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It had been a joke. “You’ve had two of us now, maybe you should go and complete the set,” casual, mostly to make Lurien sputter. Herrah hadn’t missed the glance between the subjects of said joke, had noticed in an absent, unimportant way that they were talking later, but it had never been meant as a genuine suggestion.
Either both of them missed that it was a joke, or they both liked the idea. Either way, as Herrah steps closer to the big acid tank in Monomon’s quarters, watching, she finds herself afforded a rather interesting view of how well that idea has gone.
Hollow is lounging, somehow, in the tank. Entirely unbothered by the acid either on their scars or on the tendrils curling lazily out from between their legs, their weight supported both by the acid and by two of Monomon’s tentacles, head pillowed on a chunk of that acid-resistant gel Monomon has been tinkering with. As Herrah approaches, they glance over at her, then look down between their legs again, head tilted slightly in evident inquiry, and slowly roll their hips. Watching another tentacle curling gently through their tendrils, the undulation nearly matching their own.
Monomon’s mental voice, when she reaches out, is cheery and unconcerned as ever. “Look, Herrah- these are absolutely claspers. See how they grasp, and how they’re arranged largely to either side?” she comments, and shifts, offering up a better view.
Well. Monomon did unlock the door for her and invite her in, Hollow hardly seems bothered, and Herrah will freely admit to some curiosity. She had been far too busy, before, trying to keep them calm and sated, to really have much of a look at what she was putting her hands on. Let alone to examine the precise details of their anatomy, beyond figuring out where the sweet spots were.
Curious enough, she steps carefully around the various stacks and tubes of research, places a couple of silk anchors against the side of the tank, and hooks her front toes into the anchors, pulling herself up enough to lean over. Not looking, yet- cupping a hand against Hollow’s face, checking on them. “You’re all right?”
She trusts Monomon better than to expect anything else. The sex-for-science may be one-sided and based entirely in curiosity on Monomon’s end, but it is, always, done with care for her partner, with an eye to their pleasure and always to their safety. She would not ask, except that there is a history here, and she must.
They don’t speak. They may not be able to- one tentacle is curled around their hand, where they can easily squeeze it. They do, however, lean into her touch, nodding, and deliberately shift their eyes from her face to their own crotch. A clear enough invitation to look.
And there is, even through the acid, a lot to see. Monomon has ducked back under where her eyes work best, spreading their tendril-claspers apart with one doubled-over tentacle, giving Herrah a far better look at their cunt than she ever got before. Pitch-black as the rest of them and distinctly odd, lacking in most of the features and details other creatures have- no clit she’d been able to find, though a sensitive spot where it ought to be, and nothing in the way of folds or ridges or texture. Only an opening directly into their body, that had changed around her hand when she’d first pressed into them.
Something of that changing seems to be happening again. As Monomon shifts that tentacle, spreading their claspers further and by necessity opening them up more, an odd shifting motion is visible. One that repeats, alongside a shudder down their spine, as she runs the tip of another tentacle slowly around their rim. Gentle, gentle, seemingly more to examine than to stimulate- and stimulating regardless.
There is, Herrah decides, watching their legs twitch, an opportunity in this. And if they are willing to have her here, petting their jaw, watching, they might well be willing to let her take it. It will mean distracting them from what looks like genuine curiosity, from examining themself right alongside Monomon, but they seem very close to staying distracted regardless; at something like the fifth stroke, their head falls back, and they make no effort to lift it.
“Feels strange, doesn’t it,” Herrah murmurs, one hand petting down their horn. “Perhaps not as strange to you, with her body temperature something near yours, but that texture is like nothing else. The slickness is intriguing.”
Their eyes shift to her, silent inquiry.
“I’ve had a tumble or two with her before. Scientific curiosity on her part, and something close on mine- though mine was rooted in something a little more base. I wanted to feel this,” stroking a circle on their horn in time with Monomon’s probing touch, “and to see what my body would make of it. And there is something to this, all on its own, isn’t there? To that careful touch, to her learning how your body works.”
A path of thought to be careful with where Hollow is concerned, but they shiver, a little, and nod faintly, and Herrah runs her hand up under their jaw.
