Stream of Consciousness

When you reached the top after who knew how long, your skin was itching, breasts feeling sore and pussy drooling with arousal. Irritated, you struggled to take off your wet clothes, disliking the way they clung to your body. Then you reached down, the unexpected touch of your own cold fingers making you flinch and whine in frustration.

“Oh my, what do we have here?”

The sudden voice, like stones rubbing against each other, caused you to jump.

“Haha, no need to be afraid…”

And before your wide eyes, a figure stepped out of the shadows, into the pale light painted by raindrops trailing down the big round window behind. A head crowned by horns, bat-like wings sprouting from the back and a flexible tail coiling around the legs, a naked man made of stone bowed down to you.

“It’s just us,” he said as lightning flashed and distant thunder rolled across the sky, the blinding white light revealing more shadows like him, “the guardians of this church.”

Like the sound of falling pebbles, the voices of the gargoyles rang out. They chuckled and whispered, their cocks dangling right before your eyes.

The first gargoyle seemed to notice your gaze, and his voice took on a pitying tone. “Oh no, how did that happen? You’re all… wet!”

You looked at him, close to crying, “Help…”

He exchanged looks with the others, silently exchanging their thoughts, and then smiled and nodded, “Sure.”

“Boss, you first, you first…”

“Go for it!”

“She’s so pretty…”

“I want to go next!”

“No way, go after me!”

“Don’t fight…”

“Well then, don’t mind me~”

With that, the first gargoyle stepped forward and brought you in position. Facing the window with rain running down in rivulets, head down on a hastily dusted off cushion they got from god knew where and ass up, the gargoyle’s tail nudged your knees apart while his hands grabbed your ass cheeks. The cold, heavy touch sent a shiver up your spine, and as his hands spread your flesh, slick dripped from your pussy.

Then a rock teased your entrance. Its small, rounded tip slid up and down between your wet folds, circling around your clit before returning to your hole and slipping in. The deeper it went, the wider it got, until it forced your hole so wide open you whimpered. Afterwards, he quickly pulled out, only to slowly slide back in. Again and again, he sank into you, gradually stretching your pussy and allowing you to take him deeper and deeper.

At this point, you realized he was using his tail to fuck you.

He was preparing you.

His tip grazed your sensitive spot, making you whine and buck your hips. You wanted, no, needed him deeper, faster, rougher.

But just then, the gargoyle pulled out.

“Please…!”

He chuckled, “May I?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, ah—!”

With one swift stroke, the gargoyle entered your sopping wet pussy with his cold, hard stone cock. Your walls clenched around the tapered tip, bulging mid-section and narrower base, feeling his outline. It was so hard it almost hurt, lacking any give or flexibility, but right then, mind almost blackout drunk on aphrodisiacs, that felt heavenly.

The gargoyle adjusted his grip on your ass, tail wrapping around your waist and dangling down to tease your asshole with its slicked up tip still carrying your temperature, and started thrusting. Slow and steady, he pulled back until his tip was barely still inside you before pushing back in. His slightly rough texture dragging along your walls perfectly soothed the itch you felt there, causing you to moan softly as you relaxed.

A few stone hands reached out to give you more pillows. Then they stroked your back, arms, head and cheeks, one finger even dipping into your mouth to press down on your tongue.

And right then, the gargoyle fucking you slammed into your pussy.

A jolt went through you as he hit a certain spot. Unable to close your mouth, you moaned loudly, and your pussy squelched with every hard plunge into your depths from how wet you were. It made you feel more and more excited, especially with all the other gargoyles watching, your eyes rolling and chest heaving, like an animal in heat.

All you could manage was a pathetic whine before you came. Your pussy fluttered, clearly feeling his canine-like shape and slightly rough texture pressing into your wet, tender walls.

Behind you, the gargoyle sped up. Delicious friction left your abdomen pulsing and your hole dripping, while the knot at the base of his cock pounded against your drenched folds. His stone body was stained by your aphrodisiac-induced heat, seemingly almost melding into your body, and your slick spread over his knot, resulting in an additional wet smacking noise.

When you came the second time, the gargoyle rammed his hard, fist-like knot into your sopping pussy.

You screamed at the sudden sensation of fullness. Your eyes rolled and your walls fluttered, stimulated by his continuous shallow thrusts. His punishing pace left you incoherent and trembling from bliss, his knot pulling on your pussy and stretching you further. And all the while, the other gargoyles were still teasing you, holding your mouth open. Each of your loud and high-pitched gasps, moans and whines was forced out of you, for all to appreciate as you were fucked.

