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A futanari finds herself mated to a tentacled being.

How far would it take her into the unfathomed furlongs of her psyche?

When she slipped so into his power she found a cathartic release of tears, he knew. None too soon, as he was struggling to contain his eruption. Everything was full of her; her aroused scent in his lungs, ripe body in his hands, her darting tongue dancing against his. Somehow, though, instead of being the invader of her body, she had worked her way into each part of the man August Blackmore like a thief.

The Scotsmam explored her neck and jaw with kisses as he wrapped and held her close to him. His final thrusts were accompanied by a gravelly moan, and he swore he went momentarily blind with the intensity of his release. Valentine felt his body convulse against her, no longer under his control. There were quite distinct twitches that overtook his entire pelvis while still he was inside her. She warbled in happiness, finding the best intimacy of all was receiving his seed where creation intended it to go. She chortled to herself, her doctor lying artfully in her lap's cradle whilst he held her. God must be... perverted, thought she. Her lips puckered.

With tremendous regret August lifted himself from the rather comfortable nest her body formed. She whimpered at the loss of his heat and the delightful fullness his cock created, but that particular loss was meant to be short-lived. Before the girl could even open her mouth weakly to speak, something firm but incredibly smooth found her wetted entrance and breached.

"Ooh," she squealed. The item was much harder than his own instrument, and rigid. It fitted into her with no flexibility, and at first it was cold to her. Besides the initial placement, it garnered no feeling on its own. Unseen, he grinned.

"I found the note I asked you to write for me. Good girl, Valentine." She dipped her head. "This..." When he gave the dildo a nudge with his fingers, she squealed again. "Is going to keep you from losing a drop of spunk while we dally." She wriggled and squirmed, her noises coming uninhibited. Everything he did, everything he said... Like he could find the dark ribbons of her perversion throughout mind, body, soul and tug at them, twist them, wind them in his fingers and pull. Valentine shuddered. No telling how far they could travel on those threads.

"Today, my dear, the experiment is about your senses. Remember." It took a moment, but her voice eventually emerged, steady but hushed.

"I don't think I shall forget," she said, giving just a touch of her usual sauciness. He caressed her thighs, tested the flex of all limbs.

"How is your pose? Any tingling or numbness? Answer me truthfully." None of the cuffs or straps were too tight; her pulse was strong, and there was no discolouration that would indicate a lack of circulation to her extremities. Jiggling the restraints, Valentine tested her range of movement, adjusted herself slightly as best she could, and tilted her head in the direction of his voice.

"I feel fine. I will let you know if I cannot bear it."

"Good."

The man savoured the sight of her another moment, and then moved to his spread. All manner of objects lay in wait, enticing his hand to act. Where to begin? Hard, or soft? Pain, or pleasure? His dancing fingertips wandered, and traipsed to pause upon a simple quill. Its feather was a swan's, snowy and shapely. The corner of his mouth tilted up, and his lower lip curled. Yes.

Valentine heard his shuffling and craned her head in effort to hear him better.

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