The German Empire was, despite common belief, a switch. He wouldn't mind being dominated, willingly, but it all depended on the person. He needed someone bigger than him-- in height, perhaps, or perhaps personality. But there was no one that impressed him. They all quelled beneath his gaze, and they all were at least a head shorter than him. He resigned himself to disappointment. Of course, he had been beaten in battle by a few, but they were all still weak, snivelly men, hiding behind their armies. In one-on-one combat, the German Empire would leave nothing but a jam-like smear of their former corpses across the floor.
But, that didn't mean he couldn't fantasize. It was the end of a long day. He shut the door behind him, and looked over his dark house. The Huis Doorn manor was fashionable decorated, for the times, but the Kaiser who owned it couldn't help but think it was a little cluttered. When he was coming in from a long day, to an empty house, the many plates and desks and portraits took the opportunity to twist their shadows into more intimidating visions in the dark and lonesome. He shook off any melancholy, and lit one of the lamps on the wall. The golden walls took on a fuller glow in the firelight as the imposing figure stalked down the halls of his abode.
He only stopped in the dining hall for a moment, sparing a glance to the impressive portraits that filled most of the walls. Men on riling horses and flowing capes. Even after looking at all of the ones in his house countless times, he couldn't find the passion to care about them at all. Eventually, he went upstairs, through the narrow, narrow stairwell that felt even more claustrophobic because of the many smaller pictures that stared at him as he passed. He threw himself onto his bed the second he got there, welcoming the calm and cool of the night.
But, he found it quite obvious after a while, still in his uniform, and not even under the covers of his bed, that he wasn't going to be instantly passing out. It was entirely quiet, except for his rough inhalations.
He had a thought. It made him quiver slightly, and he stood up, and anxiously shut both of the doors into his room, after pausing in the hall for a moment or so to make sure no one had suddenly walked into his home in the last five minutes.
Then, feeling content he was alone, except for an apologetic look to the full-body portrait above his bed, he unbuttoned his uniform, first laying his rough gray shirt across the end of his bed.
And, he let himself breathe, stretching out those certain-- other limbs he had. He didn't show anyone his tentacles. They would think him a freak for them, as his father had. So, he tucked them as far against his back as they would go, and made the back of his shirts fortified, so that they would have a smooth appearance, even when his limbs writhed during the day. They looked a little dry and dusty after being cooped up for so long, so he poured a little water out from the pitcher he kept by his bed onto a rag, and brushed them off. He never really used them consciously, so every time he felt sensation in these limbs of his, it felt as if he was rediscovering them for the first time.
They were a dull sort of scarlet, only slightly thinner than his arm, paler on the underside, but not much in the way of suction cups or any other visible means of grabbing things other than how a monkey grabs with its tail. But, they had to have something that stuck, because whenever they brushed over something other than his own skin, whatever they touched would stick like a fly on honey. It really was inconvenient when he was trying to get dressed. But, they didn't grab onto his skin. In fact, they felt nothing but smooth and slippery, except on the underside, where there was just barely enough texture to be detected by a fingertip.
His tentacles were just as sensitive as his fingers, though, if a little more independent.
His thought came back to him, and he felt his face heating up, even as his tentacles remained cool, if slightly wet.
He undid his trousers, and laid them aside, folding them up into a neat little square at the end of his bed. Then, he sat back on his bed. He stuck his thumbs under his drawers and pulled them down, and off his legs. He looked down at himself with a bit of hesitation. Finally, he took one of his tentacles, and wrapped it firmly around his own member. It was cool, not cold. It didn't feel like a hand or human flesh. He didn't know why he hadn't tried this before. It was probably because he repressed the thought of his extra limbs' existences so often that he never thought to explore their more-- enjoyable uses.
He began to slowly brush up and down, with a satisfying squelching noise. As he went on, he curled more and more of this impressive limb about his cock, until it was fully encased with wetness. And as blood rushed to his member, it began to heat the barest surface of the appendages, making it seem that much more like a proper human hole. The Second Reich let himself pant a little, as he used the tip of his tentacular club to tease back his foreskin slightly.