A moment later, the gargoyle grunted. Without warning, thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock and were pumped into your depths. It was noticeably warm, with a weight and consistency to it that reminded you of mortar.

Unable to control yourself, another orgasm rolled over you. Your pussy clenched around the stone knot, fluttering so hard your abdomen hurt a little.

The gargoyle patted your ass reddened by his vice grip with a chuckle and pulled out. He had fucked you so well his knot popped out with ease, leaving your hole gaping and slowly dripping slick. Its sight drew some chuckles and other sounds from the surrounding gargoyles. From the corner of your eye, vision blurred by the raging aphrodisiac and recent tears of bliss, you even saw a few rubbing their cocks.

Seeing them, you bit down on your lip. The heat in your abdomen that had just calmed flared up again, making your blood boil with arousal. Sweat dripped down your skin and you felt a little lightheaded, panting and writhing with need.

One of the gargoyles patted your head and trailed his fingers down your spine, cooing something. At the same time, his tail tip pressed against your clit, making you twitch sensitively at the cold, hard touch.

He laughed, yet refused to enter you. All he did was caress your sweaty back and tease your clit. It was agonizing in the best way, a sweet torture that slowly led you to the edge yet left you hanging just as you were about to fall. Too little to come, yet too much to cool down again. Steadily keeping you there, listening to your moans, until he had enough. The gargoyle replaced his tail with his fingers and gently knead.

You came as if a button had been pressed. Eyes rolling back and body spasming wildly, something in your abdomen unraveled and liquid squirted from your pussy.

Laughter like falling rocks rumbled in your ears. A crackle sounded, like stone rubbing against stone, and you could feel their gazes boring into you, clinging to your naked body. They were watching, all watching you. Watching your slick and sweat drip, your thighs shift, your clit twitch. Like they were fucking you with their eyes.

These thoughts mixed with the aphrodisiac and turned you on, winding up the tension in your belly like a spring.

Sensitive from all the stimulation, you trembled when you were touched again. The gargoyle turned you over, onto your back, and lifted your legs. Bedded on the cushions, your hips were raised to the perfect height for the gargoyle to enter you, letting you see how your greedy hole swallowed his knobbly cock bit by bit. It looked like tightly squeezed soap bubbles and felt like a scaled-down version of the bumpy cobblestone streets outside, ending in an uneven knot at the base.

He gently held your thighs whetted by your slick as he thrust, going neither deep nor fast but patiently rubbing his knobbly cock along your walls. His pace combined with your post-climax heightened sensitivity made you moan and unconsciously tilt your hips like you wanted him to go deeper. Yet the gargoyle maintained his pace, steady as a rock. In and out, back and forth, the knobbly texture caressed your insides. It was calm to the point of being agitating, almost as bad as merely playing with your clit.

Finally, when you were moaning desperately, he worked his uneven knot into you. As it pressed against your g-spot, you came with a cry, while he grunted and pumped a rope of thick, heavy, mortar-like cum into you. The sensation of it settling in your belly mixed with your orgasm, further dragging it out.

You didn’t even notice how he pulled out and was replaced.

Or rather, you barely felt him at all. Only his tip grazed your walls like a mean tease, until he slid his knot in. He fucked you in a frenzy, knot rubbing over your g-spot, and just as your pleasure was building nicely, he already came, dumping his load of weighty cum into you.

Before you could whine about the emptiness you were filled once more. Legs propped up against the gargoyle’s chest and knees over his shoulders, his straight cock sank into your pussy. Stone barbs lightly caught on your entrance and were forced in, pressing into your wet walls like a massage stick. Holding onto your thighs, he started thrusting, gradually speeding up until your breasts bounced and your hands tried to find something to hold onto.

Thick cum was compressed by his cock head, pounded deeper into you with each addictive repetition. Wet squelches and your moans filled the air, accompanied by the clinking of stone and the heavy scent of lust.

Your eyes rolled as you came. Pussy fluttering and spasming, pleasure coursed through your veins and calmed the boiling heat as the gargoyle fucked you through your orgasm. Yet relief was denied, lust reignited before it could extinguish. It sent you back into the throes of ecstasy as the gargoyle plowed you, raking your walls until they were tender.

When you trembled with your next orgasm, he buried his knot inside your fucked raw pussy. Thick cum was pressed deeper into your core and added to by him, your lower abdomen noticeably bulging from the amount.

