Critical Role Kink Meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
criticalkink) wrote2017-03-26 01:12 am
criticalkink) wrote2017-03-26 01:12 am
Critical Role kink meme post #3: Unprompted Kinky Writing
For people to share their kinky writing that doesn't fit a particular meme prompt. (Links can still be shared to the Completed Fills post.)
Untitled Taliesin/Ivan tentacle sex, E, 5/?
(Anonymous) 2022-02-09 05:12 am (UTC)(link)It’s the fringed tentacle that comes out this time, the one that has innumerable little tendrils along it as well as the more sparsely dotted suckers. It splits immediately, the one half wriggling under and up his body to his mouth, which Ivan opens eagerly, quick to suck it in and let the tendrils tease inside his mouth. The other half follows the path of the thicker tentacle, wriggling along his cleft to join Taliesin’s cock. It flattens out somewhat, but it’s still quite a bit of extra girth, and Ivan’s thighs begin to tremble as the tendrils wriggle against his prostate. Taliesin groans and Ivan’s not sure but he thinks one tendril might be lapping the head of Taliesin’s cock.
The tentacles at his ankles emerge, winding sinuously up his legs, bracing him, holding him steady and contributing more than a little to his immobilization. Their tips waver for a moment before one hollows out to slip over his cock, the other doing the same to his sac, both of them beginning to quiver and lightly suck.
“Aaaah,” Ivan moans, saliva dribbling from his mouth. He flashes briefly on how this must look from the outside—he’s a pathetic mess, desperate and whining and literally drooling—but as one of the tendrils patiently sucks up the saliva and squirts it back into his mouth, he abruptly stops caring at all. If this is what they’ve decided he’s good for when he’s in company, then he’s going to go with it and see just what they can show him in the way of unconscious desires. Another tendril collects his tears and Ivan tastes those too, so salty compared to the sweet, addictive slick.
Taliesin’s hips start jerking without the easy control he had even just moments ago. He’s being thoroughly ridden by the fat tentacle inside him. The one from Ivan’s right wrist lashes out and Ivan hears it smack against Taliesin’s chest. The one from his left wrist slips out more politely to fasten onto Ivan’s nipples and suck; he can’t believe that doesn’t hurt at this point but it feels like there’s maybe a little of that numbing going on to make sure pleasure doesn’t pass into pain.
If only all his body were so forgiving.
But that stops mattering, because Taliesin lets out a hoarse scream and starts coming. Ivan can feel every slow pulse as intimately as when Taliesin came in his mouth, and he’s sure it will last as long. Come begins dribbling out of him, down his thighs, and Taliesin’s thrusts start to sound obscenely wet.
When some of the little tendrils from the fringed tentacle start lapping up the mess, Ivan’s not surprised; they seem to have a preference for making their mess, not letting other people’s get everywhere. Then he feels a ripple through the tentacle where it runs along his body, and has barely a second to realize and flatten his tongue under the tentacle in his mouth before it throbs lewdly between his lips and begins shooting Taliesin’s come down his throat.
He can hear Taliesin laughing between gasps and moans and knows that he knew this would happen, and his only method of retort is to fasten his lips firmly around the tentacle and suck it as ardently and hungrily as though it were Taliesin’s cock. A ripple runs through the tentacle back the other way and Taliesin abruptly stops laughing as the tendrils wrapped around him inside Ivan mimic the suction. He stops laughing and he starts howling with a deep primal pleasure and in that moment Ivan stops caring about his own state of aching arousal.
He exists, he and the tentacles, they exist solely for Taliesin’s use and pleasure, and when he writhes and struggles under Taliesin it’s not for himself but for Taliesin, for the immortal being who has so generously gifted him with this attention, who likes his toys to squirm.
It goes on long enough that Ivan gets lightheaded from breathlessness. Taliesin’s cries of pleasure grow hoarser and lower but don’t stop, as though the screams are being pulled from his lungs by the will of the tentacles. Maybe they are.
Eventually the hard thrusts taper off to slow lazy slides as Taliesin winds down to gently rocking his hips against Ivan’s ass. The soft glide of his length through the tender muscle would probably be incredible if Ivan, now that he has served his purpose, weren’t thoroughly aware once more of his desperate state.
The tentacle in his mouth withdraws and curls around his throat, but loosely. He wishes it would tighten; the struggle to breathe and not panic would take his mind off the very real ache in his cock and balls.
