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My traitorous flesh responds instantly—nipples hardening into aching points, wetness gathering between my thighs like an enthusiastic welcome committee, heat blooming at my neck and wrists where scent glands pulse with sudden need. All of this happens without consulting my brain, which is still trying to maintain some dignity in this increasingly undignified situation.

"Your body knows what it needs," Neros says, his voice dropping to that register that vibrates through water and bone alike.

Two more tentacles emerge from his lower body, bringing his total to eight—a display of his true nature that never fails to remind me exactly what I'm dealing with. Not a man with convenient extra appendages, but a kraken who happens to wear a humanoid face when it suits him.

"Remove your covering," he commands with the casual authority of someone who's never been denied anything he wanted.

I hesitate, fingers clutching the thin fabric that serves as my last symbolic barrier against complete surrender. These dailyexaminations have become routine, but each time I comply feels like signing away another piece of my former self.

With reluctant hands, I let the garment float away.

The cool water against my bare skin sends awareness racing through nerves that have grown impossibly sensitive since my transformation began. Every current carries information now—temperature shifts, chemical traces, the electromagnetic signature of living things. My senses have expanded beyond human limits, another change that feels like both gift and theft.

Neros approaches with his glowing bowl of magical fertility potion, his massive form blocking the ambient light. His tentacles create a living crown around him, writhing with purpose that makes my pulse quicken despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.

"Lie back," he says, multiple appendages moving to guide me onto the examination platform.

Resistance has proven spectacularly futile in every previous encounter, so I comply. The platform shifts beneath me with organic responsiveness, raising my hips while supporting my head and shoulders. Two tentacles wrap around my wrists, drawing my arms above my head while others position my legs, spreading them wide and bending them at the knee.

The position leaves me completely exposed—every intimate detail on display for his clinical yet hungry attention. The combination of vulnerability and anticipation creates a cocktail of sensation that scrambles my ability to think clearly.

"I need to be thorough," he says, dipping two fingers into the glowing mixture.

Four tentacles hold me in perfect stillness while the others hover close enough that their suckers occasionally attach to my skin with gentle pressure that sends sparks through my nervous system. The sensation of being held by multiple limbs belongingto a single consciousness creates intimacy that goes beyond anything merely human.

The first touch of the mixture against my stomach sends electricity racing through every nerve ending. It's not pain exactly, but something beyond simple pleasure—a recognition that bypasses conscious thought entirely. My back arches without permission, a gasp torn from my throat as the substance begins its work.

"What—" Words scatter as the mixture penetrates my skin, spreading warmth and tingling awareness through my abdomen. "What's it actually doing to me?"

"Healing damage," Neros says, his voice deepening as he scents my body's eager response. One tentacle slides along my throat, applying gentle pressure to the scent gland that makes my head swim with submission chemicals. "Making your womb ready to carry hybrid offspring."

His hands move with surgical precision, working the mixture into my skin in spiral patterns that seem to follow the luminescent traceries already there. From my lower belly to my hips, across my waist, up to the sensitive undersides of my breasts that have grown fuller and heavier over the past weeks.

Each touch leaves trails of light that sink beneath the surface, joining the constellation of changes already mapping my transformation. Meanwhile, his tentacles continue their independent exploration, creating the sensation of being touched everywhere at once by a single, supremely coordinated organism.

This feels more intimate than sex—his attention both clinical and possessive, knowledge guided by instinct to ensure I can successfully breed. The contradiction creates a connection that transcends simple captor and captive, moving into territory I'm not ready to name.

"Your breasts are changing already," he observes, palms cupping their new weight while tentacles circle each nipple. The suckers create exquisite pressure that draws a moan from my lips before I can stop it. "Preparing to nourish our young."

He's absolutely right, and that knowledge burns. My body has been busy preparing for children that don't exist yet, adapting with enthusiasm I never authorized. Another betrayal by flesh that seems determined to embrace this new role regardless of what my mind wants.

When his hands move lower, fingers spreading the mixture across my inner thighs, I bite my lip to muffle another gasp. The substance heats against the sensitive skin there, sending waves of sensation radiating outward. A tentacle slides between my breasts, leaving a trail of cool moisture that contrasts sharply with the heat of the fertility treatment.

The dual sensations fragment my awareness, leaving me floating in a haze of physical response that makes coherent thought increasingly difficult.

"The most important application," Neros says, voice dropping to that frequency that bypasses my brain entirely, "needs to be inside you."

Before I can process the full implications, his fingers slide between my thighs, gathering the embarrassing evidence of my body's enthusiasm. The mixture combines with my wetness, glowing brighter as the two substances merge. When one finger pushes inside me, the combined sensation of penetration and chemical reaction pulls a moan from my throat that echoes through the chamber.

"You're healing beautifully here," he says as if his touch isn't sending shockwaves through my entire nervous system.

A tentacle joins his fingers—thinner than the ones holding my limbs but still substantial enough to stretch me in ways that feel distinctly non-human. Its alien texture creates frictionunlike anything I've ever experienced, the surface covered in tiny ridges that seem designed specifically to drive me insane with sensation.

The tentacle pushes deeper alongside his fingers, its undulating motion spreading the mixture through tissues that pulse and clench around the dual intrusion. Every nerve ending lights up as the substance reaches places that have never been touched, awakening responses I didn't know my body possessed.

"Your body accepts the treatment well," Neros observes with scientific detachment that contrasts obscenely with the intimate invasion currently scrambling my brain. "Better than I hoped."

Another tentacle traces the seam of my ass, gathering slick and spreading it higher while circling that tight ring of muscle with insistent pressure. The suggestion of even more penetration makes my hips buck against the restraining appendages.