Letting your gargoyle boyfriend fuck you in the middle of the day is a huge risk, which is why it's so thrilling. The thought of him turning to stone mid-thrust is fun... In theory. The day it actually happens, he has you on your belly, his hips pressing against your ass with each deep thrust. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, putting you completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but whine as he brings you closer to the edge of a blissful orgasm.
When he stops all of a sudden, you think it's because he's trying not to cum. But after a couple of seconds tick by, you realize he's not moving and his ragged breaths have stilled completely. You twist as best as you can to look at his face. His face is frozen in a snarl. A strip of sunlight washes his skin with a golden hue, activating the stone curse all gargoyles have. You glance towards the windows. The curtains are drawn, but not drawn enough. The wind must have moved.
"No," you whine, squirming.
All you manage to do is fuck yourself on a cock that's now made of smooth, unbudging stone. It feels thicker too. You manage to grab your phone from the nightstand. You've got at least half an hour before the sun sets. With a groan, you drop your face into the pillow and try to stay calm. You can't get comfortable, though. Not with his cock stretching you open so rudely. Half a torturous hour later, the sun sinks just enough for your boyfriend to come alive again.
The first thing he does is let out a ragged growl. Then he pulls out. Ah, blessed freedom. You're aching from lying in the same position for so long–the air gets knocked out of you when he thrusts back inside, and your eyes widen.
"Half an hour of you fucking clenching around me," he grunts. "I thought I'd go insane."
"I'm soreee," you complain, but you let him roll you onto your back.
"You didn't get to cum," he coaxes breathlessly. "Let me finish you off, yeah?"
Well. You can't say no to that.
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