“Taliesin,” he whimpers.
“What, love?” Taliesin’s voice is hoarse, his tone supremely sated. “Do you want something?”
“No,” Ivan says without realizing that’s the word that will come out until it does. “No. They can go back now.” He swallows hard; his mouth and throat feel like he’s drunk Hershey’s syrup straight from the bottle. “It’s enough to have done so much for you.”
“Sweet one.” Taliesin pats his bruised and sore ass and slips out of him altogether. The tentacles all retract, leaving streaks and splashes of slick; that’s all though, not a trace of come or anything else. They like to keep things their own version of clean.
While they’re sliding back into Ivan’s body and whatever pocket dimensions they reside in—a faintly horrific notion that he’s still getting accustomed to, although an improvement over having them visible under his skin—Taliesin releases his hands from the cuffs and ankles from the spreader bar. Ivan has enough presence of mind to roll as he collapses so that he doesn’t do anything dire to his cock, but that’s all he can manage.
Taliesin sits back against the head of the bed once more and shuffles until Ivan’s head is pillowed on his thigh. He gets his fingers into Ivan’s hair and massages his scalp firmly.
“That was incredible, sweet one,” he says quietly. Ivan can see that his cock is lying quiescent against his other thigh. It looks like, no matter how needy Ivan feels, he’s at least thoroughly fulfilled Taliesin’s unexpected craving for his new appendages.
“I think you’ve earned your release, love,” Taliesin says, reaching down to playfully squeeze one of Ivan’s nipples. Ivan feels a ripple of pleasure down to his groin that doesn’t get halted by the strange internal grip on his ability to come.
“I don’t know if I can,” he answers honestly.
“Try for me.” Taliesin squeezes the nape of his neck. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
Ivan’s embraced the notion that he’s not the one in control any more and so he delicately strokes his cock, skimming the skin with his fingertips. It’s still liberally coated in slick and he wipes away a palmful onto the towel under him.
“Aw, too wet?”
“Yeah.” Ivan’s finally game to take a look at himself; he’s sort of expecting his cock to look different, but aside from being a touch longer and thicker from the pumping (he does wonder what the results might have looked like immediately after, instead of with the cuddling giving it time to settle a little), and flushed darker than usual, it just looks like his cock. Feels about the same, too, when he works up the nerve to close his hand around the length and give it a tentative squeeze.
“Go on, darling,” Taliesin murmurs.
“It hurts.” It does. It’s a low ache that suffuses his whole groin, a not particularly pleasant throbbing sensation that’s not at all the kind of feeling that the word as used in erotic fiction is probably meant to describe.
Taliesin rolls his nipple between thumb and forefinger, sending another wave of pleasure through Ivan’s body, making him whimper and jerk his hips even though it conflicts with the pain. “Go on.”
Ivan turns his head as much as he can to try to press his face against Taliesin’s thigh. Taliesin keeps patiently massaging his scalp, which is pretty much the only physical contact that Ivan doesn’t feel terribly conflicted about. He also starts rubbing circles over Ivan’s chest, paying particular attention to his nipples. Roughly three hours ago Ivan would have said he was fairly indifferent to having them touched, rings or no rings; right now he kind of wishes Taliesin’s mouth weren’t so damn far away. Still stalling somewhat, he gets a fingerful of slick and touches it onto each nipple, feeling them react to whatever pheromones are in the stuff. He imagines it could be anything from basic menthol to some esoteric, otherworldly chemical.
Taliesin laughs softly, but takes the hint and starts playing with more purpose. The only problem is that he’s only doing it one-handed and the other nipple feels terribly neglected. Ivan whines and presses into the touch.
“You do have two hands,” Taliesin reminds him.
Ivan gives in and lifts his free hand to his chest; as soon as he does the tentacle emerges, just a little round cylinder, and oh when it latches on and starts suckling Ivan moans.
“Don’t expect them to be any more help than that.” Taliesin gives him a little shake by the scruff of the neck. “I said show me how you touch yourself. Now.”
Ivan can’t delay any longer, not when that order and the humiliating little gesture sends a thrill of arousal through him that he’s going to have to unpack some other time when he’s not obediently masturbating on command.
