You get lost in a blizzard and fall into a naga hibernaculum.
Cw teratophilia, double penetration, anal, venom as an aphrodisiac, gangbang, cunnilingus.
The map had been useless for the last hour.
Your fingers—stiff, clumsy inside your gloves—fumbled the folded paper back into your parka pocket. The compass swung drunkenly. North kept moving. You knew the blizzard was coming. You’d checked the forecast three times before lacing your boots that morning, smug with your layers, your emergency bivvy, your satellite phone with a fresh charge.
Smug didn’t matter anymore.
The snow came sideways now, not falling so much as attacking. Every pine looked identical. Every ridge folded into the next. Your breath crystallized on your balaclava. The cold had stopped feeling cold a while ago. Now it just felt… quiet. Seductive. Like it wanted you to sit down and rest.
That’s the hypothermia talking.
Your boot punched through something.
Not snow. Not earth. The ground gave way with a wet, splintering crack, and you were falling—branches snapping against your pack, your shoulder, your cheek—before you slammed into a floor that wasn’t frozen. It was soft. Spongy. Warm.
Darkness swallowed you. The wind’s howl became muffled, distant. You were underground.
You groaned, rolling onto your side. Your headlamp flickered, then steadied. The beam swept across a chamber—walls of packed earth threaded with roots, a ceiling low enough to touch. And movement.
Slithering.
A sound like heavy rope dragged across dry leaves.
Your beam caught a torso first. Broad. Scaled. The scales caught the light in iridescent greens and golds. Then another torso behind it. And another. Six massive forms uncoiling from what you’d assumed was a pile of decorative boulders.
The hibernaculum.
The Nagas.
They rose. Human from the hips up—faces sharp, cheekbones high, hair in shades you’d never seen on any salon head. Copper. Silver. One had hair the color of a bruise, deep indigo falling past his shoulders. Their eyes weren’t human. Vertical pupils dilated in the sudden light, then narrowed to slits.
Below the waist, serpentine bodies coiled and shifted. Scales whispered against scales. The chamber filled with the musk of them—earth and something sweeter, almost floral.
“What,” said the copper-haired one, his voice a low rumble, “disturbs our rest?”
You scrambled backward. your shoulder blades hit the earthen wall. “I—I’m sorry. I was hiking. The blizzard. I fell through—”
“You fell.” The indigo-haired one tilted his head. His tongue—forked, black—flickered out. Tasting the air. “She’s cold.”
“Obviously she’s cold, Aziel. She’s human and she’s been wandering in a blizzard.” This from a naga with scales the color of aged bronze. He was the largest, his coils spanning the chamber’s far wall in layered loops.
Aziel didn’t stop staring at you. “I’m tasting her fear. It’s… bright.”
They all began to move closer. Not fast. Deliberate. The sound of their approach was a constant soft susurrus.
Your heart hammered against your chest. “I don’t want any trouble. I just need shelter until the storm passes.”
The copper-haired naga reached you first. His hand lifted. You flinched, but his palm settled on your forehead with surprising gentleness. His skin was warm. Warmer than human. It made you realize how cold you actually were.
“Her temperature is dangerously low,” he murmured. “Sorin.”
The bronze-scaled one—Sorin, apparently—nodded slowly. “Then we warm her.”
Your breath caught. “How—how are you going to do that?”
Sorin’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. You’ll enjoy the experience.”
Hands found you. Six pairs. They peeled away your frozen jacket, your soaked base layers, your thermal leggings. Not rough. Patient. Fingers spread across your bare stomach, your thighs, your shoulders. Each touch left a trail of heat that sunk into your muscles.
You made a sound—small, involuntary“There,” someone breathed against your ear. “Her body remembers what warmth feels like.”
The hands kept moving. Palms sliding up your spine. Thumbs pressing into the arches of your feet. Knuckles tracing the curve of your hip. You were naked now, steam rising faintly from your skin as the cold evaporated. Your nipples tightened—from the air, you told yourself, just the air.
Then the coils began to wrap around you.
Smooth scales. Not cold like you expected, but heated, living. They encircled your ankles first, then your calves, spiraling upward with exquisite slowness. The pressure was firm but not crushing. Supporting. Embracing. A coil slipped around your waist, another across your ribs just beneath your breasts.
Your head fell back. A moan escaped you.
“There we go.” The copper-haired naga—his name, you’d learn later, was Caspian—had positioned himself below you. His hands gripped your thighs, parting them gently. “Let me help you warm up properly.”
His tongue was not human.
It was longer. Darker. Forked at the tip, and when it touched you—when the twin points flickered against your clit—your hips bucked so hard you nearly broke free of the coils. They tightened, holding you steady.
“Oh—oh—”
Caspian hummed against you. The vibration traveled straight through you. His tongue wrapped. It curled around your clit like a living thing, squeezing,
rolling. The forked tips stroked either side simultaneously—a sensation you had no framework for, no comparison. Your vision blurred.
Then the tongue slid lower. Dipped inside you. Kept going.
You gasped, fingers scrabbling at the coils around you. “That’s—you’re—”
He was licking at your cervix.
Long, slow laps that made your entire abdomen clench. The tongue coiled and uncoiled inside you, exploring depths no human partner had ever touched. Your thighs shook. The scales against your skin caught every tremor and amplified it back to you.
You came with a sound that wasn’t a scream, wasn’t a sob—something in between. Your body arched. Caspian drank you down, his eyes closed, his expression almost reverent. When he finally pulled back, his mouth glistened.
He smiled.
Around you, the other nagas shifted. You heard a sound—wet, sliding—and looked down.
They were unsheathing.
Two. Each of them had two. Rows of paired cocks emerging from slits in their scales, curved slightly, ridged along the undersides. Six nagas. Twelve cocks. All of them erect. All of them aimed at you.
Your mouth went dry. “What—”
“Snakes have two,” Sorin said, as if discussing the weather. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry? How am I supposed to not worry about—”
Aziel was suddenly close. His indigo hair brushed your shoulder. His fangs—you hadn’t noticed them before, retractable—gleamed in the lamplight.
“Because,” he murmured, “you’re about to feel very, very good.”
His fangs sank into the junction of your neck and shoulder.
The bite was sharp but brief. A pinch, then a spreading heat entirely different from the coils. It moved through your bloodstream like honey laced with electricity. Your pulse quickened. Your skin grew hypersensitive. Every place the coils touched you became a point of burning pleasure.
“Naga venom,” Aziel whispered against your ear, “has certain… aphrodisiac properties. On particular prey. Humans are one such species.”
Panic flickered through the building heat. “Prey?”
He kissed your temple. His voice turned gentle, almost fond. “Not you, sweetheart. We’re going to prey on you in a very different way.”
The coils shifted. Repositioned you. You found yourself suspended, legs spread, arms held above your head by loops of warm scales. The venom sang in your veins. You were wetter than you’d ever been. Empty. Aching.
Sorin moved forward first.
His dual cocks pressed against your entrance—one aligned with you, the other sliding upward to rest between the cleft of your slick folds. Both ridged. Both pulsing with heat.
“Ready?” he asked.
You weren't sure if you nodded or if your body just arched toward him. Either way, he answered by pushing inside.
Both at once.
Sorin’s cocks drove deep, the ridged undersides dragging against walls that clamped and fluttered around him. Your cry was swallowed by the earthy air. The coils cradled you, adjusted you just slightly so the angle shifted and each thrust scraped a spot behind your navel that sent bolts of white light through your vision.
Not enough. Never enough.
The venom made it that way. Aziel’s gift curled in your blood like a second heartbeat, amplifying every stroke into a cascade. You couldn’t tell where one
shaft ended and the other began—only that you were being filled in ways your body had no language for.
“Look at you,” Sorin rumbled, his bronze scales catching the lamplight. “Taking both so well.” His hips rolled in a slow, relentless rhythm. The coils squeezed your breasts gently, lifted them, presented them to his gaze. He lowered his mouth to one nipple and sucked—hard—just as his cocks ground against your cervix.
You shattered. The orgasm ripped a sound from your throat, a ragged, broken version of his name. Your inner muscles convulsed around his shafts. Sorin groaned, his composure cracking for the first time. He drove deep once more, held, and hot pulses of seed flooded your channel. Both cocks spilled at once, a spreading warmth that made you gasp.
When he pulled out, semen trailed down your thighs. You were still trembling when Aziel’s voice slithered closer.
“My turn, little human.”
The coils reformed your position without your input. You found yourself on all fours, knees and palms pressed into the plush, root-laced floor. Aziel’s lithe form curved behind you, his indigo hair brushing your bare back. You felt the twin tips of his cocks nudging your entrance—one lower, one higher—the upper one tracing a wet line up between the cheeks of your ass.
A warning. Or a promise.
“Not yet there,” he murmured. “First, I want to hear you.”
Both speared into your cunt. Stretched you wide again. Your elbows buckled, but the coils caught you, kept you presented. Aziel fucked you with savage precision, each snap of his hips angled to make you sob. His forked tongue flickered against your ear, tasting your sweat, your sounds.
“Tell me your name,” he said, the words a hot whisper.
“Y/n,” you choked out, as another orgasm twisted through you. He didn’t stop. Just rode you through it, the ridges catching on hypersensitive flesh until you were nearly screaming.
He pulled out before he came. Left you empty and gasping. “I want you to remember mine. Aziel. Say it.”
“Aziel,” you breathed.
He bit your shoulder again—no venom this time, just a sharp, claiming sting—and then his spend hit your lower back in warm ropes. He smeared it into your skin with his cocks, a final degradation that felt anything but.
Caspian was there before you could slump. His copper hair fell around you like a curtain. “She still needs warming here,” he said, one hand sliding down your spine to cup your ass. His fingers pressed, parting you. “May I?”
The question was for you, you realized. You nodded, words lost.
His tongue returned. That impossibly long, forked muscle that had wracked you apart earlier now lapped at the tight ring of your anus. The twin tips flicked independently, probing, wetting. Then one forked point pushed inside—a slender, squirming intrusion that made your thighs shake.
“Shh,” Caspian soothed, even as his tongue worked deeper. The venom heightened every texture: the slick muscle, the gentle stretch, the way he withdrew and pushed in again until you were open and slick and begging without sound.
“Ophion,” a new voice said. One of the three you hadn’t yet met stepped forward. His scales were obsidian, shot through with silver veins. “I’ll go next.”
The coils lifted you upright, folding your legs, spreading them wide. Ophion’s dual cocks aligned—one with your sopping pussy, one with your prepared, waiting ass. Both pressed at once.
The initial breach stole your breath. Pain, bright and sharp, dissolving into white-hot pleasure as the venom transmuted it. Ophion sank home incrementally, your body giving way around his girth. You’d never felt so full. So utterly invaded.
“Ophion” he grunted, his forehead pressed to yours. “That’s my name. Remember it.”
You came the moment his cocks were fully seated. Came and came, your body a sustained seizure of ecstasy while Ophion began to move—shallow thrusts at first, then longer, plunging, filling you from both directions until you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began.
He spilled inside you, a molten flood that marked you deeper than before.
After him, the remaining two took you in tandem. Riven—with hair like moonlight and scales of pearl—laid you on your side on a bed of coils and entered you from behind, his other cock rubbing against your clit. Thorne, broad and scarred with rust-colored scales, positioned himself in front of your face. His paired shafts twitched near your lips.
“Open,” Thorne rasped.
You did. He fed you one cock while the other rested along your cheek. The taste was salt and musk and something faintly sweet. Riven moved behind you, grinding into your pussy. The rhythm synced—Thorne pushing into your mouth as Riven withdrew, and vice versa—until you were just a vessel, a conduit of pleasure, your mind quiet at last.
You learned their names in the gasps between thrusts. Riven. Thorne. They all told you, whispered them against your skin like offerings.
Hours? Minutes? Time had no meaning anymore. The venom burned through you in waves, cresting and receding. You lost count of your orgasms after the tenth. Maybe more. Your body was a landscape of spent heat and pooling semen. Your womb ached with it. Your ass was slick and loose. And yet, impossibly, you were warm. So warm.
When the last of them finished—Thorne, with a stuttered groan that vibrated through his cocks and into your throat—the coils gentled. They withdrew from your limbs and then reformed, a soft nest of scaled warmth. Hands lifted you, turned you. A warm, damp tongue traced between your legs, cleaning you with a reverence that made your eyes sting.
You blinked sleepily. Sorin’s voice rumbled overhead, softer now. “Rest, little one.”
Caspian curved around your left side. Aziel wound along your back. Ophion and Riven bracketed your legs, and Thorne pillowed your head on his broad chest. Sorin’s massive coils encircled them all, a living wall against the cold.
You closed your eyes. The blizzard raged somewhere far above, but down here, in the heart of the hibernaculum, there was only heat and the slow, steady pulse of six hearts beating around you.
