One of the more creative Halloween parties brings surprise after surprise.
First the six-armed and then the six-legged costumed characters removed their head-covering masks, and wouldn’t you know it: there were the dimpled smiles of my four-legged friend, Ivan. I might have known he would have bilocated himself in different multilimbed forms.
“Where are your four legs, Ivan?” I laughed. “You’ve got two there and six here.”
Both Ivans laughed and started to speak, but they exchanged a look of agreement and six-legged Ivan answered.
“Actually, funny you should ask, because I think they’re at the bar, along with my eight legs. I know because I’m bilocated and I can feel what they feel, and from the buzz I’m getting, I am pretty sure that I’m having a couple drinks with myself, me with my four legs and me with eight legs. Care to join us?”
He nodded to the centaur as well, so off we went, wending our way among the nagas and satyrs and giant penises and two-headed twinks and enormous, gently rolling leg wheels and incredibly tall muscle nudes and their dangling and engorging clusters of genitals.
“Your eight legs?” I asked, the question finally emerging from my Ivan-dumbfounded brain.
“It was just so hard to decide,” I heard over my shoulder, as we squeezed through the throng of muscles, makeup, masks and limbs. It was six-armed Ivan now answering.
“Bilocating is no problem, and it’s no problem multiplying my arms or my legs or both, but I had to buy four of the costumes, all of which are ruined from ripping my extra limbs through them, since the costumes are simple store-bought Halloween costumes designed for two arms and two legs.”
As he answered, the massive muscles of his two costumed arms and four naked lower arms jumped as the six strong hands gestured unconsciously, the beautiful hands pointing or spreading or clasping each other while making this or that point. Suddenly, he reached two of his naked muscular arms up and tore the sleeves off of the costume, baring the spectacular delts, shoulders, muscles and beautiful big hands of his top arms. “If you are going to have six arms, you have to let them out, he laughed. I should have done this on all four costumes.”
“Four costumes?” I asked, and the centaur shared my quizzical look.
“Well, yes,” Ivan patiently explained, his phalanx of beautifully muscled arms holding various explanatory positions as he talked, almost completely distracting me from what he was saying.
“One costume to go six-armed,” he said, two of his six large, beautiful hands counting down the costumes on their fingers. “I had to punch two holes in each flank for the four extra arms.”
As he spoke while we squeezed through the noisy, beautiful party crowd, six-legged Ivan bumped along beside him, the sleek swell of the six muscular, athletic legs beautiful to watch as they ambled along, occasionally bumping each other as they began to feel the effects of Ivan drinking at the bar.
Six-armed Ivan was starting to feel the effects as well, but he managed for now to martial his thoughts as well as his six big, handsome arms.
“One costume to go six-legged,” he said, looking over at the six legs of six-legged Ivan and smoothing his hands over them as they walked, graceful but sometimes clumsy, the four handsome bare feet sometimes stumbling on each other as well as on the front feet still in their costume dancer’s shoes. For some reason I nearly creamed watching all the strong hands so gentle and caressing on all the exquisitely muscular, beautifully ambulating hindquarters and athlete’s legs.
“Where am I?” he asked, the many muscular arms relaxing against each other in his forgetfulness, several of their big hands dangling but then perking up as he remembered his train of thought in the increasingly alcoholic fog caused by Ivan at the bar.
“Okay, one costume for my four legs, with only two rips in the flanks of the costume fabric for two more arms.”
“Two more arms?” asked the centaur.
“Well, spiders can have six legs or eight legs,” Ivan said, “so I wanted a version with eight limbs, so I would need two more arms to have four arms to go with my four legs.”
“And that’s who’s at the bar,” said the centaur, seeking clarification.
“Yes, that plus me with eight legs, since a spider can have eight legs, even if I still have my two arms,” Ivan explained, again smoothing his many hands along the naked hind legs of the six-legged Ivan swaying along beside him.
I think that made the centaur almost cream as well as me, and it sure boned the six-legged Ivan, for all to see, his hind penises dangling and engorging within the crowded confines of the beautifully muscled, stumbling legs, the six clumsy, beautiful feet bare, as Ivan’s stumbling had somehow lost the dancers shoes that had been on his front feet.
Six-armed Ivan then re-summarized what he had been saying, his beautiful lips slightly numb and his beautiful white teeth and his slow, shiny tongue not quite coordinated, and his six big muscular arms and hands randomly pointing at each other and touching each other, or dangling forgetfully in mid-air.
“So I got one costume for me four-armed and four-legged, one costume for me six-armed and two legged, one costume for me two-armed and six-legged and one costume for me two-armed and eight-legged,” he said, his six big muscular arms in a confused tangle-hug, big hands dangling everywhere.
“And here we are,” he said with a hiccup, one of the big, lazy hands trying to cover his mouth but giving up and letting its beautiful heavy form fall limp on top of the other beautiful, drunken muscles of his many handsome hands and arms.