“I will, if you would like, leave. I will always, always leave, if you ever change your mind,” she whispers, just next to their horn, “but I find myself with both curiosity and an idea. I may not be able to reach most of you, but- would you like me to stay, and talk? As I am now.”
Another shiver, harder. A much less faint nod.
“Good,” she purrs, and looks back down to where Monomon is- hm, likely ignoring her, or only aware of her in the background. Just in time to see that stroking tentacle line itself up and push, slowly, into their cunt. Just far enough to be properly felt, to have their legs twitching again at the sensation of being so carefully, deliberately spread open.
They aren’t nearly as wound up as they could be. Slumped limp, each breath a little slower and deeper than usual, rocking their hips near-invisibly into the touch. Eyes closing, slowly, as they seem to decide to stay as they are; not looking, only feeling, letting the sensations wash over them.
“This is strange, too. Having a partner not trying to wind you up, not trying to tease. Examining so, so meticulously, taking you higher a little at a time, just as much as she needs,” with a stroke down both of their horns, slow, feeling them shiver as that tentacle starts to thrust. Tiny motions, meeting their hips, working oh-so-slowly deeper towards where some of the mass has been shifted around to form a noticeable bulge. “She will, of course, take you higher if you only ask, or you can –and she may ask you to- touch yourself, but riding this is so pleasant it would be hard to object.”
Until she spends half an hour feeling how you react to different mock-bites and you warn her that either she needs to fuck you properly or you’re going to use her as a toy.
Their claspers are still held back, twining around the pinning tentacle, seeming content to cling and squeeze rather than obscuring the view. Monomon, without commenting, takes advantage of that long spine of theirs to tilt their hips up a bit more, hooking their leg over where her shoulder would be if she had shoulders and offering Herrah a rather good angle on-
“Oh, we may need to find you a mirror,” she remarks, leaning over to see better. “You should see this, later. So lovely,” and they shudder hard enough at that to send waves up the side of the tank, confirming that their taste for praise has by no means dimmed.
The praise is, as always, entirely truthful. They make such a pretty picture, and she might, at some point, like to watch this from another angle, because Monomon’s tentacles are translucent. Enough to, likely, watch their body working, slick-soft inner walls clamping down, to see precisely what motions have them twitching and gasping so.
Not that she needs such a view to see when, with a little more pressure, that bulb slips inside them. They clamp down on it, spurs digging into Monomon, back arching- then freeze.
Herrah takes a guess. “Easy- you haven’t hurt her,” she murmurs, feeling them start to relax, “she feels very little pain, and her body easily closes around all but the worst injuries. I clawed her quite badly once, when she caught me off guard with something particularly good and I forgot myself, and it had all closed by the time we were done. Easy.”
A pressure, like a whisper not entirely overheard, of minds shared next to her. Hollow carefully extracts their spurs from Monomon’s back, shifting their leg to move those spurs further away, and settles back down. Adjusting their shoulders, as they do.
“I couldn’t move if I tried,” Monomon informs her, mind suggesting secrecy, “their whole body feels like steel, inside and out. I wonder if- ah, there they are.”
Their hand shifts where it’s wrapped up, a sign Herrah can’t see, and the tentacle in their cunt curls in a gentle thrust. Herrah matches it as well as she can, albeit slower, along their horn, leaning in to whisper to them again. “Good, Hollow. Caution is good with a more fragile partner, but she is unharmed, and you are free to enjoy yourself. Relax; let her map you out. Let her learn,” with another stroke, “where all your best spots are. Breathe, and let yourself feel.”
They lean against her a little, and she props their head up with a free hand, looking down along the length of their body. At the slow, rolling thrusts, gradually working deeper, and how they arch in response, toes curling as the tentacle against their claspers starts to move back and forth. How, as the rest of their body goes lax again, their hips set to rocking harder against the thrusts.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs, and means it; the sight of them, relaxed, happy, asking in body and –she suspects- sign for what they want, is one of the loveliest things she’s seen in a long time. One of the better she’s felt, as well, every shudder and gasp, every catch of their breath in a silent moan, the tension that slinks down their spine as Monomon continues. Working deeper, deeper, and Herrah leans over for another, better look, watching in something vaguely approaching awe. “Look at you. Good, gemling, that’s it- good, taking her so well,” as their breathing hitches and they press into her chest, fangs almost snagging in her fur. Panting, now, face tucked against her, back arching, creeping up towards their peak.
