"Not necessarily hairpetting specifically, but various forms of cozy snuggles?"

"Okay!" she says cheerfully, snuggling up and turning her thoughts to how hot it is to be wrapped up in the arms (and tentacles) of a powerful demon who wants to keep her.

Such a good Esme she has.

How about she just increases Esme's sensitivity all over, for a bit, and also pets her back, and her arms and shoulders, and her legs, in addition to her hair?

Oooooh.

Esme is a little too busy squirming and whimpering to say this out loud, but she would just like to point out that the cute lingerie Sable put her in is really adding to this experience on a number of levels. What a good and cozy demon to belong to, ten out of ten, would be kidnapped again.

Ooh, such lovely squirming and whimpering. 

"I'm so glad you like it," Sable murmurs as it continues to pet and caress her. Then it has a fun idea, and murmurs the next bit telepathically. {I'm so glad you're enjoying being mine.}

💖💖💖

She presses gentle kisses all over Esme's face — her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her temples, her jaw — and continues petting, continues stroking soft fingers and dexterous tentacles across her body in caress after tender caress. Then she kisses a line down the side of her neck, and mixes little teasing nips in as well.

{You have such delicious reactions. I'm so glad I abducted you. So glad I stole you away to keep and savor.}

This is an excellent way to keep one's happy squirmy puddle of Esme too immersed in sensation to articulate her thoughts.

She'll want her squirmy puddle of Esme to be able to articulate thoughts eventually, but for now the overwhelming sensations and resultant wriggles are extremely delightful. She caresses and nips and teases and savors her marvelous captive, 

After a few minutes of this, she starts slowly ramping down the sensitivity, smoothly and gently, while continuing to pet Esme and hold her tenderly.

"Precious, wonderful girl," she murmurs. 

Words, right, yes, words relating to thoughts, she has some of those, she's sure they're around here somewhere, perhaps she should check under the couch? Okay, and we're back.

Blinking up at Sable with a slightly dazed smile, she says, "Now would be an excellent time to visit some sexy horrors upon me, if you're wondering." She is both cozily puddlesome and also very turned on and particularly enjoying being a sexy kidnap victim with no hope of resisting her powerful mind-controlling demonic abductor. 💖

Well that sounds like a fun idea. A tentacle wraps each of Esme's limbs, securing her snugly in its coils and lifting her up. Another twists around her waist. A narrower tentacle wraps around the base of each breast, squeezing tightly. 

Sable steps close, a wicked grin displaying her sharp fangs, and squeezes Esme's right breast roughly, while her other hand caresses her cheek. "You have a point," Sable purrs. "You are so very tempting. I should take advantage of this lovely treat I've captured."

Another tentacle slips under her lacy panties and rips them off.

Well this is all much hotter when it's happening outside a dream, turns out.

(Oh no, what if the cute underwear gets damaged? —no, presumably Sable has some sort of solution to that—)

"Oh good," she says, squirming. "Yes please." Will there be fangs involved? Because she is definitely noticing the fangs.

(The solution for the cute clothes getting damaged is that they're conjured, just like everything here that isn't Esme or Sable, and can thus be re-conjured in an undamaged state at will. Which will occur sometime after Sable is done ravishing Esme.)

A thick, purple tentacle, slick with inky lube and as big around as Esme's wrist, teases along her folds, caressing wetly against her for a long moment, before forcing its way inside her. 

Sable leans closer, nuzzling her face into the crook of Esme's neck. "Yes, there will be," she purrs, nipping her neck teasingly.

On some level she appreciates how the teasing nibbles make such a lovely counterpoint to the tentacle's merciless violence, but by far the majority of what she's feeling is the deep satisfaction of being owned and overwhelmed. Feeling Sable's tentacles on and around and in her is a visceral demonstration of how powerless she is in this relationship, and she loves it.

And that is when Sable sinks its fangs into Esme's neck, sharply piercing through her skin, blood welling up into its mouth.

It drinks, the feeling almost like a tug through Esme's veins.

The tentacle inside her starts thrusting in and out, getting deeper each thrust until it's deeper than she could take without magic, the stretch of it a spark of pain to accompany the pleasure.

