He continues through the orgasm, extending it until I'm shaking in his arms. When he finally withdraws his tentacles, I collapse against him, boneless.
“This is control,” he says. “This is choice. Does female understand the difference now?”
“Yes.” My voice is hoarse. “God, yes.”
We stay like that for a while, me leaning against him, his arms around me. The morning progresses, light shifting in the cave. My body recovers slowly, the hypersensitivity fading to normal arousal.
“The breeding tentacles,” I say eventually. “You're still holding them back.”
“Yes.”
“Show me. Not use them, just... show me the control.”
He hesitates, then shifts so I can see. Slowly, deliberately, one breeding tentacle begins to emerge. Not the violent extension of the frenzy but a gradual revelation. I watch it extend inch by inch, see him controlling every aspect of its emergence.
“Stopping here,” he says when it's partially extended. “Could continue. Could fully extend. But choosing not to.”
The tentacle retracts just as slowly, and I understand. The frenzy removed his choice. Now he's showing me he has it back.
Over the next two days, he demonstrates this control repeatedly.
The second time we mate, he uses one breeding tentacle but not both. He shows me how he can control the lock, making it smaller, larger, holding it for exactly as long as he chooses. The seed he releases is less in volume but more concentrated, and he can direct it precisely where he wants it.
“During frenzy, body releases everything stored,” he explains while locked inside me, both of us calm enough for conversation despite the intimate connection. “Now, this one chooses how much. Chooses concentration. Chooses temperature even.”
He demonstrates by warming the seed inside me, and the sensation makes me clench around him.
“Female likes warmth?”
“It feels... alive.”
“Because it is. Seed remains viable inside female for days. Swimming, seeking, waiting.” His hand rests on my still-swollen belly. “Yesterday's frenzy seed still works inside female. Still changing things. Preparing.”
“For the eggs?”
“Eventually. When time comes. When female truly chooses.” He pulses inside me, releasing a small amount more. “For now, just binding. Just claiming. Just pleasure.”
The third session happens in the water, and he shows me how buoyancy allows for different angles, different depths. He took me to the edge four times, a relentless, controlled assault on my senses. Only after my fourth shuddering climax did he permit his own release.
“Frenzy takes,” he says afterward, holding me as we float. “Control gives.”
By the morning of day ten, I understand the difference completely. The frenzy was possession, biological imperative overriding everything else. Control is partnership, choice, mutual pleasure built through communication and trust.
“I want both,” I tell him as we lie on the moss. My body has mostly returned to normal, though the bioluminescent marks remain, pulsing gently.
“Both?”
“The frenzy and the control. The desperate claiming and the careful worship.” I turn to look at him. “Is that wrong?”
“Not wrong. Honest.” He pulls me closer, tentacles creating a living blanket around us. “This one cannot promise frenzy won't happen again. Combat triggers it. Extreme threat triggers it. Sometimes, season triggers it.”
“I know.”
“But female will always have control too. Will always have choice between.” His hand cupping my jaw. “This one promises that. No breaking this promise.”
I believe him. The last three days have rebuilt the trust the frenzy threatened. Not just rebuilt but strengthened it. I know him better now, understand the battle between his biology and his consciousness.
“Tomorrow, this one shows female the deep kingdom,” he says. “The palace prepared. Does female feel strong enough?”
