Her scream came to a garbled end when she found herself submerged in the oily substance. Reflexively, Desnia’s eyes popped open, but all she saw was a whirling black abyss that stretched so much further than just the little puddle it had appeared to be. Swaying with the tide of the ink, she found herself trying to scream again, and this time was met with the sound of her own voice, calm and collected, whispering words she could not make out.
Then it changed. Ribbons of ink turned solid around her, coiling around her ankles to draw her down deeper. They explored her body, like sentient tendrils of seaweed tangling around her. Her beautiful red and black leathers were pulled from her body, the tentacles oblivious to her thrashing against them.
The oil-given-life, snaked its way around her neck, wrists, waist, and thighs, and pulled them all apart, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. This time when she screamed, Desnia found to her slight relief that she could breathe—the ink filled her lungs painfully, but seemed capable of sustaining her.
Dozens of tiny tendrils appeared all over the surface of her body, but were particularly concentrated down below, right between her spread legs. Like a hundred little tongues, they prodded and wiggled along her surface in all different directions, only giving way when a much larger tentacle pushed through them. The smaller tentacles continued to swirl all around, kneading against her clit and all the way around and down, and more still danced across her belly, some of them pushing against her flesh aggressively while others seemed content just to breeze over her skin like petals in water.
The larger tentacle poised itself right at her entrance, and Desnia swore she could hear the low rumble of Hermaeus Mora’s laughter as the writhing ribbon of ink, thick as the hilt of Desnia’s sword, pressed forward.
Her next scream was far less fearful, now that she had the gentle ministrations of a hundred smaller tentacles providing her with a different perspective on this violation. Her skin was electric, and the tentacle inside of her, wriggling deliciously like no man ever could, was an experience that she’d not even dared to imagine would await her in the Void!
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timeasmymeasure
Ink of Apocrypha (2/?)
Date: 2014-03-05 06:00 am (UTC)Then it changed. Ribbons of ink turned solid around her, coiling around her ankles to draw her down deeper. They explored her body, like sentient tendrils of seaweed tangling around her. Her beautiful red and black leathers were pulled from her body, the tentacles oblivious to her thrashing against them.
The oil-given-life, snaked its way around her neck, wrists, waist, and thighs, and pulled them all apart, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. This time when she screamed, Desnia found to her slight relief that she could breathe—the ink filled her lungs painfully, but seemed capable of sustaining her.
Dozens of tiny tendrils appeared all over the surface of her body, but were particularly concentrated down below, right between her spread legs. Like a hundred little tongues, they prodded and wiggled along her surface in all different directions, only giving way when a much larger tentacle pushed through them. The smaller tentacles continued to swirl all around, kneading against her clit and all the way around and down, and more still danced across her belly, some of them pushing against her flesh aggressively while others seemed content just to breeze over her skin like petals in water.
The larger tentacle poised itself right at her entrance, and Desnia swore she could hear the low rumble of Hermaeus Mora’s laughter as the writhing ribbon of ink, thick as the hilt of Desnia’s sword, pressed forward.
Her next scream was far less fearful, now that she had the gentle ministrations of a hundred smaller tentacles providing her with a different perspective on this violation. Her skin was electric, and the tentacle inside of her, wriggling deliciously like no man ever could, was an experience that she’d not even dared to imagine would await her in the Void!