GMJ Side-Chapter: The Sea Queen's Tentacles

RSanon Jul 13th, 2014 2,717 Never
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  1. #NOTE: This chapter is in the universe of Great Monster Journey, but has no impact on the story, nor vice versa. In fact, you don't even need to have read GMJ to follow or enjoy this. It is meant to be considered entirely on its own.#
  3. Scylla usually had... eight, right? Curious eyes focused. One, two, three, four, five--wait, had he counted that one already? They were in constant movement, like a flowing stream of appendages beneath her, even sitting down. For a monster, it was actually kinda elegant.
  5. "Eh?" Arty turned to his mug. When did he ever call anything a monster did 'elegant'? Surely he hadn't already passed his limit?
  7. When he turned back to the monster, time stopped.
  9. She'd found him.
  11. It'd been almost half an hour ago she'd walked--well, slipped--through the door, seizing the entire place with her aura as if she owned it. The way she moved through the room was more like swimming than walking or slithering, graceful as a mermaid in the ocean. Her size was impressive but not excessive, something like a rather large scylla with a few extra tentacles and the kind of upper body just within the realm of believability. She boasted near perfect proportions, of course, just like most monster girls seemed to. Or was that they all had some seductive magic which made them appear that way? Certainly every man wouldn't appreciate a sturdy, sure build, pronounced but reasonable curves, and fiery hair down to a her waist like Arty did.
  13. Oh, yes--fire. If her shape seized his heart, her colors blinded him. Hair so lively he thought it'd singe his fingers should he dare touch it, skin not tanned but not without a touch of brown, tentacles speckled with deep red like a bed of bubbles near her waist, spreading out and thinning to reveal a subdued grey-blue underneath the closer his eyes moved to the tips of her tentacles. A leer sharp as a knife cut across the room, and in it he saw icicles, a chilling blue so cold he shivered. He'd never admit to catching a drop of drool falling from his mouth after admiring her entrance, and his attention hadn't left her for more than a few seconds since.
  15. The moment she found him was the moment he knew he'd drank enough, because he didn't turn away. Or was it that he couldn't? Her gaze had reached out to him and commanded him to stay, to stare back, to bare everything to those two ocean-blue wells of ice.
  17. 'I should run,' he told himself, but he stayed.
  18. 'I should look away,' he told himself, but he stared all the more.
  19. 'I should drink,' and that he did, finishing his mug. Then he stood.
  21. The foul demon of inebriation and the cold visage of beauty before him cursed his feet forward, toward what could only be his doom. Muscles, bone, and blood raged against instinct, his steps heavy but drowned out in the sounds of the atmosphere. This monster woman was power, she was sex, she was danger. The tentacled mistress never broke eye contact, as if the rest of the world mattered nothing.
  23. Unknown to Arty, his fate had already been decided.
  25. He was sitting beside her one moment, and his mouth had opened for him the next.
  27. "Hello. I haven't seen you around here before. My name's Arty."
  29. What in all the holy and demon realms was he doing?! They'd shared a stare, and one that'd done nothing more than warn him away! Had the booze really warped him so? His foot began tapping on its own. He could not, however, change the past. He'd put himself this deep, maybe by some miracle the fear was the booze, not his instincts. The beauty offered no immediate response, so he held out his hand. Nothing better to do with it.
  31. Her eyes finally left his as she smiled at his outstretched greeting. She extended her own hand, but not to shake. Instead, she flipped his hand palm-down, pushed it to the table with a confident, gradual force, and, well, massaged it.
  33. Her hand wasn't large in proportion to the rest of her body, but given her overall size, it dwarfed Arty's without much trouble. Nimble fingers slipped over his knuckles, his joints, his arteries with a touch that could only be described as a caress.
  35. His cheeks burned hotter than her hair.
  37. "You wouldn't."
  39. He had to force himself not to gulp or stutter. "I wouldn't what?"
  41. "You wouldn't have seen me around. It is very rare that I come here." The corners of her frigid mouth twitched upward, almost as if she considered a smile. "Even more rare is it that I am approached."
  43. "R-really?" Damn. Wasn't the point of the booze to give him the confidence to get past this? What sort of magic did this monster use to still shake him? "I can't see why?" He cringed inside. That wasn't supposed to be a question.
  45. "Oh, I think you can." Her fingers began to press a bit harder, still playing across the back of his hand, occasionally teasing at his wrist and arm.