Here we were indeed, finally at the bar, crowded with spectacular four-armed nagas and their wondrous coils of snake beneath their beautiful torsos, a few giant, drunken penises barely staying on their barstools, their huge balls draping down nearly to the floor, the music deafening as the muscled glitterati pulsed and swayed to it, and eight-legged Ivan, shirtless and seated on the bar itself on a towering, warm and gorgeous stack of four folded pairs of beautiful, sleekly muscular naked legs, with multiple sleek, naked Ivan-feet hanging down drunkenly from within their folded mounds of swelling, spectacular leg muscle.
“I think Ivan took off his costume,” the centaur smirked, nodding towards the truly naked eight-legged Ivan cross-legged on the bar, tossing down shots at the encouragement of the rowdy, exotically handsome crowds.
“There you are!” came Ivan’s voice from the other side of the centaur, and in the dense crowd he ducked under the centaur to get to me, his four arms and four legs tangling with a heavy, dangling line of enormous multiple centaur penises suddenly ejaculating as the centaur yelped and bucked with pleasure, careful not to hit Ivan with his hind legs.
I found myself in a warm, steaming and gooey embrace with Ivan’s four arms, and I came mightily as his tongue filled my mouth and became a giant, firm cock, nearly choking me as it spurted massive pulses of come that I couldn’t keep from exploding out from my mouth, soaking us both along with the fresh, hot oozing centaur come all over him.
“Good to see you!” I said when I recovered, still reeling in his four-armed embrace as he swayed, nearly taking me down with him. “You’re the party, Ivan!”
So, all the Ivans decided to have a drink with each other at the bar. The centaur offered to walk me around see the sights, and it was a great way to do it. I held his broad shoulders as I rode his horse back, and it was cool when he would occasionally meet, amid the throngs, another centaur. And it’s certainly something to be astride a centaur who is in a deep embrace with another centaur, and it was great that the centaurs we met would be happy to come back and give me an equally deep embrace, generally ending with warm jets of come splattering all over me from their giant frontal centaur sex organs.
By the time we finally returned to the bar, all of the beautiful, drunken Ivans were one big long-limbed pile of way too many arms and legs, asleep on top of it. Six-armed Ivan was interlaced with six-legged Ivan, his beautiful and muscular arms splayed happily among the gorgeous sets of legs of six-legged Ivan, who was asleep in the arms of four armed and four-legged Ivan, who in turn was comfortably surrounded by the eight beautiful legs of eight legged Ivan. Their spectacular multi-limbed bodies glistened with come in their sleep, their multitude of aroused, enormous penises exploding here and there with load after load as they dreamed of mating, their long-muscled bodies heavy with their excess of gorgeous limbs in their drunken slumber, their big drunken penises shooting come everywhere in endless rounds of ejaculations.
“There’s one happy guy,” laughed the centaur. “That’s all one guy, right?”
“I guess,” I said, laughing with him.
The centaur was kind enough to extend himself with extra pairs of hindquarters to carry us and Ivan’s load of limbs back, although the recombined Ivan was a bit of a handful, the recombining not completely successful, or perhaps very successful, depending on how you look at it.
Secretly, I really liked it. Although he was back in one body, it was ridiculously over endowed with muscular limbs, his godlike beauty draped drunkenly over the elongated horseback of the generous, understanding centaur for the long ride home, the centaur’s beautiful stallion body sleek in its multilegged elongation, the line of centaur phalluses that much longer as well, and handsomely aroused with the centaur’s enjoyment of his spectacularly multilimbed, handsomely intoxicated passenger.
It was only natural when we finally arrived that he and Ivan lost themselves in each other in mutual gratitude, the centaur almost unable to walk after his amazing intercourse with Ivan, not even realizing as he left us that his dozen or so hooves had changed to extremely handsome human feet, a gift from Ivan, beautiful as they kissed the grateful earth as they stepped away, many and graceful beneath the centaur, practically floating in his satisfaction as his many spent phalluses dangled, swaying in gentle counterpoint to the ambulatory poetry of his many beautiful feet.
“I’m trying to remember how many arms I was supposed to have,” Ivan said as we faced each other on the couch, raising up a plethora of heavily muscled forearms, their big, strong hands beautifully dangling, trying to decide which hand to use to count the arms.
“Let’s see, one, two three,” he said, trying to look around the sleek forearms to see where his hand was pointing, or hands, since there were two of them posed to point, with index fingers at the ready, apparently confused as to which one of them was the pointer.
“No, I’ll point with this one” he said, another big beautiful hand pointing at the hand he meant to choose, other big, beautiful strong hands also raising their index fingers and thinking they were the hand to do the counting.
“One, two,” he said, as four hands tapped their index fingers on still other hands, heavy and dangling from their strong bevy of wrists.
“Maybe if I switch hands” he said, another big, handsome hand gently pressed against his sweet, confused face, while another hand gently pressed against that hand and a third looked like it was going to point to other hands, which were either resting on each other or hanging heavily in disuse as Ivan forgot them, with too many to keep track of.
