Yes

Yes/No (Even)

[4,6] Yes, and… she finds a way to claim the gem anyway

—

The compulsion is almost unbearable, and Morgause’s head throbs as she feels an alien insistence hammer inside her brain, demanding that she obey.

She knows now that the Priest had her hooked on his line from the start - planning all along for this to happen.

It’s so very strong. But she’s stronger.

She approaches the throne all the same, moving under her own volition now. Her hand slides down her waist, to find the ritual dagger still tucked into her belt, despite her tussle underwater. Black fabric clings to her curvy body, and she can feel the cold metal as if it’s touching her bare skin.

She takes the diadem in one pale hand, turning it over carefully. Then, holding it steady against the arm of the throne, she works the tip of the dagger into the silver housing. It takes all her strength, and a few mumbled curses, but eventually the gem springs free.

She yelps, dropping the dagger to try to catch the gem, arms swiping. The Sea Shroud slips through her wet hands, and clatters across the chamber, back towards the central pool. Morgause scrambles after it, scraping her knees painfully on the stone floor, but she’s able to grasp her goal, just before it slides into the water.

With a gasp, she holds it tight, hands clutched to her heavy chest. Her sense of victory vanishes almost immediately, as a vast form breaks the surface of the water, rising to loom directly above her.

Like something out of an abyssal nightmare - or more accurately, something from the carved reliefs - its form is an uncanny mix of life above and below the waves. A noseless, angular head adorned with a crown of fins and sporting a singular staring squid’s eye; a muscular, humanoid torso and arms, which merges with a lower body that is nothing more than a mass of writhing tentacles.

It heaves itself out of the water, cephalopodic limbs dragging towards Morgause, as she kneels in abject horror, transfixed by its single eye.

That same bass, wet voice enters her mind without consent, thundering throughout her body.

“You would have made a fine Queen. You would have raised the faithful from the depths. But you tarnish and dismantle. So you will make nothing more than sport.”

—

Is Morgause going to be able to escape?

Yes/No (Unlikely)

[1,1] No, but - for the moment at least, the Sea King has its way with her

—

Tentacles whip forth as the creature descends upon her, and she’s lifted into the air as strong, slippery limbs wrap around her waist, squeezing the air from her lungs. Morgause wheezes, her ribs straining in the tight grasp, but manages to keep her own grip on the gem.

She realises quickly, that the gem is the least of her troubles. More tentacles wind around her limbs, slowly spreading them wide with deliberate intent. She feels suction cups bite into her skin, her soft flesh and the fat on her thighs squeezed painfully. Her waist and ribs, already held tight by her wet clothes and corset, are slowly but surely compressed.

Fresh tentacles - slimmer than the ones binding her, but girthy in their own right and ending in bulbous tips - slither from within the creature’s mantle, slowly, teasingly making their way up her captive thighs. A third rubs against her chest, then squirms downwards between her breasts, rubbing itself against the warm nest of her cleavage.

“Horned God hear my plea,” Morgause rasps, fighting for enough air to cast her spell. A fourth phallic tentacle dances before her face, taunting her, “make this vile foe fl-“

She gags, eyes wide as the tentacle thrusts between her lips, smacking against the roof of her mouth, forcing her into a throaty yawn as it burrows into her throat. It seemed to wait till the last word, but now wastes no time in thrusting into her mouth, forcing her tongue down.

Morgause lets out a muffled shriek of dismay, feeling the other appendages wind around her thighs, drawing teasingly closer to her **** holes. She writhes feebly as her breasts are squashed tighter together, enveloping one cock-like tentacle, while the other slides in and out of her throat.

She can feel the bulge rise and fall in her neck as she’s helplessly face-fucked by the squirming tentacle, her petite body shaking in the air as her mouth and tits are ruthlessly used.

With the pressure around her body, and the thick meat filling up her mouth and throat, she finds herself struggling for breath again, with no borrowed air to save her. Dark spots dance in her vision, and she feels herself slipping out of consciousness, her eyes starting to roll back.

A slap from one of the lower tentacles snaps her back to reality and she gags hard again. Her pussy smarts from the blow, then explodes with trembling sensation as the same appendage prods between her lips, rubbing its length against them. She can feel herself grow wet and inviting, unable to help herself as her upper body is ravaged.

“Don’t slip from me just yet, Witch. I have more pleasure to take from you.”

She feels the tentacle in her mouth pulse and squirm, its length whipping about before her face as it works into a frenzy. The one between her breasts throbs too, and she feels a jet of hot seed spurt from it, bubbling up around the shaft wrapped tight in her cleavage and splattering across her chest.

She repeats the words of her spell in her head over and over, leaving just the last word, entreating and imploring the forces of the Wicca for aid.

The tentacle violating her throat withdraws, its tip rubbing against the roof of her mouth, until with a final thrust between her lips, it spills itself as well. The audible pumping of the Sea King’s cum down her oesophagus mixes with Morgause’s throaty gulps as she tries not to drown in the torrent of seed.

The creature seems unable to resist humiliating her, withdrawing its phallus to spray the witch’s captive face with its ejaculation. But in doing so, it gives Morgause the chance she’s been waiting for.

“FLEE!” She screams, her voice little more than a sticky whisper. But the spell completes itself, and a spectral set of antlers erupt from Morgause’s open mouth, catching the creature full in the chest.

The singular, dreadful eye grows wide with fear as the spell takes root, and it shudders and writhes its way back into the pool, compelled to escape.

Morgause tumbles in the air, her body free from its constricting binding. She hits the stone floor hard, then rolls - unable to stop herself in time - into the water.