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.