  47. "You caught me. You're simply too beautiful to approach."
  49. That was the right thing to say, right? She hadn't betrayed any positive or negative reactions to him--was that compliment too much?
  51. "That I am, to the right pair of eyes. Perhaps the men of this town don't have the eyes for me?"
  53. 'Unlikely,' he thought. 'Men just don't expect they have to chase monstergirls any more. If a monster is interested, all they have to do is show themselves.'
  55. "Is that how it is?" That was definitely a smile. And this one actually reached those frigid eyes, too.
  57. What, what? He said that OUT LOUD? His heart thudded louder with each beat. Well, damn, no use making excuses. Better just own it.
  59. "Yeah. I mean, living just outside Uuluth's jurisdiction means monsters are pretty common. Not a lot of people are really happy with that, but to tell the truth, I think most just don't care."
  61. "Truly?" She rested an elbow on the table, and her head atop her hand. The other hand cupped Arty's wrist lightly while her pointer finger started tracing circles. "And what about you?"
  63. His neck was starting to ache. Even leaning forward as she was, he still had to elevate his eyes a touch to meet hers. "I, uh, I guess in general I don't care either. The only real trouble is when people and monsters start breaking laws. I mean, if a guy gets kidnapped and raped, someone should probably do something about the monster that did it, but--" He cut himself off.
  65. 'You've put yourself in dangerous places before by running that mouth of yours, Arty,' he thought. 'Shut it for once.'
  67. Right. Too much talking. "Dah, talking about something like this is boring."
  69. Something slick and crafty touched his ankle--no, both ankles. A cursory touch, meant to learn something. Or maybe remind Arty of what was beneath the table?
  71. "I don't think so, else I would not have asked. Please, continue." Icicles of conversation carried across her hot, scented breath.
  73. Was he having a real conversation with a monster? Surely there was some means of safety in doing so in a crowded bar, but for him to be the one to put himself here, and to not be rejected the moment he started talking... well, the ale was at least doing something right.
  75. "Monsters follow monster laws and humans follow human laws. But when you start involving the other party, you gotta take their laws into thought as well. Like, monsters wouldn't want other monsters to be kidnapped by humans, right? So you can't let that happen, just like you can't let monsters do the same to humans."
  77. "Mmm." Her hand grasped his wrist tighter, and the tentacles at his ankles grew in number, but Arty was lost in his own world. If the alluring monster before him wanted him to talk, then talk he would.
  79. "There's just one thing I haven't quite figured out, but no one else really seems interested in it, so it's probably stupid. But how do you figure out who does the punishing? Cause if a human breaks a monster law, the monsters will want to do it, but maybe the humans don't trust them. And vice versa." He looked at her face, trying to gauge her reaction for the first time since he opened his stupid mouth. The small, warm smile remained unchanged. She was probably faking for his sake.
  81. He attempted a smile in return, but he knew defeat when he saw it. The only people or monsters that liked to talk about that kinda thing were the bossy ones, the ones in power of some form, and they only did it to make themselves feel better about themselves. That's why he'd come out near the coast to this small village; to get away from those types.
  83. He mentally shrugged and shifted to get up. "Well, I--"
  85. "--must be going," said the monster. Her hand and tentacles disappeared from him as if they were never there, and at some point she'd gotten up from her seat. "Please enjoy yourself, do not mind me. I'm afraid I've taken up enough of your time as-is."
  87. That was it. Before he had the mind to say goodbye, she was gone, but something of her lingered. Some weight that anchored Arty to his seat, some scent that sent his stomach aflutter, some presence that twisted and flipped his mind into a tangle.
  89. He leaned back in his chair, letting his arms go slack as he stared at the ceiling. So close, too. He needed to stick to human women, just like he'd always told himself. Monsters were a mystery beyond him. One second he thought she was interested, the next, she was gone. With a yawn, he sat up straight.
  91. Wait a second. His eyebrows furrowed, and he shoved a hand into a pocket in his pants. Something was in there, something he hadn't had before. From the touch of it, a parchment. With fidgeting hands, he pulled it out and opened it.
  93. His eyes flew across the words, their purpose dawning on him a moment afterward.
  95. This was where she lived.
  98. **
  101. "This... this can't be right."
  103. His eyes followed the ceiling, up and up and up until his head couldn't go any further, and even then he strained to look higher. So engrossed he was that he lost his balance, stumbling back a couple steps, saved from falling by something behind him. He turned around--the crabgirl guard's massive pincer had given him the support he needed.
