Monere [Mythos] - Selah's stress relief

After spending hours combing through instance reports, Methuselah decides to take a break to tend to pent up stress of doing nothing but paperwork – replacing it with filling aches and drawn need.

Characters |  Methuselah the Tvagatra
Contents | Fantasizing, shapeshifting, tentacles, non-human genitalia, combi-genitalia, masturbation, fleshcrafting, grinding, self-penetration, anal
Length | 4,301

 Forefingers rub beneath brown curls as he stares at the stack of paperwork.

It overflows the set of binders they had once resided, one held open with a browsing pen end, searching through the small text with ever narrowing eyes. A glint of gold flickers behind the shades as they skim over the bystander’s statement, rewriting the quotation into snippets with a disgruntled sigh. He wasn’t one to usually study reports like a frantic detective; especially for someone as inconsequential as claims of regional possessions. Methuselah is too wound up maintaining the complex social hierarchy of the Monere corporate branches; making sure the information in the repository is up to date, the officers in their security branches are properly prepared for any violent aberrant situation, that the funds are all in order, and the list goes on, and on. As their elbow leans on the desk, brows furled and staring at the lines of text.

But of course, someone had to find an inkling there was something much more to the vague laundry list of similar reports. A theory Selah had tried to disprove, trying to coax them to refer to the expansive repository for regional phenomenon and to persuade a variety of explanations. It was all for naught, as they kept pressuring for a clarifying analysis that they were happy with – as it has started turning into a matter of public contempt. Civilian theorists try to explain it all as a trickster on the loose, a wavering spirit haunting the region, anything to explain the unexplainable. It only worsens the fears.

Selah has found nothing to concretely dispel the fear mongering from the conspiracy theorists, as there’s nothing substantial he could work from. And after three hours of combing through the reports from civilians and aberrants like. He’s sick of it, it’s not his line of work.

With a groan his disguise wavers, leaning back into the chair and staring at the ceiling past resting forearms crossing against furling hair. Fingers run through the false hair, turning to claws before shifting back to a spellbound appearance. One arm lies down across his stomach, a hand pinching against a shifting temple as the strain of misspent time scrapes at their nerves, digits moving over the tinted glasses. Hair furls as a deep breath coaxes through his form, flesh warping in color and shape in a rolling pulse as every part of him breathes. Selah doesn’t want to spend another minute combing through the nonsense set in front of him, a collection of unimportant reports with barely any connection beyond a mile within a certain junction. But at the same time, it needs to get done – put to rest any lingering scare less Selah wants to jump through the frustrating hoops that is public relations. He hates it.

Lying back, eyes of gold and black watch the ceiling fan spin its lazy rotation, mind following the metal blade as his mind strains against stress heated nerves; they want to be doing something else, something to put their mind at ease before brute-forcing through the nonsense set before them.

Palms press over his face, again fingering through flexing hair with a relenting sigh. Arms fall limp as Selah’s eyes fall closed, mind grasping for something else to fill their time aside from staring at the bullshit text; made stir crazy in the cramped office space. A yearning aches to sate their senses, mind spread free in open quarters and unconstrained. A deep dive into the sea to relieve pent-up stress, tearing through the depths in a disassociation state to become one with the sea – as old as them.

Another thought worms through their mind as arms rest over their stomach, fingers turning claws fiddling with the suit fabric and buttons. An inkling of a quick relief, one of wavering in fleshy coils, sensations made pleasant gripping into skin and wood. A moisture that stains none, moving across and stroking, coaxing against ergogenic planes and a yearning that seats inside their being; forcing focus elsewhere. But, as they fall back to it, it’s been a while since they made themselves tremble, breath drawn into pants and muscles tight.

A phantom of partner tending to them, held close between top and bottom, held by their own furls of tentacles as the thought of being stuffed fills their mind. Brows draw inward as clawed fingers press, pressing against temple as moments are drawn into their thoughts. Rocking back against a deep-seated penetration oozing slick fluids and tempting touches, filled, brimming, exhausted.

Hands rub down along their cheeks, pushing the tinted glasses aside for their golden sight to squint towards the ceiling. The paperwork is still set on the desk – it’ll need to be cleared before the festering fantasy becomes a reality.

Selah growls, a voice made myriad inhumane crafted by a thousand others, “fuck it.”