Ruined, Wrecked, Eternally Bred (tentacled monster x fem demoness reader)
Summary: you are a demoness needy for your tentacled monster. A desperate, insatiable breeding toy that will never, ever be full enough and will always ask for more.
Your swollen belly heaved with every ragged breath, your trembling thighs slick with the overflow of his seed.
Too much cum.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough.
Your monstrous mate had you completely wrapped in his grip, tentacles coiled tight around your wrists, ankles, and around your tits. More tendrils kept you stretched open, helpless and ruined beyond all reason. Just as you craved.
Ever since you met the sensual monster in the dark cave, you've been fucking on stop. You were already full, your womb and ass heavy, your insides pulsing, stuffed beyond their limits. But your body still begged for more—your clenching, fluttering holes trying to pull his tentacles even deeper as if your body refused to accept being left empty.
You let out a needy, broken sob, rolling your hips, desperate for another thrust, another pulse of thick, hot seed inside you. Your monster only chuckled, its voice a deep, guttural vibration through the tentacles that still stroked every inch of your body.
“Still begging for more, little one? Look at you. Utterly ruined. Dripping. Marked."
"More damn you. I need more—”
A thick, pulsing tentacle pushed deeper inside your cunt, joining the other two already there. You arched, your pussy stretching to accommodate the invasion. Another one joined the three in your ass, forcing a sweet gasp from your throat. They pounded into you in tandem, perfectly synchronized, squelching sounds echoing.
“You can’t stop, can you?”
Your head fell back, your fangs biting deep into your tongue to keep from sobbing outright.
“No,” you gasped, shaking, trembling, straining against his grip.
The tentacles moved within you and you could feel it happening again—your womb stretching, your ass growing tighter, your belly swelling rounder, your body adjusting to accommodate every last drop of his thick, gooey seed.
You weren’t just being bred.
You were being remade.
Shaped into something that could only exist to take him.
To carry his spawn, his young.
The tentacle monster behind you shifted, his tentacles thrusting faster, pushing you further down onto his thick appendages, preparing you for another brutal release.
And fuck, you needed it.
“Do you truly want more, my greedy little one?”
You shuddered, eyes rolling back, your needy, ruined body offering itself up without hesitation.
“Yes. Please. Fucking fill me. Stretch me. Break me.”
His growl was low, pleased. “Then take it.”
Every thick, pulsing tentacle inside you pistoned deep, pushing you closer, higher, deeper into pure, overwhelming madness. The first rush of his release made you gasp, back arching, holes clenching hard. Your thighs quivered as heat and goo were deposited inside you in overwhelming waves.
Then came the eggs. One after the other.
Then another. And another.
And fuck—it wasn’t stopping.
Endless hot little eggs along with his seed gushed inside you, stretching both ass and womb, bloating with the sheer volume of his release. Your stomach swelled beneath his hold, the pressure inside you growing, overstimulating, bordering on the edge of too much—
But you wanted it.
You craved it.
You were made to take it.
Vision blurring, your thoughts fractured, your body convulsing as you were bred until you weren’t sure where you ended and where he began. Too many tentacles, too much cum, too many eggs. Tortuously blissful.
It felt like ages had passed when he finally pulled back, when the last few thick, dripping tentacles finally squelched out from your swollen, gaping holes. You collapsed —panting, dazed, your body still trembling with aftershocks. The tentacles stroked you, soothing, caressing, wrapping around your bloated, dripping body.
“You’ll never be empty again, demoness.”
You let out a sigh and cradled a tentacle, licking the tapered tip in your mouth.
As a child you were force against your will to enrolled convent (The kind that cares more about money than helping people) by you fanatic foster family with your foster older sister Benedetta (The favorite golden child who is a terrible self righteous person) to become a nun but since you were the black sleep for not only being a free thinker and prefer wiccan and pagan traditions you were treated badly and after years of abuse and fail escape attempts you couldn't take it anymore especially after getting hurt by your cruel sister with hot boiling causing to go blind in your right eye as punishment for "being a witch" and "suffering bring you closer to god" you decided to use witchcraft just get the hell out and never came back but accidently summon a Demon instead, but seeing the state you're in he offer you a deal he'll get you out, get revenge on those who hunt you and fix you're eye all you'll need to do is to be his.......for eternity
The Convent's Apostate (demon (Azazel) × fem!reader!2nd!POV)
Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, religious trauma, childhood abuse, foster family neglect, violence, injury (blindness ), small breasted reader, power exchange, degradation, double cocks, double penetration (vaginal + anal simultaneously), size kink, knotting, belly bulging.
Summary: After a lifetime of torture at the hands of your fanatic foster sister and the corrupt convent she hides behind, you finally snap. Your desperate spell to escape summons something far darker than you intended... a demon who sees your broken body and offers a deal you never expected.
ིྀ 𓎟ᛝ𓎟𓎟 † 𓎟𓎟ᛝ𓎟 ྀིིྀ 𓎟ᛝ𓎟𓎟 † 𓎟𓎟ᛝ𓎟 ྀི
The rosary beads bit into your palms like tiny teeth.
You'd long stopped counting the Hail Marys—they blurred together after the first hundred, your knees screaming against the cold stone floor of the chapel, your single working eye fixed on the stained glass martyr bleeding above the altar.
The left half of your face throbbed where the burn still hadn't fully healed, the skin tight and shiny like melted wax, your right eye socket a hollow cavern that would never see light again.
"Suffering brings you closer to God," Sister Benedetta had said. She'd held the pot herself, the water still bubbling from the stove, her eyes wide with fake concern. "The devil's influence must be burned out of you, little sister."
You'd screamed raw.
No one came.
No one ever came.
This wasn't a convent of faith. It was a prison, a business that took troubled girls and broken women, drained their families dry, and called abuse discipline. The Mother Superior's office had a mahogany desk and velvet curtains while the dormitories smelled of mold.
And Benedetta—your foster sister, the golden child, the one who could do no wrong—had placed you here with a smile and a promise to visit regularly.
She always kept her promises.
Your thighs ached from the welts. Your ribs had bruises layered over bruises, healing over breaking. Your right arm still throbbed where they'd pressed blessed candles to your skin. And your eye was nothing now but dead nerve endings and a scarred socket that wept fluid at night.
Three escape attempts.
The first, you'd been twelve. They'd locked you in the cellar for a month with only bread and water.
The second, you'd been fifteen. Benedetta had personally overseen the punishment—twenty lashes with a leather strap while she whispered prayer in your ear.
The third, you'd been seventeen. That was the one that cost your eye.
Now you were nineteen, and you had nothing left except hatred.
Your fingers tightened around the items hidden in your sleeve; a piece of charcoal, a handful of dried herbs stolen from the kitchen, a needle you'd bent into a crescent shape.
The convent had taken everything from you. Your books. Your freedom. Your vision. Your hope.
But they hadn't taken the knowledge your birth mother had left you before the state ripped you away.
"The old ways are never truly lost," she'd whispered, her fingers tracing symbols on your toddler palm. "They sleep in the blood, child. They wake when you need them most."
You needed them now.
The chapel was empty at this hour—midnight. Moonlight bled through the stained glass, painting the floor in colors that meant nothing to your remaining eye. You knelt at the base of the crucifix, not in prayer, but in defiance.
"You want suffering?" you whispered. "I'll give you suffering."
You drew the circle first.
Not with blessed chalk or holy water—that would be sacrilege. You used your own blood, pricking your finger with the bent needle and drawing the symbols your mother had taught you in dreams you'd thought were nightmares. The charcoal traced the outer ring. Herbs scattered at the cardinal points. The needle bent into a cresent placed at the center.
Your hands shook.
The spell was supposed to be simple. A doorway. A way out.
You began the chant, the words heavy and ancient, your single eye closed, your body swaying as power—real power—began to hum in your blood.
The candles flickered despite the still air. The temperature dropped. Your breath fogged in front of your face.
And then the circle shattered.
Not broke. Shattered. Like glass hit by a hammer, the blood symbols sizzling and smoking, the charcoal lines bursting into flame—green flame. The herbs ignited all at once, filling the chapel with smoke that smelled of cinamon.
You scrambled backward, your back hitting the altar, the crucifix rattling above you.
"No—no, that's not—I didn't—"
The smoke coalesced. Solidified. Became a shape. It stepped out of the circle like a man stepping through a doorway, but there was nothing human about the thing that stood before you.
Tall—so tall you had to crane your neck, your breath catching in your throat. He wore darkness like clothing, shadows clinging to a bulky body that seemed to shift between solid and spectral. He had dark wavy hair. Two horns curled from his temples and his eyes were red with pupils that slitted vertically like a goat's.
No. No, no, no.
The demon looked down at you.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then itshishead tilted, those crimson eyes tracing over your trembling form; the wimple hanging lopsided, the bruises peeking from your sleeve, the scarring that pulled your face into a permanent grimace on the left side. His gaze lingered on your ruined eye, on the weeping socket, on the fresh burn marks on your arm.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and pleasant, "Well."
You flinched.
"This isn't what I expected."
The demon crouched down, bringing his face level with yours. Up close, you could see details that made your stomach lurch—the way his skin seemed made of something between flesh and a weird glow, the sharpness of his teeth when he smiled.
It wasn't a cruel smile.
That confused you more than anything.
"You're not—you're not supposed to—" you stammered, your voice breaking. "I was trying to open a door. A small door. Just enough to—"
"To escape?" The demon finished for you, one clawed finger reaching out to gently turn your chin, examining your scarred face. "Little witch, you didn't open a door. You tore a hole in the veil with enough force to wake half my kindred. Whatever you were trying to summon, you called me instead."
"I didn't summon anything," you whispered, tears streaming down your good cheek. "I just wanted out. I wanted—"
"Revenge."
Your silence was answer enough.
The demon's smile widened, and you saw that his teeth went back too far, that his tongue was split at the tip like a serpent's. He released your chin and sat back on his haunches, still impossibly tall even crouched, and studied you with an expression you couldn't name.
"You've been hurt," he said.
"Obviously."
"Not just the eye. Not just the burns. Deeper. Older. They've been breaking you for years, haven't they?"
Your throat tightened. You looked away.
"I can smell it on you. Holy water. Candle wax. Fasting. They starved you, didn't they? Beat you in the name of their god. Called you witch while they burned you."
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Because I know! I know what I am. I know what they did. I don't need a demon to—"
"To what? Point out the obvious? No. You don't." The demon shifted closer, and you should have been terrified, you were terrified, but something in his voice made you stay still. "You need someone to offer you a choice."
Your breath caught.
"I can get you out of here."
"Liar."
"I can fix your eye."
"You're lying."
"I can make everyone who touched you suffer in ways their god won't be able to save them from."
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Why?"
The demon's red eyes burned.
"Because you interest me, little witch. You've got power in you—old power, deep power. You're not like the others who call me, begging for money or fame or a longer cock. You called because you had nothing left to lose. And that..." He leaned in, close enough that you could feel heat radiating from his skin, smelling like cinnamon and musk. "That is the most dangerous kind of summoning there is."
"What do you want?"
"What do all my kind want?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
The demon laughed.
"You. I want you. Not your soul... though I'll take that too in time. I want you. Your company. Your body. Your submission. For eternity, little witch. Say yes, and I'll burn this convent to ash. I'll make your foster sister beg for death before I grant it. I'll give you back your sight and more besides."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I leave. The hole you tore closes. And you spend the rest of your very short life right here, being broken by people who think they're holy."
"Deal."
The word came out faster than ever.
The demon's smile turned sharp.
"Good girl."
The convent burned.
You watched from the demon's arms as flames consumed the chapel, the dormitories, the Mother Superior's velvet-curtained office. Screams echoed in the night, but you felt nothing. Not pity. Not remorse. Just cold satisfaction. Justice.
Benedetta had been in the garden when the demon found her.
You'd asked to watch that part.
"Please—please, I'm a servant of God—"
"Your god isn't here."
It had taken an hour. An hour of your sister screaming, begging, weeping, offering anything—anything—for mercy. The demon had been creative. Artistic, even. You'd watched until your new eye—fully healed, fully functional had drunk its fill of her suffering.
Then you'd turned away.
"You didn't kill her," you said with a pout.
He grinned. "No."
"Why?"
The demon—Azazel, he had revealed, shifted behind you, his arms still wrapped around your waist. Your wimple had been discarded somewhere in the woods. Your habit had torn during the escape, leaving your shoulders bare.
"Death is quick. Mercy, even when it's cruel. She'll live. For a long time. And every day of her life, she'll remember tonight. She'll remember you watching. And we'll visit to torture her again and again. There will be no escape."
You leaned back against its chest. "I want to feel something else now."
"Oh?"
"Something that isn't pain. Something that isn't revenge."
Azazel's claws traced up your sides, and you shivered. "I can arrange that."
He took you to his lair. It wasn't what you expected.
No fire pits. No screaming souls.
Just a vast chamber filled with silks and furs, the walls carved, the air smelling of cinnamon. A bed dominated the center—large enough for five people, draped in black velvet and dark red satin.