  105. "Look, there's no way this is the right place. I'm sorry, I gotta go."
  107. When he stepped to get around her, however, she moved with him, flashing again that devious smile.
  109. "You are in the right place. Please, continue forward."
  111. He tried to slip around her other side, but still she blocked his path. His voice rose. "The monster that invited me here--"
  113. "--is waiting for you," she cut him off with a gesture. "Please."
  115. First almost a half-hour walk from the town, down some obscure crevasse in the cliff to a vacant beach, then ambushed by this damn scary crabgirl and escorted to some fancy cavern, all the way up to the most intimidating building in the whole place and shoved inside. He should've stopped five minutes into the journey. No one came down to this part of the coastline--there was nothing to see, and the sharp cliffs made it far too dangerous for boats.
  117. Even without a stomach full of ale, Arty proved himself quite capable of idiocy.
  119. Arty stood tall, straightening his jacket before turning around. "Kinda defeats the purpose of saying 'please' if you're forcing me."
  121. She nodded, but nothing else. Her human half continued to point forward.
  123. Arty grumbled under his breath, but proceeded. If that scylla from last night did actually live here, then all he needed to do was meet her, have a polite chat, leave, and never see her again. Fuck getting a little monstergirl action if it meant all this trouble.
  125. He squinted into the grand hall before him. Was this place poorly-lit on purpose? All he could make out was four flickering lights at the end of the room, illuminating some monster. He focused harder. Was that the fire-red hair from last night? Oh Goddess, it was. She DID live here! Confidence, Arty, confidence. Show a monster any weakness and you're as good as raped. He stood up straight, swallowed more than spit, and marched forward.
  127. In the back of his mind, he registered the great doors behind him closing with a bang.
  129. The closer his rigid steps took him to the lights, the more he could make out and the more her intoxicating presence dominated his memory. A womanly upper body which might have belonged to a seven-foot-tall human, bare as she was born, her hair flowing down her chest to cover her breasts, and the swelling mass of tentacles hiding the height of her femininity from him. Even in this massive hall he caught the scent from last night, thick and sweet, coaxing him to her, though now he had the sobriety to realize what it was doing to him.
  131. 'I should run,' he told himself, but his legs stubbornly moved forward.
  132. 'I should look away,' he told himself, but he stared all the more.
  133. 'I should fear,' and that he did, with clenching muscles and sweating skin.
  135. When he finally found himself stopped, he stood before a throne, one which elevated the scion of seduction even higher. His neck ached with how high he stared, and though he might have tried backing up to be more comfortable, something of this monster deserved to be stared up at in this fashion.
  137. "H-hello."
  139. No! Confidence! A stutter will get you raped or worse, Arty!
  141. "Hello again, little Arty." Last night in the bar, the ice in her words had melted to the heat of the atmosphere and the drink. Today, even a whisper of hers gave him goosebumps.
  143. "I can't say I expected you to live in a place like this," he said, offering a smile.
  145. The monster did not smile back. No, it was more like trite amusement with which she regarded him, resting her head in her left palm. "No, I would not expect you to pick up on something so subtle, drunk as you were."
  147. Wait, was that a smile? Or something like it? "So, you're the ruler of this place?"
  149. "Perhaps. Where I sit would suggest that, would it not?"
  151. Arty's fake smile wavered. This wasn't at all like last night. The mistress of last night had pulled him in, touched him, urged him on. This mistress hardly acknowledged his talking, as if she expected more, and looked down on him with something akin to tired pity.
  153. "I guess so?" Drat. Shouldn't have spoken that like a question. Even if this monster, this queen had robbed him of pride by trapping him in here and forcing him to stand before her as if on display, he could at least retain some dignity. Some confidence.
  155. "My name is Poseidon, as you have not asked for it yet."
  157. That zipped his mouth right shut. Of course! He should have asked it first thing! That had to be why she was so miffed--he introduced himself but never expressed any interest in her name.
  159. "Ah, sorry I never asked. So what does someone like you do ruling--"
  161. Hold up. Wait. Poseidon? He knew that name. Everyone knew that name. Poseidon was one of the great monster generals, one of the monsters of power, ruler of the sea and friend of Undine. Captor of many men, a ruthless, insatiable leader who demanded tribute from any man who dared sail the seas and shipwrecked any who didn't. Sometimes, she'd capture a ship and send all the men off to be raped just because she felt like it.
