Lifeguard

Jersey Bob was walking along a deserted stretch of the beach on his way back to the cabana when he saw her. At first all he could see was a spot of flaxen hair bobbing up and down in the sea. Then she cried for help.

Probably another tourist caught in the riptide, he thought as he ripped off his Hawaiian shirt and dove into the water. It took him only about three minutes to reach her. She went down for what could the the last time. He dove underwater and looked for her. Then he saw her. Naked as a jaybird. Yet another skinny-dipper caught in the rip.

He approached her from the back, wrapped his arm around her, grabbing her magnificent left breast. Definitely worth saving, this one, he thought. He turned toward the beach and paddled back to shore using his free arm. Because of the angle he had to take to avoid the rip it took the better part of ten minutes for him to reach the sand. He laid her down upon the beach and immediately began CPR.

When he pushed down on the center of her chest, water bubbled up from her mouth. He opened her mouth to check whether she had swallowed her tongue. Her tongue was actively trashing and he felt a strange tingle as it slid along his finger. As he withdrew his hand, he noticed her hair. Lovely, blond and sleeky. And dry.

He felt a warmth suffusing his body as he pushed down on the center of her chest and more water bubbled up out of her mouth.

He was about to repeat this maneuver, when she took his hands away from her sternum and placed them on her ample breasts. Definitely no silicon there. She nodded, and Jersey Bob thought, what the heck let's see if it works! He pushed down on those magnificent orbs with all of his might and was rewarded by another stream of water issuing from her mouth.

Now might be good time to start mouth-to-mouth, Bob thought, as he pinched her nostrils and covered her mouth with his. He was greeted by another stream of seawater, except that it tasted like an Arby's milkshake rather than bitter brine. Her roving tongue renewed its exploration of his mouth, which ignited a sexual fire in him. As he tried to raise his head, the girl seized it and held it in place as her tongue traveled to places in his mouth that he never knew existed.

His shaft was rock hard and throbbing now, as the girl somehow shifted beneath him so that his cock lay in the groove of her slit. She held his head in place as someone or something removed his suit. Bob felt hands on his cock, balls, and buttocks as well as a finger traveling up his ass. Oh well, the more the merrier, Bob thought, as his shaft was somehow guided into the blond bombshell. He began to pound his way in and out of her cunt, urged on by the mysterious hands grabbing his balls and ass.

More delightful milkshake poured its way down Jersey Bob's throat. At least it's working, he thought. He would have to submit this technique to American Lifeguard Magazine. He pounded into her harder and harder and felt her heart rate rising as he rode her in the sand. The hands on his balls began to squeeze faster and faster, and the "finger" up his ass grew impossibly thick and long as it began to rape him violently. As he exploded into the once-drowned beauty, pouring the contents of his subjugated balls deeply into her cunt, he finally realized one crucial fact he had overlooked. Those weren't hands. They were tentacles.

Chthulu dropped the naked girl act, and Jersey Bob felt his head being shoved into the widest mouth he had ever seen. Soon the only trace remaining of Jersey Bob Lovecraft was a gold pinky ring displaying the message "Wha's up?" that Chthulu had burped up as indigestible (as well as of dubious taste).

As Chthulu used his tentacles to crawl back into the ocean, he smiled (flashed red and green circles along all eight tentacles actually). He was the king of the world, the master of disaster, the punk with the funk, the catch with a snatch, a giant mimic octopus, capable of imitating anything that moves, from a Day-Glo jellyfish to a flounder to a coral reef, and most things that didn't.

Now Chthulu had extended this art to the vexatious humans and other land creatures (not to mention inanimate objects such as rocks). The genes he had just stolen from the curly-haired human were going to be very helpful in this regard.

He figured that in a pinch, he could even do the President of the United States.

Welcome to the Age of the Invertebrates, muthafuckers!