On the ragged edge between dreaming and waking, half formed images mixing with strange sensations, she simply basks. Some part of her wonders what is going on, but that doesn't really matter. She feels amazing, a burning needy heat in her core, but one that's already fulfilled. Warmth and slickness and pressure playing over her body's most sensitive and less sensitive spots, a slow and languid cuddle from all around as she is so lovingly fucked. Her arms, legs, torso, back, feet and hands, all have pleasantly soft and warm things slowly moving over them, squeezing and massaging. She nuzzles the squirming soft petals of the tentacle that's deeply fucking her mouth, luxuriating in how amazing the thick rod feels on her lips and tongue and throat, filling and stretching them in a way that is just so fucking good. Her breasts and nipples tingle pleasantly as something slick and slightly rough rhythmically sucks on them, tugging away from her just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to highlight the amazing sensation of a tiny tentacle playing over her nipples and massaging the soft tissue. Her hair and tail are gently tugged by incidental movement from reaching tendrils as they safely ground the energies leaking off them, another sensation to add to the overwhelming vista of pleasure. She bucks her hips gently and moans around the rod in her throat as something softly grips her butt and crotch, pressing on the inside of her pussy and stretching it further and further while slowly flicking a small, slick tongue over her clit, even as another tentacle engulfs her dick and slowly milks it, a ring of muscle tugging tightness from the base to the tip, over and over again.

She cums, a white-hot jolt of pleasure as she hums on the tentacle in her throat and clenches down on the ones in her pussy, feeling tiny petals wriggling on the tip of her dick as if to encourage it to let out more, more... She cums again and again in that state, luxuriating in the haze of pleasure all she knows and giving her no reason to change anything. The process of waking up is a slow one, inched towards during the tentacle pit's periods of inactivity. What's doing this to her? Why? She likes it, but would she like something else?

Who is she? Why does she know she is? She's thinking, noticing things, moving her body in the tight, wet confines of the tentacle pit, and she feels something in the back of her head - the tentacles' love and greed, wanting to hold on to her. Forever.

...Forever.

No. Sorry, friend, as amazing as this feels, something deep inside her rebels at that. She will not be held. As much as it's an amazing thrill to be desired like that, to be hoarded like a priceless treasure, she refuses.

She's gentle as she tries to extricate herself. No lightning, no clawing, just an insistent pushing, the dense muscles inside her providing enough power to overwhelm no matter the leverage that the engulfing tentacles have. She doesn't want to hurt the friend who filled her dreams(?) with joy, who made her orgasm again and again so diligently. The pit psychically radiates despair and loneliness and anxious fear. She's crying.

It's bittersweet, friend, but her decision is made. She'll come visit. But she does not belong to anything.

It only lets her out when it becomes clear she won't relent. She lifts herself up out of the fleshy hole in the ground, blinks fluids away from her eyes, and looks around.

On the ragged edge between dreaming and waking, half formed images mixing with strange sensations, she simply basks. Some part of her wonders what is going on, but that doesn't really matter. She feels amazing, a burning needy heat in her core, but one that's already fulfilled. Warmth and slickness and pressure playing over her body's most sensitive and less sensitive spots, a slow and languid cuddle from all around as she is so lovingly fucked. Her arms, legs, torso, back, feet and hands, all have pleasantly soft and warm things slowly moving over them, squeezing and massaging. She nuzzles the squirming soft petals of the tentacle that's deeply fucking her mouth, luxuriating in how amazing the thick rod feels on her lips and tongue and throat, filling and stretching them in a way that is just so fucking good. Her breasts and nipples tingle pleasantly as something slick and slightly rough rhythmically sucks on them, tugging away from her just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to highlight the amazing sensation of a tiny tentacle playing over her nipples and massaging the soft tissue. Her hair and tail are gently tugged by incidental movement from reaching tendrils as they safely ground the energies leaking off them, another sensation to add to the overwhelming vista of pleasure. She bucks her hips gently and moans around the rod in her throat as something softly grips her butt and crotch, pressing on the inside of her pussy and stretching it further and further while slowly flicking a small, slick tongue over her clit, even as another tentacle engulfs her dick and slowly milks it, a ring of muscle tugging tightness from the base to the tip, over and over again.

She cums, a white-hot jolt of pleasure as she hums on the tentacle in her throat and clenches down on the ones in her pussy, feeling tiny petals wriggling on the tip of her dick as if to encourage it to let out more, more... She cums again and again in that state, luxuriating in the haze of pleasure all she knows and giving her no reason to change anything. The process of waking up is a slow one, inched towards during the tentacle pit's periods of inactivity. What's doing this to her? Why? She likes it, but would she like something else?

