You’d love to end up beneath his altar, slick tentacles trailing across your skin. You’re already naked. You have no idea where your clothes went, long lost to the mass of tentacles that writhe across your flesh, around your limbs.

“You’re such a pretty lil’ thing,” he’d whisper. The humanoid upper half of his body is pressed against you, so warm compared to his other limbs that it overstimulates you. You’d try to speak, pitifully, breathlessly.. Your words are caught before they can even leave your mouth. Your jaw pops from the force of the writhing tentacle slipping down your throat. It’s suffocating. You can barely breathe. It’s dripping something down your throat, forcing you to swallow whatever it is.
“That’s better. I like it when you’re quiet, doll.” His hands would slip down to your stomach. “How about we fill you up, now, nice and good? Would’ja like that?”

You can barely whimper, but you could nod your consent.
“That’s a good darlin’. You’ll love it..”