Azazel laid you down. "Nervous?"
"No."
"Liar."
"Terrified," you admitted.
His clawed hand cupped your face, thumb stroking over your newly-healed cheek. "Good. Honesty suits you. Now. Clothes off. I want to see what they tried to destroy."
The habit came off in pieces, the rough wool scraping against your bruised skin, until you lay naked under his red gaze. Moonlight—or something like it—filtered through the chamber's ceiling, painting your body in silver.
Azazel's breath hissed between its teeth. "Look at you."
His clawed hands traced down your body. Over the bruises on your ribs. The scars on your thighs. The healing burn marks on your arms. He touched each one like a prayer, like a promise, like a curse.
"They took so much from you."
"They didn't take this."
You reached up and pulled the demon down to you.
A kiss. You first kiss.
His mouth was hot.
When Azazel kissed you back, the kiss wasn't gentle. It was consuming, a destruction of everything the convent had tried to build in your mind. His split tongue pushed past your lips, tasting sweet. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.
"That's it," it growled against your throat. "Let me hear you."
Strong hands found your small breasts, your nipples already hard from the cold and the desire thrumming through your veins. Azazel's thumbs circled your areolas, rough skin dragging against the delicate flesh, making you arch off the bed.
"These are beautiful," he murmured, lowering his head. "Did they let you touch yourself here, little witch? Did they let you feel pleasure?"
"No—ah!" His mouth closed over your nipple, and your back bowed, a cry tearing from your throat. The demon's tongue laved at the peak while his claws teased the other breast, pinching and rolling and pulling until you were gasping.
"They denied you this. Pleasure. Release. They called it sin." Azazel bit down gently, and you sobbed. "Let me show you what sin feels like."
He worked its way down your body. Over your sternum, your belly—pausing to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your navel that made your muscles clench. Lower, until his breath ghosted over your mound, your thighs, the wetness already pooling between your legs.
You'd never been touched here. Not by anyone. Not even yourself.
"So wet," Azazel purred, and then his mouth was on your pussy.
You gasped.
His tongue—fuck, that tongue slithered between your folds, split tip finding your clit immediately, circling and tasting like you were the finest thing he had ever encountered. he groaned against you, the vibration shooting up your spine.
"You're delicious. Salty, sweet and mine."
Azazel lapped at you, broad strokes that made your hips buck, then focused on your clit with pointed flicks that had you seeing stars. One clawed finger carefully, carefully slid into your entrance, and you clenched around it, your inner walls gripping the intrusion like a vice.
"So tight. When's the last time anything was inside you, little witch?"
"Never—fuck, never, please—"
Azazel growled, the sound primal, and added a second finger. Stretched you. Pumped slowly while his tongue worked your clit, building pressure in your belly that felt like drowning, like burning, like the moment the convent's flames had reached the sky.
"Come for me. I want to taste your cum, little witch."
You did.
Through hazy eyes, you saw Azazel.
The demon's cocks were magnificent.
You saw them when he finally rose above you, and the shadows shifted, melting away to reveal anatomy that shouldn't have been possible.
Two cocks.
The upper one was slender, tapering to a point like a spear. But as you looked closer, you saw the bumps—hundreds of tiny ridges running along its length. It curved upward, weeping clear fluid from its pointed tip, the liquid dripping onto your belly.
The lower one was a different beast entirely. Thick and covered in swollen knots that rose like pebbles along its shaft. Each one looked as big as your fist, spaced an inch apart, promising a stretch that should have terrified you.
Both were self-lubricated, gleaming wetly in the dim light.
"Pick one," Azazel said, stroking both cocks with one clawed hand, spreading the fluid. "Pussy or ass. Or both, if you're brave."
You'd never felt brave a day in your life.
"Both."
He smiled proudly."That's my good girl."
He positioned himself between your thighs, the upper cock pressing against your soaking entrance. The tip was so pointed it almost slid in on its own, and you gasped at the sensation, at the way those ridges caught against your inner walls.
"Breathe."
Azazel pushed.
The cock entered you inch by inch, and you felt everything—every bump dragging against your g-spot, every ridge scraping nerves you didn't know you had. Your belly bulged visibly as it sank deeper, the demon's length so long you could see the outline moving inside you.
"Oh fuck—"
"Shh. I'm not halfway yet."
He kept going. Your hands flew to your stomach, feeling the shape of the cock through your flesh. Pain and pleasure tangled so tightly you couldn't tell them apart.
"There." Azazel bottomed out, his upper cock fully sheathed in your pussy, and you whimpered. "Now for the second."
Cool fluid dripped onto your asshole from the lower cock's natural lubrication. Azazel finger pressed against your entrance, spreading you open, and then the knots of the second cock began to push inside.
You gasped.
The second cock's girth was almost too much, each swollen nodule popping past your tight ring of muscle with a wet schluck that echoed in the chamber. You could feel your ass stretching to accommodate, your body struggling and accepting in equal measure.
"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."
When both cocks were fully seated; your pussy stretched around the ridged shaft, your ass stuffed with knotted flesh, Azazel paused. You were panting, crying, your hands clutching the velvet beneath you.
"Look at you," he breathed. "My virgin witch full of me. Completely full. This is where you belong."
Then he fucked you.
The upper cock pistoned in and out of your pussy, the ridges dragging against your g-spot with every stroke, milking sounds filling the air. The lower cock twisted inside your ass, the knots pressing against your inner walls, stretching you wider with each thrust.
"Ah—ah—ah—I can't—"
"You can. You will. You're mine now."
Azazel leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that swallowed your screams. His split tongue fucked your mouth in time with his cocks, triple penetration that left no part of you empty.
Your belly bulged obscenely with each thrust, the outline of both cocks visible beneath your skin. You could see them moving inside you, the ridges and knots displacing your organs, claiming space that had never been touched before.
"Look at that," he growled against your lips. "Look at what I'm doing to you."
You looked. Watched your stomach rise and fall with each stroke, watched the cocks appear and disappear inside your holes. Your pussy was making wet, sloppy sounds now, juices dripping down your thighs, mixing with his natural lubricant.
"You're taking me so well. Such a perfect little vessel."
He sped up, the cocks pistoning faster, harder, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing through the chamber. Azazel's claws dug into your hips, holding you in place for his assault, its red eyes never leaving your face.
"I'm going to fill you. Stuff both holes. Pump you so full you'll be dripping me for days."
"Yes—yes—please—"
"Please what?"
"Fill me! Fucking fill me, I need it, I need—"
Azazel roared and exploded. Both cocks swelled, pulsing, then flooding you. Hot cum poured into your cunt and ass simultaneously, filling you past capacity, leaking out around the cocks still buried inside you.
You came with a scream that broke halfway through, your vision whiting out, your body convulsing around his lengths. Azazel kept thrusting through it, extending your orgasm until you were sobbing, until every nerve was fire, until you couldn't remember your own name.
When you finally came down, he was still inside you.
Still hard.
"We're not done," he purred, licking tears from your cheeks. "We're never done. You're mine for eternity, little witch. And I intend to enjoy every second."
You half-laughed. "Good."
The convent was ash.
Benedetta would be haunted by you forever.
And you... you were reborn. Powerful. A woman who knelt for no god except the demon that had claimed you.
Azazel's cocks stirred inside you, fuelling your pleasure.
You spread your legs wider. "Again, demon. my demon."
CW: free use, public sex, everybody is bi/pan, oral (giving & receiving), p-in-v sex, creampies, knotting, primal play, overstimulation
Includes: an incubus, a demon, a witch, and a panther shifter
Wolf Shifter!bf - Derek
You met Derek at a fancy cocktail party last year and are starting to get more serious about the relationship. Not that it was meant to be a fling or anything, just stepping things up. Chief among the serious talks the two of you have is going into more serious kinks that you have. He tells you that he likes free use and group sex. You admit that you're into primal play. All of those kinks turns the both of you on. And now you're at a massive party at some rich sorcerer's mansion.
Derek told you last week that he knows someone who could make both of their kinks come true. So, that's how you got here.
The two of you step in and are greeted by the host, and are told the basic rules.
Unless they're wearing a collar, everybody is free use.
Some rooms have massive windows to let partygoers see what's going on; it's up to you if you want to give them a show or not.
You must keep your mask on, unless you are in a private space, and both parties agree.
The last one, he explains, is because there are some people who can't be seen attending. CEOs or celebrities, you assume. The masks are enchanted to stay on your face, so nobody has to worry about them falling off during the fun. He also lets you know that you don't need to keep a collar on at all times, and it can be taken off at events if desired.
After signing a binding contract agreeing to the rules, the two of you are given simple masks, which you both put on.
The first place you're taken to is your bedroom, which makes you wonder just how many rooms this man has, but you're quickly distracted by the setup of the room. The bed has an O-ring at every post, letting anybody use it to restrain someone. There was also the open chest at the end of the bed, filled with all the toys and tools you could imagine.
"How do you know this guy?" you ask.
"Friend of a friend…I wasn't expecting it to be this crazy either," Derek responds.
When the two of you finish taking everything in, you decide on what to do about collars. Derek goes without. You decide that you want it on for the first hour at the party before making a final decision.
Stepping into one of the rooms was a little jarring. In the middle of the room is a shibari demonstration; a young-looking man is being suspended by ropes that a larger man is tying. One leg is suspended higher than the other, while his body is nearly parallel to the floor of the stage. Both of them are naked. Actually, so is most of the crowd.
About half of the crowd is paying attention to the demonstration, while the other half is lost to their own revelry. It makes your eyes widen in surprise, and you feel heat building between your legs.
"I think I see the appeal now," you whisper, partially wanting to go join in, partially wanting to watch some more.
The two of you find an empty corner to watch the demonstration. You watch for a decent while, until a couple comes up to you, an incubus and a witch.
"Can I blow you?" the incubus asks directly, slowly eying Derek, appreciating the view.
With wide eyes, Derek nods. The incubus drops to his knees before him and carefully undoes Derek's pants, his cock already weeping from arousal. The incubus starts by teasing the head, licking along the shaft, and tonguing the tip. When Derek starts to squirm a bit, trying to get more stimulation. Then the incubus drinks Derek's cock to the hilt. Deep throating Derek's canid cock is no small feat, yet the incubus does it like it's nothing.
The entire display has your pussy throbbing and makes you blush. The witch sidles up next to you and whispers in your ear, "He takes it so beautifully, doesn't he, my pretty little incubus?" You respond with a wordless nod, eyes still glued to the scene. "Don't worry, I won't touch, but I would kill to lick that pretty pussy right now."
You faintly register that you still have your collar on. You go and take it off; the thought of the witch between your legs makes you burn with desire.
"There. Now you can touch. Gods, please touch," your words coming out husky from arousal.
"Gladly, sweetheart," the witch whispers before slinking down on her knees, gently pushing your knees apart.
Much like her incubus partner, she takes things slowly at first, kissing up your thigh, nibbling along the way. You feel yourself dripping, your hands clawing at the sofa, until, finally, finally, she reaches your pussy, appreciating the view for a moment before diving in. She licks you from the bottom of your pussy to your clit. The tip of her tongue swirls around your clit, building up your pleasure. While her mouth is on you, her arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to her and keeping you in place. Her thumb reaches over to play with your clit while the witch presses her tongue into you. The combination of all of it makes your eyes roll back. Tension continues to build inside of you. The witch shifts, letting go of one of your legs so that she can start fingering you while she sucks and licks your clit. The sensations overwhelm you, finally breaking that tension, and your orgasm is so intense that your legs quiver as the witch works you through it.
You look over to Derek, who has a clawed hand gripping one of the incubus's horns, holding on for dear life. Not that you could focus on them much anyway, as the witch continues to eat you out like you're the best dessert she's ever had. You feel another orgasm rapidly building, until it crashes through you like a tidal wave, more intense than the first. You let out a scream, your hands in the witch's hair. In the background, you hear Derek groan as he cums.
Both the incubus and the witch pull back, looking like cats that got the cream. The witch gives you a small kiss on your thigh before standing up.
"Thanks for the treat, sweetheart," she says as she grabs the incubus's hand.
"Did you have as much fun as I did, dear?" You hear her ask her partner as they walk away.
You and Derek look at each other for a moment.
"That was probably one of the best head I've gotten in my life," Derek says. "No offense," he quickly adds.
"None taken. Because, same?" You reply, giggling slightly.
---
The two of you move on to another room not long after. As the two of you get more used to the bacchanal, joining in at times, just watching at others. You hear the host's voice being magically projected.
"Hello, Loves. I hope you're enjoying the party as much as I am. I'd like to announce to you all that the Hunt will start in 30 minutes. All those interested may meet in the backyard next to the garden by that time."
Derek leans over, "The Hunt is, well, what it sounds like. One party acts as the prey and the other, the predator. Any predator that finds prey can fuck them in any way they want, unless they safeword, of course. The safeword is given before it begins, by the way. Exactly what you've been wanting." His eyes gleam with mischief and hunger. "Let's start making our way," he says before making his way towards the back of the mansion. "This place is huge; it'll take us a while to get there."