  163. And she was standing in front of him. Right now. Just the two of them, alone, in a place he knew nothing of. Her home turf. A place in which he'd heard the front door closing shut just a minute ago.
  165. Finally, as if a veil was lifted from his mind, a million screaming warnings slammed into him all at once. His legs burned to run, his vision blurred and his every instinct pointed at Poseidon as a beacon of danger.
  167. There was no conversation to be had here, no warming up, no casual encounter. She'd been looking at him with such bored amusement because she was deciding what to do with him, something she'd done to a thousand men before him.
  169. A glint of recognition flashed in those awful, frigid eyes of hers.
  171. He spun to run, but she reacted just as fast. She'd been expecting this.
  173. Tentacles flew out so fast he heard the air whistle. They slapped hard on his wrists, coiling tight in several loops. They were smaller tentacles, much longer and faster than most of the others. She must've been hiding these to catch him off-guard, to deceive him of her reach and speed.
  175. He tried to bring his hands together so he could attempt to wretch the tentacles off, but her strength overwhelmed his own. After watching him struggle against her might for a few seconds, she tightened the coils so hard he froze from the pain. Only when he thought his bones would be crushed did she stop.
  177. Still she wore that calculating stare, as if he was some toy she'd picked up off the ground.
  179. The tentacles at his wrists slowly lifted him up until his feet left the ground, the weight of his body digging the tentacles' grip even deeper. When she started bringing him closer, he squirmed, kicking his feet, trying to find some sort of leverage. If he gave up now, there was no hope. He had to give it his all before she sucked him into her world, the monster's world of defilement and dominance.
  181. For some odd reason, his body responded to that thought in the worst possible way.
  183. Unamused by his squirming, she lashed out with three more tentacles, two securing his ankles and a third circling his stomach. He glanced down at the mass of tentacles beneath her--an ordinary scylla would have only three more free tentacles, but Poseidon may have had another twenty. Or even a hundred. Arty couldn't tell in the least.
  185. Poseidon brought Arty up to the throne, still leaning on her arm like nothing of significance was happening. Reaching out with her free arm, she seized the front of his shirt and ripped it clean off and tossed the scraps to the ground.
  187. "Hmm." Her eyes narrowed as she inspected his chest. The tentacle around his stomach extended, its cold, slimy touch making Arty breathe in sharply. She went over his abs, his sides, and finally his nipples, taking her time, indifferent to Arty's reaction. He dared not speak for fear of inciting her wrath. He wasn't an idiot; he knew he wasn't going anywhere. He had his chance to escape long ago.
  189. He gasped when her hand found his crotch, giving it a quick grope before his pants and underwear received the same treatment as his shirt. Arty could only imagine the kind of strength required to tear clothing with one hand, and she had done it twice with ease. She probably had practice.
  191. It was then he realized where her eyes were focused... and the one part of his body that didn't seem to agree with his panic. He clenched his teeth, unable to hold back a furious blush. How was he supposed to calm his pecker down? As cold as she was, Poseidon was still a gorgeous monstergirl, and he hadn't had a good fuck in years.
  193. "Hmmm." This time her hum rolled in pitch, showing something more than the plain scrutiny on her face. She reached out again with her hand, holding it over his stiff member, watching it twitch in response to her movements. When it was about to tap her hand, she quickly pulled away, shifting her eyes to Arty's face.
  195. "Did you think I was going to touch it with my hand?" She brought her hand up, waving her fingers about.
  197. He remembered the way she touched him last night. Even if it was only his wrist, and only for a few moments, he knew very well how nimble and gentle those fingers could be.
  199. A tentacle smacked him across the face, bringing his thoughts back to the moment.
  201. "I asked you a question."
  203. "Y-yes?"
  205. She lowered her hand. "Of course you did. But don't think your filthy cock is good enough for my hand. These tentacles are plenty."
  207. With that, another tentacle emerged from beneath her and ran itself along the lower side of his member. She didn't grasp it like he thought she would, but rubbed him back and forth, spreading the oily slime with a chilling touch. Every now and then, a sucker would latch on and pop off, making him cringe and his cock twitch. Poseidon didn't watch his crotch--she knew exactly what was happening down there. Her eyes stayed on his face, gauging his reaction and modifying her pace and touch to elicit the expressions she wanted.