It didn’t help that he had so many pairs of enormously muscled, sleek legs, as they were more or less piled beautifully all over each other as they extended back along the couch, some of them cross legged beneath him and others lazily reaching forward from behind his waist, giving him lots of huge, beautiful left feet and right feet extending on either side of him, their succession of sleek, beautifully shaped soles looking comfortable and ok with having nothing to do but look beautiful.
“I think maybe some weed might help,” he said, reaching for his bong with a sleek, beautiful wristfoot, knocking the bong over, Ivan laughing at his clumsiness.
“I forgot I had wristfeet,” he said, bringing the wristfoot back and staring at its huge, sleek handsomeness, and feeling its deep, shapely arch with the toes of another wristfoot, the second wristfoot also surprising him in his drunken confusion, and as he brought more of his arms forward to check them, sure enough, they all presented huge, beautifully clumsy wristfeet, a heavy and beautifully shaped dangling, gorgeously outsized multitude of them.
“Whoops,” he giggled, turning the many huge, beautiful, sleek soles this way and that as he checked them out. “I’m wristfooted.”
He held up several left and right wrists, burdened with the gorgeous, huge, dangling wristfeet, which hung down heavily, showing off their length and beautiful contours, sleek and smooth, warm and absolutely amazing to look at and to hold, as I surprised myself by finding out, their warm and weighty touch a delight to my hands. I greedily pulled a warm and wonderful bunch of them to my face, burying my face in them and loving to be surrounded by their huge, gentle forms, as they in turn pressed themselves against me and as Ivan used them to pull me towards him.
“I’m glad you like them,” he smiled, “so many of them.”
He shifted his weight on his many folded, long-muscled legs, their warm swelling of muscle on muscle comfortably piled beneath him as he looked back at the rest of them splayed beautifully all over each other behind him, while I embraced as many of his beautifully muscled arms and wristfeet as I could get my arms around, lost in worship of them.
“I’m all feet,” he giggled gently. “Feet and wristfeet. And penises. It makes me want to come.”
“I can help you with that,” I smiled, my eyes closed as I breathed in the beauty of his heavy, sweet crowd of wristfeet.
I loved seeing him like this, and it was wonderful to be lost among piles of his beautiful, heavy wristfeet, so beautiful individually and so amazing to have all over me and around me, each one an expression of Ivan’s generous and sweet beauty, and wonderful to be among, surrounded by, overcome with.
“Well, I was thinking,” Ivan said, “We saw the leg wheels at the Halloween party and you dreamt of me as a leg wheel, so how would you like me as a leg wheel for Christmas?”
His face was alive with excitement as he searched my eyes for my answer, and all around me I could feel his large, beautiful wristfeet gently pressing on me, as if to emphasize the possibility of their new venue, a plethora of Ivan’s legs beautifully arranged as an endless succession, a rolling human wheel of spectacular Ivan-legs.
I couldn’t stop smiling, loving Ivan’s crazy offering, and I gladly returned the squeeze of all the wristfeet surrounding me.
“I mean, you’re all feet anyway at this point,” I laughed. “It was so funny in my dream where you said that a leg wheel is basically a foot delivery system. I mean, who comes up with lines like that?” We both laughed. “I’d love it, and I would hope that Christmas would come early if that is what I am getting!”
And boy did it ever. Ivan gave me one final kiss as he held me tight with what seemed like dozens of his sweet, enormously beautiful wristfeet, and what followed was too amazing and beautiful to believe. He lifted all of his long-muscled arms to the sky, bending his handsome, long body backwards to lean back against all of his legs splayed behind him on the couch, meanwhile stretching his front legs forward, much like a cat giving itself a good long yawn and stretch, if you can imagine a cat composed solely of pairs and pairs of beautifully long-muscled, sleek Ivan-legs terminating in magnificently handsome pairs of sleek, beautiful male Ivan-feet. As the legs multiplied, piling on top of themselves, the plethora of wristfooted arms continued to reach for the sky, the arms lengthening and muscling up into beautifully athletic Ivan-legs as well, with fine, strong ankles now forming from the former wrists, each pair of gorgeously athletic legs eclipsed by new pairs in front and behind, and the couch audibly groaning as it was gently crushed by the partly kneeling, partly standing and partly up reaching growing wheel of muscularly beautiful Ivan-legs as they further multiplied, with radiant warmth from the suddenly massive yet exquisitely formed swell of multiple, beautiful pairs of Ivan’s handsome, muscle-contoured, gentle legs.
I realized I was standing, transported by the beauty of the leg-sculpture Ivan had made of himself as a gift for me, a gift of himself and his beauty physically and vividly realized in this now-towering multilegged enormous and beautiful wheel of his legs, a foot delivery system indeed, as I stepped forward and embraced the amazing thighs, calves, the beautiful dangling feet, and I felt the sleek, smooth warmth of their gently enfolding beauty, and fragrant with Ivan’s pleasant male musk, that of his legs and, between each pair, his endless hidden inner wheel of beautiful Ivan-penises, swollen with excitement within in their newly multiplied, leg-wheel world.