After a long while, he pulled out with a wet plop.

Your hole gaped from being repeatedly knotted. The flesh inside was red from the constant stimulation, feeling puffy and burning faintly.

And yet, the gargoyles’ next actions came as no relief.

The following cocks were smaller than the others with less novel textures, but they all got creative before dumping their cum into your pussy. One fucked you slowly while kneading your breasts and using your dripping slick to tease your asshole with his tail tip, relishing in how it dripped from between your folds. Another turned you onto your belly and fingered your pussy until his fingers were dripping wet so he could prep your ass, stretching the little bud into a blooming flower before pushing his cock alternately into your pussy and your ass. And you didn’t know who started it, but he used his cock and tail to fuck your two holes simultaneously, keeping you on edge with their sometimes slow and sometimes fast pace and denying you your orgasm until the very end.

When they were done with you, sweat was flowing down your spine and your belly was swollen from how much thick, heavy cum pressed down on your womb. Your eyes were unfocused, your holes gaping, and faint bruises were already covering your skin.

Just as you vaguely thought they were done, another pair of hands gripped you. Large and steady, they turned you onto your back and pressed your legs up until your knees neared your ears. In this position, you were forced to present your puffy, gaping pussy to the gargoyle towering above you. Outlined by the faint light shining into the little room through the round window behind him, you saw broad shoulders and large wings, adonis-like abdominal muscles hewn into the stone torso, and a big, fat, curved, exaggeratedly veiny cock hanging between his thick thighs.

The gargoyle sounded a little bashful as he apologized before penetrating you with his enormous cock head.

Your sopping wet hole was stretched to its limit, quietly squelching as centimeter after centimeter sank in. Folds spread and erect clit twitching, just the tip had your eyes already rolling. When he was one third in, you felt him push the mortar-like cum filling your channel being pushed deeper inside, and by the time he was two thirds in, you felt him bottom out, carved veins pressing firmly into your walls. The pulse of pleasure as he completely filled you made you throw your head back and your muscles spasm as slick squirted from your pussy like a broken sprinkler.

Blood rushed through your ears, deafening loud. Every little touch and move made you pant like an animal in heat. You couldn’t tell whether you were screaming or crying or trembling. All you knew was that you were stuffed with cum and cock. A cum-dump being fucked into oblivion by monster cocks. So cock-drunk you couldn’t tell up from down.

When the gargoyle slowly pulled back, your folds clung to his girth. His veins and distinct cock head dragged over your already overstimulated g-spot, and when he once more sank into your depths, you came again, pussy fluttering.

The large gargoyle grunted. He rolled his hips with great patience, letting you get used to his monstrous size before speeding up. With every thrust, he got faster and plunged in deeper, eventually pounding both his cock and the other gargoyles’ accumulated cum into you. His hips drenched by your slick slapped against your forcefully bent up ass and folds, wet smacks matching the rhythm of your heartbeat until overtaking it.

You felt him in your gut and at the back of your throat, fucking the air out of your lungs and making your pussy gush. He left you in a constant state of overwhelming pleasure, and when he finally somehow rammed his fat knot into your abused hole, you came so hard you blacked out.

And all the while, the large gargoyle still rocked his hilted cock inside you, showing his big outline from your pussy through your abdomen, knot grinding against your g-spot while his tip pressed the others’ cum against your cervix. Then with one last roll of his hips, cramming himself as deep into you as he could, he came. A thick rope of heavy cum erupted from his length, more and more of it pumping into you until your stomach bulged as if pregnant.

He pulled out with some difficulty, producing a loud squelch and leaving your thighs red and trembling from his hold, your hole so stretched one could see the cum stuffing you. Looking at his masterpiece, he paused for a moment, then flicked your clit.

You moaned and shuddered reflexively from the current this touch sent through your body.

Despite how spent you were, how tired and thirsty, you still… hadn’t had enough.

Abused by the aphrodisiac and gargoyle cocks, you’d already been trained into wanting this.

As such, it was to your great pleasure when they continued. Big, small, knobbly, smooth — each and every one of the twelve gargoyles fucked their knot into your pussy at least once and dumped their cum into you. They filled you until there was so much the bigger ones couldn’t fit anymore and took to fucking your stretched ass, only to switch back to your pussy just as they were about to cum.

By the end, everyone was fucking your ass with their cocks wet from your slick and stuck their tips into your pussy to use you as cum dump, until it overflowed. Thick glops of it fell out of your pussy, hole stretched so much it couldn’t close, slowly dripping down and landing on the floor with a splat.

