“Perseus!” Jason shouted through the bond between his mind and Perseus’. “Unhand me at once!” he demanded. A part of him wanted to think that Perseus would listen to him just this once, but the gleam of mischief in Perseus’ eye told him that help—and the freedom that came with it—was not going to be forthcoming.
Jason struggled against the taut tendrils of seawater that bound him. Wrists, waist, ankles. All the places he could have moved himself were bound save for his wings, but he suspected that if he used those to try and get away, they would be bound too.
Inevitably, Jason’s resistance to the tendrils crumbled. He had been trying to climb out of the chair for the last few minutes, but it was as ineffective as it was tiring. The tendrils pulled him back into a proper sitting position atop the throne, the back of the chair moulding to fit his wings comfortably.
More tentacles snaked out of the watery surface of the throne and wound around Jason’s thighs and his calves. They pulled his legs apart, and up toward his chest. The tentacles exposed not only his limp cock, but also his most private entrance.