Leaning back into the desk, nimble blunt fingers make quick work of collecting the papers, stacking them back in a haphazard format in the set of binders. Fingers flex between being blunt and tipped with black shining claws, setting the stack down onto a nearby side table and topped with the slim laptop tablet combo as they clear the area. A wireless keyboard is tucked away as a notepad is stored, a container of pencils and pens set aside, an agate paperweight carefully stowed into a drawer. They’ll need the room – in case they lose their focus.

From the same drawer they puck out one of a set of phones, one reserved for a solitary receiver. With a few quick taps an entire message is sent out to their personal information filter – that they don’t want to be disturbed, need some peace to work. It’s a good enough excuse as they had failed to send it earlier; a message that reads innocent to a business partner that knows them too well.

The final item to be stored away is the charm that hangs around their neck, coaxing it out from between the folds of their undershirt and dark suit. Features begin to go lax as the spellbound item leaves their person, placed into a small storage box in a top drawer. What was once hair relaxing into a wreath of dark taupe tendrils, styled backwards to mimic a slicken hairstyle with two strands hanging over where ears once preoccupied. The ones aside their head furl upward as they breath, body reverting to a truer shape, one manifested by trial and error centuries ago. Gills breath along the side of their throat, loosening the collar and tie to let the ones along their rib cage breathe, inhaling deep in a long-drawn stretch. Yawning jaws expose jagged teeth, needle sharp within and serrated edges in triangle shape.

Their ancient body recoils back as claws curl over another in outstretched arms, skin shifting and contorting beneath the fabric of their suit. Deformation marks revitalized nerve endings that are both created and reverted as their body blooms with control once more. Arching forward, crafted bones in their spine pop and shift into malleable, flexible spines, breath making them spread the fabric taut in firm definition. Dress shoes easily slip off as legs revert into dark coils of tentacles, gleaming taupe in the beaming light as one sneaks beneath the desk; clicking the lock into position.

Privacy.

Before anything else, Selah lies back against the leather backing, hands crawling along their covered body, drawing a fantasy in their mind of passionate heat. A partner made of stone and steam, smaller, welcoming as dark claws curl beneath firm thighs and kissing a breathing throat. Motions are made receptive, fingers stroking against breathing sides and over crafted muscles, heat tampered touches made cool against their skin. Dark claws feel over stone features, trailing down splitting rifts to make the fantasy groan against sharp teeth.

Selah’s own hands trail across themself in reality, roving against the draw of a steaming partner as heat burrows inside taupe tentacles – warming the eldritch creature deep within. Against the leather their head lulls back, feeling chiseled teeth drawn against their throat, warm breath huffing as dark claws find sensitive fissures. A chuckle sounds to muted conversation, stroking the erogenous zone till steam kisses their face, claws splaying and affixing to their own flesh.

Even though the sensations fill Selah’s imagination, they’re not sure how passion should be drawn; a hand palms over the trace shape of a groin made of taupe flesh, fingering down between skin and pants. Would they rather to indulge in a front-wards fill? Pressed back against the seat, legs hiked up high on the desk as coils drill inside a shaped tendrilled vulva, hammering deep and their position affixed. To recoil back as slicken tentacles of their own flesh thrusts inside them, bulging their stomach as breaths are turned taut, wheezing as flesh slaps.

Claws stroke over as sensitive anatomy forms, drawn against shaping folds made sensitive as their mind continues to wander. Their mood inconsistent, made of a thousand possibilities as fingers knead inside their pants and into flesh with a sigh. They stroke deep, spreading within as they think of possibly being plowed from behind; bent over the desk, claws holding onto it as a tentacle fills them from behind. Pounding deep, filling, rutting against a pad for an aching member – erection hanging wanting, needing.

From within they draw themselves new anatomy, coaxing out flesh as their fingers stroke up and out, kneading out as the idealization begins to set on the back burner. Within the confines of their pants, a flaccid member begins to form from shifting mass, claws kneading self to turn a clit into girth, lips into a velvet sack they cup and pet. A sigh drifts as the pants are made tight, hand withdrawing and staring down between their legs as print makes its mark. The hand returns again, moving over the shape of their member to coax it into forms – a soft knot, a frilled end with tender bits pressed in the confines of dress pants. Leaned back, Selah takes stock of their member as the region twitches, imagining a hot mouth cupping, kissing against tentacle thighs. Digits are careful as they pull down the discrete fly, freeing the pressure on their parts and letting their brightly colored underwear flash freely – they are without function; Selah just enjoys wearing them.

