new door started to
"thrum" softly.

I threw the dirty clothes into the closet and slammed its door
shut, just as the lights flickered and dimmed in my apartment. The knob
turned, and the new door started to open, bright light flooding through
the increasing gap. There was a lot of ultraviolet in the doorway light
-- a poster on my wall flared in fluorescence, as did other items in
the room. Too much, and this romance was dead before it started; better
it than me. Third degree sunburn is a definite turn-off.

Apparently, the UV was a temporary portal effect. The poster
faded back into its normal dullness. My eyes took a minute to adjust.
Silhouetted in the doorway was a figure ...

She would only come up to my shoulder, with a slender, barely
feminine shape. A veil covered her hair and face -- was her hair moving
under the glistening cloth? The close-fitting gown reached from floor to
high neckline, shoulder to wrist. I looked down at her hands, trying to
pick up any clues of skin texture, number of fingers, webbing? But the
backlighting interfered -- and she was carrying a book.

_That_ brought a shiver to my spine. And the faint hiss to her
voice ... or did that come from snaky tresses? "John Thomas?"

"Yes. That's me."

She stepped forward and the door closed behind her. The lights
in my bedroom came back up to normal brightness, but it took a long
moment for my eyes to adjust. _She_ was glowing faintly, or at least
her clothing was. "You found my note?"

"Yes. I couldn't read your signature. Your name, my lady?"

"Something that one of your kind can pronounce? 'Orshalu' will
serve. It's more of a title than a name, but ..." a long hissing
trill "...would be difficult for you to say."

"Lady Orshalu. If I'd had more warning, I could have done your
arrival more honor..." Damn, her hair _was_ moving under the veil.
Medusa? I wanted to see what she looked like, did I have a mirror
handy outside of the bathroom? Did I need one?

I grinned and blushed as I took the offered book. "Uh, you're
right. But it's stuff I like to look at when I ..." One of the
wriggling movements under the veil dropped... about six inches of
slender tentacle, embellished with tiny, perfect suckers, pale green
with a moist, nacrous gleam. No snake head, so not a standard-model
medusa, but didn't Shambleau have suckers on her hair tentacles?
"Ah... your hair?"

She shook her head gently and more tentacles dropped gently
from beneath the veil. "I bound it to avoid shocking you. It won't
hurt you."

"And your face as well? We have a myth... your hair had me
worried. What will looking at your face do to me?"

"Some humans are distressed. I had hopes you would not be
one." I could hear a smile in her words. "Many humans fare well
enough with fiction, but cannot face reality."

"Let me look at your hands." I put the book down onto the
bed and took one of her hands in each of mine. The skin was moist
and faintly scaly, with much more pearl than green in its tone.
There were three fingers on each hand plus a thumb, significant
webbing between the fingers, and the nails were more claw-like than
human. I brought the hands up to my lips and kissed the back of
each, looking at the still hidden face of their owner. Then I turned
them over and kissed their palms, lightly touching the palm center
with the tip of my tongue. She tasted sweet and salty.

I took both of her hands in one of mine, gently touched the
bottom edge of her veil. "May I?"

"I don't want to cause --"

"You won't. I like aliens -- non-humans. Couldn't you tell
from the books?"

"The choice is yours."

Slowly, gently, I drew the veil up, draping it over the

back of her head as it cleared her face. The hair-tentacles sprang
free, cloaking her features for a minute. The skin of her face matched
the skin of her hands in tone and texture. Her eyes were large, and
a luminous green. Her nose and chin were more pointed than human
norm, her lips thinner -- and green. Her nose was very flat by human
standards, almost not there except for the nostrils. Her eyebrows
were fine scales. If she had external ears, they weren't immediately
apparent -- maybe under the "hair." High cheekbones.

"You're beautiful," I said, entranced by those huge eyes.

She smiled. The tip of her tongue touched her lips. She had
pointed teeth, a mouth full of incisors. A carnivore's mouth.
"Thank you. I don't kill and eat my mates."

Her words jolted me awake. "I didn't think you would ... was
that an offer?"

One of her hands dropped free of mine, brushed the front of
my trousers. At her touch, my mild arousal became painfully urgent.
"If I saw the right pictures -- in some of the other books -- I
am able to accept you. And perhaps a bit more?"

Big grin from me, and a stammered, "Sure, if you want." But
I couldn't move until she took my hands and directed me.

"Undress. I want to see a human male."

Slowly, I undressed. My hard-on was happy to be out in the
open, in full salute. Orshalu reached down and stroked my cock.
"Some of the pictures didn't look like this." I explained circumcision
to her. "And your parents did this to you as an infant?"

"Better as an infant than as an adult -- some of my friends
are not so fortunate."

"Ah." She found the small ring piercing the skin at the base
of my cock. "I've seen this in pictures as well. A restraint?"

A gasp, "Yes. My lady, in a moment, I won't be able to contain
myself."

"And you'll tear my clothes off and throw me onto the bed?"
She giggled at the thought.

The giggle was too much; it made her just a touch more human,
and eased the last little fear I had had of her. The ease triggered
my release -- I squirted come all over the front of her dress.
"Omigod, I'm sorry. Let me find you something to wear while I rinse
your dress out..."

