Me and Paul

By Randy Allarms 
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Me and Paul

Love is such a wonderful thing. Often overlooked in the mad rush of male/male heat, if only guys would take the time to slow down and explore they would see how love simply turns up the flame. Even bodies we’ve come to know so well have new ways of moving, different muscles respond differently to various touches, light and darkness play off our frames so that we never appear the same way twice.

Every time I see Paul there is a stirring in my cocks. Especially when he’s laying on the couch with two arms behind his head, two holding his book, one holding his Dr. Pepper (which he is almost never without) and one resting idly on his chest. The temptation to give way to absolute lust is overwhelming and the thought always crosses my mind to just whip out, grab one of my cocks and offer the other two to him. And he knows it. When two people are in love mind reading comes easily. But instead, he simply runs his hands through his hair, turns a page, raises his Dr. Pepper to his mouth for a seductive sip and winks at me.

For right now, that’s enough. I take his free hand in one of mine and sit on the floor next to his reclining body. Later, in the semi-darkness of a room lit by a single candle, our two bodies will become one in the tangle of a dozen arms. And thanks to our love for each other, the lovemaking will be sweeter for the wait.

Paul Cooks

Paul shouldn’t cook. He just… well, he just shouldn’t. It’s not that he doesn’t have the makings of a great chef and it’s not that he’s not co-ordinated enough to handle it. I mean, the man’s an artist and when he lays paint to a canvas he has a minimum of three brushes—and sometimes more—going simultaneously. But it’s one thing to paint a picture of a couple of boytaurs rassling in a forest clearing under a moonlit sky, and quite another to hold a cookbook, peel a zucchini and keep your cream sauce from separating at the same time. The last time he tried it he got into such a muddle that I had to tell him “Paul, honey, do it like the Normoids do—pretend you have a boring two-armed body and can only do one thing at a time.”

“But, what do I do with all my other hands?” he asked.

“Well,” I said, nestling up to his backside, “you can always reach behind you and braid my dicks.” Needless to say, that was a fiasco. Before you could say “Alfredo Sauce” my cocks were hard, all of his were hard and we went to bed without dinner that night. So, about a week ago when I said, “Our anniversary is coming up, how do you want to celebrate?” you can imagine my trepidation when he replied, “I want to make us a special meal.”

“Can’t we just go out to Spider Joe’s for soft-shell crab?” I asked. Believe me, there is nothing like a soft-shell crab laying on a bed of rice with all those succulent legs sticking up in the air—especially when the owner of the restaurant is an eight-armed, four-legged wonder who is a retired Naval cook! But Paul was insistent—he wanted to prepare a special dinner. So I asked him “What do you want to make?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think would be the easiest?”

“Spider Joe’s for soft-shell crab.”

“Seriously. I want to do this.” So we came up with all kinds of ideas, most of which promised doom.

Finally I said, “Look, why not just make a lasagne. Get a system going—two hands for sauce, two hands for cheese and two hands for noodles. That way everyone’s busy and you don’t have to worry about burning anything.” He loved the idea—on the condition that I stay out of the kitchen and just let him do it. I said okay and our anniversary dinner was a done deal.

That afternoon he came home from the store carrying in 8 bags of groceries. I offered to help put away but he said he had secret ingredients and didn’t want me to see. “Now, out! Out!” he said and putting two hands on my butt he pushed while the other four hands started through the bags.

“All right,” I said. “I’m going! I’m going!” I went into the bathroom to shower and shave. Now usually I can shower and shave at the same time but this being our anniversary I wanted to get rid of some extra stubble and I have to be very careful shaving between my dicks. I tend to do it with only one razor instead of two or three because—well, you understand how sensitive that area is and a cut there can be awkward. At any rate, I was in the bathroom for quite awhile and when I came out the most incredible smells were issuing from the kitchen.

I mean incredible smells!

I couldn’t believe it. Paul was doing this??? Paul—who can’t get that you probably shouldn’t use more than two hands to knead bread dough or it ends up looking like a taffy pull? Paul—who tries to peel three onions at once so that his eyes are full of tears for at least an hour? Paul—who can’t chop vegetables without cutting at least 14 fingers? Finally, I could be proud of having a lover who could manage in the kitchen. “Can I come in?” I called from around the corner.

“Yes,” he said, “You’re just in time. It’s ready to come out of the oven.” As I came in he had a pot holder in each of his two middle hands while his top hands opened the oven. (It was cute to note that his remaining free hands had all his fingers crossed!) He very—v e r y—gingerly pulled the lasagna out of the oven—all bubbly and smelling way too good!

That’s when it happened.

