In dire need of Inspiration
Story by ShorkScribbles on SoFurry
Snargle Goldclaw, Master of his craft… And eager to experiment!
Kinktober Day 9: Tentacles
In dire need of Inspiration
Snargle Goldclaw, Master of his craft… And eager to experiment!
Kinktober Day 9: Tentacles
“And this is where you usually work? I’d assume it would be more…”
“More?”
“More… You know? Bookish?”
“Hah! No! No! My dear friend. Love can be inked in pages, but you cannot find it there. It is a seed that must be sown in a fertile ground, vigorously watered, and handled carefully.”
“I think I have an idea why Bonnie has a distaste for this work.”
“Nonsense. Bonnie jests, but she knows the virtues of applied studies. I think. She never joined, but I am assured she understands the principles I follow.”
“Hmm. And should we… proceed?”
“Lord, no! We must not forget the teas and biscuits!”
It was something to meet an idol, to finally have a face-to-face discussion with an individual whose works had spread throughout Tyria. It was something else to have a conversation, sitting on a pile of pink pillows, surrounded by pink silky drapes, and more pink mattresses than were necessary.
The musky undertone could not be chased with the rosy perfume that embalmed the room. And the swathes of sheets were indeed marked by a hint of Charr funk.
Nevertheless, Snargle Goldclaw was happily drinking a steaming tea, gnawing on the biscuits he’d provided. The blond-furred Charr certainly looked different without his robes… A lot more different when solely wearing a pink, tight, and certainly close-to-the-matter thong.
As for his interlocutor, the ashen-bark Sylvari certainly looked confused.
“Please. Have a taste of those biscuits. They’re divinely efficient. I import them from Cantha,” noted Snargle, waving his hand. “We will need it for later.”
A bite later, and the Sylvari grimaced. “It’s bitter!”
“It is true. However, it improves your vigor and sharpens your senses. We shall need it.”
“You know I am… Not-“
“Not experiencing, of course! But it is as crucial to nourish the mind.”
Snargle even waved the biscuit towards his Reader before the Charr, wide-shouldered and a tad on the heavier side, took another sip of his steamy tea.
“I’d prefer to cut to the chase. Can you tell me how I’d… Help you?”
“Much to your credit,” nodded Snargle, adjusting his monocle. “I require your help for my next book. I plan to write a story concerning the Mordrems. At least, those that remain. However, I lack… The inspiration!”
“The- Inspiration. How could I help you with that?”
“Oh, do not worry. Based on our previous epistolary exchanges, you are more than adequate. Your skills shall not be wasted!”
Alas, if anyone thought it meant for Snargle to have his body touched and explored by a Sylvari, the truth was different. Even when the Charr, slightly aged and grunting under the effort, was on all fours on one of those many beddings.
His tail was lifted, his back arched, and his plump, generous, and callipygous posterior was displayed. The thong had been removed, and hence, the Charr’s rosy and swollen orifice was on display amidst the swampy coarse blond fur.
As for his genitals, they dangled heavily as he adjusted his posture.
“This position is perfect to ponder on what happens and to receive that inspiration!”
“You… Want me to summon… Tendrils to… Fuck you?”
“Not merely fuck me, dear friend! But let me experience what love could be with a Mordrem. The tenacity of the vines, the delicate petals’ touch, the roots’ eager prodding! I require your help as none other shall provide it to me.”
“I have an idea why Bonnie hates this job,” mumbled the Sylvari.
Nonetheless, with his eyes closed and his hands raised, the Sylvari pooled the magic from the mists. Instead of calling forth nature from beneath the soil, risking to break the ground with it, portals appeared all around Snargle.
And so burst in tendrils, vines, branches, and more. From those portals, flora sprouted all around the Charr, who laughed, his tender posterior shaking.
“Yes! I knew you had the skills for thi-Grgl!”
The blabbermouth was silenced. A sudden tentacle had decided to aim for the Charr’s mouth and thrust. Soon enough, Snargle had a mouthful of yellow juices. He was forced to swallow lest he choked. His throat, penetrated by the long and lustrous tentacle, didn’t clench or gag. His control was impeccable, even when said throat bulged. Moreover, his satisfaction could be seen by how his tail swayed gently while more of those tendrils twirled around him.