Your whole body was numb and sweaty and trembling, brain fucked empty, and your stomach bulged from the copious amounts of mortar-like cum, heavy and stuffed to the brim. Small spasms caused by your uncountable orgasms caused your pussy to contract around the still pliable yet gradually hardening substance filling you, finally making you pass out from overstimulation.

When you regained consciousness, it was already the next day. You were dead tired, extremely hungry, your limbs heavy, and there was still something thick and hard plugging your fucked raw pussy. It was so bad that just turning over left you drained of strength and panting for breath.

When you dizzily reached between your shaking legs, you felt something hard sealing your entrance. Your folds were covered by it, also reaching your clit and ass like some kind of strange sex toy. Experimentally pulling on it sent a shiver of pleasure up your spine and forced a hoarse moan over your burning vocal cords, immediately making you recall the events of last night.

Shocked, you looked down at yourself and gaped at the sight.

Your belly, no, your entire abdomen bulged, from your bellybutton to your folds. It made your skin stretch, a hardness hiding beneath the soft flesh and leaving you unable to tense your muscles without gasping in pleasure and overstimulation alike.

By now, it was clear: That thing stuffing your pussy was the gargoyles’ hardened cum.

It had filled your gaping hole to the brim and perfectly molded according to your shape, then hardened over night, or maybe once the daylight shone on it. Either way, just lightly tugging on it sent fresh currents along your nerves, forcefully reigniting your arousal.

With tears gathering in your eyes, you bit your lip and took deep breaths as you removed the dildo of hardened gargoyle cum from your pussy. Your slick eased the action, yet it fit so well and reminded you so much of the insanity of last night that you couldn’t resist fucking yourself on it. Every dip and bulge was a faint memory of the gargoyles’ cocks, especially the knot-like shape towards your entrance. Only the flared tip was new, wonderfully kissing your cervix every time you completely swallowed it.

By the time you finally pulled the pillar out of your hole, you’d come three times and were feeling lightheaded.

Your entire body trembled as you slowly dressed. The clothes were a little crispy from getting drenched in rain last night, but you couldn’t afford to care about it. Only, when you were fully clothed, you glanced at the hardened cum dildo and fell into a long moment of hesitation.

You couldn’t just… leave it here. What if someone else found it? But how were you supposed to get this thing out of a church…?

Ah.

Both ashamed and excited, you pulled down your pants.

And as you worked the pillar back into your ravaged pussy, eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed with lust, a dozen pairs of dim, stony eyes stared at you, silently watching.

One year ago, a woman named Roxanne Miller went missing. Without any close friends or family, it took two weeks for someone to finally notice her disappearance and report it to the police. There were no tearful pleas on the news for her return or adamant demands to keep her case active in hopes she’d be found one day. It was a quiet vanishing. Once the case went cold, it would be easy to assume that it would stay cold. Cold, dead, buried in the ground, forgotten by everyone except Johnny, Simon, Detective Bennett, and you.

You’re at the advantage over everyone right now. You know there’s new interest in her case, and you know where that interest needs to be directed towards for the culprits to be brought to justice. That advantage won’t last forever, though, because Detective Bennett’s not likely to give up trying to reach you, so if you continue to ignore him, he may just show up at your doorstep, searching for answers. If he lets it slip that he’s looking into Roxanne’s disappearance, then the watchful sentry above your front door will report back to your neighbors and your secret weapon will be ripped away.

So again, you have a phone call to make and a meeting to schedule and a plan to formulate for what you’re actually going to do at said meeting. Your first instinct is to walk in and out of the police station without speaking a word about Johnny or Simon or Roxanne, clinging to the safest option where you don’t risk incurring the wrath of your neighbors or implicating yourself in crimes of complicity. And maybe, just maybe, it would prove something to your neighbors. Show them that you’re worth having around with a gesture that demonstrates your loyalty and proper temperament.

But that’s what you’ve been doing all along, isn’t it? Not talking to the police, silence with a smile, all your secret keeping—passive, gutless inaction has only gotten you so far. It’s not enough anymore, not when there’s an empty, ravenous basement waiting to consume its next victim and not when your own gluttonous desires include more than just survival and freedom.

So if staying quiet’s not going to cut it, what option does that leave you? Sinking a metaphorical knife in your neighbors’ broad backs, striking first before they get bored of you? Ratting them out to save yourself because if you can’t have them, the police can? Some secret third option that you’ve yet to discover? Leaves you with a headache, that’s what.

