Another oily tentacle ran down the cleft of her backside and slid inside of her, working her other end much like the one in her core. They danced within her to the tune of Hermaeus’s chuckles, only pausing when another slid in with the first, this one moving erratically. They began to move in and out, each at their own pace, while the ribbons of ink held her aloft in the abyss and the smaller tentacles caressed her. Around her neck, the tentacle squeezed just a little bit—leave it to Hermaeus Mora to know what Desnia enjoyed in her own bed!
And then, abruptly, it stopped. The ribbons of ink darted away, the tentacles slipping out of her and leaving her empty, incomplete, just as the warmth had begun to swell and over take her.
Those that remained, the ones that held her ankles and wrists, pulled her upward, back to the surface. Would the Prince himself be waiting for her, to offer her a new bargain? Would she be brought right to the book, her passage earned?
The ribbons pulled her out, and though she’d been able to breathe well enough, she screamed out in relief to feel real air fill her lungs once more. Her whole body remained slick with oily ink, her tawny hair matted and stuck to her slender body.
What now? Was it over?
Her eyes adjusted to the light of the hallway, right where she’d fallen. Standing so tall that it had to bend forward in order to fit in the corridor, the Lurker she’d been running from loomed over her, inky black saliva dripping from its wide jaw set with dozens of razor-sharp teeth.
The tentacles that had moments ago been her best friends were now her restraints as the beast lumbered over to her, growling incoherently. Her bindings pulled her back, so that she was held aloft in front of it, facing upward to watch its fish-like face when the tentacles down below forced her legs further apart.
If the tentacles from before had been the size of her sword’s hilt, the Lurker was as bigger than her fist, and even at its first ram into her, it went far deeper than the tentacles had. It thrust again, and the tentacles around her writhed in their own fit of passion. Its third thrust, Desnia cried out with less fear and pain and more satisfaction. By its fourth, her whole body shook violently with overwhelming completion, which lasted five, six, seven, eight thrusts more until finally the beast roared to match Desnia’s ragged screams of completion.
Around her, the ink fell away, letting her drop in a heap on the paper floor. The Lurker lumbered down some other hall, apparently no longer caring what she did in its master’s realm.
A few minutes were spent collecting herself, and a few more finding her ink-covered armor all over the hall and getting dressed. With a significant waver to her every step, Desnia clamored back to the end of the chapter, where the black tome awaited her.
“I don’t know if you’re a friend or foe,” the Bosmer whispered hoarsely, knowing full well that she would be heard, “but unless the Night Mother tells me there’s shit like that in the Void, I think we might have a few common interests to explore.”
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Ink of Apocrypha (3/3)
Date: 2014-03-05 06:02 am (UTC)And then, abruptly, it stopped. The ribbons of ink darted away, the tentacles slipping out of her and leaving her empty, incomplete, just as the warmth had begun to swell and over take her.
Those that remained, the ones that held her ankles and wrists, pulled her upward, back to the surface. Would the Prince himself be waiting for her, to offer her a new bargain? Would she be brought right to the book, her passage earned?
The ribbons pulled her out, and though she’d been able to breathe well enough, she screamed out in relief to feel real air fill her lungs once more. Her whole body remained slick with oily ink, her tawny hair matted and stuck to her slender body.
What now? Was it over?
Her eyes adjusted to the light of the hallway, right where she’d fallen. Standing so tall that it had to bend forward in order to fit in the corridor, the Lurker she’d been running from loomed over her, inky black saliva dripping from its wide jaw set with dozens of razor-sharp teeth.
The tentacles that had moments ago been her best friends were now her restraints as the beast lumbered over to her, growling incoherently. Her bindings pulled her back, so that she was held aloft in front of it, facing upward to watch its fish-like face when the tentacles down below forced her legs further apart.
If the tentacles from before had been the size of her sword’s hilt, the Lurker was as bigger than her fist, and even at its first ram into her, it went far deeper than the tentacles had. It thrust again, and the tentacles around her writhed in their own fit of passion. Its third thrust, Desnia cried out with less fear and pain and more satisfaction. By its fourth, her whole body shook violently with overwhelming completion, which lasted five, six, seven, eight thrusts more until finally the beast roared to match Desnia’s ragged screams of completion.
Around her, the ink fell away, letting her drop in a heap on the paper floor. The Lurker lumbered down some other hall, apparently no longer caring what she did in its master’s realm.
A few minutes were spent collecting herself, and a few more finding her ink-covered armor all over the hall and getting dressed. With a significant waver to her every step, Desnia clamored back to the end of the chapter, where the black tome awaited her.
“I don’t know if you’re a friend or foe,” the Bosmer whispered hoarsely, knowing full well that she would be heard, “but unless the Night Mother tells me there’s shit like that in the Void, I think we might have a few common interests to explore.”