Who is she? Why does she know she is? She's thinking, noticing things, moving her body in the tight, wet confines of the tentacle pit, and she feels something in the back of her head - the tentacles' love and greed, wanting to hold on to her. Forever.

...Forever.

No. Sorry, friend, as amazing as this feels, something deep inside her rebels at that. She will not be held. As much as it's an amazing thrill to be desired like that, to be hoarded like a priceless treasure, she refuses.

She's gentle as she tries to extricate herself. No lightning, no clawing, just an insistent pushing, the dense muscles inside her providing enough power to overwhelm no matter the leverage that the engulfing tentacles have. She doesn't want to hurt the friend who filled her dreams(?) with joy, who made her orgasm again and again so diligently. The small tentacle pit psychically radiates despair and loneliness and anxious fear. She's crying.

It's bittersweet, friend, but her decision is made. She'll come visit. But she does not belong to anything.

It only lets her out when it becomes clear she won't relent. She lifts herself up out of the fleshy hole in the ground, blinks fluids away from her eyes, and looks around.

On the ragged edge between dreaming and waking, half formed images mixing with strange sensations, she simply basks. Some part of her wonders what is going on, but that doesn't really matter. She feels amazing, a burning needy heat in her core, but one that's already fulfilled. Warmth and slickness and pressure playing over her body's most sensitive and less sensitive spots, a slow and languid cuddle from all around as she is so lovingly fucked. Her arms, legs, torso, back, feet and hands, all have pleasantly soft and warm things slowly moving over them, squeezing and massaging. She nuzzles the squirming soft petals of the tentacle that's deeply fucking her mouth, luxuriating in how amazing the thick rod feels on her lips and tongue and throat, filling and stretching them in a way that is just so fucking good. Her breasts and nipples tingle pleasantly as something slick and slightly rough rhythmically sucks on them, tugging away from her just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to highlight the amazing sensation of a tiny tentacle playing over her nipples and massaging the soft tissue. Her hair and tail are gently tugged by incidental movement from reaching tendrils as they safely ground the energies leaking off them, another sensation to add to the overwhelming vista of pleasure. She bucks her hips gently and moans around the rod in her throat as something softly grips her butt and crotch, pressing on the inside of her pussy and stretching it further and further while slowly flicking a small, slick tongue over her clit, even as another tentacle engulfs her dick and slowly milks it, a ring of muscle tugging tightness from the base to the tip, over and over again.

She cums, a white-hot jolt of pleasure as she hums on the tentacle in her throat and clenches down on the ones in her pussy, feeling tiny petals wriggling on the tip of her dick as if to encourage it to let out more, more... She cums again and again in that state, luxuriating in the haze of pleasure all she knows and giving her no reason to change anything. The process of waking up is a slow one, inched towards during the tentacle pit's periods of inactivity.

What's doing this to her? Why? She likes it, but would she like something else? She grips and tugs on the tentacles, sometimes. It feels nice, to move her body. She repositions, using her legs and the muscles in her core, slowly mapping out the ways to move and building up proprioception, a sense of this body. All the while, wondering. Why is 'this' separate from 'that'? She does she have legs and hands and a head and pussy and asshole and mouth and dick, instead of just tentacles? Who is she? Why does she know she is? She's thinking, noticing things, moving her body in the tight, wet confines of the tentacle pit, and she feels something in the back of her head - the tentacles' love and greed, wanting to hold on to her. Forever.

...Forever.

No. Sorry, friend, as amazing as this feels, something deep inside her rebels at that. She will not be held. As much as it's an amazing thrill to be desired like that, to be hoarded like a priceless treasure, she refuses.

She's gentle as she tries to extricate herself. No lightning, no clawing, just an insistent pushing, the dense muscles inside her providing enough power to overwhelm no matter the leverage that the engulfing tentacles have. She doesn't want to hurt the friend who filled her dreams(?) with joy, who made her orgasm again and again so diligently. The small tentacle pit psychically radiates despair and loneliness and anxious fear. She's crying.

It's bittersweet, friend, but her decision is made. She'll come visit. But she does not belong to anything.

It only lets her out when it becomes clear she won't relent. She lifts herself up out of the fleshy hole in the ground, blinks fluids away from her eyes, and looks around.