It fucking aches. The pain spread even as he quickens his pace, trying to get it over and done with. He’s vaguely aware that he’s started sobbing again, that Taliesin’s petting his hair and murmuring soothing things even as he squeezes Ivan’s nipple just so, and his tears fall unchecked onto Taliesin’s thigh.
“Hurts,” he whimpers. “Can’t.”
“You can stop any time you like, but you’ll feel that ache until you permit yourself to push through it,” Taliesin says. “And what’s on the other side is worth it.”
Oh. There’s an other side? Not just this low-grade agony? Ivan forces himself to keep going, though the pain is aching and deep, like he’s trying to milk out one more orgasm after a whole day of coming. Fuck, maybe he is, he doesn’t know.
Then there’s an equally deep pulse of pleasure and Ivan cries out, “Oh, oh, fuck,” as it reverberates through him.
“Yeah,” Taliesin breathes. “Keep going. Let me see it.”
Come begins to trickle out of Ivan’s cock. Not pre-come; actual come, like some blockage has been removed. He’s half expecting to see some kind of tentacle plug come out, but it doesn’t, just more seeping come. And it still fucking hurts, just with those pulses of pleasure as well, which Taliesin and the tentacle mimic on his nipples, until it’s pleasure-pain-pleasure and Ivan starts moaning as the pain heightens the pleasure, as each pulse of come begins to strengthen from a mere dribble to stronger spurts.
He understands better now why the people who ask him to use his hand or cane or whip on them do so. He always understood why watching them cry and writhe did it for him; now he can comprehend it from the other side.
Ivan realizes the pain has dulled away to almost nothing and yet he’s still coming. He lets it happen, tightens his fingers, fucks his slick fist in earnest, feeling the seemingly endless roll of this peak push through him. He’s aware he’s screaming the way that Taliesin did, screaming and, frankly, jerking off with a desperate need he’s not sure his teenage self could match.
Taliesin keeps talking to him through it, which doesn’t help.
“Oh yeah... look at you, fuck... next time, sweetness, I’m gonna watch you face-fuck yourself, or maybe I’ll face-fuck you and tell them to use you til they’re done and watch you go out of your mind, kind of the way you are now...”
Ivan sobs, manages a deep breath, and then feels Taliesin’s hand on his throat.
“Love,” Taliesin says tenderly, before squeezing.
The last of Ivan’s orgasm empties him with one hard explosion, and he blacks out.
Untitled Taliesin/Ivan tentacle sex, E, 6/?
(Anonymous) 2022-02-09 05:13 am (UTC)(link)In the darkness:
“Oh, my dear sweet one. What a treasure you are.” That warm, loving hand continues to stroke his hair, as the tentacles all emerge and split and twine themselves around Ivan until he’s completely wrapped up in them, in a slowly undulating cocoon of flesh that strokes and sucks him all over. He cannot see them, only feel that bodywide caress. “I made the right choice in you, didn’t I.”
Ivan opens his mouth to speak and a tentacle snakes into it, hot and hard like a cock, pushing deep into his mouth. He has just enough time to gasp in a quick breath before it plunges into his throat, where Taliesin’s hand on the outside rubs the tip of it through his skin. Ivan can feel it spurting slick and groans around it.
Another wriggles into his ass, tendrils flowering out inside him to find and toy with his prostate. The thick one joins it and Ivan finds out for himself what those round bulbs feel like pushing one by one into him. Despite all the rimming and fucking and everything he’s taken so far, it’s still a difficult tight squeeze for them to pop through the ring of muscle and he can only imagine how big they must be to require that much effort.
“Come.”
Ivan does, shooting into the ropy mass swaddling him. It takes some moments but before long he feels the salty spurt of his own come fed back to him via the tentacle network. It occurs to him he can’t breathe at all, but that’s fine. He squirms in his cocoon and it squeezes tighter around him. He can’t feel Taliesin’s hand on his head any more because they’ve covered his eyes and twined around his head as well.
“Come,” Taliesin croons, his lips brushing Ivan’s ear, having moved—when, how, Ivan doesn’t know. He’s coming again, balls contracting hard but without the deep aching hurt of before. His cries are no more than gurgles as he sucks down another load, lips and tongue drawing eagerly, mindlessly at the invader in his mouth.
