Thoughts of those tentacles, and whatever horrors may have lurked in the chamber below you, serve to dampen your arousal, if only somewhat. It's enough, though, to at least let you suck down several more lungfuls of air, and shake some of the cobwebs from your head.
A quick look at your feet reveals why your pants and boots had felt strange as you escaped. Your jeans below mid-thigh are a tattered mess, revealing far more of your legs than what they hide, and your boots are simply gone. Apparently whatever was in that water was an acid that targeted clothing, because your skin is unblemished. It is, however, still disturbingly sensitive. You may have given yourself a mental bucket of cold water, but your body is still seriously horny. You've got to move while you still can, because you're not sure how long you'll remain clear-headed.
Barefoot, you pad back up the cold metal pipe, your breath hitching as your breasts resume swaying beneath your shirt. You wish you owned a bra right about now. As your nipples tingle, and your loins simmer, you reach the top of the pipe again, and stop, gasping for breath from just that short walk. Your lust is already invading your mind again, and your knees shake as you gaze upon the chamber where the tentacles accosted you.
It's empty for the moment, though you can already hear that squishing noise again, already growing nearer. The sensible part of you can't decide whether to go left or right. The lust-driven part of you, however, wonders how those tentacles would feel inside you. Your body reacts to the thought, spasming as more of your juices flood your now-soaked panties, a faint stain forming on the front of your jeans.
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