On the ragged edge between dreaming and waking, half formed images mixing with strange sensations, she simply basks. Some part of her wonders what is going on, but that doesn't really matter. She feels amazing, a burning needy heat in her core, but one that's already fulfilled. Warmth and slickness and pressure playing over her body's most sensitive and less sensitive spots, a slow and languid cuddle from all around as she is so lovingly fucked. Her arms, legs, torso, back, feet and hands, all have pleasantly soft and warm things slowly moving over them, squeezing and massaging. She nuzzles the squirming soft petals of the tentacle that's deeply fucking her mouth, luxuriating in how amazing the thick rod feels on her lips and tongue and throat, filling and stretching them in a way that is just so fucking good. Her breasts and nipples tingle pleasantly as something slick and slightly rough rhythmically sucks on them, tugging away from her just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to highlight the amazing sensation of a tiny tentacle playing over her nipples and massaging the soft tissue. Her hair and tail are gently tugged by incidental movement from reaching tendrils as they safely ground the energies leaking off them, another sensation to add to the overwhelming vista of pleasure. She bucks her hips gently and moans around the rod in her throat as something softly grips her butt and crotch, pressing on the inside of her pussy and stretching it further and further while slowly flicking a small, slick tongue over her clit, even as another tentacle engulfs her dick and slowly milks it, a ring of muscle tugging tightness from the base to the tip, over and over again.

She cums, a white-hot jolt of pleasure as she hums on the tentacle in her throat and clenches down on the ones in her pussy, feeling tiny petals wriggling on the tip of her dick as if to encourage it to let out more, more... She cums again and again in that state, luxuriating in the haze of pleasure all she knows and giving her no reason to change anything. The process of waking up is a slow one, inched towards during the tentacle pit's periods of inactivity.

What's doing this to her? Why? She likes it, but would she like something else? She grips and tugs on the tentacles, sometimes. It feels nice, to move her body. She repositions, using her legs and the muscles in her core, slowly mapping out the ways to move and building up proprioception, a sense of this body. All the while, wondering. Why is 'this' separate from 'that'? Why have legs and hands and a head and pussy and asshole and mouth and dick, instead of just tentacles? Who is she? Why does she know she is? She's thinking, noticing things, moving her body in the tight, wet confines of the tentacle pit, and she feels something in the back of her head - the tentacles' love and greed, wanting to hold on to her. Forever.

...Forever.

No. Sorry, friend, as amazing as this feels, something deep inside her rebels at that. She will not be held. As much as it's an amazing thrill to be desired like that, to be hoarded like a priceless treasure, she refuses.

She's gentle as she tries to extricate herself. No lightning, no clawing, just an insistent pushing, the dense muscles inside her providing enough power to overwhelm no matter the leverage that the engulfing tentacles have. She doesn't want to hurt the friend who filled her dreams(?) with joy, who made her orgasm again and again so diligently. The small tentacle pit psychically radiates despair and loneliness and anxious fear. She's crying.

It's bittersweet, friend, but her decision is made. She'll come visit. But she does not belong to anything.

It only lets her out when it becomes clear she won't relent. She lifts herself up out of the fleshy hole in the ground, blinks fluids away from her eyes, and looks around.

On the ragged edge between dreaming and waking, half formed images mixing with strange sensations, she simply basks. Some part of her wonders what is going on, but that doesn't really matter. She feels amazing, a burning needy heat in her core, but one that's already fulfilled. Warmth and slickness and pressure playing over her body's most sensitive and less sensitive spots, a slow and languid cuddle from all around as she is so lovingly fucked. Her arms, legs, torso, back, feet and hands, all have pleasantly soft and warm things slowly moving over them, squeezing and massaging. She nuzzles the squirming soft petals of the tentacle that's deeply fucking her mouth, luxuriating in how amazing the thick rod feels on her lips and tongue and throat, filling and stretching them in a way that is just so fucking good. Her breasts and nipples tingle pleasantly as something slick and slightly rough rhythmically sucks on them, tugging away from her just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to highlight the amazing sensation of a tiny tentacle playing over her nipples and massaging the soft tissue. Her hair and tail are gently tugged by incidental movement from reaching tendrils as they safely ground the energies leaking off them, another sensation to add to the overwhelming vista of pleasure. She bucks her hips gently and moans around the rod in her throat as something softly grips her butt and crotch, pressing on the inside of her pussy and stretching it further and further while slowly flicking a small, slick tongue over her clit, even as another tentacle engulfs her dick and slowly milks it, a ring of muscle tugging tightness from the base to the tip, over and over again.

She cums, a white-hot jolt of pleasure as she hums on the tentacle in her throat and clenches down on the ones in her pussy, feeling tiny petals wriggling on the tip of her dick as if to encourage it to let out more, more... She cums again and again in that state, luxuriating in the haze of pleasure all she knows and giving her no reason to change anything. The process of waking up is a slow one, inched towards during the tentacle pit's periods of inactivity.

