[She's grateful for the finer tendril - because somehow, the warm touch of him, the way it almost lingers in his wake, makes her hips jerk as her clit is touched. It's small and sensitive, that much he can feel. He can also feel the way she dampens against him in response.

Her hips wriggle, her back shifts, her shoulders shake. She's squirming in response to him, in response to his unique touch against her most sensitive part.]

Go, good. [Hastily and clumsy, she reaches up to her shoulder, strokes the tendril at it, coaxes forward a little more so she can kiss at the side of it. She imagines it as his face, and it almost makes the whole enterprise seem more sensical.]

Do you want to be inside of me? Shake the tentacle nearest my face, the one I've just kissed, up and down. If you crave sex, that is.

[Then, slowly, she has a second question.]

Are you going through the motions? Or do you feel pleasure as well?