Page 20

All the while, his tentacles work in coordinated assault on my senses like a very dedicated octopus orchestra playing the symphony of my destruction.

One writhes between us, the suction cups attaching to my clit with precise pressure that builds tension at the base of my spine.

Two more manipulate my breasts, the alien texture of those appendages creating friction against my nipples that sends electricity arcing through my nervous system.

Another explores the tight pucker of my ass, circling and teasing with insistent pressure that adds shocking dimension to the pleasure.

"Look at you take me," Neros rumbles, one massive hand splaying across my lower abdomen where the outline of his cock visibly distends my belly with each thrust. "Perfect little breeding vessel. Made to be filled with my seed."

The crude words should disgust me. Instead, they trigger another flood of slick, my inner walls clenching around his invading length with eager welcome.

My head falls back, neck exposed in unconscious omega submission as sounds emerge from my throat I barely recognize—high, needy whimpers begging for alpha completion.

Without warning, the tentacle teasing my ass pushes inside, the initial breach burning until slick gathered from my dripping sex eases its passage.

The dual penetration creates a fullness beyond imagination, the thin membrane separating the tentacle from his cock allowing me to feel both moving inside me, stretching me in ways that should be impossible.

The sensation borders on too much, too intense, yet my body accommodates this invasion with the same eager welcome it shows his cock.

"Mine," Neros growls, his pace increasing as his own control fractures at the edges. His skin darkens to near-black, the patterns across it pulsing faster, brighter. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to."

"Yours," I sob, the word torn from some primal part of me I barely recognize as myself. Heat has burned away the last barriers of resistance, leaving only raw biological need. "I'm yours, alpha. Please—I need?—"

His mouth crashes down on mine, not a kiss but another form of claiming.

His tongue invades with the same dominance as his cock and tentacles, mapping this territory with thorough possession.

I should resist, should bite, should maintain this last boundary at least. Instead, I find myself yielding completely, my mouth opening to grant deeper access, my tongue meeting his in a dance of submission that feels like fundamental surrender.

The kiss continues as his pace intensifies, his tentacles coordinating their assault on every sensitive point of my body like a very thorough military operation with extremely personal objectives.

The one in my ass thrusts in counterpoint to his cock, creating rhythmic pressure that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward.

Others manipulate my breasts with increasingly rough attention, the suction cups attaching to my nipples with pressure that borders on pain yet transforms into sharp spikes of pleasure.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his golden eyes consume my field of vision, pupils dilated until only thin rings of gold remain.

"Tell me what you need," he demands, slowing his pace to torturous deliberation, each ridge dragging against my inner walls with agonizing precision. "Tell me what you need, omega."

"Your knot," I whimper, beyond shame, beyond resistance. "Please. I need your knot. Need your seed. Need you to breed me."

The admission tears away the final veil between defiance and surrender.

My hips buck against his restraint, seeking deeper penetration, my body actively participating in its own claiming with desperate enthusiasm.

My hands, still secured by his tentacles, strain not to fight but to touch him, to pull him closer, to ensure the deepest possible joining.

"That's it," he encourages, pace increasing to punishing intensity. Each thrust drives his cock deeper, the ridges stimulating places inside me I never knew existed. "Take what you were made for. Take all of me."

When his knot begins to swell at the base of his cock, the stretch is still intense but welcomed by my eager body.

My inner walls clench around the growing bulge, biological imperative demanding the lock that will ensure successful breeding.

The pressure against that spot deep inside triggers cascading waves of pleasure that tear a scream from my throat.

"Mine," Neros roars as his knot locks us together completely. "My omega. My breeder."

His release floods my womb in hot pulses, the quantity so abundant my lower belly visibly distends with his seed.

The sensation triggers my own climax, my body convulsing around his length with biological efficiency designed for maximum breeding potential.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, each more intense than the last, until I'm nothing but sensation and surrender.

In the aftermath, locked together by biology, I turn my face away, unable to bear the triumph in his golden eyes. But he catches my chin with gentle yet implacable force, turning me back to face him.

"See how perfectly we fit," he murmurs, one hand splaying possessively across my distended abdomen where his seed works through my system. "How completely your body accepts mine."

Tears burn behind my eyes, though whether from pleasure or despair I can no longer tell. "This isn't me," I whisper, though the protest sounds hollow even to my own ears. "This is just biology. Just heat."

"Then why did your hands try to pull me deeper?" he asks, tentacles shifting to cradle me against him as we remain joined by his knot. "Why did your voice beg for my knot? Why did you call me alpha?"

I have no answer that doesn't reveal the terrifying truth—that somewhere in the claiming, the line between forced submission and willing participation blurred beyond recognition.

That part of me wanted this, needed this, welcomed this with an enthusiasm that makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

His knot ensures we remain locked together for over an hour, his seed pulsing into my womb in smaller waves throughout.

The prolonged joining creates a different kind of intimacy than our first heat's mechanical breeding—a biological communion where boundaries between separate beings blur into meaninglessness.

When his knot finally subsides enough for separation, the emptiness returns with startling immediacy.

My heat hasn't been satisfied by a single claiming—if anything, it burns hotter now, my body's demand for breeding intensifying rather than diminishing like a biological fire that's just been fed more fuel.

"Please," I whimper as he withdraws, my inner walls clenching desperately around nothing, my hands reaching for him without conscious direction. "Don't leave me empty. I can't—I need?—"

"Shh," Neros soothes, his tentacles arranging my trembling body in the water. "This claiming is just the beginning. Your heat requires multiple breedings to ensure success."

Relief floods through me at his words, though the rational fragment of my mind still functioning is horrified by my reaction.

I should want him gone, should celebrate each moment of separation.

Instead, I count the seconds until his return, my body preparing for the next claiming with eager anticipation that feels like the ultimate betrayal.

He leaves me alone in the claiming chamber for perhaps an hour—time enough for the worst edge of need to rebuild, for slick to gather again between my thighs, for emptiness to become unbearable ache.

The separation is calculated to maximize my desperation, to ensure that when he returns, I'll be beyond resistance, beyond negotiation, beyond anything but primal omega need.

The strategy works with devastating effectiveness. When Neros returns to the claiming chamber, I'm already desperate—trembling with need, slick pooling beneath me, my body burning from within like a biological engine that's been designed to run on very specific fuel.

Before I can even move toward him, his tentacles surge forward with the efficiency of someone who's had a lot of practice at this particular dance.

Two wrap around my wrists, yanking them behind my back.

Another curls around my throat, not choking but applying firm pressure against my scent gland that sends waves of submission cascading through my system like a very effective biological override switch.

Two more tentacles capture my ankles, and with a single coordinated movement, they flip me over.

"Present," Neros commands, his voice dropping to that register that bypasses conscious thought and speaks directly to my omega hindbrain.

His tentacles force me into position—face down, ass up, the classic omega submission posture.

One appendage presses between my shoulder blades, pushing my upper body lower while keeping my hips elevated.

The position is humiliating, exposing my dripping sex completely to his hungry gaze like I'm a very aroused offering on a very specific altar.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his massive form casting shadows across my trembling body. A tentacle slides up my spine, then tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to arch my neck in perfect presentation. "This is how omegas were meant to be taken. How they were meant to be bred."

Another tentacle slides around to wrap around my throat, applying gentle pressure that makes my pulse race and my mind go fuzzy with submission chemicals.

Two more find my breasts, dangling beneath me in this position, the suction cups attaching to my nipples with rhythmic pressure that sends jolts of pleasure straight to my core.