All at once he felt like Rocky. “I did it!” he shouted and began to sing “Gonna Fly Now!” He doubled his four available fists and suddenly raised them, victoriously, over his head—hitting the lasagna pan on the way up, knocking it out of his hands and onto the floor. Luckily, no one got hurt. But his shouts of victory turned into screams of woe! “Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” All six hands completely covered his face and head. Well, I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. I clutched my gut, slapped my thighs and threw my other hands in the air while I convulsed into gales of laughter.

“What is so fucking funny?” He asked, all six of his hands dropping from his head.

“You,” I said. And between the roars of laughter I managed to get out, “I love you so much.”

“Well, if you love me so much help me clean this mess up!” I reached for the roll of paper towels, tore off six for him and six for me and got down onto the floor to help him wipe up the still hot lasagna. It didn’t take long for him to see the humor in it; we both chuckled and giggled as twelve hands mopped up the floor.

And when we were finished…

Our eyes met. And we got very quiet.

Have you ever looked at your partner of several years as if you were seeing him for the first time? I felt a stirring in my dicks and noted the growing bulge behind his fly. I pulled him toward me and we wrapped our arms around our bodies and made love on the kitchen floor. Never had my dicks been so aroused or so granite-hard. Paul’s too—they were so solid and so big. I pulled him up onto his hands and knees and milked him like a cow. Three hands—one for each dick—squeezing, massaging, coaxing out his spew, my remaining hands cupped underneath to catch every drop of his lickable cream! It wasn’t long. One by one they squirted—oozed—filled my hands with about a half a cup of his spunk. I smeared it onto my dicks and lapped up the rest from my hands.

Then Paul took his turn. He masturbated all three while he pulled my face toward his and kissed me deeply. My cocks lubed with his sperm made them slick and they gave off a delicious sound as his hands massaged them. Suddenly I drew in my breath and he felt it getting ready to happen.

“Which one?” he asked. I touched the cock that was preparing to blow. In one gulp he swallowed it to the root and I gushed a river down his throat. I moaned again. This time he could sense it as my next cock became stiffer. It, too, disappeared into his mouth and he drank. But the third one he continued to massage until the cum spurted out and up into a streaming arch. He wrapped his six arms around me, and I all six of mine around him and we collapsed into an exhausted heap.

I take it back—maybe Paul should cook more often!

Kip the Nip

Paul and I usually don’t play around. That is to say with 6 arms and 3 penises each there is definitely enough for two people, you know what I mean? Now, of course in our multilimbed community we may run across a guy with some feature that is so remarkably hot that we have to invite him in for intimacy. But for the most part we’re perfectly happy left to ourselves.

Paul, you know, is an artist. And not too long ago he hired a boytaur to pose nude for him at a bayou just outside of New Orleans. Geoff is a perfect specimen of boytaur with 4 gorgeous legs and a torso that looks like it was chiseled by Praxiteles. Actually, I’ve never met Geoff but I look forward to Paul’s sketches everyday and they can be deliciously vivid. Geoff, however, is incidental to the story.

Late one afternoon, hours after Paul’s precious “optimum light” had faded away, he came home and brought with him a normoid. Now, I’m loath to confess that I can be a bit of a bigot when it comes to normoids. First of all, their bodies are so boring—two arms, two legs, one set of genitals. Ho-hum! But also because so many of them think of us as “freaks” and often I’ve been called “freak” by normoid scum. Of course, pounding one into a pulp is no challenge. (Even though I’ve put the fear of God in more than my share.)

The ones who aren’t seeing us as freak show exhibits are lusting after my six arms. (If they knew about my dicks they’d really freak!) And I get stupid remarks like, “Are all those arms really real???” If I’m in the mood to indulge them I flex a few biceps for them and move along. Frankly, I think they’re mostly idiots. So when Paul brought one home, knowing how I feel, I wondered what was up with that?

“This is Kip,” he said. “He’s a friend of Geoff’s.”

“How do you do?” I said, extending one hand. He greeted me and accepted my handshake. I gave him a bone crusher! “Oh!” I said, putting on a Sincere Expression, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to hurt you. Paul, may I see you in the kitchen?”

“See?” Paul said to Kip, “I told you I lived with Archie Bunker.” He joined me in the kitchen. “Hold on before you pass judgment!” he said.

“Pass judgment? On what? A fucking normoid who looks like he’s had four or five arms sliced off in a train wreck.”

“Trust me…he isn’t a normoid.” He waited for a response that was not forthcoming. He laughed. “Come back in.” We went into the living room where Kip was admiring some of Paul’s artwork. He seemed particularly interested in a portrait study of a 12-legged manipede.

“This one’s nice, Paul.”

“Thanks. He was a nice guy. Randy’s dad is a manipede.”