When you make it to the backyard, it's only 5 minutes till the Hunt begins. All you have on is a thin slip dress, and your underwear's been gone for who knows how long. The anticipation of it turns you on so much that you start to blush. Looking around you, you see other humans, bunny shifters, succubi, and other prey animal shifters, though you see a bear and wolf shifter in the mix on your side. On the predator side, almost every single one of them is some kind of predator. You see Derek, but you also see an orc, a lion shifter, some incubi and other demons, and a couple of vampires. There are about 20 predators and 15 prey. The thought of more than one predator finding you makes your pussy throb in anticipation.
The host looks up from his watch. "Welcome," he begins, "to the Hunt! My dears on my right, the prey, will have a red ribbon on their wrist. They'll be getting a 10-minute head start. The woods behind me are also part of my property and are free game. Only the west wing of the mansion is open for the Hunt; there will be lines on the ground to show you the boundaries. And wards will be set up at the perimeter of the grounds in general, so there's no rule-breaking here."
"The safeword for this event is cherry. Now," the host cheers, "let the Hunt begin!" He gestures for the prey to run.
You sprint off into the woods. You're not graceful in your run; twigs and underbrush crunch and scrape against your feet and legs. After the 10-minutes, you hear a howl in the distance. Your heart races with a mix of fear and anticipation. You think you hear something coming up behind you, making you sprint faster, the adrenaline pushing you to keep going.
As you find yourself along a natural path, the rustling grows closer. Your legs burn from exhaustion. You try to keep going, but you're not as quick as you were earlier. Something grabs you by the middle, tackling you, though you land on your side, the predator taking the brunt of the fall.
"Gotcha," he pants. You feel his cock against your ass. You're flipped over onto your stomach, hips being pulled up as the panther shifter slams into you. You're so drenched that it slides in with no resistance. You let out a gasp. Before you fully inhale, another cock is slapped across your face. A demon is standing in front of you.
"Suck," he commands before he grabs your hair and pushes your mouth against his cock. Demons run hotter than humans, and this demon is no different. He fucks your face, making you gag on his cock as he pushes down your throat. Tears start to fall from your eyes as you're lost in the pleasure of being used.
The panther shifter and demon move in different tempos. The demon sets a fast pace, moving your head up and down his burning hot cock, while the shifter moves slower but fucks you harder.
"I'm going to cum down that pretty little throat of yours," the demon says as he speeds up even more, holding your head still as he thrusts roughly into your mouth and throat. In a few more strokes, he brings your face down to the hilt. Hot spurts of cum shoot down your throat, making you gag a little as you're forced to swallow. The feeling of it is like drinking a too-hot cup of coffee.
"Fuck, this cunt's amazing. It's begging me to fill her," the panther shifter tells the demon. The soft barbs on his cock shoot pleasure through your body, making your toes curl. The shifter picks up the pace now, making you give out a raspy whimper. He jackhammers into you, pushing you closer to the edge. Just as the panther shifter cums in you, your orgasm slams through you. Your eyes roll back, you let out a low moan, and your pussy flutters around the shifter's cock.
"Thanks for the good time," the shifter says after he pulls out, as the two of them go off to find their next victim.
You shakily get back up. You're still so turned on that your pussy throbs, like it misses being filled. Even so, you start to jog back through the woods, your pace significantly slower than before.
You start to flag. Then, you hear another rustling in the distance. The adrenaline and fear start to kick in again, giving you a second wind. You sprint away from the sound, but it catches up with you quickly.
This time, the hunter grabs you by the ankle, making you trip forward and land on your hands and knees.
"I see that someone else got to you before me," a familiar voice says. Derek. "Now I need to remind you who you belong to," he growls as he ruts into you. Your already sensitive pussy flutters around Derek's cock as you give out a small whimper.
"Yes," you moan, "I'm yours. Fuck me, baby. I need it."
"You always know how to get me going, don't you?" he replies. He has you in a mating press, his weight pressing down on you as his cock plunders your cunt. Derek keeps your hands above your head, one hand holding your wrists in place. He's fucking you so hard you feel it in your throat; the tip of his cock hits that sweet spot deep inside while the knot that's starting to grow pushes against your g-spot. The constant assault of pleasure rips an orgasm out of you.
Derek doesn't stop, though. Instead, he keeps pistoning into you, unrelenting. You never get to come down from your high. The pace he sets pushes you back into another orgasm, making you continuously cum on his cock. Your pussy is oversensitive, and the line between pleasure and pain starts to blur. You mewl, trying to move away to get some relief, only for Derek to pull you back against him. At this point, you're practically sobbing from how much you've cum and how overstimulated you are.
You're babbling by the time Derek warns you, "I'm gonna cum." You feel his knot pressing against your entrance. A forceful thrust pushes his knot into you, locking you in place as he fills you. You gasp as it grows inside of you, one last orgasm hitting you so hard your mind goes blank, and there's a ringing in your ears. Finally free from the constant stimulation, you sigh in relief.
As the knot starts to deflate, you hear the host's voice again. "Alas, my dears, the Hunt is now coming to a close. While the festivities will be ongoing, breakfast will be served in the dining hall from 6 to noon. For those going to sleep, good night. For those who wish to continue, have a ball."
As the two of you move to stand, your legs give out. Derek catches you right when your knees buckle, and princess carries you to your room. You give out a long yawn before saying, "I want to go to bed now, baby."
Before you make it out of the woods, you're already asleep in Derek's arms.
Monster smut doesn’t have to be realistic. It’s monster smut for a reason. There are tentacles,dragons, nagas, gargoyles and other yummy creatures in my stories and they can fuck in both holes without issues or do other stuff with the reader because they have… magic penises. 😉And the reader doesn’t get any infections or other issues because she has… magic holes. 😜 So yes, simply enjoy the decadent sweetness. 😘
You start out being lucid enough to know that it's a dream, but not enough to control anything. Not that you could anyway.
You're suspended by shibari ropes all across your body, your legs folded and arms tied behind your back. The world is blurry enough that you can't see how you're being suspended or who's in the room with you. Until twin demons step forward, your view inverted from your head hanging back.
One has dark burgundy skin, dressed in punk clothes, ripped jeans, black tee, patchwork jean jacket, and all. The other one is indigo and dressed more formally, with a well fit button down shirt with its collar open and black slacks.
"Sorry for hijacking your dreams, princess, but you were just too tempting to ignore," the punk demon says. "Don't worry, we won't bite. Unless you want us to," he finishes with a wink.
"We're incubi," the other clarifies, "We feed on your sexual energy, dreams or reality. And your nighttime activities and very loud fantasies were like honey to us."
This is when you realize that you're fully nude, while they were not. As a blush creeps up, from the realization and what was being said, the ropes holding you aloft change so that your waist is right in front of the formal demon's face.
You yelp from being jerked up so suddenly, but let out a whine when the incubus's mouth starts to eat you out.
"Getting right into it, huh, Verrine?" the other says before he unzips his jeans. The haziness from your dreams clears any shame or embarrassment you would normally be feeling. Instead, your arousal rockets higher as you see the demon's pierced cock being exposed before you.
Tapping the head of his cock against your lips, the incubus asks, "Ya want this?" to which you can only nod before opening your mouth and starting to lap at it.
He lets you try to take his length before putting his hand behind your neck and fucks into your throat, making you gag a little, which makes him moan in response.
"Fuck, your throat is amazing. I could fuck this every day," he groans as he bucks into your mouth and throat, only letting you breathe when you start to get lightheaded.
"Don't hog all of her attention, now, Jules," Verrine chides, before diving back to your pussy. He laps at your clit while he pushes two of his fingers inside, stroking your G-spot until you start to squirm.
With both of the incubi abusing your holes, it barely takes anytime before the first orgasm hits. You squirm to try and get away from the overstimmulation but your binds make it useless, causing you to cum before you're done with the first one. They keep fucking you until you have tears streaming down your face; only then do they give you reprieve.
The ropes shift again so that you're upright again, this time at face level with both of them.
"Aww, it looks like our princess still wants more," Jules says as he cups your pussy, dripping with your juices already. All you can do in response is let out a weak, hoarse whimper.
Verrine moves Jules aside, pulling out his own cock, "This is what you really want, isn't it?" He pushes inside before you can finish nodding, your oversensitive cunt throbbing in pleasure as he enters.
"Did you just cum from him putting it in?" Jules mocks from behind you, hands moving up to fondle your breasts. "We're just getting started, princess."
Verinne is kind enough to start off slowly, rocking into you as you get used to the feeling of his thick cock filling you to the brim. As he thrusts, Jules plays with your nipples and nibbles along your neck, sharp teeth grazing against your heated skin. Verinne occasionally kisses you with fervor before he speeds his pace.
As you're about to cum for the nth time, Jules presses a finger against your ass, teasing by only pressing and never entering.
"I want you to cum from Verrine's cock before I take you here," Jules whispers in your ear. The anticipation is enough to tip you over the edge, and Jules starts to finger your ass as you come down from your high.
The new intrusion makes you gasp. You've never tried anal, so the sensation is strange, and feeling his fingers against your walls while Verrine's cock is still inside sparks pleasure in a way you've never felt before.
Pressed against Verrine, Jules thoroughly preps you before he asks, "You ready, princess?" waiting until you give the okay before pressing in. The stretch isn't painful, but you've never felt so full before, making you moan. Jules stops once he's fully sheathed, letting you get used to the fullness before moving.
Once you get used to the feeling, you give a small nod, letting the twins know that they can move. Since you're already leaning against Verrine, Jules starts to thrust, sending sparks of pleasure you've never felt before. As he starts to build up speed, you can feel your orgasm building, your throbbing pussy making Verrine buck into you as Jules fucks your ass in earnest.
"Shit, princess. I'm not going to last much longer," Jules says before he speeds up even more, until he cums inside you. What surprises you is that even after he came, Jules is still hard, still filling your hole.
"I think it's time to really get started, love," Verrine says as he gently swings you between the two of them, both of their cocks alternating thrusts into you. The constant motion makes your eyes roll and makes you cum easily. Just like before, the two of them don't stop even as you cum, if anything, they speed up, your pulsing holes driving them closer to the edge.
"P-please, I don't want to cum anymore," you whimper after your 5th orgasm like this, tears streaming down your face from the overstimulation.
"Now you and I both know that that's a lie. Don't forget that we know what you fantasize. This is exactly what you wanted," Jules says.
"If anything, you should be thanking us for making your fantasies come true," Verrine finishes.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you babble, "thank you for using me like I've always wanted."
"There we go," Jules praises, "Now take what we give you."
The two of them speed up before they cum inside you. As they pull out, they gently undo all of the ropes, bridal carrying you to a bed. But instead of rest, they just continue to fuck your holes, alternating between them as they please.
This goes on all night until you're awoken by your morning alarm. As you go to turn it off, you feel a throbbing between your legs, and you feel a pool of fluids dripping out of you. You spend the rest of the day unsure if everything was just a dream or if it was something else, your lower half feeling deliciously sore all day.
This is my first time writing monster smut. Please be nice
You thought it was going to be another boring Tinder date, but the vampire before you is so nervous he's practically whimpering. Something in your mind just clicks, and you're hit with the need to tease him.
You run your foot slowly up his leg during dinner, talking to him like nothing's going on. Watching him squirm makes you want to push a little more.
"Do you want to come over after this?" you ask, but the glint in your eyes makes it more of a command than a request. The vampire, Alec, nods.
The two of you finish up your dinner date pretty soon after that. It doesn't take long for the two of you to reach your apartment.
Immediately after the door closes, you turn around and trap him against the door. You tilt your head up and start to kiss him. More often than not, you let the guy take the reins, but tonight it's you.
You kiss him like you own him, devour him. Your hands move up to grab his hair, moving his head into the perfect position. When you run your tongue against his teeth, it catches against one of his fangs, nicking you and making you bleed.
The second Alec tastes your blood, he melts, grabbing onto you like his knees will go out if he doesn't. You hear more of those delicious whimpers as you pull away, pulling him along to your bedroom.
Once you're there, you gently but firmly push him down onto your bed, eyes starting to get glassy as he starts to slip into sub space.
"Eyes over here, cutie," you say as you tilt his head toward you while you straddle him. Slowly, you start to unbutton his shirt, his pale skin showing in the pale moonlight coming from the window. You rake your nails against his chest, Alec's breath hitching when you do.
"Please," he begs breathlessly.
"Please, what?" you tease back.
"Please let me taste you."
"In what way?"
"Yes," he huffs.
You swiftly take off the rest of his and your clothes. Moving up the bed, you straddle Alec's head, pussy hovering just above his lips.
"Be careful with those teeth," you say, lowering yourself before he can respond.
