I know you have a ton of requests, but, could we maybe get some monster (i'd love minotaur but i'm open for anything) baby trapping a reader?
Kabr0z Writes Episode 249: Mine-otaur
Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!
AO3!
CWs: kidnapping; impregnation; size difference; oral sex; stalking; drugging (in a not intox way); surveillance; heavy noncon throughout;
A/N: Thanks, 🦴, for breaking me out of my writer's block this week by helping choose a fun request, and for helping with the name :D
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You saw him again today. Not that he’s hard to spot in a crowd. Seven feet tall, broadly built, with horns to match. To say he cut a striking figure wouldn’t be an overstatement at all. You just wished he’d leave you alone.
It started a month ago, when he found you on the internet. They always tell you not to give out your real name or traceable information, and you thought you’d been careful, but apparently not careful enough. You’d added him as a friend and before you know it you were running into one another. What could have been coincidence to start with turned into patterns. The first time you caught him on your street was worrying, the third was alarming. Couple that with the breakin you’d had a week ago? Your gut hasn’t felt right for days.
It was strange, someone had broken in and totally ransacked the place, but they hadn't actually taken anything…
Either way, life has to go on. You're not going to let some creep scare you out of living it. You'd put your dress on, the little black one that shows off your legs and waist properly, it's only half a mile from your place to your friends where you're set to meet up. Keys clutched in your right hand, the blades jutting out from between your fingers in a crude brass knuckle. Silently, you wished again that your country would let you carry something a little more suited for purpose, but being caught with a can of pepper spray or mace wouldn't end well even if it you did only use it for self defence.
You could hear him already. Heavy footfalls behind you, keeping his distance, but still definitely on your trail. Turning around wasn't an option, even if the two feet he had on you wasn't there, he was visibly so much stronger than you you still wouldn't fancy your chances. Instead you picked up the pace, thinking of calling the police again but considering last time they told you they wouldn't do anything about it, you figured you'd save yourself the trouble.
He was getting closer. You grit your teeth. Fists clenched, back hunched defensively. Almost running now, just a couple of hundred more metres until you got there, you didn't need to keep up this pace for long. There's no way he'd try anything in front of so many witnesses, right?
You broke out into a jog. You're glad you didn't wear heels tonight. The sun had already slipped behind the houses either side of the street. Glass-fronted suburban monoliths, full of middle class people who'd much rather simply twitch curtains and tut disapprovingly than help someone in need.
Running now. Not far to go. Still he was on your heels. Every step you took, he only needed half to close distance. You could see your friend's garden from here, the way the bushes in the front overhang the street, the gate kept permanently half open since the latch broke a year ago. You were going to make it.
If not for the hand that clamped across your mouth. Your body kept on forwards, your neck twisting oddly as you fell. He caught you, each hand big enough to wrap around your head. He bundled you into an alleyway, it only took a few feet to obscure you both from the road. You realised with a moment of sickening clarity: he was never going to lose you, he just wanted to chase you here. He'd figured out where you lived, after all, of course he could figure out your friend's address especially with how she'd been tweeting about tonight's meetup over the last week. She wasn't nearly as careful as you, anyone who could find you would find her in an afternoon.
Heavy hands spin you around, until you stared face to face with him. The heavy brow, the wide horns, the small eyes. You tried to swing your fist at him, slash at his face with the handful of jagged metal you'd been holding like a lifeline. He barely flinched, the serrated bitting skidding off the thick cowhide of his face, not coming close to the eye-gouging attack you'd hoped for.
“Oh sweetheart, it's me. Don't you recognise me?” He spoke softly, as though he hadn't just wrapped one of those shovel hands around your forearm, forcing you to drop the keys and almost lifting you off your feet “I'm going to take you away from this. All of this. You won't want anyone else ever again because you'll have me”
You struggled against him, shouting threats into the meat of the hand pressed against your face
“Oh, you do love playing hard to get don't you? Don't worry, sweetie, when we get home you'll realise how perfect I am for you”
He half-manhandled, half carried you down the path, one hand on your mouth for a mile as you travelled down the alley and onto a country lane, then out into fields. Only when he was sure you were out of earshot of the closest houses did he start to frisk you.