“Oh, so very good.” Taliesin’s breathing is becoming uneven; Ivan can distantly feel a distinct familiar quality to the other man’s rhythmic movements beside him. “So fucking good, darling, from head to foot, I should’ve done this sooner, you’re perfect, such a worthy vessel-”
He stops speaking and the bed shifts as he straddles Ivan’s hips; the next thing Ivan knows Taliesin is riding his cock, taking it in along with the tentacle wrapped around it that’s feeding him his come. His hand returns to Ivan’s throat, not just to tease his breath away but to pin him down as he grinds and bucks on Ivan’s length, taking it and the tentacle with deep needy groans.
“Don’t come, sweetness. Just for a minute. I promise you’ll be okay.”
Ivan nods feebly, barely able to move, and hums softly around the tentacle in his mouth as a second sign of consent.
“Yes,” Taliesin breathes, and then he’s driving down hard on Ivan, moaning and gasping unashamedly. Ivan can hear every obscenely wet sound as he does so, plus the additional sound of slick skin on skin that—oh, Taliesin’s jerking off, now he gets it. Jerking off and riding Ivan like he’s an eldritch bucking bronco. Ivan struggles even more under him, attempting to fuck up into him, feeling that aching tension return in response to Taliesin’s directive for him not to come. Taliesin laughs and the mass of tendrils and suckers around Ivan tighten further still, some of them extending out to grip the bed and hold him down.
The lower third of his face is bare so that the tentacle in his mouth has room to move, and it’s there that Taliesin’s hot seed spatters when he comes with the low primal cry of an ages-old being. Tendrils extend from that tentacle to lap it up, shove it into Ivan’s mouth, at the same time as Taliesin orders in a raw voice, “Come,” and if Ivan weren’t already floating in delirious darkness the near-drowning of the fluids flooding his mouth as he desperately gulps and swallows, seed drooling out of the corners of his lips only to be scooped back in by the industrious little tendrils, would put him there.
Taliesin gets off him and the tentacles swarm Ivan’s cock, cleaning with little sucks and nibbles. It’s going to be very useful if he gets into some sort of habit of playing with others, he thinks, and again the sly notion of finding someone less knowledgeable, more innocent, and introducing them to this flits across his mind.
But then all the tentacles withdraw, and Taliesin nudges him over onto his side, spooning around him. One arm goes over his waist. The other hand presses to his forehead, and Taliesin once more murmurs a single word.
“Forget.”
Untitled Taliesin/Ivan tentacle sex, E, 7/7
(Anonymous) 2022-02-09 05:14 am (UTC)(link)When Ivan emerges from the blackness he’s blearily surprised that his head is no longer on Taliesin’s thigh and that they’re spooning. The painful ache is gone, replaced by a smooth lassitude of sated completion. Perhaps he was out of it a little longer than expected. Taliesin doesn’t seem fazed by it though so it can’t have been unwarrantedly long. The sense of desperation and need has faded away as well, and he just feels warm and safe in Taliesin’s arms.
“Did I die?” he asks.
“Several little deaths,” Taliesin says, kissing his neck, “but not the big one.”
Ivan drifts in simple warmth for a long while, like a boat on a gentle sea being washed gradually back to the shore of reality. He realizes dreamily that he’s coming back from subspace and he’s been deep in it for some time, and lets out a soft “oh” of surprise.
“What, dearest?”
“Subspace?”
“I would imagine so. I’m quite certain that your relinquishing of control today has been rather more than simply giving bottoming a try.” Taliesin kisses his neck again. “Are you dropping hard?”
“No. Are you?”
“I don’t get Dom drop.” Taliesin doesn’t explain further and Ivan takes it at face value. If Taliesin gets con crud but not Dom drop, well, it’s only because crowding thousands of people, some of whom are lax about personal hygiene, together in one convention centre is a relatively new concept, whereas Taliesin’s had centuries to become accustomed to the aftermath of a scene.
So it is that, while Ivan came to Taliesin with a good deal of apprehension, even fear, he ends the day a good deal calmer, even if it’s largely because he’s been fucked utterly senseless. The worry that he might lose control of the tentacles, or that perhaps he doesn’t even have all that much control in the first place, lingers in his mind. But after rather a lot of lazy cuddling, Taliesin talks him through having them emerge and retract one by one, focusing his will and desire on them.
“You probably won’t ever have perfect control,” he says as Ivan holds his arms out and has the two wrist tentacles emerge and form two arcs that conjoin into a heart. “But they’re... hmmm. I’d go so far as to say they’re sapient enough to act in their own best interests.”