And, he didn't need to confine himself to rubbing. He began to start a sort of pulse down his tentacle, that squeezed and released pressure much akin to the way a centipede's legs flow. It was mind numbing. He moved one of his other limbs to cup his balls, tug on them, and massage the seam of skin between them. It felt like a long, cold tongue, that could just envelope all of him. He leaned back on his arms, panting in the cold and quiet, letting out an occasional grunt, or maybe a whine.
Then, he had another thought. And he immediately felt his face burning up. The idea was scandalous! But-- he was alone. He might never have the chance to have anyone satisfy him. He might as well try.
He got down onto his hands and knees across his bed, still keeping his cock occupied, and curled one of his other limbs around against his hole. He just rubbed it slightly, at first. It was cold, and made his entrance wink, sending a chill up his spine. But it wasn't entirely unpleasant. He doubted he could find anything entirely unpleasant while his member was stroked so well.
He thinned out his tentacle slightly, placing its tip right at the hole, and then, plunged it in. He let out an 'ooh' of surprise at how cool it felt, now inside his body. It didn't stretch him much, because of how easily it squished, but once inside, it fattened out and seemed to fill him to the brim. He groaned, arching his back, and presenting his ass for the figure of his imagination who was actually fucking him. He let the tentacle undulate inside him, as he sunk to his elbows, and drooled from the continued wetness around his cock, and the cool filling of his ass. His cock was dribbling precum that seemed indistinguishable from the slime of his limbs.
He avoided his prostate for a moment. Just enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of entrance, where there had only been exit. He rumbled with pleasure, feeling out his own interior, every curvature, and every scrap of warmth that was heating the limb inside of it as they went along. He found it a funny feeling to curl up his limb, just beyond the entrance, and trace the interior of the gateway muscle. He continued to drool across his bed sheets.
Then, finally, he reached up further with his appendage, and began stroking his most sensitive spot with a gentle pulse, a brush-- and he absolutely crumbled. He let out an honest-to-God moan. He teased that gland a little bit, and let his grip on his member relax, in favor of focusing on this new sensation that made his gut ache for ravishing.
He let out a heavy sigh, as he drew his limb out a bit, and then shoved it back in, as he had pleased others. He let out a cry, and looked back at the fat, dripping thing that came out from his shoulder, and was now buried deep inside him. He twisted somewhat, so that he could lean on his elbow and look at himself, as he began to rock his body back and forth. The tentacle shrank somewhat at the entrance of his ass, as it conformed to fit inside, but it felt huge, curling and writhing, and feeling him out like a thousand tongues that had been drinking ice cold water. He continued to, as crude as it was to say, fuck himself in this manner. His insides were warm to his flexible limbs, and his limbs were cold to his insides. There was a disconnect between the limb pleasuring, and the orifice that was was being pleasured, enough for him to imagine it was someone else.
And he was able to trace along the skin of his chest, and tease his nipples with the change of temperature. If he had wanted to, he could have stuck another in his mouth, but the idea didn't appeal to him.
He decided to pick up the pace, and he just lay his head back down onto his bed, with his ass in the air like a whore, and he began to pump his cock once again, and tug at his balls, all to the quick rhythm of completely filling himself to the brim, then drawing out, and thrusting it back in again. Because the limb itself was so soft, he could go as fast as he liked, and he wouldn't be able to hurt himself. He went faster, and faster, grunting and moaning from the intensity of it all, as he just braced himself enough to keep himself in the same place.
His body felt so hot, thick, and sweet, like warm maple syrup, and his limbs, that he used to caress himself and fill that void he didn't even know he had, they were just chilled enough to be like unlike anything else he had felt. He felt so heavy, but so light-headed. Like his brain was turning to mush. There was nothing left of his dignity, and he would be horrified if anyone found him like this. Somehow, that thought made the experience entirely more arousing.
He was at top speed for only a little bit before he finally came across the limbs that writhed around his cock. He gave a few last, lazy strokes to his still-tender length, sending a few last jolts of sensation up his spin, and he finally drew out his dripping tentacle from his stretched hole.
He didn't feel sore at all. He just felt overwhelmed and wet, and tired, and hot. He didn't have the presence of mind to get into any sort of bed clothes, or wash up, so he just sighed, and crawled under the covers. He fell asleep with his tentacles twisted about himself.
He'd be doing this again.