To remedy your throbbing temples, you lie on the sofa in your living room, staring at the whirling ceiling fan above you. Scratchy, pilling fabric rubs against your skin as you shift your position. It’s not the soft, worn-in leather of your neighbors’ couch, cool to the touch against the back of your thighs.

And when you turn your head to the side, there’s no one sitting across from you, staring you down like you’re the most amusing thing in the world. Johnny and Simon are instead out in their front yard again this morning, having resumed the removal of their dead shrub. Even from inside, you can still hear the rhythmic sound of shovels striking into dirt. Schick. Schick. Schick. You wonder if this was ever the last thing one of their pets heard before crossing over the rainbow bridge.

Bringing your phone up to eye level, you consider calling Detective Bennett now while your neighbors are busy. You put in his number, but your finger hovers over the call button. A nagging at the back of your skull warns that if you want to keep the conversation private, you’d best not make the call inside your home where unseen eyes and ears could be lurking in the walls.

It’s a new day, so another coffee run wouldn’t seem suspicious, right? Maybe this could be your new routine, and then Johnny and Simon won’t think anything of it when you one day leave the house and take a secret detour to the police station. And you could randomly alternate between the coffee shops at Somerset and Terrace so if your neighbors show up at one location, you could claim to have been at the other.

So focused on strategy and subterfuge, you fail to notice that the distant gravedigging ASMR has stopped. It only comes to your attention when the sound is replaced by a loud knocking on your front door. Scrambling off of the couch, you fly to the entryway because that’s likely either your neighbors or the police, and you don’t want to keep either waiting.

When you open the door, you’re actually relieved it’s Johnny and Simon instead of the alternative, though you do catastrophize a scenario where your neighbors were able to sense your scheming through dark powers and mind reading. There’s no deviance that you can detect in their countenance, though, or no more than the usual amount, at any rate.

“Hi there, neighbor,” Johnny greets, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “We’re goin’ out to get a new shrub.”

You blink owlishly, unsure of why they felt the need to announce this to you.

“We means you too,” Simon dictates. Confused blinking persists.

“Oh. Okay,” you respond. “Um. Why me too, though?”

Johnny tilts his head. “Who else would we bring along?”

You can’t argue with that logic. You can’t argue at all, really.

“I’ll get my shoes.”

...

...

...

Your neighbors’ nursery of choice is on the other side of town. The car ride over is fraught with anxiety between Simon’s questionable driving maneuvers and the chance that this was all a ruse to take you to their favorite camping grounds instead. But you arrive at the garden center physically unharmed. The first thing you notice when stepping out of the car is how strong the sun is today. You commit to memory the feeling of unfiltered warmth on your skin, lest you one day never get to experience it again, all while trailing behind your neighbors as Simon pushes a cart around and Johnny walks beside him.

There’s an array of shovels for sale under a covered area in the middle of the nursery. They hang off of a rack all lined in a row, ordered by length and grouped by the shape of the head. One of them catches your eye by the brand name engraved on the handle. You recognize it from the shovels your neighbors were using yesterday and pause to take a closer look.

“Got somethin’ to bury?” Simon queries, stopping when you do and leaning on the handle of the cart.

“No, but...” You reach out and poke the shovel until it clanks against the one behind it. “...this is the same as yours, right?”

“That’s the one,” Johnny confirms. He walks up behind you, engulfing you as he reaches around and pulls the shovel off the hook, his head nestled against yours. “We’ll get one for ye. Our treat.”

It takes a moment to react because you weren’t fully listening, too distracted by the proximity of his mouth to your neck, the closest he’s been since they both kissed you. (Now five days ago when they last showed you any kind of affection, any shred of warmth or intimacy. You had hoped yesterday that they’d kiss you goodbye, would have settled even for a tap on the ass on the way out, but you left their home with nothing, nothing at all.) Your brain does eventually kick in and think to decline a matching shovel, though.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You already got me that knife last time, and I haven’t even used that, so...” you fruitlessly reason.

“We never taught you how to handle that knife properly,” Simon states, taking the shovel from Johnny and putting it in the cart.

Your face wrinkles in confusion. “It’s not just...” You pantomime a few concise thrusting motions with an imaginary knife. “Stab-stab?”

“It’s mostly that,” Johnny laughs before sauntering over to you again. “But you gotta know where to stab.” While standing in front of you, he wraps a hand around your wrist and moves your fist towards his chest.