You stood silent, watching the huge monster in front of you as he rifled through your bag, pulling out your phone and even methodically snapping the tracking tag you'd stitched into the lining. He threw the phone over a hedgerow, listening for the dull thump of it landing on the other side “it's not like you're going to want to call anyone else, right? You've got me now. Nobody else deserves you”
His shoulder met your waist, hoisting you into a fireman's lift. Wearing you around his neck, he carried on. You'd realised fighting back was pointless, though every muscle in your limbs ached from the last mile of finding out. It was pitch black now, the glow of the suburbs in the clear sky the only hint that they were ever there.
Onwards he walked, through the dark and the brush, over gravel and dirt trails. Only pausing to readjust your weight before stepping over a stile. He went through the night, the cold bluish cast of dawn lighting up the sky when he rounded a corner, a lone whitewashed house standing to greet you. The roof was half-collapsed, some of the windows missing panels, jagged shards of glass occupying their frames. The door was solid. Heavy oak grating on uneven stonework as he pushed it open, then groaning against his weight when he forced it back into its frame. The place seemed somehow colder than outside. Drafts blowing through, stealing any warmth that might have existed.
He put you in a chair, tying scratchy ropes around your arms and midsection, keeping you pinned there. “Just until you realise the truth.” He started a fire in the hearth, a low, sputtering thing, barely fighting the wind trying to blow it out.
“I'll see you later this morning, sweetheart. Do try to get some rest, ok?” He planted a wet kiss on your forehead before climbing a set of creaking stairs. Leaving you alone.
You wasted no time. Twisting and rubbing the rope against the rough wood of the chair. It wasn't good rope. The fibres frayed, then came apart, snapping in minutes. By the time the sun was up, you were free. Now you just needed to find where you were.
There were three ways out of this room. The stairs, the front door, and another door you hadn't seen opened yet. The front was stuck. Despite there not being a lock, you couldn't budge it. Even when you placed your entire weight against it, it wouldn't move at all. That ruled that out. The stairs were a non-starter. The house wasn't big, and if he was up there, that's the one place you didn't want to try. Leaving the mystery door. Maybe there's a back door? Or possibly a coal chute that could prove an exit. Fuck, this place is old enough there might be a priest-hole.
The door creaked as it opened, hinges complaining about decades of neglect. A kitchen lay before you, little more than a countertop and an old-fashioned oven, complete with a slot to empty out the ashes from burning wood and coal in the firebox. The room was the picture of 19th century rural life, but for a silver laptop on the side.
You shook your head. You're here to escape, not to check his socials. As predicted, a back door adorned one wall. Shabby, unpainted, but significantly less sturdy-looking than the front. You tried the handle.
Locked.
Cursing under your breath you turned around. Maybe he'd have the key in the other room.
He was behind you. Towering over you, naked from the waist up. That smile on his face again. “See? I knew you were perfect. Already looking around your new home.” He grabbed your waist, lifting you to the countertop. “Look at this”
He opened the laptop. Your hands flew to your mouth. There were a dozen windows open, each one a camera feed of your house. The time stamp was today's date — this was live. He had cameras in every room, one above your door, one in your living room, three in your bedroom. Everything was here.
“I put them up last week. When you kept them, I knew. And you took the pills I left for you, after I got rid of those nasty old ones. They make you sterile, you know, how are we meant to have our family together if you're on birth control?”
The feeling in your stomach came back. Stronger now. What had he done? What had you been taking?
“Speaking of our family, why don't we make a start, now you're all settled in?”
“No! No, I won't sleep with you!” Your voice echoed in the tiny kitchen.
He just smiled a little wider “I never said anything about sleep”
He put down the laptop. Hands pried your legs open, then a thick finger slid aside the gusset of your underwear, rubbing against your suddenly exposed cunt. “No, this won't do. I need to get you ready, sweetheart. We don't want to hurt you.”