  209. Right now, Arty fought with all his might to not give her what she wanted. He couldn't fight her strength or escape her tentacles, but he had to keep his mind, his sanity. The moment he lost those, he lost his life.
  211. Constant, gradual caresses assaulted him. Only the lower side of his member got any attention, and only with one tentacle, but with Poseidon's skill, he wouldn't be able to keep himself composed for long. Who was he kidding? He wasn't composed at all! Every time he tried to distract himself, to look away or think about anything else, Poseidon's tentacle would venture further, or the bonds on his hands and ankles would tighten. It was like she could read his thoughts through his eyes.
  213. "Do you know why you came here?"
  215. Teeth scraped against teeth, and he swallowed hard to allow himself a moment to speak.
  217. "Because I'm an idiot."
  219. She shook her head slowly, methodically. "No. You came here because I chose you. Because I marked you. You are mine, now. You were mine last night, even if you did not realize it. Coming here was hardly your choice."
  221. His face wrinkled. "Fuck that. You--"
  223. She silenced him with another tentacle, this one darting out and coiling around his head, covering his mouth in the process. The tentacle was drenched in her sweet smell and the taste of her beauty, sending his head spinning. In that second, with his defenses gone, a moan rolled from his mouth.
  225. That was all it took. He reigned his thoughts back in as soon as he could, but the crack was there, the slip, the vulnerability. Her massaging tentacle hadn't changed it's movements at all, but somehow it felt so much more potent.
  227. "You will not talk unless I wish it. Realize you have the capacity to resist only because I allow it, and you have the stamina to hold back only because I have not desired for you to cum."
  229. Arty narrowed his eyes in defiance. He couldn't talk back, but that didn't mean he'd give in.
  231. Her eyebrow raised and she finally lifted her head off her hand, as if deciding to give Arty more than a sliver of her attention. Leaning back in her throne, she gently rested her arms atop the armrests and took a moment to consider him.
  233. "You still do not understand you position. Very well."
  235. Tentacles lashed out from underneath her, grabbing any part of Arty's body they could latch onto. His shoulder. His neck. His thighs. His chest. Some had suckers, leaving slimy kisses and red marks in their trail as they coiled around him. Others were smooth and slick, sending shivers up his spine with cold caresses.
  237. "Should I wish, I could make you submit like this. With nothing more than the touch of a few tentacles, I could have you moaning and spilling your seed pointlessly all over the floor like some succubus' pet. You would enjoy it, too, beg me to do it again, and I wouldn't even need to touch that miserable cock of yours."
  239. A growl rumbled in Arty's throat, but it turned into a moan when Poseidon's tentacle began massaging his cockhead. What did she want from him? He could hardly talk, so it wasn't some apology or prostration. Did she want him to give in? To relax? How was he supposed to figure her out?
  241. He mumbled the question into the tentacle over his mouth, inadvertently taking in the taste of her slime. It wasn't like oil or seaweed as he expected, nor did it stink. In fact, it reminded him much of something else he had some experience with: a woman's desire.
  243. The tentacle on his mouth tightened its grip on his head, sending waves of raw taste, smell, and texture through his senses.
  245. "I didn't say you could talk. Remember how this works?"
  247. As if to remind him, the numerous tentacles holding him began to move across his bare skin, assaulting him with a hundred different sensations all at once. Some parts of him burned while others froze. Some tentacles traced patterns while others crawled  with an agonizing slow speed. By some cruel torture--or perhaps teasing--she allowed only one tentacle to stroke him where he desired it most. More and more of his skin was covered with Poseidon's touch, and only then did Arty realize there was no more hope.
  249. A little obedience or ass-kissing wouldn't get him out of this. No one was coming to help; taking on Poseidon was sure as hell more trouble than he was worth. Even if his village could come up with an army to get him out of here, how could he ever get a cry for help out? This palace was cold and rigid, heartless like the monster before him. Her grip would never falter and his strength could never match hers. His desires had become irrelevant, his resistance, trivial.
  251. Panic followed. Arty thrashed out violently, pouring all the frustration, the anger, and the defiance he had into them. There were too many tentacles to focus on escaping just one, so he fought them all. It would be wrong to give his fighting a label as precise as 'flailing', it was random muscle spasms fired one after another. Even parts of his body that couldn't possibly help flicked about. His toes, his lungs, his mouth twisted and turned. His vision went red with the effort, his ears pounding with the rush of blood.
