Technically Cehd'ra might be able to fight it off. The creature still hasn't grabbed his hands, choosing instead to hold his legs aloft and keep him pinned to the floor by his shoulders. He can't reach far, not even for He Ming as he's lowered closer, but he could still gesture and try to weave his magic into another summoning. The risk of hitting He Ming as well keeps him from trying...though the dexterity of that tentacle curled around his prick is steadily becoming a second reason. It feels sort of like a tongue, save that there's no tongue that long or that strong, making the threads of his pants pop as it probes his hole the same way it did his mouth.

"S-so...mnh! 'Don't know any more...He Ming...is it doing the same to you?" It looks like it, Cehd'ra torn between watching the bulge those tendrils make under He Ming's clothes and the sudden tug at tight muscle. The miqo'te jolts, yelping as that does hurt a little. Cehd'ra reaches down, hands shaking as they all but rip the soaked front of his trousers open, needing to do something to ease that force.

The thing notices a change, the fabric loosening and with a ripple it forces that give to a breaking point. With a ripping sound the seam of Cehd'ra's pants leg tears open from ankle to crotch, leaving him far more exposed. There's a pause for He Ming then this new information is processed, then the two tentacles hook and pull down He Ming's own pants. It lets his lower-half reach the floor near Cehd'ra, releasing his legs go as it tugs the fabric free. He isn't left bereft, the tentacles holding his arms sliding further, brushing past his neck and down his chest. They pause, rubbing over the different texture of his nipples before sending slimmer tendrils down to investigate.