Alec devours your pussy like he needs it to breathe, his tongue circling your clit before plunging inside, using his thumb to keep the stimulation going. His cool skin against your heated one heightens the pleasure. You rock against his mouth, riding him until you cum, his tongue making you see stars.
When you start to get overstimulated, you pull away until you're sitting beside him. You press a hand to his chest so he doesn't get up. Your other moving down to wrap around his cock. You slowly stroke him, watching him squirm. You keep this pace, edging him until you start to see tears building in his eyes.
Abruptly, you let go. Alec whines and grabs your arm, silently begging you for more.
"Arms up." He moves his arms. "Now keep them there until I say so."
You straddle him again, this time taking his cock. You stay there for a moment after you bottom out, then you start to grind against him, using him like a toy. You keep grinding until you cum a couple more times. The tears start to trickle down Alec's face from his glassy eyes.
When you finally decide that you're done teasing him, you ride him in earnest. His cock hits all of your sweet spots, making your legs shake until you can't move anymore.
As you lean forward, you whisper, "You can grab on now. I'm starting to get tired," giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before you start kissing and biting along his neck.
Alec's hands grip your hips as he starts to piston into you, his lips and teeth grazing against your shoulder as he moves. His cock fills you deliciously, and he manages to find the perfect pace for you to shatter into another orgasm.
Feeling your pussy flutter around him, Alec whimpers, "Please can a cum? I can't last much longer. Please? Please?"
You nod and whisper, "Cum in me. Bite me."
Not needing another word, Alec starts to speed up, chasing his own release, biting your shoulder as he cums. His bite makes you fall into another orgasm. It hits you so hard that you think that you may have blacked out for a second.
Alec continues to lap gently at the bite mark, sealing the wound.
You get off of him and off the bed to grab some glasses of water, feeling his cum running down your leg. When you come back, Alec is half asleep, but you make sure he drinks his water with the promise that he can get a proper bite when you get up. You gently comb through his hair until he comes out of sub space before you follow along and fall asleep too.
A Very Wicked Advent Calendar:Days 11–15 (vampire oc x fem re
Summary: your vampire boyfriend makes you a special Christmas advent calendar. Handmade, velvet, beautiful. Every drawer hides a naughty surprise he wants you to wear or use.
TW for all the days of the adventar: NSFW, festive/xmas vibes, fully consensual, biting, blood, restraints, semi-public act, sex toys (anal beads, dildo, vibrator, cock ring, nipple clamps), dom sub, orgasm control /denial, a tiny bit of spanking, anal, oral (m+f), face-sitting, romantic obsession, dirty talk, lots of fluids.
Plus! Reader's pussy/ass clean for all described sexual acts! So, no gross or unsanitary stuff happens or gets contracted... Enjoy!!!
Next Part
Previous Part
Calendar masterlist here.
December 11th
A dagger. A sharp blade with a round hilt that stepped wider toward the base graduated ribs.
"For my protection?" you asked.
"Hmmm, for keeping you safe," he rasped, "and for making me hard as hell when I use it on you."
Making good on his words, he used the flat of the cold steel to rip your clothes and trace your exposed flesh; your throat, the valley between your breasts, down your quivering belly. Your thighs parted on their own and he knelt close, pressing the dagger's round hilt against your wet slit.
You were frozen, unafraid, and impossibly aroused. He saw it, smiled, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking with firm pulls that made your legs quiver. Meanwhile, he twisted the hilt in his hand and eased the bulky hilt into your pussy. It popped in.
Inch by inch, the graduated bumps followed, stretching you open. He thrust it carefully, not rushing, his tongue flicking expertly against your clit. The hilt pushed deeper, the ridges rubbing your sensitive walls.
The fullness hit you like a wave, your body clenching around the intrusion as his mouth worked faster. No sound escaped your lips at first. Just a breathless heave, then your whole frame seized in an earth-shaking orgasm.
December 12th
The next morning, you reached for Day 12. Inside waited a pair of fang earrings. Not mere trinkets, but perfect replicas of his fangs with tiny diamonds set within.
"Let's put them on," Azrael murmured, fastening them to your lobes, his fingers brushing your neck.
"Thank you, I love them," you said as you guided him to the bed.
Resting back, you spread your legs wide and parted your pussy lips for him. Growling, he filled the space, his cock nudging your entrance before sliding in inch by throbbing inch. Your pussy gripped him tight, walls fluttering as he stuffed you completely. He thrust deep but unhurried, hips rolling to grind against your core.
Leaning in, he captured your mouth in a kiss, tongues tangling while his gaze bore into yours. The earrings sparkled in the morning light. He seemed more interested in you, however, his eyes never leaving as your body started to quake.
"That's it, let me see you break, sweetheart," he growled against your lips.
You did. Your climax built fast, crashing over you. Inner muscles spasming hard around his cock, you milked him as waves of pleasure tore through your core. He kept pumping, drawing out every pulse, before spurting his cum exactly where it belonged.
December 13th
And you were back to sex toys. This time a dildo made of solid glass. Bulky and curved, molded to the exact shape and dimensions of Azrael's inhuman cock. Complete with detailed veins and a huge mushroomed crown. He took it from you and guided you onto the thick rug before the fireplace. He removed your clothes, the heat from the flames licking at your skin.
Crouching between your splayed thighs, his brown and blue eyes holding yours, he brought the icy tip to your entrance. You whimpered, the shock of the cold a sharp point against your sensitive folds. He didn’t push, not yet. He just pressed, the smooth bulge of the head parting you just enough to feel the width, the promise of the stretch to come.
Pearly drops of your arousal welled against the glass dildo, making it gleam.
“So perfect... look at you making it shine so prettily,” he murmured, dragging the head up and down through your dripping slit.
Your back arched in a silent plea. He answered it and began to feed the dildo into you. The cold invasion was delicious, reminded you of his cock. Your muscles fluttered, trying to accommodate, to welcome. You could feel every detail in the glass, every crafted vein, as it forged its path deeper.
The stretch was immense, a glorious fullness that stole the air from your lungs. Your nails scraped against the rug as he started thrusting and he watched, transfixed, as your body swallowed the transparent shaft, loving the way your inner flesh clung to the glass.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his cock straining against his trousers. “Look at that. Taking every inch like a good girl.”
He rotated it slowly, and you cried out, the detailed veins rubbing against a dozen hidden spots inside you. He drew it out completely. The sound was filthy and you clenched around nothing, a sob of loss catching in your throat.
He didn’t make you wait. He drove it back in, a smooth push that punched the breath from your body. The base of the dildo met your flesh with a soft smack. Wet, rhythmic sounds filled the room, harmonizing with the crackle of the fire and your broken moans.
Each inward stroke rubbed the glass veins directly over that spongy spot inside you. Each withdrawal made you feel hollow, clenching at the air before he filled you again, harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts, your nipples hard, aching. You could only take it, your legs hooked over his shoulders, your entire world narrowed to the invasion of that perfect glass cock.
“You love it, don't you, love?” he grunted. “Your cunt is choking it. Trying to keep it inside. Such a greedy little hole.”
You gibbered, nonsense, his name, pleas for more and for mercy. He shifted the angle, and white-hot lightning arced through your nerves. Your vision spotted. A scream ripped from your throat. He fucked you through it, prolonging the shocks, drawing out every last tremor until you were a shaking, sobbing wreck beneath him.
Another day well spent...
December 14th
The fourteenth box held a vintage Polaroid camera. You'd always wanted one! You didn’t wait and made good use of it. The mattress dipped as you climbed over Azrael. You could feel the thick length of him pressing against your thigh. You positioned the camera, the weight of it steady in your hand, as you sank down onto him in one downward glide.
A choked gasp left your lips, the stretch and fullness a sweet, familiar burn. Your hips began to move, his cock entering and emerging from your depths. He stayed still and let you have his way with him, each downward thrust drawing sucking sounds from where your bodies joined, the noises obscene and thrilling.
“Look here, baby” you breathed and with a trembling finger, you pressed the shutter.
Whirr-click!
"So damn handsome," you muttered as you looked at the square: Azrael with his head thrown back against the pillow, cords of his neck taut, fangs peeking from his sexy lips. You let the picture fall to the sheets and rode him harder, capturing two more shots.
“Fuck, yes… just like that,” Azrael growled, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs digging into your flesh to guide you. His control was fraying; you could feel the pulse of him deep inside you, the telltale tightening of his muscles beneath you.
You snatched up another developing photo with one hand, watching the blurred image swim into view just as you felt his orgasm begin. It was perfect: his face a raw mask of release, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack in bliss.
“Come for me, baby,” you whimpered, bouncing harder on him.
"Sweetheart... yes... ahh... gonna come..."
At that exact second, he exploded, his cock jerking inside you, painting your walls with his spend. You snapped another picture, your moans climbing higher as you shattered right with him.
December 15th
You got a dark purple cut-out bodysuit that hid nothing from view. It had underwires and elastic straps that adapted to your curves but left you sensitive bits exposed; cupping the weight of your breasts, the wires tracing the under-curve, while the aching buds of your nipples met the cool air. Below, your entire pussy lay bare and the cheeks of your ass were completely exposed.
“Stand there for me, love,” Azrael murmured, pointing to a warm of light from the floor lamp.
You obeyed. The polaroid camera, his gift from yesterday, in his hands. This time, he was the one snapping pictures. You’d reloaded the film earlier and the mechanism gave its familiar whirr as he moved around you. You arched your spine, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you pushed your chest forward and gave your hips a sexy roll.
“So fucking pretty... Lift your leg and touch yourself, love,” he commanded, not looking up from the camera. “Show me how wet you are.”
Eagerly, you opened up and dipped your fingers between your legs. Your middle finger found the swollen peak of your clit, already slick and throbbing, and drew slow circles. He dropped to a crouch, the camera whirring. Click!
The camera captured your drenched fingers, your head bowed head, the blush spreading down your chest.
“Eyes on me. Now.”
You forced your eyes down, locking with his as your fingers continued their slippery work. He straightened to his full height, the denim of his jeans brushing your naked thigh. His free hand came up to roughly palm your breast, his thumb scraping over your nipple.
“Such perfect tits,” he growled, lowering his mouth to suck each pebbled peak, his tongue cold and wet. “All for me. And this…”
His hand replaced yours, two thick fingers sliding deep into your soaking heat. “This is all for me, too.”
Whirr, click.
Another photo ejected, a blurred record of his hand buried in you.
Azrael didn’t bother undressing fully. The rasp of his zipper echoed, then his massive cock sprang free. He guided you to the armchair, bending you over its back, the lace of the bodysuit pulling taut against your spine. You felt the broad head of him nudge against your dripping entrance, teasing for a second before he drove himself home in one claiming thrust.
“Fuck…so damn beautiful,” he grunted, his hands gripping the lace at your hips, using it to yank you back onto his cock with every plunge. He fucked you deep, the camera still in one hand, his arm stretching to aim it back at your joined bodies. Whirr, click!
Climax tore through you and he followed at the same time, shooting his seed inside before pulling out completely.
“Stay,” he gritted out, his breath ragged.
You trembled, feeling empty, exposed, your combined juices dribbling down your thighs.
He used the polaroid again. Whirr, click.
The flash illuminated your gaping pussy, glossy and dripping with both of your spend.
Whirr, click.
A final close-up of your flushed face pressed into the fabric of the chair.
The other version of this going around is a twerf and a radfem and anti kink so here's one you can reblog ethically because this is still an important PSA
♧•4,634 words, Werewolf x Reader, Y'all do it in the words, Making out, Oral(you’re giving), Throat fucking, Bent against the tree->On the ground, Standing doggy, Missionary, Name calling/Pet names(e.g, slut, whore, bitch¹, pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, etc), Choking(light), aftercare, etc•♧
Requested via dm;)
•18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕•
The bonfire eats the night, flames twisting high, wood popping and spitting sparks that float and die in the damp air. Someone’s got a speaker half-busted and loud, bass rattling cheap truck doors, voices rough with beer and smoke.
You’re tucked on the edge of it all, plastic cup sweating in your hand, letting the music and chaos blur. That’s when you notice her.
Leaning against the hood of a beat-up truck. Separate. Unbothered. Jacket hanging off her hips, boots planted wide, bottle loose in her hand. She doesn’t laugh at the bullshit jokes. Doesn’t jostle, doesn’t cheer. Just… watches.
And she’s watching you.
At first you keep looking away, but every time your eyes wander, you find her again. There’s no smirk, no friendliness in it — only the steady, patient weight of her stare. It coils in your gut, sharp and hot, until your mouth is dry and your skin prickles like you’ve been standing too close to the flames.
⋆ ˚｡⋆
You get up just to move. Just to breathe. Walk into the trees where the fire glow thins, where the cicadas scream louder than the music. It’s cooler here, damp earth under your shoes, the sweet rot of leaves in the air.
That’s when you hear her boots.
She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t try to hide it. Just follows, step for step, until you stop — and she’s already there, slipping out of the dark like she belongs to it.
She’s there when you turn.