  253. His captor spared not so much as a laugh at the futility of it.
  255. Soon, even adrenaline couldn't fuel his body. Muscles gave in, movements slowed, and his chest strained with a throbbing, vocal heart unable to push any harder. Now he only exerted himself panting, gasping for air to refuel his starved body. A tentacle slipped up his neck to his chin, forcing him to face her. Trembling eyes raised to hers and found nothing of mercy.
  257. Poseidon absentmindedly tossed some of the hair spilling down her chest back behind her shoulder, revealing one of her nipples. Her brash nudity, of course, led to no change in demeanor. Why should there be? This woman--this monster--had no fear of shame. She controlled every space she entered. If eyes were laid upon her, they did so because she wished for it. Some might comment upon her breasts' size, saying they were too big or too small according to their tastes. Other might find her sheer size off-putting, or detest the squirming myriad of tentacles underneath. Those opinions were worth less than the dirt she tread upon.
  259. Was that why she chose Arty, perhaps? Because he found every inch of her salivating? Every detail as if pulled from his dreams? The way she stared at him last night, an ice queen of palpable power, but moved with an sensuality that came naturally, much stronger than any intoxicating haze alcohol could put him under. The smooth touch of gently-tanned skin, confident, but so experienced, and the tease of those countless tentacles on his body...
  261. This time, when Arty twisted in Poseidon's grip, it was much more focused. A thrash of his hips tried to escape the devastating touch of that one tentacle, and a traitorous moan rolled out of his mouth. A familiar tingle began to form within his crotch.
  263. "For surrendering, you will receive your desire."
  265. Several tentacles instantly coiled around his shaft, creating interlocking spirals, while others attended his balls. The tips of her tentacles refused to cover his head, instead taking turns stroking it in a maddening tease. While the base and shaft received a dizzying squeeze and massage, his head throbbed in desire, desperate for more than she was giving. Arty bit into the tentacle covering his mouth, sending a gust of Poseidon's womanly scent rushed up his nose and overwhelming his senses. It was thicker than honey, and hit his libido even harder than her touch. His jaw soon went slack.
  267. If this was what she gave him for surrendering, then surely it couldn't hurt just to relax until he reached climax. Besides, if he angered her somehow, and she stopped, he might explode in frustration. He moaned again, this time loud and freely, thrusting his hips pointlessly into the working tentacles. Even if it didn't add to the sensation, he had to do something, reciprocate in some way, or he would go mad. With his entire body bound, all he could do was thrust.
  269. As the tentacles pressed, squeezed, and pulsed, surges of pleasure rushed down his member. The lubricant on Posiedon's tentacles was now smothering his crotch in its cool, slick touch, magnifying every move she made. When the tentacle tips swallowed his head, he knew there was no time left. His hips pounded the air, and he swallowed his breath, waiting for the glorious peak.
  271. It hit like a tsunami.
  273. As if they knew he would cum, Poseidon's tentacles gave a great squeeze and stroked upward, forcing Arty's eyes wide open and his jaw to drop. The searing heat of orgasm surged through his body, stiffening every tired muscle to attention. An embarrassing gasp escaped, though Arty no longer had the dignity to blush at it. His seed shot out, soiling many of the tentacles attending him. Poseidon continued unabated, determined to be thorough with her milking. Powerful, precise strokes continued to coax more and more spurts from Arty, and he wanted nothing more than to release them. When his hips ached and his lungs finally screamed for rest, he went limp in her tentacles.
  275. "Such unremarkable resistance," she mumbled, leaning her head on her hand, returning to the posture she held when he first entered. Whatever interest she'd had in toying with him was evaporating. The thought awoke some alarm within him, considering losing Poseidon's favor might lead him to a fate worse than where he was trapped at to moment, but he had neither the concentration nor the strength to even grumble in his defense.
  277. Some stroke of foolishness and poor luck had led him here, and his helplessness and prevented him from escaping, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he'd want to leave. Sure, part of him wanted to break out of Poseidon's tentacles and spit in her face just to spite her for her manipulation, but that voice had been growing smaller and weaker, as if Poseidon's tentacles had reached into his very mind to pull his protests out, kicking and screaming.
  279. When her tentacles resumed their caresses, and the lightning-bolts of pleasure brought him back to the present, his fear found thought again. He'd just cum! Surely she wasn't still going to ask for more! A worthless grunt spat out, but it just as soon could've been taken for encouragement--not that Poseidon gave his opinion any consideration.