“And when to stab.”

A firm yank suddenly drags you forward until you stumble into him, your pretend knife driving straight into his heart. The rest of you presses against him as well.

“And who to stab,” Simon adds, voice stern and steady like he’s issuing a directive. Johnny winks while you stare at him, wide-eyed and stock-still.

“Aye, that’s the most important part,” he notes.

It’s unsettlingly intimate. You swear you can feel his heartbeat against your fist. You remain paralyzed until Johnny slips his other arm around your waist, giving a quick squeeze before spinning you around and nudging you towards his partner.

“Go on, hen. Give it a try on Simon.”

With small, reluctant steps, you shuffle over to Simon, whose smirk hasn’t faltered since you first wielded your simulated knife. Your neighbor’s size has always intimidated you, but he seems twice as large right now while up close, about to fake-stab him. You raise your clenched fist, eyes scanning his chest, searching for approximately where his heart would be, but hesitate to land a blow, too worried about missing, about disappointing.

“Not gonna get anythin’ done by staring,” Simon instructs. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and as if on command, you follow through without thinking, stabbing him with your not-knife in the chest. It’s a stronger jab than you meant, but it makes no noticeable impact to the thick wall of mass and muscle that is Simon. His smirk grows sharper, twists into a smile. “That’s it. Good.”

The praise drips down onto you. Buzzes in your veins, gives you a rush of adrenaline. You hold your hand there for a moment too long, reveling in the high until you have the sense to be mortified by your reaction.

“O-okay. Got it...” you stammer, hastily breaking contact and stepping back. “Where, when, who. I’ll remember that.” Johnny and Simon exchange a look of what you deduce is pride. But with the lesson over, they resume their plant shopping. You take to following behind them again, hand still clenched tightly around an invisible hilt.

You wonder if you could actually do it. There’s something so final about crossing that line, drawing a blade and striking. Once your weapon makes contact, there’s no turning back. You can’t undo a slice to the flesh, can’t force blood to return to the source. But when backed into a corner with your neighbors flanking you from the left and the cops positioned on the right and the basement door against your back, who knows what you’re capable of?

You have time to contemplate all that while Johnny and Simon inspect dozens of shrubs, searching for the best of the lot. Discerning eyes and high standards keep them from grabbing just any old shrub. This one’s drooping already from not enough water, this one doesn’t have enough new growth coming in. But after much debate, they finally select a nice, lush boxwood and pop it into their cart. And now that they’ve got what they came for, you hope they’ll take you straight home and not out to the woods to christen your new shovel.

But before you can take even two steps towards the exit, you hear a tapping that’s getting louder. Then a shout.

“Someone grab her, please!”

A small, fluffy white dog zooms between the rows of plants and shoots by you like a rocket, free and on the move, leash flailing wildly behind her. The dog’s too quick for you to react, but not quicker than Simon, who snatches her right off the ground once she passes by him. The pooch fidgets and squirms in his arms but can’t escape. A young woman jogs towards you all, flustered and out of breath and presumably the dog’s owner.

“Thank you so much. I didn’t have a good grip on her leash and something startled her, so she just took off,” she explains sheepishly, taking the dog from Simon.

“Lucky for you, we’ve got a knack for catching runaways,” Johnny replies, reaching out and ruffling the top of the dog’s head. He smiles, alluring and brilliant, and you can see the change in the woman’s posture, can clock when she realizes just how handsome your neighbors are as she tucks her hair behind her ear and returns the smile sweetly.

Ignored and awkwardly standing to the side, all you can do is watch. Is this how it starts? A chance meeting with a stranger, Johnny being his charming self, making casual small talk while Simon plays the strong, silent type, both of them evaluating their new acquaintance's appearance and disposition. And then if the appraisal goes well, some time later at a calculated, premeditated moment, this person has a last taste of freedom and vanishes.

You don’t want this woman to meet such a fate. You tell yourself that it’s altruism and a sense of decency that compels this wish, but you know that’s not the whole truth. Your neighbors’ affection is scarce. Finite. You don’t want to share.

You’re not the only one who’s upset that attention has been diverted away from them, though. The woman’s dog has also had enough, letting out two sharp barks and wiggling around in her arms.

“Oh no, don’t you start that,” her owner scolds, shifting her hold on the little furball. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day, Roxie.”

The name sets you on edge. The hairs on the back of your neck rise as soon as you hear it.