“Running off?” she asks, voice low, smoke-rough.
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Her eyes catch what little light there is, strange and gold, and for a moment you feel the urge to back away. But your body doesn’t listen.
She closes the distance slowly. Each step deliberate, the kind that makes your pulse stutter, makes your back hit rough bark before you realize you’ve been moving.
She doesn’t touch you at first. Just stands there, close enough that the heat of her body crowds yours, close enough that you can smell whiskey on her breath, pine and something wilder clinging to her skin.
“You were staring,” she murmurs, tilting her head like she’s studying you, like she’s already decided what you’ll say. “Thought you wanted me to come find you.”
Her hand finally comes up — rough palm against the side of your throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding you there, thumb tracing slow over your pulse. Your breath shudders under it, embarrassingly loud in the stillness.
She leans in closer, mouth brushing your jaw but not kissing, her teeth catching skin for the briefest scrape. You tilt without meaning to, offering her more.
And she laughs — quiet, almost pleased.
“You're going to be so good,” she says. “I already know.”
Her mouth hovers there, her breath hot, her hand pressing just enough to remind you she could take more. She waits, forcing you to squirm, to push up against her chest, to part your lips like you’ll beg if she keeps drawing it out.
Only then does she kiss you.
It’s slow at first, patient in a cruel way, like she’s savoring how long she made you wait. Then her grip tightens at your throat and she tilts her head, deepening it, tasting you like she’s starving.
When her hand finally slips under your shirt, you’re already shaking.
The woods are damp, dark, and thick with cicadas, the bonfire a dull light far behind you now. She’s pressed close, hand still around your throat, mouth finally on yours. What starts sharp and deliberate melts into something hungrier, the kind of kiss that makes your knees weak, sloppy with tongue and teeth.
When she pulls back, you’re panting, lips wet, head tipped back against the bark.
“They say you’re a monster,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.
Her eyes flash gold at the word, a grin cutting across her face — sharp, wicked. “I am.” Her thumb drags along your throat, pressing just enough to make your pulse jump under it. “Does it bother you?”
You shake your head, desperate, breathless. “No.”
Her mouth crashes back to yours, harder now, wet and reckless. She kisses like she wants to consume you, like she’s proving the point. Your hands fumble at her waistband, unbuttoning her jeans with trembling fingers. She lets you, leaning back just enough to watch.
Your breath catches when you feel her — thick and hot, heavy against your palm. The shock only makes the hunger worse, your thighs clenching as heat spikes through you.
You sink to your knees without thinking, damp leaves and dirt soaking through your jeans. She tilts her head, watching, eyes blown wide in the thin spill of moonlight.
You take her in hand, stroke her slowly, then press a kiss to the tip. Her breath shudders out, sharp. You do it again, softer, then tap it against your tongue.
She laughs low, filthy, chest rising hard. “Look at you… little slut can’t wait to get a taste.”
The words make you ache. You open wider and take her in, sucking her slow and deep, your eyes locked on hers. She groans, jaw tight, hand slipping into your hair to hold you steady.
Her body in the moonlight is almost too much — taut muscle under her shirt, the line of her throat, the wild gleam in her eyes. You moan around her, your free hand sliding lower, toying with the slick heat between her thighs.
She curses, hips jerking. You stroke and suck both at once, greedy, worshipful. She looks down at you like you’re the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, and the most promising.
The taste of her, the sound of her voice — rough and low, telling you how dirty you are, how good you look with your lips wrapped around her — it’s almost enough to undo you right there in the dirt.
The forest presses close, cicadas screaming above, the taste of her still fresh on your tongue. She’s too big to take comfortably, and it burns in the best way, jaw aching, spit dripping down your chin.
Her hand fists in your hair, guiding you, though she’s letting you set the pace for now. Her gaze doesn’t leave you — golden eyes locked to yours, watching every twitch, every choke.
“God, look at you,” she groans, voice rough, head tilting back for a second before pinning her stare down at you again. “So desperate to swallow cock you can’t even breathe right.”
Your eyes water as you work her deeper, drool spilling, the heat of her filling your mouth. She’s already slick with spit, your hand working her shaft, jerking her while your tongue laves over the head each time you pull back to gasp. You can hear the wet sounds—obscene, sloppy—your moans mixing with the sharp curses tumbling from her throat.
Your free hand drags down her stomach, under her shirt, nails grazing her lower stomach before scraping, teasing. She hisses through her teeth, muscles jumping under your touch.
“Fuck, you’ve got me dripping,” she rasps, grinding forward just enough to smear spit across your lips. “Bet you like it — choking on it, taking it all messy like a good little whore.”
Your thighs squeeze together, slick between them, but you don’t stop. You suck harder, eyes still fixed on hers, showing her how much you want it, how much you can take.
She groans low, rough, and something in her breaks.
“Enough.” Her grip in your hair tightens hard, yanking your head back just to see your spit-slick mouth, your watery eyes. Then she slams you down onto her dick.
Your throat convulses around her, gagging, nose pressed against her pelvis. She sets a brutal rhythm, fucking your mouth with sharp, desperate thrusts. Every sound is wet and obscene — the gagging choke of your throat, the lewd suck of spit, her gasps tearing loose each time you swallow around her.
“Take it,” she snarls, hips snapping forward. “Take it all, don’t you dare pull away.”
Your nails dig into her thighs, but you don’t fight it. You let her use you, tears streaking your cheeks, spit running down your chin, drool soaking into your shirt. She’s lost in it now, fucking your throat raw, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
The sound she makes when she finally comes is guttural, wild. Hot ropes of her release spill down your throat, and you gulp them fast, swallowing greedily until she’s wrung herself dry.
When she pulls back, panting, her grip still tight in your hair, you open your mouth wide, tongue out, showing her it’s all gone.
Her chest heaves, sweat shining on her skin in the moonlight. She laughs low, shaky, almost disbelieving.
“Good fucking girl,” she growls, and her thumb wipes spit and tears from your chin, smearing them more than cleaning. “Goddamn perfect.”
She doesn’t give you time to breathe. One second you’re on your knees, your throat aching and slick with her, the next her grip hauls you up by your hair. Your lips crash into hers, the kiss rough, full of teeth, and she moans into your mouth like she can taste herself there.
“Take your pants off,” she orders against your lips, voice ragged.
Your hands scramble, shoving jeans down your thighs, underwear with them. Before you can even step out, she turns you and shoves you forward. Your palms hit the rough bark of the tree, cool night air ghosting over your bare ass.
“Look at you,” she murmurs behind you, hands spreading you open. “Bent over like a needy bitch in the woods. Probably been dreaming about this, huh? About getting used like the whore you are.”
Your chest heaves, nails digging into the bark. You bite your lip, then whisper back, breathless and shameless:
“I just wanted it to be you.”
That makes her pause, makes her growl low in her chest. A hand slides up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you still. Her other hand guides herself, thick head dragging through your slick folds.
The stretch burns as she pushes in slow. Inch by inch, she splits you open, forcing your body to yield. The breath stutters out of you, throat tight, eyes squeezing shut.
By the time she bottoms out, you’re choking on a sob, nails clawing at the tree. Your pussy clenches helplessly around her, already trembling from how full you feel.
She leans down, her mouth right at your ear, her voice rougher now. “You good, sweetheart?”
You nod frantically, tears spilling, voice catching. “Feels—feels so good, please don’t stop.”
Her hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to make you arch. Then she pulls almost all the way out and slams back in.
The sound is wet and messy, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the dark woods. Her thrusts start slow but deep, deliberate, making you feel every inch. Then she picks up pace, hips snapping, rutting into you harder and harder.
“Listen to you,” she snarls, pounding you against the tree. “Crying on my dick, dripping down your thighs like you were made for this. You love it, don’t you? Being fucked like a slut out in the open.”
You moan, voice breaking, body giving in completely. “I love it—mhgm—please don’t stop—”
The bark scrapes your palms, your whole body rocking forward with each brutal thrust, sweat and spit and slick making everything louder, filthier. Her hand slides around your throat again, squeezing just enough to cut your breath, her pace unrelenting.
She’s gone feral behind you, hips slamming, teeth bared, using you against the tree until all you can do is cry and take it, the woods swallowing every ragged sound you make.
Her hips crash into yours, each thrust harder, wetter, filthier than the last. The night’s quiet except for you — your moans breaking open, ragged, unrestrained.
She leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she grits, “God, you’re so loud. Moaning for me like you want the whole damn woods to know. What if someone comes and sees you like this? Bent over for me, stuffed full like a desperate slut?”
The thought makes your stomach flip, your nails dig deeper into the bark. You whimper, throat tight. “I—I’m sorry—”
Her hand on your hip jerks you back into her. “Don’t apologize, baby.” Her voice drops, low and hot against your ear. “I love how you sound.”
Your heart stutters, your face burning. “Yeah?” you pant, voice cracking.
“Mmh.” She hums it, rough and deep, hips snapping into yours like punctuation. “Every moan… every cry… I want all of it.”
It breaks something loose in you. You stop holding back — the sounds pour out, unashamed. Each thrust knocks a new moan out of you, higher, wetter. Your thighs are shaking, and the slick gush dripping down them is copious. She can feel it too; she slides in and out of you with a squelch that makes her snarl.
“Fuck, you’re soaking me, baby. Making such a mess all over me."
Your moans climb louder, wild and unrestrained — until she suddenly stops. Her chest heaves against your back as she presses you flush into the tree. The bark scrapes your nipples, rough and grounding. Then her palm clamps hard over your mouth.
“Shhh,” she hisses in your ear. “I said I love it… but you’re gonna get us caught.”
The world narrows. Her hand tastes of earth and salt against your tongue as you cry into it, muffled and raw. Her sweat slicks hot down your spine, her breath burning at your neck.
And then she ruts into you like an animal. Harsher, faster, the kind of thrusts that make your body jolt forward against the tree. Her length slams deep, angling perfect, abusing your g-spot until your vision blurs.
Your sobs choke out against her palm, tears leaking hot down your cheeks. The sounds are a mess — muffled cries, wet slaps of skin, her pants and grunts.
“That’s it,” she growls into your hair, voice ragged. “Take it. Cry on my dick, baby. Let me ruin you.”
Your nails scrape grooves into the bark. Your body can’t stop clenching around her, spasming with each brutal stroke. Her weight pins you, her heat smothers you—grounding you in her, in this moment.
Every thrust drags another muffled scream out of you, your whole body unraveling as she fucks you deeper, meaner, until all that’s left is sweat, tears, and the dizzying rhythm of her cock hammering into you.
Your cries are nothing but muffled whimpers against her palm now, the sound of your own wetness loud in your ears. Every thrust feels like it’s breaking you open — her cock hitting that spot so deep inside you that your vision keeps flashing white. Bark digs into your palms, your breasts scrape against the tree with every shove, but the pain only anchors the pleasure.
You swear you can feel her everywhere — the heat of her sweat dripping down your back, the way her chest rises and falls heavy against you, the thrum of her heartbeat pounding like a drum against your spine. And her cock—God, her cock feels carved for you, stretching you wide, bottoming out until you’re choking on every stroke.
Your body betrays you. You know you shouldn’t, know you barely even know her — but somewhere between her filthy whispers and the way she fills you, you think you might love her. It’s not love, not really. But your brain is too fuzzy to care. All you know is that this is the best you’ve ever had. That no one else has ever fucked you like this. No one’s ever ruined you so good.
Her lips brush your ear, her voice husky, dangerous, sweet.
“Good girl, so fucking perfect. You love it, don’t you? Being split open like this. Being mine.”
Your stomach knots, your whole body clenches. You moan into her hand, a desperate muffled “uh-huh.”
“Yeah, baby. I feel you squeezing me. You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” Her pace falters only to grind deep, forcing her dick flush against your sweet spot. “Come on. Make a mess on me. Show me how bad you need it.”
The world tilts. Heat floods your body, your thighs quake as pleasure rips through you. Your orgasm is violent — a sharp cry torn from your throat, muted against her hand. Your walls clamp down so tight around her that your vision blacks out at the edges. Wet gush spills down your thighs, dripping onto the dirt, obscene and shameless.
“Fuck,” she snarls against your neck, rutting into you harder, chasing her own end. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
Your body shakes, overstimulated and trembling, but she doesn’t let up. Her hips slam faster, rougher, until her voice breaks, guttural. “Gonna give you everything.”
Her teeth graze your shoulder, not breaking skin, just enough to make you shiver. You feel her throb, swell, stretching you further until you’re gasping around her hand. The knot locks in, hot and brutal, plugging you full so deep you can’t move.
She finally lets your mouth free. Before you can breathe, she turns your head and crushes her lips to yours. It’s a filthy, hungry kiss, tongues colliding, your tears mixing with her sweat. You moan into her mouth as her cock jerks and she spills inside you, thick heat pumping so much you feel it seeping around the knot, dripping down your thighs.