What's doing this to her? Why? She likes it, but would she like something else? She grips and tugs on the tentacles, sometimes. It feels nice, to move her body. She repositions, using her legs and the muscles in her core, slowly mapping out the ways to move and building up proprioception, a sense of this body. All the while, wondering. Why is 'this' separate from 'that'? Why have legs and hands and a head and pussy and asshole and mouth and dick, instead of just tentacles? Who is she? Why does she know she is? She's thinking, noticing things, moving her body in the tight, wet confines of the tentacle pit, and she feels something in the back of her head - the tentacles' love and greed, wanting to hold on to her. Forever.

...Forever.

No. Sorry, friend, as amazing as this feels, something deep inside her rebels at that. She will not be held. As much as it's an amazing thrill to be desired like that, to be hoarded like a priceless treasure, she refuses.

She's gentle as she tries to extricate herself. No lightning, no clawing, just an insistent pushing, the dense muscles inside her providing enough power to overwhelm no matter the leverage that the engulfing tentacles have. She doesn't want to hurt the friend who filled her dreams(?) with joy, who made her orgasm again and again so diligently. The small tentacle pit psychically radiates despair and loneliness and anxious fear. She's crying.

It's bittersweet, friend, but her decision is made. She'll come visit. But she does not belong to anything.

It only lets her out when it becomes clear she won't relent. She lifts herself up out of the fleshy hole in the ground, blinks fluids away from her eyes, and looks around.

On the ragged edge between dreaming and waking, half formed images mixing with strange sensations, she simply basks. Some part of her wonders what is going on, but that doesn't really matter. She feels amazing, a burning needy heat in her core, but one that's already fulfilled. Warmth and slickness and pressure playing over her body's most sensitive and less sensitive spots, a slow and languid cuddle from all around as she is so lovingly fucked. Her arms, legs, torso, back, feet and hands, all have pleasantly soft and warm things slowly moving over them, squeezing and massaging. She nuzzles the squirming soft petals of the tentacle that's deeply fucking her mouth, luxuriating in how amazing the thick rod feels on her lips and tongue and throat, filling and stretching them in a way that is just so fucking good. Her breasts and nipples tingle pleasantly as something slick and slightly rough rhythmically sucks on them, tugging away from her just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to highlight the amazing sensation of a tiny tentacle playing over her nipples and massaging the soft tissue. Her hair and tail are gently tugged by incidental movement from reaching tendrils as they safely ground the energies leaking off them, another sensation to add to the overwhelming vista of pleasure. She bucks her hips gently and moans around the rod in her throat as something softly grips her butt and crotch, pressing on the inside of her pussy and stretching it further and further while slowly flicking a small, slick tongue over her clit, even as another tentacle engulfs her dick and slowly milks it, a ring of muscle tugging tightness from the base to the tip, over and over again.

She cums, a white-hot jolt of pleasure as she hums on the tentacle in her throat and clenches down on the ones in her pussy, feeling tiny petals wriggling on the tip of her dick as if to encourage it to let out more, more... She cums again and again in that state, luxuriating in the haze of pleasure all she knows and giving her no reason to change anything. The process of waking up is a slow one, inched towards during the tentacle pit's periods of inactivity.

What's doing this to her? Why? She likes it, but would she like something else? She grips and tugs on the tentacles, sometimes. It feels nice, to move her body. She repositions, using her legs and the muscles in her core, slowly mapping out the ways to move and building up proprioception, a sense of this body. All the while, wondering. Why is 'this' separate from 'that'? Why have legs and hands and a head and pussy and asshole and mouth and dick, instead of just tentacles? Who is she? Why does she know she is? She's thinking, noticing things, moving her body in the tight, wet confines of the tentacle pit, and she feels something in the back of her head - the tentacles' love and greed, wanting to hold on to her. Forever.

...Forever.

No. Sorry, friend, as amazing as this feels, something deep inside her rebels at that. She will not be held. As much as it's an amazing thrill to be desired like that, to be hoarded like a priceless treasure,... (what is a 'price', what is a 'treasure', why do her thoughts reach for half-formed concepts she knows-but-does-not-know, something tells her not to worry about it, so she won't)... She refuses.

She's gentle as she tries to extricate herself. No lightning, no clawing, just an insistent pushing, the dense muscles inside her providing enough power to overwhelm no matter the leverage that the engulfing tentacles have. She doesn't want to hurt the friend who filled her dreams(?) with joy, who made her orgasm again and again so diligently. The small tentacle pit psychically radiates despair and loneliness and anxious fear. She's crying.

It's bittersweet, friend, but her decision is made. She'll come visit. But she does not belong to anything.

It only lets her out when it becomes clear she won't relent. She lifts herself up out of the fleshy hole in the ground, blinks fluids away from her eyes, and looks around.