“Roxie, huh?” Johnny comments with an amused chuckle. Baneful sentiment creeps across his face. “We had a Roxie once.”

“She was always tryin’ to escape too,” Simon adds. The same ill-boding fondness haunts his countenance.

If there were any lingering doubts that your neighbors had something to do with Roxanne Miller’s disappearance, this drives a nail in the coffin of that uncertainty. And really you were already convinced of the matter, but it’s different to hear it straight from their mouths. A wave of nausea overtakes you. Sweat beads on your forehead under the heat of the sun that suddenly feels unbearable. You begin to shuffle off to the side, seeking out the cover of a nearby awning, but Simon seizes you by the arm.

“Where you runnin’ off to, neighbor?”

You’re lightly jostled by his grasp which doesn’t help your stomach at all, and you suppress a grimace with a clumsily stitched together smile.

“I was going to go stand in the shade,” you explain. “It’s a little hot.”

Johnny moves in front of you, blocking the oppressing sun, and grabs hold of your face with an unexpected gentleness. “Yer not lookin’ too good, hen. We’ll check out and take you home.”

The woman with the dog, now realizing that you weren’t just some random person lurking nearby, offers one last thank you to your neighbors and makes herself scarce. You hope for her sake and your own that you never see her again.

When you’re back at the car, Simon mixes an electrolyte packet into their water bottle and makes you drink from it. A bit of water dribbles out the corner of your mouth as you gulp it down, and Johnny wipes it off with his thumb, licking his finger pad afterward. You want to soak up the attention fully, but you can’t help but bitterly wonder if they would dote on their new acquaintance or any of their other pets like this. When Roxie was in their care, did they rub lotion on her neck where the collar chafed her skin? Did they make sure she had a balanced diet that accounted for her new life without sun? Were their hands once loving and tender, even if the same hands eventually choked the life out of her?

On the drive home, you rest your head against the car window, staring aimlessly at the world outside passing you by. Simon drives with marginally more caution, perhaps his way of accommodating you, and Johnny carries the conversation for the three of you since you’re not feeling very chatty at the moment. There’s a lull, though, and when that happens, you venture to pose a question.

“Do you ever miss them?” you ask, voice small and wavering. “Roxie and the others.” Saying her name out loud burns your tongue like a curse, skirting the line between the usual charade and an actual discussion about the people they kidnap and murder and bury in lonely graves.

If it bothers your neighbors the same way, they don’t show it. Johnny turns to face you from the passenger’s seat, lips curving into an earnest but knowing smile.

“‘Course we do. Each and every one of them,” he claims.

A pause. Silence other than the hum of the car engine.

“Would you miss me?”

It hurts when it slips out of you, sounding wounded and desperate. Instincts urge you to take it back and hide it away, but you don’t.

Simon meets your gaze through the rearview mirror. “You plannin’ on going somewhere?”

There’s a warning and a threat in the marrow of his words. It answers and doesn’t answer your question, but as unsatisfying as that is, you’re too worn down to press the matter further. You glance between him and Johnny.

“No. I don’t know why I asked that. Sorry.”

It’s not even your real question. What you really want to know is would they miss you more? Are you special and different from the rest or are you just another Roxie, fifth in a line that continues long after you’re gone?

You fretfully brush your thumb back and forth over the car’s leather trim. You’re reminded of your neighbors’ couch at first, but then you think of your knife’s leather sheath. Your fingers slowly curl around the hilt of an imaginary weapon once again. A scar could be something to remember you by, a permanent, irreversible etching on their skin. With so many already littering their bodies, how mad could they be if you added one more?

But is it really a pound of flesh you seek? Maybe all you want is to have carved out even a sliver of their hearts, to hoard a piece for yourself that you get to keep and carry with you to the next life. So when someone speaks your name in the future, Johnny and Simon won’t just miss you—they’ll mourn you.

Where, when, who. The who is the most important part. Who are you willing to hurt to obtain your true, secret desires that you keep locked up deep within you?

In answering that question, the seed of an awful idea sprouts. An idea that is more likely to backfire spectacularly or do nothing at all or mean nothing at all to your neighbors. But it would be significant to you, it would be the change you’ve been searching for, even if it’s the last thing you do in this life. The walls are closing in, and there are familiar pipes running along them. You can’t delay the inevitable any longer. It’s time to draw first blood with your own two hands.

You barely make it back to your car, closing the doors behind you and dialing him with trembling fingers as you feel him fuck into you over and over. Fuck, you are about to come and he barely started.