Her body shudders against yours, the beast in her groaning low in her chest. She doesn’t pull away. She keeps kissing you — wet, sloppy, messy— her hips grinding to push it all in deeper.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are glowing faint gold in the moonlight, wide and dilated, wolf and woman tangled together. She pants against your lips, voice rough velvet as she whispers,
“You’re mine now, baby. You feel that? Nobody else is ever gonna fuck you like this.”
Your head spins, your cunt still spasming around the knot that’s keeping you stuffed and helpless. You can’t even deny her — not with your body clinging so tight, not with your heart thundering like it wants to believe her.
⋆ ˚｡⋆
The knot finally goes down, slipping free with a wet sound that makes you whimper. Your legs nearly buckle, but she’s there instantly, big hands gripping your hips, holding you steady so you don’t fall against the tree. She turns you gently, guiding you until you’re facing her.
Her chest rises and falls heavy, her skin slick with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead. In the moonlight, she looks like something carved out of shadow and silver — sharp, strong, otherworldly. You can still hear the cruel whispers from earlier at the party, the way people muttered about her looks, about what she was. But standing here, flushed and panting, you’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.
Your hands lift almost without thinking, wrapping around her neck. You pull her down into a kiss. It’s slow, but messy—open mouths, tongues brushing, both of you breathing hard into each other. She hums against your lips, like she can taste the truth of what you’re feeling.
“There’s a lake deeper in the woods,” she murmurs between kisses, her forehead pressed to yours. “We can clean up.”
You don’t let her pull away. Your fingers tangle in her damp hair, tugging her mouth back to yours. You kiss her harder, hungrier, the ache in your body sparking all over again. “I want you again,” you whisper, your voice raw, needy.
That makes her pause. Just for a breath. Then she smiles at you — not mocking, not cruel. It’s soft, almost fond, the kind of look that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah?” she says, low, like a secret just for you. “Alright, baby. You’ll have me again.”
You drop down into the dirt without care, your back pressing into the ground, twigs catching in your hair. You spread your legs open, shameless, the ache between them screaming for her. “Give it to me,” you tell her, your voice thick, trembling.
Something in her shifts. She lowers down, crawling between your thighs on all fours, her movements heavier, more animal. Her broad shoulders roll under the moonlight, the cords of her muscles flexing as her body changes in small but undeniable ways. Her jaw looks stronger, sharper. Hair prickles along the line of her face, her cheekbones catching the silver glow. Her eyes are wide and blown, lit faintly gold at the edges.
You should be afraid. You’re not. You’re burning with it.
“God,” you breathe, your hands trembling as they cup her face. “You’re so beautiful.”
She freezes, her lips parting, her breath shuddering like she doesn’t know what to do with that. Then she surges forward, capturing your mouth again. The kiss is deep, consuming, her tongue sliding against yours like she wants to devour you whole.
And then she’s pressing inside.
The stretch makes your back arch, your nails digging into the dirt as she slides in deep and slow, every inch pushing the breath out of your lungs. She bottoms out, her hips flush to yours, her heat sinking into your core until you’re full in a way that makes your head spin.
Her forehead rests against yours, her voice wrecked, half-growl, half-praise. “Look at you. Taking me again. Sweet little thing—can’t get enough, can you?”
She's deep in you, stretching you until your eyes roll back, and stays there — buried to the hilt, not moving, just breathing against your mouth. The weight of her settles heavy, her body pinning yours into the dirt. Her hands slide up your sides, wide palms spanning your waist like she’s mapping every inch of you to memory.
Your breath stutters, lips parting as your gaze locks to hers. Those eyes… god, they’re darker now, the pupils blown wide, catching the moonlight with a faint glow. Her canines are sharper when she kisses you, grazing your lower lip like they want to bite but don’t. She looks more monstrous, more wolf than woman — but still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” she whispers, her voice wrecked and low. She starts moving — pulling back just enough to make you ache, then pushing in slow and steady, grinding deep against the spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble.
Your hand trails up, brushing over the sweat-damp planes of her stomach. The muscles twitch under your touch. Higher, until your palm cups her breast, your thumb flicking her nipple. She groans into your mouth, kissing you rougher, deeper.
Her hips snap a little harder now, the rhythm still deliberate but edged with hunger. You whimper, your nails biting into her chest. She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes locking to yours, her expression wrecked and reverent all at once.
“You’re so pretty like this,” she murmurs. “Spread open for me. Taking me so good.”
The words make heat bloom in your chest, make your throat tight. You nod, whining softly. “Only for you,” you whisper, voice breaking, sweet and raw.
Her hips jerk at that. A low growl rumbles in her chest, not threatening but desperate. She presses her forehead to yours and kisses you again, slow and sloppy, her breath hot against your lips. Her hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing lazy, perfect circles.
The sound you make is broken, high-pitched, almost a sob. You can’t stop clinging to her, your arms wrapping tighter around her neck. “God, you make me feel so good,” you whisper, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I—fuck—I think I love you.”
Her thrusts stutter, her eyes going wide, almost wild. Then she groans deep, the sound vibrating through your chest, and pounds into you a little rougher, still keeping that slow rhythm but harder, deeper, more consuming.
“Say it again,” she begs, her voice shredded.
“I love you,” you whine, and it’s not real, it can’t be, but in this moment it is — it’s all you feel. “I love you so much.”
Her hand works your clit faster, her cock grinding into your sweet spot with every thrust. The heat builds fast, unbearable, until you’re trembling under her, gasping into her mouth as the orgasm crashes through you. Your body seizes, cunt pulsing around her cock, slick dripping down your thighs.
She follows you over, eyes locked to yours, her jaw tight, her canines flashing as she buries herself deep one last time. The sound she makes is primal — half-growl, half-moan — as she spills into you, her hips jerking, her chest pressing hard against yours.
For a long moment, neither of you move, just breathing, clinging, staring into each other’s wrecked faces. Then she kisses you softer, slower, like she’s savoring you.
When she finally pulls out, she’s careful, her big hand sliding to your hip to steady you. She nuzzles your temple, voice husky, low. “Come on, sweet girl. Let’s go clean up.”
She pushes up off you, then reaches a hand down, strong fingers curling around yours to pull you gently to your feet. And even as your legs wobble, even with dirt clinging to your back and sweat drying on your skin, you feel cared for. You feel hers.
⋆ ˚｡⋆
The water is cold enough to make you gasp, but her arms are warm around you as she helps guide you deeper, both of you wading until the moon ripples silver across the surface. The dirt and sweat slip away in the dark water, her fingers trailing over your shoulders, your back, as if she’s not just washing you but touching you because she can’t not.
You mimic her, your palms smoothing over her chest, her stomach, feeling her muscles relax beneath your hands. It’s quiet except for the gentle lapping of the lake and your soft breathing, the night wrapping around you both like a secret.
“Sorry,” you murmur after a long silence.
Her brows knit. “For what?”
“For saying I loved you,” you admit, eyes dropping to the water. Your voice is small but honest. “I…I really like you, though. And thank you—for tonight. I’m glad I came to the stupid party.”
For a moment, you think she’ll tease you. Instead, she tips your chin up with wet fingers, making you look at her. Her smile is small but real, softer than you’ve ever seen it. “It’s okay. I know what you were feeling. And… I want to see you again.”
Your breath catches, surprise flashing in your chest before it melts into something warm and dizzying. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Her thumb brushes your cheek. “I really do.”
You can’t help it—you laugh, relieved and giddy, before leaning in and kissing her. It’s slower now, sloppy and wet from the water on your lips, but it feels like the sweetest thing in the world. You both linger in it, mouths parting, breaths tangling.
When her body shifts closer against yours, you feel it—hard, insistent, pressing into your hip again. You pull back just enough to look down, then back up at her face.
“Oh wow,” you say softly, surprised and breathless.
She grins, a little sheepish but amused, and that cracks both of you open. You laugh together, the sound echoing over the water, light and easy after all the heaviness.
She kisses you again, smiling against your mouth, and the night feels endless, the moon above, the lake around you, and her arms holding you close.
I beg of you- Angel in denial with Odaxelagnia and some soft of unholy gn reader 💚
bite the sin from me
angel x gn!reader nsfw
They shouldn’t be here.
They knew it, you knew it—but neither of you moved. Not when their wings brushed the stone. Not when they breathed your name like a prayer. And especially not when their trembling hand ghosted over your cheek, like your skin might singe their virtue.
You leaned up slowly, hand brushing their chest. Their robes had already started to slip. Not torn—just unfastened, from the inside out. “Your mouth aches,” you whispered. “Doesn’t it?”
They nodded, barely.
You guided their trembling hand to your throat. Their palm hovered there, reverent.
“I shouldn’t want this,” they breathed, but their fingers flexed. “I shouldn’t want you.”
“But you do,” you whispered. “And I know why.”
Their eyes—gold-ringed and frantic—met yours.
You leaned in. “You want to bite.”
Their wings trembled.
“I can smell it on you,” you said, voice like velvet sin. “That sacred hunger. You want to taste. You want to sink your fangs in and take.”
Their eyes fluttered closed. “You don’t understand what it would mean.”
“I do,” you purred. “It would mean you’re not perfect anymore. That maybe heaven wasn’t enough.”
They groaned—choked on it—and you felt their cock twitch beneath the drape of robes, already thick and heavy, hard enough to ache. They tried to hide it, shifting, ashamed. But you pulled the cloth aside.
Oh.
Gods must’ve carved it—long, flushed, veined, beautifully cut for worship. Sacred and obscene.
Your gaze lingered, and the angel whimpered, twitching again under your eyes.
“Please,” they whispered. “Don’t… look at it like that.”
“Like what?” You leaned closer. “Like it’s divine? Like I want it to ruin me?”
They shuddered.
You sat up fully now, straddling their thighs, warm and soft where they were trembling. Their cock slid between the curves of your thighs, flushed and leaking.
You didn’t grind yet. You just… breathed. Close.
“I can feel your restraint,” you whispered. “And your teeth.”
Their fangs had pushed slightly from their gums, barely visible, gleaming.
You tilted your neck.
“Bite me.”
Their hands tightened on your waist like a reflex. “No. I shouldn’t. I’ll—”
You leaned down, brushing your lips to their ear.
“I want you to lose control.”
That broke them.
Their mouth crashed into yours, teeth grazing, tongue desperate. Their wings flared, wrapping you both in soft, trembling light. And then—gasping, shuddering—they bit.
Hard. But not enough.
Their fangs pierced your skin, and you moaned, loud and helpless, clutching their shoulders as warm, holy hunger flowed from their mouth into your neck. They groaned around your skin, grinding up into you now, cock sliding along your warmth, soaked with pre.
You clutched their hair, whispered, “Good. Good. Take it. Take me.”
They were lost now—biting deeper, suckling like it would purge them, their cock pulsing, rubbing messily between your bodies. You shifted just enough to squeeze them tighter between your thighs, dragging slick along their length.
Their hands wandered—trembling, reverent—across your chest, your stomach, your thighs. Learning you like scripture. Worshipping through touch. They whispered your name, your taste, like it hurt to admit it.
You licked the blood from their lips and whispered, “You like it.”
Their eyes fluttered, shame and ecstasy mixing. “Yes,” they moaned. “Oh—yes. Bite me back. Please.”
You sank your teeth into their shoulder.
They cried out, bucking up and grinding harder, pre spilling hot between you, wetting both your bellies now. “Please,” they begged. “I need—I need to be inside you.”
You guided them—not rushed, but with purpose—lifting yourself just enough to slide them against your entrance.
Then you sank down.
They gasped like they were dying. Their cock was thick, spreading you wide, forcing your body to take it inch by holy inch. You trembled, gripping their arms, as their wings arched above you, full of golden light and sin.
“Feels too good,” they moaned. “I’m not… I’m not supposed to feel this.”
You kissed their throat, still grinding slowly, full and tight.
They nodded helplessly, gripping your hips, beginning to thrust up into you—each motion thick, deep, sacred. “It’s blasphemy,” they whispered. “And I never want it to end.”
You bit them again. Deeper.
And they came undone.
You hadn’t even pulled off yet.
The angel lay beneath you—chest heaving, lips stained red from where they’d bitten, come still dripping from where their thick cock had emptied deep inside. And yet… they were still hard.
Twitching, glistening, buried inside your tight heat, and pulsing like it ached to cum again.
You ran your fingers through their hair—so soft, so light it practically glowed. “Still hungry?” you whispered, sweet as poison.
Their eyes fluttered open, wild and glassy. “I—I can’t stop,” they panted, voice shaking. “I still feel it—your taste, your skin, your blood. I want—” Their hips jerked upward, grinding deep inside you, desperate. “I need more.”
“Of me,” you said. Not a question.
They nodded helplessly. “Please. I—I shouldn’t, but—please. Let me stay inside. Let me bite. Let me—”
“Come again?” you purred, rolling your hips slow and deep.
They cried out, hands scrambling for your waist, trembling as they pulsed again inside you. “Yes,” they gasped. “Please. I’ll fall for it. I don’t care. I want it—I want you.”