The fantasy mouth kisses against their base, breathing steam as claws cup around an iron face. Eyes meet eyes, a grin made of satisfaction as stone fingers trail through the trawls of taupe tentacle flesh. Legs turned into a tentacle mass push their rear above the seat, hands holding Selah stable as their flesh undulates to draw the tight pants down their soft and malleable flesh. With eyes drawn closed, imagining a hot mouth drawing them in, their crafted member begins to wiggle free, held pressed only by the elastic maroon underwear. Only their base peaks beneath the fabric, tender fringes flexing beneath as the pants begins to linger down their crotch.

Set back down into the chair, a sigh drifts through their chest as thumbs curl against the tender flesh furling at their base. A hand cups downwards, pressing their member to lie against their soft sack as digits begin to assume a humanoid blunt. And they return to delve between groin and thigh, feeling within the confines the shape of their shaft, of the faux knot, of the girth leading into a blunting tip. It cups around them and moves upwards and guides it off to the side. Fingers return around their sack, cupping, feeling the heftiness as their flesh shift for a better distribution beneath kneading fingers.

The fantasy returns as Selah looks down themselves, grinning as the hand withdraws and leaves the member imprinted again in the fabric. Final alterations are made as the image of a warm mouth kisses their thigh, a warm tongue encasing and breathing them into dampness. Weight is added to the underside, making it gently curve upwards as fleshy parts decorate along the bottom and sides. A gentle motion of their body drives the tip to peak out of the fabric, watching it twitch in anticipation.

A coil along their side eases it finally free, letting it hang over the elastic banding as fingers return to free their sack from the similar confines, Selah pushing the pants completely free from the coaxing coils that were once their legs. Fingers test around their girth, feeling over bagging skin of their sack, stroking the soft nubs and padded underside as adjustments are made to be made sensitive – the image of being taken completely into a warm mouth crosses Selah’s mind. Each motion rings amplified by internal clenches that make the soft erection twitch, watching as their flesh makes a yearning fantasy into reality.

Fingers claw against the leather cushion as a tentacle runs revitalized with stored heat as viscous drools along the tip, cupping and coiling as though a padded tongue. It draws a shutter through their spine, grin melded into a moan. “Oh yeah, I’m going to enjoy this,” the tvagatra sighs, watching the drooping mass form malleable teeth to mimic the head of their innate form. It squeezes the girth downwards from tip to base, multi-facet eyes half lid as tentacles between their thighs start to meld – forming a coiling mass with a soft blue erection and velvet sack.

Selah’s head lulls as they’re drawn back to the fantasy, golden sight falling closed as the mockery drools and oozes viscous. The head of a crystalline takes the morph’s place, a head full of plated teeth and plated edges, dangerous, but made harmless against their malleable flesh. Steam breathes around their erection, encasing it in the heat as tongue scoops and strokes carefully – teasingly, drawing around the frills, the soft nubs, the padded underside. A groan breathes through their throat as the tongue loops beneath their knot, giving a gentle upward tug to coax a gasp through breathing sides.

A groan rumbles as their girth is ran against frills of a mimicked tongue, caressed as it draws upwards from base to tip, leaving the erection to hang in the air needing. Claws hold around the soft blue flesh, kneading around the drawn ache as the fantasy lingers over, breathing steam – the imagery of being filled caressing their nerves. A hand replaces the tentacle, claws glistening with saturating fluids as it spreads around, against, cupping the erection in gentle strokes.

Golden eyes linger half lid as they watch their hand grip around their girth, the other held against their base with fingers split below their knot and against folding skin. Index and thumb hold firm as the stroking hand squeezes, drawing lubricated around the tender ends of their blunt head. A huffed groan drips from the tvagatra, coiling back against the chair to relent in the sensations. Gently squeezed in rhythmical jerks, held firm with the other to hold steady as hand coaxes.

Their vocalization turns guttural as the hand around the girth finds its rhythm, squeezing and held firm around their aching erection. Drawn back and forth, the wet skin and malleable flesh sounds with their deep breaths that drives their body to sigh, shifting for a better position – a mockery of legs spreading themselves as their focus shifts around the dull ache between their thighs.

