That's a rather odd way for Cehd'ra's voice to be cut off. He Ming cranes his neck in an attempt to see, and fails. He just wishes he could get a look at Cehd'ra to make sure he's all right. Then he wouldn't be so uncomfortable.

Being let go of would also be helpful on that front, but He Ming doesn't think that's about to happen any time soon. He can feel the pulse of some kind of heartbeat through the creature's relatively pliable skin, and as it keeps tight hold of him, he can only manage a few more futile wiggles. He can't even keep his shirt down.

"Cehd'ra?" he calls out. "I still can't see you—all these tentacles are blocking you. What's going on?"

Unfortunately it's unlikely Cehd'ra will be able to respond, as the tendril between his teeth rubs firmly over his tongue and then promptly explores deeper, pushing to the back of his throat. It's having a harder time finding the gaps in his clothing, but eventually one slips into one of the legs of his pants and begins the difficult trek upwards.