Not fast. Nothing about this is fast- the meticulous, careful thrusts, each a precise amount deeper, seeking out their body’s limits. Careful not to push, to cross, only to find the outlines of what their body can take. What it likes, what they like, chasing knowledge and pleasure at once, bringing them gently but inexorably towards climax. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
As the tentacle against their claspers releases, freeing the twining tendrils up to grasp, Herrah taps lightly against the side of the tank. Giving in, albeit with little resistance, to impulse. “Monomon. Give me one of those.”
A soft laugh, mental and acid-shiver alike, Monomon amused as always by the sexual impulses of things more flesh-and-blood than her, and the newly spare tentacle snakes up out of the tank. A twitch, the surface gleaming oddly as she does whatever it is that lets her shed acid in an instant, then outward and down. Following Herrah’s guiding hand along her belly, to where her cunt is and has been beading slick between the plates that guard it.
Hollow’s eyes follow it as well. She isn’t certain whether they can see her spreading herself open with two fingers, whether they can see the teasing flick against her cunt, the tip pressing into place- but they must hear her growl “hard”, and they must feel her tense up, gasping, as Monomon obeys.
Fuck. She’d almost forgotten how good this is. It burns, the sudden stretch, forcing her body to accept the intrusion, no matter how slick she is at watching them, but it burns wonderfully and the cold almost soothes it away. Growling again, Herrah grips the rim of the tank in one hand, keeping herself up, and lets her body relax against it. Leaning her head against Hollow’s horns so she can still feel them, wherever her hands wind up. “-nngh, s-she is strong, isn’t she?” purred out between clenched fangs, one hand stroking blindly down to pet along the underside of their mask. “Wouldn’t- expect it, from the feel of her, but- ah fuck-“
They nuzzle oddly against her, upside-down, as if concerned. Herrah doesn’t manage to get her spine assembled well enough to look them in the eye, but she does nuzzle them back, trying for reassurance. “-‘s good. You- you have a framework on me already, hm? I need to catch up-“
Monomon is not going to let her speak clearly unless she asks, and she has, really, no desire to ask. Not when Hollow is, now, all but squirming against her, cold air rushing against her chest as they pant and gasp, that tentacle still thrusting relentless into them. Much slower than the one in her, but, with them supported in acid and shifting tentacle, no gentler- each thrust rocks them into the tentacles keeping them up, shifting their whole body with the force of it.
They’re watching her, as well as they can. More than watching- they shiver as a particularly deep thrust draws a moan from her, and squirm, pushing up more firmly into her touch. They like this, she thinks- feeling her claws tighten around their horns, her breath and her voice tight up against them, her efforts at praise that break up into scattered words as Monomon, effectively, takes her apart.
Hollow peaks before her, but it is a narrow thing- electricity is already running up her spine as they arch up, shuddering, a thunk sounding as they kick the inside of the tank, and as they start to relax, she follows them over.
Monomon keeps a tentacle in each of them. Curling through each climax, then going still, a pleasantly chilled stretch. Pulsing, slowly, in time with the scientist’s not-at-all-heart.
When Herrah finds her spine enough to prop herself up, Hollow immediately headbutts her, gently, in the chin.
Cute.
“This is not something I intended,” she informs the surface of the acid, which is slightly too close to her face for her liking. “I had planned to offer a lunch invitation.”
“Something delivered, perhaps?” Monomon suggests, still huddled down to peer directly into Hollow’s cunt. “My mind and theirs are too dissimilar for me to offer any clear images of what this anatomy is normally like, and they were curious. Assuming you’re amenable, I could use you as an example.”
Far be it from her to deny them that curiosity. Assuming Monomon still has somewhere she can arrange herself without having to worry about falling into acid if she manages to pass out.