He's not sure what his place is in this part of the fantasy. He decides to venture a guess as his hand keeps stroking Charlie's scalp, his dick no less hard for the detour. The tentacles not in Charlie's mouth are now stroking his jaw and his chin and his throat, fond and coaxing.

"I imagine that would be difficult if we were in the to middle of town together, my tentacles coiling in the air, sliding against one another, making him think of how they feel inside of him. Wrapped around him. How they'd feel flicking their top along his sac like a tongue. Or sliding along the slit of his cock. Maybe while we're standing side by side, they get hungry again, play along the sensitive skin at his waistline, stroke over his hip bone. What do you think, Charlie?"