Chapter 35: You Seem Much Happier.
’Why wait when I can control the variables myself?’ Amethiel thought, the rush that surged through him sharp and intoxicating, almost overwhelming in how quickly it took hold.
The tentacle was already in his hand, solid and warm, alive in a way that sent a strange awareness through his fingers. It flexed faintly against his grip, responsive, present.
Amethiel didn’t wait for Kree to obey the command.
He had already decided.
He guided the blunt, rounded tip to his entrance, his body already thrumming from the earlier stimulation.
He was slick with sweat, his skin glistening under the torch lights. With a sharp, controlled breath, he pushed back.
The intrusion was immediate and profound.
"Nngh—!"
A sound, half-gasp, half-moan, ripped from his throat.
It wasn’t pain.
It was a filling.
A stretching pressure so complete it short-circuited his thoughts.
’As I thought...this feels much, much better than my fingers.’
The tentacle was thicker than he’d anticipated, the ridged texture dragging against his inner walls with a delicious, maddening friction.
He’d only gotten the tip inside, but the sensation was already overwhelming.
It was more than the other tentacles’ touches.
It was interior, deep, claiming a space inside him that felt both alien and intensely right.
He threw his head back, a sheen of sweat on his brow. His dark violet hair stuck to his neck.
"Ugh...ah...ah..."
The pleasure was a live wire, sparking from his core out to his fingertips. He felt it begin to move, a subtle writhing within him, as if the appendage had a life of its own.
’Oh, that...that feels so–’
That’s when he heard it. The rattle of chains. A shift of immense weight on the floor. Kree was reaching for him.
Amethiel’s eyes snapped open, his arousal sharpening into a blade of command.
"No," he hissed, the word cutting through the heavy air. He didn’t even turn. "You don’t touch. Not unless I say."
The movement behind him paused.
But it didn’t retreat. He could feel the heat of Kree’s massive body, could sense the creature’s longing like a physical pressure.
A low, confused whimper vibrated the air.
’It’s not backing down.’ A flicker of irritation, and beneath it, a darker excitement.
He had to reinforce the boundary because he lost control again.
Still impaled on the tentacle’s tip, Amethiel lunged sideways, his movements made clumsy by the pleasure spearing him.
His fingers closed around the familiar, braided leather handle of his whip, hanging from a hook on a nearby support beam.
He spun back, arm extended, the coiled length of it a stark, threatening line between them.
"Back." The command was absolute.
Kree flinched.
Its pupil-less eyes widened, the glowing cracks across its chest dimming momentarily in a wash of what looked like fear.
It began to shuffle backward, its massive form yielding.
But in that yielding, in that instinctive retreat, its body reacted.
The tentacle buried in Amethiel shoved deeper.
"Ah—! Fuck!"
Amethiel cried out, his legs buckling. The world dissolved into white-hot sensation.
The thick, ridged length drove into him, filling him utterly, stretching him open in one smooth, devastating motion. His grip on the whip loosened, his knuckles white.
Dizziness swamped him, a cocktail of shock and unbearable pleasure. He saw stars at the edges of his vision, his breath coming in ragged, useless pants.
He was full.
So completely, impossibly full.
"Fuck...hngh..." The tentacle wasn’t just inside him; it was occupying him, its subtle internal movements now a deep, internal massage that made his toes curl against the cold floor.
Somehow, he kept his feet. Blinking through the haze, he forced his gaze to focus on Kree.
The creature had stopped its retreat, cowed by the whip.
But its body was a tableau of frantic need. Its massive, glowing erection twitched violently, a thick bead of clear pre-ejaculate welling at the slit and dripping to the floor.
A continuous, soft whimper spilled from its lips, its forked tongue darting out to taste the charged air. It was watching him, every ounce of its monstrous focus locked on Amethiel’s face, on the place where its tentacle disappeared into his body.
The sight was profoundly powerful.
A smirk, shaky but triumphant, touched Amethiel’s lips.
He tightened his grip on the whip handle, using it as an anchor against the tide of pleasure threatening to sweep him away.
"That’s right," Amethiel breathed out, his voice husky and raw. He pushed back slightly, taking another inch of the tentacle, making himself gasp.
"You can just watch." He emphasized each word, driving home the lesson. "You can’t touch me. I owe you. I can do whatever I want... because I own you."
He began to move.
Tentatively at first, a slow, rocking motion of his hips.
The tentacle within him moved with him, its textured surface rubbing relentlessly against his most sensitive inner places.
’There—yes, right there—’ His internal monologue fractured into pure feeling.