A former thought blooms inside Selah’s mind as a thumb rolls around their blunt tip; drawn against the sensation of being pressed against the desk, claws pawing against the wood varnish as thighs are held splay to a thickness burrowing inside. Pressing against muscles taut, squeezing around coaxing thrusts as fluid drips over inner thighs A sensation filling, rocking back and forth as soft touches guide trembling hips and an aching erection. Hands gripping around hips, drawing close as they’re filled to the brim.

Selah huffs, staring down as their hands spread over their stomach, undershirt and suit bundled as their erection bounces and stand alone between body and desk. Fingers split button for button as their head presses back on the crest of the rolling chair, mouth perceived agape as a tentacle furl watches external. One perceives their erection close as they discard the suit jacket, vest and undershirt left half buttoned, examining the detailing of their saliva and mucus covered girth. The sight from above is of a thin tentacle ended with a staring bulbous eye. The ones in their head roll, and a hand brushes it away to a tentacle end.

With a sigh a hand presses their erection downwards, huffing as fingertips graze over their girth still as the tentacle furls below them shift to form slim muscles. Rounded thighs are drawn along the roving flesh past their waist, merging and combining to make smooth flesh humanoid as below upper thigh remains silky tentacles. In a singular motion their rear lifts from the seat, body rolling forward as their head is the last to leave the leather cushioning. Claws spread over the mahogany as they rest into a stand, a tentacle swatting the chair off to the side.

Taupe coils shift between the semblance of thighs, made melded through a lacking focus they begin to amend. Fingers draw down their groin, fingers curling past their sack and spreading the flesh into thighs made of muscle and bone – something easier to manage as they chase the idea writhing in their mind. The mass draws inwards to craft firm bones, creating tendons and muscles to form their shapely ass that wiggles as a tentacle extends from their spine. The hand catches around their erection as it draws back, squeezing around their soft knot as the extension of their spine morphs wide as it snakes between their cheeks. A hand holds the tentacle exposed by gripping at their rear, the distinct lack of nearby lubricant a nonissue as the surface of the tentacle begins to ooze saturated, spreading vicious in the motion of a lapping tongue.

A hand fists against the desk as they let the tentacle kiss their behind, eyes falling closed with mouth agape as the tentacle worms against their flesh. In perspective sight thy write as the tentacle runs with pleated sides. It teases against the skin of spread legs, curling down over their perineum, cupping their sack and coaxing as fingers hold their erection down with kneading fingers. Fluids spread liberally around their parts as their hands ball against the desk, replace by padded parts to hold their erection close, taking hold to free their hands to return to the desk. A grunt sounds as the pads squeeze around the girth, holding taut beneath the knot as Selah stares down themself.

Their blunt head peers out between the clasp of the tentacle pads, trawls that extend from their hips and petting back and forth, drawing a groan as their tender flesh is held in the wet embrace. Fluids spread liberally around their parts as hands ball against the desk, hips shifting back and body towards the desk with a groan. The thick tentacle retreats backwards as their thighs squeeze, kneading over their balls, pressing forth before yielding the slender tip back against taut muscle.

It kneads against their hole, stroking saturating fluids as it swirls and pets the muscle, softly splitting to encourage an invitation as tension ease from their loins. The slender tips press downwards in a gentle crawl, teasing penetration before it slips a retreat. Taupe strands long the side of their face curl outwards, spreading the malleable flesh wide in arousal with drooping ends as they’re made vocal – forearms fisting across the table as the tentacle kneads once more, scissoring inside taut as the pads around their erection stroke.

Selah drops their forehead against the desk, one eye half lid and staring back over their skin, pressing it against their crossing arms as the slick tentacle continues to tease penetration.

Its shape morphs with drawn desires, nodes forming and petals blooming before reaffirming a slim shape for easy penetration. It presses inwards before relenting back, made shimmering and moist, caught in the backward gaze by a perceiving stalk that watches the girth work. In a fantasy they can feel claws cupping their thighs, a prehensile girth testing their hole, making sure its lubricated generously before pressing inwards tight. “Oooh, fuck,” they groan, thighs shifting wide as their head draws back into empty air.

The mass at their rear rubs between their cheeks with soft wet noises, the tapered end forming to blunt and a forked tip. It laps rumbles from the eldritch being, fists curling as the tentacle end begins to work fluid to drip inside, stroking the muscle to yield. They wiggle in the anticipation, spread by meeting ends as the pads at their girth draws their attention. But it’s only for a moment as the forked end breaches inside their muscles, a merging voice drawing a groan as their body trembles around the penetration.

