[Hurricane whines when Rye pulls the water away - can't help but stutter into desperate words, prompted by the truth potion, as soon as it's away from his mouth]

Please - god, I need something. I need a-anything -

[Then the water is back, and he takes another few frantic sips before it's drawn away again]

T-touch me, god, I'm - I'm burning up. It's so good, I can't - nn, that's - don't - don't listen to that, it's d-driving me crazy -

[He whimpers softly at the description of what the crowd is doing - the way Rye lays out for him every way they're enjoying themselves, and each other. His eyes are still squeezed shut so that he doesn't have to see, but he can hear it: the soft wet schlick of bodies coming together, the insistent pull of a hand on someone cock, the gratified moan of a person getting exactly what they want]

[His own cock bobs in the air, desperate and straining; a new dollop of precome squeezes out, trickling slowly down the length of him, and Hurriane squirms almost frantically in the hold of the tentacles, as though the promise of being fucked without any of the contact is unbearable]