  281. The tentacles pulsed and spiraled up his member with more animation, now. There was no pretense of teasing or extending his pleasure: they wanted another orgasm as quickly as possible. More tentacles coiled around him, driving more spikes of pleasure into his head. Even though they couldn't touch his cock directly, they could increase the pressure with which her other tentacles worked and suffocate his senses from all else. When one slipped around his neck, his arms jerked in response to grab at it, momentarily forgetting they were bound. Poseidon, however, only hinted at strangling--she found more amusement in teasing his adam's apple.
  283. She must've known Arty was losing his will to resist, so she poked and prodded at him where she could. Tears born of crippling pleasure, terrifying frustration, and gritted teeth dripped from his eyes. Arty saw himself free of this monster, holding a greataxe over her neck and bringing it down. He saw himself throwing himself at her, naked and smiling, showing off a stupid grin as her tentacles wrapped him up in an all-encompassing embrace. He wanted to smack himself for his surrender just as much as he lamented not meeting Poseidon sooner.
  285. But her tentacles didn't care about his thoughts, what wild scenarios were running through his head, whether he'd tear and cut them off or whether he'd smile in bliss as they took him. They were determined, emotionless, and horribly skilled at their job. Looking down at his crotch, Arty saw an unorganized mass of tentacles, but what he felt was a dozen different, squirming, precise caresses in sync with each other, a heaven of sensations which lit up his mind with pleasure.
  287. His hips moved in earnest once more. Moans, wild and uncontrolled, filled the empty hall. The blunt stimulation after his first release was a hundredfold more intense and he cursed his body for lacking the ability to comply with Poseidon's demands immediately. He searched for the orgasm, knowing his mind would break if this continued. So desperate was he that when it did come, it caught him completely off guard.
  289. Under the swirling, slimy tentacles, he felt a familiar rush of heat and power, shocking his body stiff once more, shooting seed into the greedy tentacles over and over, their stimulations never once slowing. Arty wanted to cry in happiness, but his tear ducts were dry. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyelids wavered, and he grinned at nothing. If only this moment could last forever.
  291. Poseidon reminded him all too soon that it couldn't while she didn't desire it. Arty took in a quick gasp of air when the tentacles began massaging and groping again. No... no, he didn't have another in him! Please! It had to stop! But his mouth had become useless. Even if Poseidon wasn't gagging him, nothing resembling words would come out. He stared into her eyes, pleading with a look.
  293. He realized her face was much further away and higher above him. Blinking, he looked to his sides to orient himself. She was guiding him to the floor, still secure in her grip, and slowly sliding him toward the mass of tentacles beneath her. The shorter, larger, and thicker tentacles finally began to reach out, cupping his legs and passing them to tentacles further back.
  295. Arty's eyes widened. If he went under there... there was no coming back. He searched for some hidden reserve of strength, but Poseidon had been thorough to relieve him of everything. All he could do was fear.
  297. "Though you do amuse me, I'm afraid I am rather busy and can't spend all day toying with you." She looked toward the palace entrance, raising a hand and gesturing at someone. The great doors groaned open. His attention went back to his legs, frightened to find they were completely consumed in tentacles now. "But twice in such a short time is rather pathetic for any man, so I will need to continue to train you into an adequate tool. Don't worry, you will only know pleasure in the depths of my tentacles." A few last desperate wiggles did nothing to stop her tentacles from continuing to ferry his body into the squirming void. A stray flash of pleasure made him cringe as his waist and stomach were enveloped. "It is fortunate for the both of us that I can continue my duties while still training you. I would hate to leave it to someone else. Though you may not see it, I do place a certain value on the rare man I choose." Were those footsteps he heard? Someone was approaching? A rescuer? He fought with the tentacle on his mouth, and received a second one and a tightening for it. "Your last-minute tantrums are not appreciated. I need to speak with many humans and monsters, and I do not need you disrupting me. Are you so consumed by fear?" She shook her head as a thick tentacle laid on his shoulder, pushing him further in. "I told you that you would know pleasure, and I am not in the habit of lying." Finally, she looked down at him as one would look down at a smudge on the floor. One last tentacle laid on his head. "All you need to do is relax." The look turned into a slight smile, brazen in seduction and slyness, a stare that flared up his already-exhausted libido. "And try not to lose you mind."
  299. The tentacle pushed him into darkness.
  301. Then she went to work.
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