Ivan suspects there’s something he’s not saying, but doesn’t ask.
“So they’re not going to do anything that will put you in a dangerous position.” Taliesin rolls on top of him; Ivan’s arms go around his shoulders automatically as Taliesin presses his forehead to Ivan’s. “They’re not going to do anything to you that you’re not willing to have done to you, although sometimes it might be an unconscious desire rather than something that’s on your personal top ten.”
Images and sensations from the past two weeks flash through Ivan’s mind, and he makes a soft sound of assent.
“And they’re certainly not going to do anything to someone else if the other person is unwilling. Unsure or uncertain, sure, even scared, but they’re drawn to curiosity.” Taliesin rubs his foot against Ivan’s ankle; the tentacle rolls sinuously out and twines around their legs, winding up as high as mid-thigh. Ivan draws a shuddering breath; he can feel the rest of his body responding. “They have a sense for who’s most likely to be receptive to them.”
“Like you.”
“Like me,” Taliesin agrees, and his currently lavender eyes dance with amusement.
“I sense you’re starting to feel receptive again,” Ivan observes.
“Mmmm.” Taliesin’s arms wrap around him as the second ankle tentacle comes out. Ivan’s not consciously willing it to do so, but when it slithers up the back of Taliesin’s thigh it pauses at the top, and then Ivan hesitantly gives it some direction. Taliesin moans appreciatively as it nuzzles into his cleft and splits three ways, the outer two forming wide curves that spread Taliesin, the middle one shaping itself into the cylindrical form that is exquisitely good at rimming. “Oh. Yes. Please.”
“What else?” Ivan asks.
Shortly thereafter they’re wrapped together in warm, slowly undulating coils of flesh. There’s not as much slick as earlier, thus no sudden deep dive into mad desperate lust. Instead they’re pressed against each other, tendrils caressing them softly everywhere, their cocks enveloped in a rippling tube that takes up and presses their sacs together as well. They kiss and kiss and kiss, the tentacles leaving their heads alone to do so but otherwise thoroughly cocooning them.
“Ah, love,” Taliesin murmurs.
“Love you,” Ivan says, sending a directive to the tentacle rimming Taliesin to extend inside of him and offer a few delicate strokes. The way that Taliesin’s eyes slip close and his lips part when he sighs with pleasure is nothing short of beautiful.
It surprises him when it all stays slow and soft and gentle. For the most part his experiences have been intense, slick-soaked, and leave him utterly wrung out. This is more like being simply rocked together, and even the fact that the tentacles do playfully edge the pair of them more than once, causing matching cries and whimpers, doesn’t drive him mad. Taliesin, gasping and trembling against him, likewise seems to be clear-headed—or at least as clear-headed as anyone ever is during sex. Perhaps lucid is a better word.
“Ivan, my gods—” Taliesin lapses into incoherence, murmuring nonsensical syllables—well, nonsensical to Ivan; for all he knows they’re some ancient language.
“Oh—Tal—Taliesin—”
Then they’re speaking each other’s names over and over as murmured prayers while pleasure shudders through them both like warm waves on a private hidden shore, gasping against each other’s mouths, holding each other as tightly as the tentacles binding them together.
Coming down is quicker this time, especially because the sheer dizzying rush of endorphins makes Taliesin start laughing with nothing less than pure delight at the experience that they’ve shared. He sets Ivan off in turn, even as the tentacles are retracting save for the one assiduously cleaning off their bellies and thighs and cocks.
Ivan knows what it’s going to do a split second before it does it. Not his idea, but he doesn’t stop it. Taliesin’s still got his mouth open as he laughs and the tentacle snowballs him.
To his credit, he swallows without losing any.
“Very funny,” he says.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Ivan says, all innocence and charm. “I believe you were the one who told me they possess a degree of awareness...”
Taliesin rolls his eyes. “Cheeky boy.” He kisses Ivan’s mouth. “Mind you, you are delicious, although I’d prefer to taste you right at the source.” He kisses the tip of Ivan’s nose. “Maybe we can start there next time.” He rolls off Ivan with obvious reluctance, rising to his feet and stretching. He’s covered in fading suck marks. “For now, though, although I respect and admire how good they are about cleanup, I think showering is in order.”