"Sh. I don't need clothes, not here, not now, not with you."
A gesture down the front of her gown and it parted, falling open and
away from her body. She wasn't a mammal -- the small swellings high
on her chest weren't breasts -- no nipples. And the fine "hair"
between her legs moved of its own accord -- more tentacles, matching
those on her head. "Let's see how we fit together."

A soft embrace at first. I nuzzled Orshalu's neck. Her skin
texture was arousing me, bringing me up hard again. The tentacle-hair
brushed my face, lingering for a moment as each sucker attached
itself to my skin for a quick touch/taste? For an instant, my skin
went numb under each contact point, but the feeling came back,
and more. I _tingled_.

Her lips were firmer than a woman's, and her teeth made it
a challenge exploring her mouth with my tongue. She tasted noticeably
but not unpleasantly fishy. Her tongue probed my mouth, testing
the shape of my less-dangerous teeth. "Plant eater," she laughed.

"Omnivore. I eat almost anything -- including lovely scaly
ladies with octopus hair."

My hands stroked Orshalu's back and sides. Her barely-scaled
body brushed along the sensitive skin on the inside of my arms.
I sank slowly to my knees in front of her, my face nuzzling the
soft skin of her belly. She lowered herself to my bed, her legs
draped over the edge of the bed. She spread her legs, opening
herself to my explorations.

Under the cluster of fine tentacles between her legs ... a
single opening, what biologists call a "cloaca." Above it, in her
genital fold, was her clit ... Sometimes, stroke books describe nipples
as being as big and hard as ripe olives. Orshalu's clit was bigger
and harder than that. She moaned softly as my tongue teased her clit,
and she tensed and relaxed as she came repeatedly. The fine tentacles
brushed my face as I gently sucked and nibbled. I slipped my
fingers gently up into her -- not being paranoid, but if she had
teeth down there, I'd rather risk my fingers than something else.

Orshalu's hands reached down and drew me up next to her.
Rearrangement -- I was on my back on the bed while she straddled my
waist, her hair moving with a life of its own. She reached behind
her to take my cock in her hand, guiding me up into her tight, hot,
wet hole. My hips lifted, shoving my cock as far up as it could
reach, filling her tightness. Her large clit shoved into my belly
at the base of my cock like a little cock of her own, and the
tentacles between her legs caressed and stroked my balls.

Orshalu leaned forward. Her claws stroked my neck, my chest.
The claws left thin red lines on my skin. My hands cupped her waist,
pushing her down onto my cock. We moved together in a smooth rhythm ...

Something probed at my asshole, very lightly at first -- I didn't
know when it started, only when it had been there for a while. There was
the same numbness followed by tingling that the tentacle suckers produced
... not just on the rim of my asshole but up inside. _Deep_ up inside me.
I was full of ... of what?

The tingling set me off. I came, hard spurts into her
welcoming hole. I expected to wilt, to fall out, but somehow I
didn't lose my hard-on. Orshalu rode up and down on me, bringing
herself off on my empty cock, but also moving whatever was up
inside _me_ in and out. She leaned over and whispered in my ear,
her tentacles brushing the skin of my face, "Is this what you
really wanted, my darling Lummie? To be filled and ridden?"

I gasped as I felt hot come? flooding into me. "Yes. How did you
know?"

"Your dreams called to me." Orshalu rose to her knees on the bed,
and my cock fell out of her hole, limp but still intact. The shape inside
me pulled gently out. Liquid oozed out of my asshole. I reached behind me,
brought a smear of the fluid around to look at it. No sign of blood -- the
liquid was a dark green. Again, there was a strong fishy smell.

"Was that you? Inside me?"

She snuggled up against my side, and I put my arm around her. Her
voice had more of a hiss than there had been. "Yesss."

"You were wonderful. Not even in my dreams ..."

"My dearessst Lummie." Orshalu brushed her tentacles away from her
face. Her features didn't look nearly as human as they had. Her eyes were
just as luminous, but they were wider and flatter, more like a fish's. And
the pearly gleam of her flesh had faded, dulling her skin.

"Is something wrong?"

"I have to go home. Your world isss not mine." Orshalu rose,
gathered up her dress and her veil. She leaned over me and kissed me on
the lips, her tongue lightly probing. "I'll be back when our children are
ready to leave your world. Take care of them, John Thomas."

She opened the door. "Wait. A question?"

"Only one. I'm nearly out of time."

"What does 'Orshalu' mean? You said it was a title."

She laughed. "In your tongue, 'Harvesster.' Or maybe'Breeder.' I
will sssee you again, John Thomasss." The door closed behind her.

When my eyesight recovered, the door was gone, and the bookshelf
back in place. So were the books. But their pages were slightly damp, with
a faint fishy smell. And my notebook, with my handwritten fantasies, was
gone.

09 June 1998

------------------FOOTNOTES:

_Twilight Zone_; I don't know who owns the rights to this old classic,
but it's now playing on the Sci-Fi Channel.

_ST:TNG_ & _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ are trademarks of Paramount.

The _X Files_ is a trademark of Fox Television.

Lummie was an alien princess in the book _The Star Beast_ by
Robert A. Heinlein. Her hobby was "raising John Thomases."

"Shambleau" by C.L.Moore

For this to stick at alt.sex.cthulhu, I have to add some keywords: Cthulhu,
Hastur, Shub-Internet, shuggoth ... ulp

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