To make it interesting, primary muscles along their legs begin to lock, affixing them in the wide spreading as they lean against the desk for support, staring through the eyes that are an audience to the filling penetration. Through the external eyes Selah can watch as their body takes bumpy nodes inside once taut muscles, made numb by the volume of lubrication dripping from the skin of the tentacle. The ring of muscle squeezes around the growing girth, drawing a filling feeling deep in the tvagatra’s gut to make them tremble, head lulling as pleasure surges through their loins. They stand erect in the padding strokes, mouth mumbling as the penetration settles into shape. “Ahh, fuck,” they wheeze, gripping their forearms as they hold furling gills exposed to inhale for panting breaths. “That’s a lot bigger than before,” they try to laugh, trembling as the girth swirls inside them.

Rumbles sound as their forehead presses against the desk, the filling inside their gut drawn into spreading thrusts as the petals spread their flesh within as it moves. Arms lie crossed against the desk as their body arches into the deep fill, throat held exposed and mouth hung wide. Fingers dig against skin as furls of eyes pop around their shoulders half lid, drawing tight as the girth inside them pulsates against their insides. “Hmm, fucah,” Selah trembles, their crown of taupe tendrils furling as the penetration bottoms out inside them, sitting settled and heavy.

“Fuck,” their voice runs in rumbling vocalization, gasping as the tentacle bores and swirls inside their body, trembling as their head falters back against their arms. “Mmmph,” their words slip into an ancient tongue, speaking freely as the pads around their girth match the penetration’s rhythm, drawing hips back and forth without control. They melt into the dueling sensations, arm movements nonsensical and drawn only by instinct – but constrained to the desk alone as their chest presses against the desk, claws digging at the wood.

Selah enjoys it immensely.

Their stomach presses against the desk as the penetration presses them forth, forearms hanging crossed as they coil against one another, head squeezed by wiggling shoulders as the motions around and inside leaves them breathless, becoming sporadic, needing, vocalizing to every sensation. Grunting, gasping, claws curling and kneading against their skin – fighting the urge to find instant relief, to swat way the pads around their girth to chase the draw of trembling orgasm. The one inside continues to hammer, petals stroking against the sense of formed prostate as groans are forced in labored breath, aching for the relief as claws grasp the edge of the desk.

Knuckles are made cream white as they force themselves steady, elbows pressing against their pecs, throat and chest gills expelling smog as the flesh slaps saturated behind them. Scratches gouge the front of the desk, made as their voice begins to creak with the yearning ache, the strands along the side of their head flex and fan with piercing eyes squeezing tight. Words are made chuffed as teeth bite against lips, guttural as behind the thrusts are made pulsing, a practicable bodily begging to finish the self-fucking the tvagatra grants itself.

Selah’s grunts reverberate through their form as they’re pressed to orgasm, shoulders squeezing around breathing throat as their head drops, mouth wide as the gills of their side gasp for air. The pads around their erection squeeze, making false squeezing flesh held taught by their flaring knot. It’s one of the few things that leaves the eldritch being to tumble into vocal expression, feeling the tentacle inside them surge in new-found fluids – mimicking the sensation of hot seed filling them to the brim, leaking around the thick penetration as they case their own final, bucking into the holding pads.

“Ooohh, fuck,” their voice rumbles, their muscles relinquishing the locked tension as their weight is bores against the desk, their aching erection pressed beneath the lip as they buck. A rather primordial leaves them as they dig into their peak, claws curling against malleable skin as motions turn to snaps, ejaculate caught by a cupping coil. The spurts of cream are caught in the roving tangle of tentacles.
Selah’s body trembles as they settle in the afterglow; feeling the fluid drip down their thighs, their erection coaxed soft one more in a warm embrace. From an external view they watch the viscous fluid seep down their dark flesh, watching the thick girth slide and eventually pop from their body wet and moist. Cream drips between their thighs as their breathing is worked back calm, head resting against their forearms, pressing a grin against skin.

Body racked by orgasm, they linger in the tender sensations over their sensitive flesh, letting their mind lull in the sweetened sensations.

The paperwork can wait a little longer, Methuselah grins.