“You first.” Ivan indicates the sodden towels beneath him. “I think I have some other cleaning up to do.”
Taliesin bends and kisses his forehead. “Thank you. Come join me when you’ve done your chores.”
Ivan strips first the towels and then the blanket off the bed as the shower starts running. He can’t exactly put washing on while Taliesin’s showering, since he has no idea what the water pressure’s capable of handling, but he does scoop everything into a trash bag that he fetches from the kitchen, just in case it drips everywhere. There’s something both scary and arousing about walking naked around someone else’s house, even though Taliesin’s assured him repeatedly that his housemates aren’t home, aren’t even in the state. He puts the mostly full trash bag beside the laundry hamper and finds a clean blanket, making a mental note that next time, towels alone won’t cut it.
Now that Taliesin’s not physically present with him, he has time to think about whether he’s learned enough control or not. He’s deeply reassured by everything that Taliesin’s said about the tentacles being somewhat sapient, or at least capable of acting in their own best interests and thus implicitly not about to hurt anyone.
(Well. He remembers the smack of the fleshy paddle against his ass and thighs. They won’t hurt anyone without consent, and that’s what really matters.)
He’s trying not to think about who else he might approach with this; given how intimate an afternoon he’s just had with Taliesin it doesn’t seem right to already be thinking about the next person, but minds, like tentacles, are prone to wandering.
Ivan finishes remaking the bed and goes to join Taliesin, collecting fresh dry towels on his way. He’s expecting to have to wait his turn, but once he’s set the towels down on the vanity Taliesin reaches out and tugs him into the surprisingly roomy shower stall.
“Good boy,” he says softly. His eyes have faded back to normal, which of course for Taliesin means they’re still intense, but no longer that otherworldly purple. When he backs Ivan up against the cool wet tile wall and kisses him there’s nothing unearthly behind it, just him, just his warm desire. When Ivan kisses him back there’s no eldritch force driving him, just his hands on Taliesin’s bare wet shoulders as Taliesin’s hands cradle his face.
Taliesin’s right about the cleanup of course; the tentacles are good at it but there’s nothing like a long shower to feel properly refreshed. Just as there’s nothing like ordering pizza and then cuddling on the couch while Netflix does its thing to contribute vastly to aftercare. Ivan’s not even sure what show is on; he’s too busy feeling content.
“You can stay the night,” Taliesin offers at one point.
“I would love to, but I have so much work.”
“We’ll schedule a weekend sometime.”
Ivan thinks of a whole weekend to themselves, just him and Taliesin and his new friends, and lets out a low sigh. “Yes... please...”
“You’re bound to end up with more questions as time passes.”
“Probably some questions about being bound.” Ivan feels Taliesin laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll ever find out how or why this happened.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Less than I expected,” Ivan admits. “I think it comes of knowing there are people out there who aren’t quite human. That’s reassuring.”
“We try,” Taliesin says.
Their evening winds down after pizza and eventually Ivan makes himself get up to go. They share a lingering kiss at the front door, the tentacle wriggling out of Ivan’s right wrist where he’s got his hand in Taliesin’s hair to touch Taliesin’s cheek. Taliesin turns his head and kisses it goodnight as well, and Ivan feels the network within him shiver delightfully.
“If anything goes wrong or you have any questions, contact me any time,” Taliesin says. “And I do mean any time. I’d rather fake some sort of digestive issues and excuse myself to check in on you than think you might be suffering because of—them.”
Ivan once more suspects that there is something Taliesin isn’t saying.
“I will,” he promises.
One last kiss and then their time is over, for today at least.
There’s one last playful dig from Taliesin to Ivan, though; about ten minutes after he gets home, exhausted and ready to sleep, his phone pings with a notification. Taliesin has very solemnly sent him an email titled Research materials.
It’s a list of links to tentacle porn fan fiction and art, the majority of which revolves around Venom and Eddie Brock.
Ivan deletes it.
Shortly after he crawls into bed, he undeletes it, picks a link at random, and starts... researching.
Re: Untitled Taliesin/Ivan tentacle sex, E, 7/7
(Anonymous) 2022-02-10 10:28 am (UTC)(link)Re: Untitled Taliesin/Ivan tentacle sex, E, 7/7
(Anonymous) 2022-02-11 10:28 am (UTC)(link)Re: Untitled Taliesin/Ivan tentacle sex, E, 7/7