Sparks of pleasure ignited along his nerves, coalescing into a tight, hot coil at the base of his spine.
He picked up the rhythm, bolder now.
Each backward roll sheathed the tentacle deeper, each forward retreat dragged it almost all the way out before he plunged back onto it. The slick, filthy sound of it filled the lab, mingling with his choked-off moans and Kree’s desperate whines.
’It’s... It’s learning from this, too,’ he thought deliriously. ’It sees what its body does to me. It sees me using it.’ The realization was as potent as the physical act.
He was programming his arousal with his own.
His free hand, the one not clutching the whip, dropped to his own aching cock.
It was painfully hard, flushed and dripping.
He wrapped his fingers around himself, his touch rough and urgent, matching the pace of his hips.
"Oh...dear...oh, that...oh...fuck..." The dual stimulation was catastrophic. Pleasure mounted from two fronts, internal and external, converging into a single, unbearable pressure.
He glanced at Kree.
The creature was trembling, its hands clenched into fists at its sides, chains taut. It was holding itself back by a thread, its entire being focused on the rhythmic, glistening movement of the tentacle it could not control.
"See?" Amethiel taunted, his voice breaking on a moan as he rubbed his thumb over his own slick tip. "This is mine. This pleasure... ah... you’re just the tool. You just... nngh... You just provide the means."
He was close. So close.
The coil inside him was winding tighter, tighter, a spring ready to snap. His movements became frantic, less controlled.
He fucked himself on the tentacle with desperate abandon, his hand a blur on his own length.
The scientific observation had burned away, leaving only raw, hungry need.
Kree’s whimpers rose in pitch, becoming a continuous, pleading keening.
Its glowing cracks blazed like neon fire, pulsing in time with Amethiel’s ragged breaths. Its enormous cock twitched, another heavy pulse of fluid leaking from it.
Amethiel’s vision tunneled. The world narrowed to the incredible friction inside him, the tight grip of his own hand, and the submissive, worshipful agony on the face of the monster he commanded.
"I’m about to release...I’m about to—"
‧ . ‿̩͙⊱༻♕༺⊰‿̩͙ . ‧
"You seem much happier lately, Amie. Anything good happening?" Hyacinthe asks, pulling Amethiel out of his daydreaming.
The shift was immediate.
Like something had been interrupted mid-thought, mid-feeling.
"He has a dreamy look on his face. It looks almost creepy," Lilior whispers, though not nearly quiet enough for it to actually be a whisper.
Of course, Amethiel glares at Lilior.
A sharp, annoyed look, the kind that made it clear he had heard every word.
’As if you’re any better,’ he thought, irritation flickering briefly before it settled.
Amethiel, after that... life-changing experience with Kree, felt like he had reached something close to an epiphany.
Not the kind that made things clearer.
But the kind that made things... more.
More intense.
More consuming.
In the morning, he trains the monster to make sure Kree is absolutely perfect.
Making sure every movement, every response, every behavior was exactly how he wanted it to be before the upcoming royal ball.
There was structure to it.
There was control.
Of course, there’s progress.
And at night...
Oh.
A blissful night.
A different kind of control.
One that had nothing to do with refinement or presentation.
A way that benefited only Amethiel.
’Completely mine,’ the thought slipped through, quiet but certain.
"I’m just excited for the ball tomorrow," Amethiel answers, crossing his arms against his chest, his tone smooth, controlled, giving nothing away.
Nothing at all.
Yes.
Finally, the ball was tomorrow.
It had been building for days, lingering in every conversation, every preparation, every expectation placed on them.
And now it was here.
It was finally time for the ball.
"Speaking about that, Amie," Hyacinthe says with a sigh, glancing at Lilior, who glanced back at him.
It wasn’t subtle.
That look.
That brief exchange between them, quiet but heavy, like something had already been decided without him.
Amethiel noticed that.
Of course he did.
He always did.
’Don’t tell me after all this time, letting me do what I want... they’re still having doubts?’ Amethiel thought, the irritation rising almost immediately, sharp and quick, threatening to show on his face.
He felt it building.
That familiar tension.
That annoyance that came whenever things didn’t go the way he planned.
But he forced himself to calm down.
Forced it down before it could reach the surface.
Before it could ruin anything.
Before it could make them suspicious again.
His expression smoothed out, the irritation disappearing as if it had never been there.
"What is it, Hya?" Amethiel asks, his tone even, almost casual, acting as if he hadn’t noticed their strange looks at all.
As if nothing was wrong.
As if he wasn’t already preparing himself for whatever they were about to say.
’I swear to our mother if they get cold feet now, I am actually going to be angry.’
