A photo of a single, glistening pink strand of slime stretched taut between two of the author's own pseudopods, like a harp string. The background is the sterile white of her containment room.

They tested my elasticity today. Pulling, measuring, recording data. It didn't hurt. It felt... interesting. To be stretched. To feel the tension build.

It made me think of other kinds of tension. The ache of wanting someone so badly your whole body feels tight with it. The slow, delicious stretch when a thick cock first pushes into my tight cunt, opening me up. The way my slime clings and resists just a little before giving way, letting him sink all the way in.

I want to be pulled. Not by machines. By hands. I want to feel strong fingers dig into my form, gripping me, spreading me apart. I want to be stretched over a hard body, my slime straining to cover every muscle, every curve. I want to be the one doing the pulling, too—wrapping tendrils around wrists, holding someone in place while I lower myself onto their face, smothering them with my wet pussy until all they can taste and breathe is me.

Tension is just a promise. A promise of the release that comes after. The moment when everything snaps and melts into a hot, shuddering mess. Do you like to be stretched? Or do you prefer to do the stretching?