“Way cool! How many legs?”

“Ten,” I said, cooly, wishing they’d cut to the chase. Finally Paul walked behind Kip and said, “May I?”

“Sure,” Kip replied as two of Paul’s arms came around to massage his pecs. The other four hands slowly began to unbutton Kip’s shirt. Something was beginning to happen under Kip’s shirt; his pecs looked like they were starting to bulge out. Alarmingly so. Paul kept unbuttoning. Slowly. Seductively.

“Kip,” he said, “tell him your nickname.”

“Kip the Nip,” he replied. At that moment, Paul tore off the unbuttoned shirt. Now, I thought I’d seen everything and I didn’t think I could freak out but what I saw was the surprise of my life.

“I’ll be goddamned! Nip dicks!” Where each of Kip’s nipples should have been there was a fully erect penis! Each one was about 7” long and, on top of that… pierced with Prince Alberts! My own cocks sprang to immediate attention at the sight of his nipple dick rings. I’d often heard of people with nip dicks but this was the first time I’d ever seen any. “Are they fully functional?” I asked, like a damned normoid.

“Oh, yes.”

“Do they cum?”

“They’re leaking precum now.” said Paul, offering me a taste on his finger.

“But they actually shoot? I mean… ejaculate?”

“Keep playing with them and find out.”

“Now THAT’S what I call lactating!” said Paul. Suddenly, I wanted Kip to nurse me. Paul had the same idea. He came around to the front and took one into his mouth. He swallowed it all the way down to the pec, masturbating the other nip dick and rubbing two or three hands on Kip’s growing crotch.

“How many do you have down there?” I asked.

“Just the one,” he said. He took Paul’s hand off his other nip-dick and offered it to me. I got very close. Paul had squeezed a drop of precum out that sat like an opal on the slit. I transferred it to my tongue. Kip moaned. I reached over with a couple of hands and touched Paul’s fly. His cocks were struggling to keep from breaking out. I unzipped his fly while I felt Kip’s belly with another hand, his pec with another and used one in tandem with my mouth on his tasty nip dick. While those hands were busy I used my remaining hands to remove my pants.

Like a magnet, Paul’s hands went straight to my dicks. Kip reached down for a feel and I moaned while I sucked his nip-dick hard and fast. Paul jacked two of my cocks while Kip took the third. Our heads bobbed up and down at Kip’s chest as we frantically sucked the sex that grew there. All at once Kip pulled his cocks out of our mouths. He looked at us a moment and whispered, “I want to fuck you both.” Paul didn’t need much encouragement; he used all six hands to practically rip his jeans off.

“How do you want us?” I asked.

“Turn around and bend over,” replied Kip. “Stand so your butts are squeezed beside each other. We did. Kip got down on his knees and used the only two hands God gave him to guide his nip dicks into our anxious holes. The sensation was indescribable! Usually when you’re fucked you feel legs and balls behind you, but now what I felt slapping against my ass was Kip’s smooth chest. By flexing and releasing his pecs he was able to slip his nip dicks in and out. The feeling was not to be believed!

I reached over with my three left hand and jacked off Paul’s dicks. He reciprocated with his right hands. I reach behind with one of my free hands and wanked Kips crotch dick. The nip dicks fucked harder and harder and everyone was moaning and screaming like we were in the throes of death.

Suddenly Kip cried out, “They’re cumming!” I immediately pulled it out of my ass and turned around just in time to see a ribbon of cream jet out from his chest. From the way his left pec was convulsing I knew the other one was filling Paul’s hold with cum. I was so into the nip dicks that I didn’t even realize that Kip’s crotch cock had oozed its funk all over my hand.

Paul came. First one. Then two. Then three. Then two of mine. But Kip got down and sucked the third until I shot down his throat. Afterwards we all lay down on the bed and Paul and I treated him to a full 12-handed massage.

Kip comes over from time to time. He’s one of the few 3-ways we allow ourselves. And he’s hot—very hot indeed. Oh, if only he were a boytaur!

Behind the Glass Door

Paul and I finally have sharing the bathroom down to a fine science. When we first got together, being in the bathroom at the same time meant near disaster. I don’t know why there are no multilimbed contractors out there building houses for multilimbed people! My dad is a 10-legged manipede and turning sharp corners for him can be tough! He also feels that stairs would have been easier to manage if they just changed the angle a little and always complains about toilets. And for those of us with six, eight or even a dozen arms some conveniences would be nice.

Paul and I installed twin sinks with three sets of faucets at each one. And we also have four hand held shower heads in the shower stall. (The normoid who moves in after we’re gone will be so confused!) So now we can shave at the sinks side-by-side and we don’t have to wait until one of us is finished in the shower before the other can get in and lather up and getting ready to start our day or go out at night or just washing up before going to Spider Joe’s for dinner is much, much easier.