Their wings trembled, radiant and wrong—feathers fraying, the tips dipped in ash and sweat. You leaned forward, pressing your lips just under their jaw, letting your breath warm the blood-slick bite from before.
“You already fell, angel.”
They shivered.
You bit them again.
Their back arched. A choked sob ripped from their throat, and their cock throbbed violently inside you. “F—fuck—” they whimpered. “I’m not—I can’t hold it—”
You rocked harder now, grinding your hips in sinful circles, wet heat slapping with every thrust. Their wings flared wide and then shrank, curling inward as their halo flickered overhead—dimming, twisting, humming like it wanted to snap.
“You’re going to cum again,” you whispered, voice low against their bitten throat. “You’re going to fill me until it spills out. Until your holy cock goes soft from being milked dry.”
They nodded tangling their finger into your hair. Tugging on your locks.
You squeezed around them, and they gasped, clinging to you like prayer. “Please don’t stop. Please—”
You licked the blood from your lips, slow and taunting. “Beg me.”
They looked up, panting, flushed and wrecked. “I want it,” they whispered. “I want you to break me. Bite me. I want fuck you. Use me. Please—please, make me yours.”
You kissed them and they whimpered into your mouth, thrusting blindly, wet and desperate, rutting up into you with dizzying need.
Their cock twitched again—so hot, so hard, sliding in and out of your slick, gripping heat. You squeezed harder, grinding deep, and they broke.
They came again.
Warm seed flooded you a second time, thick and spilling, and they sobbed into your neck, trembling like they’d been struck down from heaven. Their fingers dug into your back, lips brushing your skin as they panted, “More. I need more.”
You looked down at them—so divine, so filthy now. Their golden hair stuck to their forehead, halo dim and cracked. Their perfect body shuddered beneath yours, hips still twitching, still trying to thrust even as they overflowed.
And they were still hard.
You laughed softly. “Your cock’s still aching,” you whispered. “What a greedy angel.”
They flushed, but didn’t look away. “I—I need your mouth. Please.” They reached up, reverent and trembling. “Bite me again. Let me—let me feel you feeding.”
Your smile turned sharp.
You leaned down, kissed the hollow of their throat, and bit.
This time you sank your teeth deep.
They screamed, raw and loud, cock jerking violently inside you as their whole body seized. You ground down hard, rolling your hips in relentless rhythm, until their seed spilled again—hot, thick, soaking you.
Their eyes rolled back.
They came a third time.
Overstimulated. Divine. Ruined.
When you finally pulled back, your lips stained with blood, they were trembling, clutching at you like they’d die if you left. Their wings had gone dark at the edges—still soft, but falling. The halo above them flickered once—then went out.
They stared up at you, dazed. “Am I… am I damned now?”
You brushed a hand through their hair, soft and gentle. “No,” you murmured. “You’re mine.”
Their breath caught.
And slowly, with holy reverence, they pulled you down and whispered against your mouth, “Then damn me again.”
You’d been living together for months without issue—mostly chill, occasionally flirty, never serious. He was big, warm, annoyingly hot in that messy-hair, heavy-lidded, always-shirtless kind of way. You teased him for how much meat he ate, the way he slept with the window open even in the dead of winter, how he always seemed restless.
You never asked about the wolf thing. It felt… impolite.
But this week? He was different. Quieter. Snappier. Like he was holding something back. His muscles were more tense, his jaw tight. He wouldn’t stay in the same room with you for long. Every time you moved past him, you could feel his eyes on you—and not in the usual “roommate checking out your ass” kind of way. It was deeper. Hungrier.
Then, on Tuesday night, he finally said it.
You were sitting at the counter, scrolling your phone, halfway through a tub of ice cream, when he walked in shirtless and flushed, sweat gleaming across his chest. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered, but his skin still shimmered with heat. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and then just stood there—shoulders rising and falling too fast.
“…I’m going into rut,” he muttered, like it hurt to say the words. “This week. Maybe tonight.”
You blinked, barely looking up. “Okay?”
He tensed. You could feel it even from across the room.
“I just thought you should know.”
You snorted. “You say that like I’m supposed to lock my door or something.”
A long silence.
He closed the fridge, didn’t move. “Might be smart.”
That made you look at him. Really look. His eyes were dark, hooded, and very, very pointedly not on your face. There was something barely contained in his posture—like if he moved the wrong way, he’d snap.
You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I’ll stay in my room.” His voice was rough. “Just don’t… don’t walk around in those little shorts. Or your towel. Or anything that smells like you.”
“…So I should just stop existing?”
His jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to say something else—maybe beg. Maybe warn you harder. But instead he just growled under his breath and stalked off, leaving a trail of heat and tension in his wake.
You should’ve taken the hint.
That night, you couldn’t sleep. The air in the apartment felt thick, humid, like the walls were sweating. You kicked off your blanket and rolled over, but then you heard it.
A creak. A low groan. The rhythmic thud of a mattress rocking too hard. A muffled curse.
You slipped out of bed, heart thudding, and cracked your door open. The hallway was dark, lit only by the faint glow under his door—and the sounds. Wet, fast, desperate. His breath coming in ragged gasps. The broken snarl of his voice.
“Fuck… fuck, just need something tight…”
You froze, breath caught in your throat.
He let out a whine, low and rough, followed by the unmistakable slap slap slap of skin against something soft. You didn’t need to guess what. The whole apartment reeked of sweat, heat, sex. And underneath it all, faint but familiar, you could smell yourself—your shampoo, your laundry, your skin.
You knew you should walk away. Go back to bed. But you didn’t.
The next night, it was worse. Louder. Wetter. Like he wasn’t even trying to hold back anymore. You pressed your pillow over your head, but it didn’t help. You could hear everything. Every needy growl, every slap of flesh, every low, hungry moan. You were flushed and squirming under the sheets before you even realized your hand had slid between your legs.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just curiosity. Shared space, thin walls. Nothing more.
But when he cornered you in the hallway the next night—bare-chested, sweat dripping from his neck, pupils blown wide—you knew something had shifted.
His breathing was shallow. His body radiated heat. And his voice, when he spoke, was barely human.
“I can’t—can’t do this anymore,” he rasped, stepping closer. “You smell too good. I need you. Please.”
Your mouth went dry. Your heart kicked hard in your chest. He was huge, trembling with restraint, and every cell in your body lit up with want.
You could’ve said no.
But you didn’t.
You grabbed his shirt, yanked him closer, and whispered, “Then take me.”
He didn’t kiss you at first.
He slammed you against the wall.
His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t trust himself—like if he touched you any rougher, he’d break you. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged and burning as it ghosted across your lips.
“I’ve been fighting it,” he choked. “Three fucking days. Every time you walk past me, every time you laugh, every time you wear that goddamn skirt—”
You tugged his head down, dragging your mouth to his. “Then stop fighting.”
That was all it took.
He crashed into you, mouth hot and greedy, devouring you like he was starving. His tongue pushed past your lips with a low growl, and you moaned into him, fingers fisting in his hair. He kissed like he fucked—rough, consuming, no room to breathe. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, voice low and dark.
You obeyed.
He carried you to his room in a blur—slammed the door, shoved aside everything in his path, and threw you down on his bed like a prize. The sheets were soaked with his scent, still warm from earlier. The air was thick, humid, dizzying.
You barely had time to think before he was on top of you again—hands tearing at your clothes, mouth everywhere at once. He pressed his nose to your throat and groaned, breathing you in like oxygen.
“Smell even better up close,” he rasped. “So fucking sweet… drives me insane.”
His teeth grazed your neck, not quite biting—but close. Teasing. A warning.
Your shirt was gone, then your underwear, ripped down your legs with a snarl. He was frantic, panting, barely holding himself back. His eyes burned gold in the low light, his pupils wide and wild.
“You sure?” he growled, even as his hands slid between your thighs.
You nodded, breathless. “Yes—fuck, yes.”
He didn’t waste another second.
He leaned down and dragged his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste like it was the first real relief he’d had in days. You cried out, hips jerking, and he pinned you down harder, his grip bruising. His mouth was everywhere—tongue plunging deep, nose grinding against your clit, licking and sucking like a man possessed.
Your thighs shook around his head. “Shit—wait, I—I’m gonna—”
He didn’t stop. If anything, he went harder.
You came hard and fast, gasping his name, hips bucking against his mouth as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. He groaned into your cunt, licking you through it, drinking down everything you gave him.
When he pulled back, his mouth was wet, chin slick, eyes glassy with lust. He looked feral.
“Fuck, I need to be inside you,” he growled. “Need to feel you. Gonna fill you up, knot you so deep—”
He stripped what was left of his clothes in seconds, and your breath caught at the sight of him. He was huge—thick, flushed, already leaking—and at the base of his cock, you could see the swell of his knot, already beginning to form.
“Jesus,” you breathed. “That’s not gonna fit.”
“It will,” he said darkly, crawling over you. “It has to.”
He lined himself up, ran the head of his cock through your soaked folds, and moaned low in his throat. “So wet already… your body knows. It wants this.”
You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t.
“Hurry.”
He pushed in slow—just the tip—and your breath caught at the stretch. He was thick, and every inch felt like too much and not enough all at once. You dug your nails into his arms, moaning as he inched deeper, watching your face the whole time.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Take me. Let me fuck you through it.”
You whimpered as he bottomed out, his hips finally flush with yours, the base of his knot grinding against your entrance. The feeling of him inside you—hot, heavy, overwhelming—made your whole body tremble.
And then he moved.
Slow at first. Deep. Grinding his hips into yours with slow, brutal thrusts that made your breath hitch every time he hit that sweet, aching spot inside you.
“So tight,” he growled, voice slurred with heat. “So warm around me—fuck, you’re perfect.”
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moaning into his neck. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
He picked up the pace, hips snapping faster, the slap of skin on skin getting louder, filthier. The wet sounds of your bodies colliding filled the room, slick and obscene, and you couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t think.
Your legs shook. Your body burned. You were stretched and stuffed and ruined and it still wasn’t enough.
You needed more.
He was pounding into you now—fast, hard, deep—his growls vibrating against your throat as your hips rocked up to meet every thrust.
“Fuck, fuck—you feel so good,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “So wet… you’re sucking me in.”
Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline. You could feel every inch of him—his thick cock sliding deep inside you, the swollen base of his knot grinding harder and harder against your entrance with every stroke.
You cried out, nails raking down his back. “You’re—ah!—gonna knot me—!”
“Yeah,” he snarled. “You ready for it, sweetheart? Gonna let me lock you up? Fill you till you’re dripping?”
You couldn’t even speak. Just nodded frantically, choking on your moans, your body trembling from the stretch and the heat and the pressure building, building—
Then his hips slammed forward—brutal and deep—and the thick ridge of his knot pressed hard against your cunt, stretching you impossibly wide.
You moaned.
It burned, that raw, overwhelming pressure of him trying to push deeper, your pussy clenching tight around his cock as your body fought it—and then gave in.
With a slick, wet pop, his knot slid inside.
“Shit—!” he growled, voice cracking as his hips stuttered. “That’s it, that’s—fuck—!”
Your body arched. You were full—so full you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The knot locked you together, pulsing deep inside, sealing him in as your cunt fluttered helplessly around him. You came again, hard, clenching tight around the thickness as you cried out, legs trembling.
He held still, buried to the hilt, his arms locked around you like a cage. You could feel his cock throbbing, feel the rush of heat as he spilled inside—hot and thick and so much, your belly aching from it.
“Mine,” he growled, panting against your neck. “All fucking mine now.”
You whimpered, voice gone, throat raw from moaning. Every little twitch of your hips made the knot drag against your walls, sent a fresh wave of overstimulation crashing through your core.
His hand slid between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in lazy, tight circles.
“Still shaking?” he murmured. “Still hungry for more?”
You gasped, squirming. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes you can.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and sticky-sweet. “You’re taking it so well. You were made to be knotted, weren’t you? Fucking bred for it.”
Your cunt clenched around him hard, and he grinned, feral.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “There it is.”
You buried your face in his neck, body twitching as another orgasm rolled over you—smaller this time, but no less intense. Just the stretch, the fullness, the locked sensation of being tied to him had your nerves singing, pleasure raw and messy in your belly.
You could feel his cum leaking out, hot and thick, dripping down your ass even with the knot sealing most of it inside.
“Fuck…” you slurred. “I feel like I’m gonna burst.”
He chuckled darkly, brushing sweat-matted hair from your face. “You’re doing perfect. You’re not going anywhere now.”
You whimpered, hips twitching helplessly.
He rocked into you again—slow this time, shallow little pulses of his hips that made you whine, your body too sensitive to handle it.
And he was still hard.
Still inside.
Still not done.
“I’ll give you a break,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “But just know… we’re not finished. My rut’s just getting started.”
You shivered beneath him, overwhelmed, overstretched, and somehow still wanting.
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