The suction cup at the tip of his fourth tentacle began to suckle my bud. He was making a good argument so far. “I often want things with such passion, I cannot allow them to not be mine,” Poseidon said, casual, drinking from his own wine or taking a bite of food, as if he wasn’t ravaging me beneath the table. “The stories misunderstand. Like Medusa. She and her sisters were always ravishing snake women with serpentine hair. I have an affinity for partners with scales. Not only those who are scaled of course.” He smiled again, and the tentacle at my hole swirled with a smear of slickness and
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