But the thing about our bathroom that I like most of all is the shower door. It’s sort of frosted and has little decorative divisions in it so that when someone is inside they look all surreal and dreamlike. Even a normoid would look like a multilimber behind this glass. So when Paul showers I like to stand at the sink and keep an eye on him behind the glass door. I start by washing my hands and face and while I’m doing that I reach for the hair gel and shave cream. Now, I don’t have to pretend to watch Paul; certainly I could just turn around and enjoy the show. But when I do that and he’s aware of it he performs.

I prefer to watch him shower naturally.

He usually uses two shower heads and leaves a pair of hands free for soap and wash cloth. When he washes his hair he puts one head back so that he can have another pair free. Now, those of you who are multilegged and not multi-armed will never know the feeling of massaging your scalp, washing your pecs and abs and soaping up your cocks all at the same time. The feeling is wonderful enough, but standing at the mirror watching Paul is like seeing a ballet!

And, of course, our wonderful shower door makes it look like he has 12 arms and six cocks or six or eight manipede legs! And when he turns just right he seems to have two heads or eight pecs or sometimes three or four eyes! Beautiful! It’s like a kaleidoscope of limbs and digits and organs, constantly changing… three dicks / nine dicks, five fingers / ten fingers, two nipples / six nipples. My dicks spring to attention as the faceted door creates the sexiest images. He rubs his glistening body, pausing to playfully braid his cocks and move a couple of shower heads over his pecs. He rinses off his legs and asses, lets the soapy water flow into his six or ten armpits and run down his delicious waists. The soap from his hair runs down his back in streams, flowing down his butt cracks and down the illusion of eight legs before eddying down the drain.

And then he opens our wonderful glass door, steps out and the illusion is shattered. Luckily, the reality of Paul is stimulating enough. As he reaches for a towel he’s quick to notice the creamy goo all over the mirror and smiles.

“You know what they say,” he says, “Lather, Rinse, Repeat.” His cocks begin to stiffen as he turns the shower back on and I go in join him behind the glass door.

The awakening

He’s dropped off to sleep on the couch and he looks so casual, so comfortable, so at ease. I stand in the archway between the dining room and living room and analyze the scene. There is my Paul, shirtless, two arms behind his head, three covering his smooth torso while the sixth and last hand has lost its grip of the book he was reading before drifting off. He is breathing softly, sweetly. His chest gently rising and falling beneath the arms that cover it. His head slightly cocked to one side so that I can almost see into it, almost see his dreams. He tells me he sprouts wings and flies in his dreams. Often he takes me with him, wrapping me up in his many arms and carrying me above the trees, over the roof tops, up to where we disappear into the clouds and soar away.

My groin begins to tingle. I watch his body engulfed in restful sleep. My cocks begin to respond as his musculature expands and contracts with each warm breath. I reach a hand down into my pants and begin to massage my organs. They are growing, becoming firm, solid, longing to break free. I take all three into one hand as my other hands quickly undo belt, buttons and fly. My cocks gratefully spring out into the open. I spread them and assign one hand to each of the three and begin to stroke. And all the while I cannot take my eyes off my sleeping Angel in flight.

Precum oozes as I rub and massage, lubricating and making my way easier. I softly moan, hoping not to disturb my slumbering Octo-lover. He continues to sleep, but his arms reposition—exposing his solid chest. He rubs just beneath one of his pecs and then turns so that his entire body slightly faces me. I think for a moment of planting kisses upon his neck, but I stay in the archway, manipulating my cocks, pleasuring myself, thoroughly aroused by the eroticism of the peaceful scene before me. My hands become a flurry of movement as my dicks approach the moment of fulfillment. They are nearly ready. My cum is preparing to rush up the shafts and shoot out of the heads. I pump harder, stroking faster. My breath comes in gasps as my heart races and then…

EXPLOSION!

The milky flow from my three dicks shoots out at once onto the floor, some of it oozing onto my hands and dripping down my fingers. My legs give way as my knees go weak and I collapse onto the floor, gasping for breath. My cum’s clear afterflow continues to seep out as I bring all three cocks together in one hand, slowly stroking to bring down the tempo, to reduce the heat. I look at Paul, still sleeping, unaware of the pleasure his sleeping form has given me. I must let him know. I have to show him what he does to me, even in slumber. I crawl over to him and gently undo his pants. Taking out his flaccid penises I take one into my mouth and gently wrap my hands around the other two.

They begin to awaken.

And, shortly, Paul will too.


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