A sway left, and the Sylvari grunted. ‘More’
Then, more tendrils began to coil and twist around the exposed Charr’s body. Some ran over those legs and arms, coiling and securing them in a posture Snargle could not keep. Then, more plants appeared near the Charr’s posterior. One of them ended in a sort of flower whose petals opened. A fluid oozed from its core on and inside the orifice. Orifice that was stretched, touched, and even stroked by the vines that coated and prepared it.
Did the swaying tail stop? No.
Hence, the Sylvari continued to focus. Those tendrils were brutal if not controlled, and they could break anyone. However, Snargle did not give any signs of distaste, even if his gargling filled the room while the plants stuffed his stomach with that yellow sap.
The skin distended and tensed, causing the blond fur to thin out as it spread over a larger surface.
A spread that culminated with the apparitions of eight reddish nubs. A surprising presence but that became all the more marked the more Snargle’s belly bulged… And the more his ass was getting stuffed by one of the large tendrils.
Again, the tail did not stop swaying. His left hand, right by the Sylvari’s field of view, even waved him to keep going.
A sign that was not ignored when the Sylvari opened the portals wide and the flora decided to pounce on its prey. Tendrils rushed into the Charr’s wide nostrils, profusely delivering a hefty dose of that same sap until it dripped from the corner of his mouth and nostrils. Until the Charr looked like he was drowning in it. Yet, fearless and unaffected.
His asshole got properly wrecked by an onslaught of tendrils that decided that plump and rich orifice was to be taken, not one by one… But by three vines, black like obsidian, thrusting within it and spreading the entrance with their sheer presence.
The pink and red flesh sometimes appeared in between the clashing vines, like a tint that was lost in the dark while the plants thrust, pushed, and rocked the Charr’s body back and forth.
And not only.
After all, Snargle was in for an experience. His outlook seemed optimistic when the Charr’s erection poked free from the sheath, bright red and dripping. The tapered tip practically rubbed against the swollen belly. At the same time, Snargle received another tendril that promptly stretched his asshole beyond an arm’s width; even a Norn’s forearm.
The orifice looked nothing but a tangle of vines from which dripped that same sap and… Well. Some hints of musky lubricant that seemed to be more of an afterthought compared to what was pumped into the Charr.
And from the Charr.
His cock, dripping and hard, was already gaining the plants’ attention. A flower opened its petals before it, the ravenous and almost carnivorous look not lost on the Sylvari before the plant swallowed the Charr’s erection and ushered it into its tube-like insides. Tube that closed, tightened, and forced a quite air-tight seal around Snargle’s cock. A cock that was soon to be suctioned, sucked, and willfully teased while the furry testicles were gripped violently.
But did it stop?
Oh no, not at all. Snargle’s tail even swayed faster, and his mufflings were telling that he had found his muse. A muse of high pleasures.
Perhaps it was from his mouth abused and his throat bulging? From his stomach, which made his body look like a barrel? Or perhaps was it his nipples, the eight of them, suddenly under the tickling assaults of hair-like tendrils?
The Sylvari walked, circumventing the bed and stepping away from the asshole that was practically a gaping tunnel into the Charr. He tried not to think too much about the wiping tendrils delivering a rough kind of love on the fluffy buns or the sizeable testicles, all the same.
Though a moment of curiosity got the Reader to admire the Charr’s erection, far bigger than most of his readers, even the Charrs, that was encompassed in a tight green tube while fat globs of fluids, presumably cum or precum, were milked out of Snargle.
Each ejaculation was like a sudden thrust, a sudden hit against the thin membrane, only to be absorbed and ushered down the tendril, then into the portal.
There were no signs of it stopping. Not from the unleashed flora that had found a quite profuse character… Or Snargle, whose hands shook, waved, and mimicked the movements of writing.
The Sylvari sighed, grabbed the nearby tablet, pen, and paper. He put it all in the Charr’s reach. Without surprise, Snargle’s hand grabbed the pen and scribbled furiously.
Sure enough, there was inspiration. And a lot of Snargle’s gargles.