it pressed in with ease. It rolled, coiled, flicked up and down in search of whatever it was that made Bellatrix tick. Her body moved with thought, grinding onto the burn and chest pressed up into the tentacles still probing at her coiling about her waist. The one around her throat tightened down to a comfortable uncomfortability, another one rising to stroke a line from forehead to chin. The movements were timed with the pulsation between her legs and Bellatrix felt herself fall deep into a warmed stupor the longer that it went on.