—oh—oh it's perfect. Perfect, perfect, caught and held and fucked and kept and treasured. Every part of her belongs to this beautiful demon and all is right with the world. It hurts, and it should hurt, she should be ravaged beyond her body's capacity to bear, every thrust another inescapable reminder that she's a helpless toy who breathes at her captor's mercy. She should be bitten and drained, giving up her blood—having it taken from her—for Sable's pleasure. She wants to give anything and everything for Sable's pleasure.

Also, she was right. Being eaten is very romantic. 💖

Ink and madness. How does it get to be this lucky?

It lines up two more tentacles, a one claiming Esme's lips, thrusting deep into her throat, while another plunges into her ass.

The aphrodisiac fluids dripping from the tentacles drag her arousal still higher, overwhelming her with more pleasure, and the thick insertions stretch her painfully, her throat and abdomen bulging with every thrust.

Sable drinks, and drinks, savoring every drop of Esme's blood, taking enough that she starts to feel a little dizzy from the lack.

She loses her words again somewhere in there, so that by the time she starts to feel dizzy from lack of blood she isn't coherent enough to articulate how more-than-perfect it is, how good, how right, how beautiful. All she can do is be overwhelmed all over again with pain and pleasure and belonging and warmth and need and love.

The feeling of her overwhelmed, love-filled mind is beautiful. Utterly gorgeous. Sable basks in it as she drinks, letting Esme feel her presence within her mind, and uses just enough of her healing and her biomancy to keep Esme wobbling back and forth over the edge of lightheadedness, so she gets intermittent rushes of it. 

She lets her madness aura out a bit, relaxing her control of it and letting her eldritch nature spill over Esme.

Her claws prick at Esme's skin as she gropes her breasts and ass, her tentacles pound mercilessly into her body, stretching her beyond what a human should be able to take.

There are a lot of ways eldritch madness can manifest, and worshipful ecstasy is only one of them.

But given the circumstances, it's kind of a foregone conclusion.

The edges of her thoughts blur together, one sensation cascading into the next. Nothing is solid, nothing is stable, except the steady comforting pressure of Sable's mind against hers; and she turns toward it like a sunflower, and basks.

Sable savors Esme, drinking its fill of her, basking in the worshipful bliss of her mind, pounding into her again and again.

Eventually, when it is thoroughly satisfied, though not spent (it's not sure it can be fully spent), it slows down, reduces the intensity. It folds its aura back in, shifts its claws away, pulls its fangs out of her neck. It slows its tentacles, and then pulls out the ones in her mouth and her ass.

Slowly, tenderly, it keeps gently fucking her while petting her warmly, and restoring the lost blood with biomancy, taking advantage of its passive sexual healing effect to gradually ease her mind back down from the high of the madness.

She makes a dazed noise of complaint when there are fewer tentacles. Fewer is not the number of tentacles she prefers.

As Sable puts her mind back together, though, she gradually feels more and more satisfied by what just happened to her. A gorgeous eldritch tentacle demon just fucked her brains out; there's really no cause for complaint here.

She remembers their conversation about aftercare, and tentatively decides not to make pulling herself together an urgent priority. This seems unlikely to be the sort of relationship where she's expected to bounce back from this kind of thing and be ready to resume secretarial work as soon as her head stops spinning.

Sable cozily holds Esme in her arms and tentacles, murmuring sweet fondness and adoration into her ears and petting her softly. "You did so well," she coos. "You are wonderful and precious and utterly captivating. I love you so much."

Continued gentle fucking is not traditionally a part of aftercare, but she literally has a sexual healing ability, so she's going to abuse it mercilessly to fix what her aura does to her Esme's mind. She'll stop when either Esme shows signs of wanting that to stop, or seems sufficiently put back together not to need it.

And no, Esme is not remotely expected to perform any kind of work right now. She's expected to just relax and recover and enjoy the coze. If she happens to form a preference about anything, it would be nice if she would say so, or think it with some minimal degree of coherence, so Sable can do something about fulfilling it. That is the entirety of the expectations on her.