He dropped to his knees, still holding your legs apart by the knees. A strong hand gripped the thin black cotton of your knickers and pulled. The fabric strained a moment, before snapping in two places, becoming little more than a rag which he cast aside “Much better. You won't need them anymore. You need to be available for me all the time, how else are we going to have a nice big family?”
You kicked out at the air, only managing to get your feet propped against his shoulders. Yells of dissent died in your mouth when you felt it.
His tongue lapped against you. Thick, rough, soaking wet. You whined at the touch of it. A shiver of disgust rolling up your body. He held you open, hands on your thighs now. His muzzle buried in your crotch. His tongue rolled and probed, running against your clit, pushing into your cunt. Each motion made you squirm and whine. You couldn't help it, feeling your body being violated, claimed by the beast kneeling in front of you. Your hands gripped his horns, trying to pull him off you, but only drawing a deep rumbling moo of satisfaction from the man face-deep in you.
You couldn't help it. The feeling of his tongue inside you, the sheer quantity of his own saliva. You could feel it rising in you. That familiar heat. Minute by minute, no matter how hard you tried to suppress it. It was getting closer and closer. Building one moment at a time. You bit your lip, tasting blood. It didn't stop.
You groaned when it happened. Hips rolling by themselves, a primal instinct to fuck back against the waves of pleasure mingling with the ichor of guilt and humiliation. You felt sick, wretched, filthy. Silently wishing for the ground to simply open up and swallow you whole.
You weren't so lucky.
When he stood again, you could see it. The thick shape in his trouser leg. He hitched them down, revealing the huge, flared cock, already hard and throbbing in anticipation. He pushed you backwards, shoulders against the discoloured paint, cunt menaced by the fist-sized cockhead pressing against it.
“This might be a bit of a squeeze. You'll get used to it”
He half-pushed, half-fell into you. You shrieked. Pain rocketing through you. Your hands grabbed whatever they could get, white-knuckling his forearms. He pulled back, inching out slowly “It's OK, the pills I left you should have made sure of that.”
It hurt less the second time. Your body stretching around him. You felt your muscles betraying you, relaxing around the thick cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside. He went a little deeper every time, each thrust claiming another small part of your body as his own.
You gasped when the flare pressed against your back wall, the side, flat surface pushing against the muscle protecting your womb a moment before backing away, the coming back harder. Over and over again, knocking against it, sending fresh waves of discomfort through you until it slid past. Tears welled in your eyes, the peculiar pain radiating from inside you while his cock buried itself in the space below your cervix.
He was all the way in now. Hips against yours. Resting a moment. Staring down at you, your body bent double, the top of your back still forced against the cold masonry, your legs sprayed luridly by his bulk. A bulge in your belly where he buried himself inside.
He backed out again, only a couple of inches, then slammed down. Again, then again, picking up speed each time. Your stretched-out cunt throbbing around him. Muscles clenched of their own accord, hands gripping what they could find, mind checked out, trying to escape what was happening to your body.
Your tongue lolled from your mouth, eyes crossed, drooling on yourself as you shuddered over the edge. Not that he noticed. He was close too, fucking you harder and deeper than anything you'd taken before. The throbbing cock in your belly getting ready to fill you. Growing harder, the flare engorged, pulling against the muscles of your cunt.
He lodged himself halfway in, the flare poised against the entry to your womb. Almost shaking with anticipation, before the throbbing, shuddering orgasm overtook him.
Hot cum filled you. A jet of liquid fire launched directly into your fertile body. You groaned, feeling your belly flutter with another aftershock. Pulse after pulse, each throb dumping another load inside, feeling his balls lower a touch, before tightening again to fire more thick spunk into you.
It was dripping out, each pulse displacing a little, replacing it with so much more. The drip-drip-drip of his cum on the floor audible even through the haze over reality.
Then he pulled out. A gout of it followed him, spattering over the counter and onto the ground.
“Best start thinking of names, sweetie”
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Postscript: I'm already running out of fun ways to remind you all I have a tip jar? Oh well. I do have one though