You try to reduce your moaning to a minimum, scared that someone could hear you. The parking lot is pretty deserted, but you never know. “Come on, come on, pick up the phone,” you chant as you feel the telltale sign of him changing angles to hit your G-spot without mercy.

He picks up the phone the moment you let out a whine so lame you’d be embarrassed if not for the way your pussy is clenching. “What?” He barks as you try to re-focus your eyes enough to see in front of you. His voice is strained and you can feel exactly why.

“The full moon-” You start, but your voice breaks when he nails your G-spot again.

“Is here early,” he finishes. You can hear the wet sounds of his dick driving into the portal toy. “Fuck. Yes. I need you so bad.” There’s a hint of feral in his tone, and you are almost drooling already. You love him a bit feral.

But you need to make it home first. “I could be there in ten minutes. I just need… I can’t drive with you fucking me,” you finish after another gush of juices around his dick when he ruts over your G-spot like a professional in pussyology. He knows how to fuck you to have your pussy melting so rapidly...

“I- I need- I need to come first. Please. Please,” he sounds desperate and you can’t deny him when he’s like that.

“Okay. Okay. Fuck.” You moan, his pacing becoming frantic. “Hard and fast, hon. Let me feel you come deep into my pussy. Fuck me hard, knot me so I can get to you and you can have the real thing,” you mumble to the phone, trying to help him away. Not that he needs it. Not with the way he’s fucking into you like a piston.

You can picture him perfectly in your head: his furry body arched as he holds the flashlight between his claws, fucking into it and wishing it was you on top of him, but too desperate to wait. His neck tense as he moans and howls, his wolfy ears twitching above his head when his orgasm approaches...

He’s fucking you relentlessly, and you can’t do anything to endure it and squirm in the car seat, your pussy being filled so well you can’t keep your eyes open. You are biting down on your hand not to scream, when you feel the first telltale sign of a knot expanding at the entrance of your pussy.

You let out a broken moan and he reciprocates with a howl. Your pussy squeezes around the knot inside of you and more juices come gushing out of you. Just like all the other times, you hear a roar over the phone and another orgasm rips through your body.

But this time something is different.

There’s a pleasure inside of you building, something big about to happen. It takes you three more shots of his come and the rut of his knot against your G-spot to realize. But it’s too late. You let out a scream that probably alerts everyone in three blocks of what’s happening. You grab the steering wheel and your hips start to move uncontrollably as you squirt.

You come back into your senses to feel utterly embarrassed and incredibly uncomfortable. Your pants are completely drenched, and you are one second away from mortification. You can still feel his knot inside of you rubbing against your G-spot and sending aftershocks through your body. His come dripping down your pussy and adding to the mess in your ruined panties as you try to catch your breath.

But your werewolf boyfriend, being the asshole he is… “Did you just squirt in public?” He asks with such amusement in his voice you are about to be set on embarrassing flames.

“Shut it,” you tell him, trying to sound harsh but coming out as a broken moan that only makes him laugh harder. “I’ll be there in ten,” you finally say. “And you are cleaning the car,” you add, feeling the way the seat is damp under you already. Disgusting.

His laughter warms your heart even if you pretend it doesn’t. “I’ll clean the car once you squirt over my knot again,” he tells you.

If things went as you expected, in about an hour, you’ll have a werewolf dick pounding into your pussy, and if you’re extra lucky, you’d get his knot. Your knees are already shaky thinking about it. You get yourself ready, sipping a nice wine as you munch on your dinner, putting on soft music, just chilling around in your house.

But you shouldn’t have.

Because the second you feel something at the entrance of your pussy, you’re completely lost. He drives in with one hard thrust, his dick hitting so deep, so fast that you’re already about to lose it. You make your way to your room on unsteady legs and trembling knees as he keeps fucking into you. You try to reduce your moaning to a minimum as you get to your room, more than sure that he can hear you from downstairs.

By the time you’re on your bed and pulling your clothes off, your pussy is so wet your panties are ruined. He’s fucking you relentlessly, and you can barely move enough to get the rest of your underwear off before you feel the first telltale sign of a knot expanding at the entrance of your pussy.

You don’t think. You don’t process it. You can only scream his name at the top of your lungs as the fat knot presses against your G-spot and your fingers find your clit, rubbing furiously as you come around him. You hear the second he realizes the portal goes both ways, howling to the moon as you feel the first shot of his come hitting your cervix. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You knew that was going to happen, but the feeling of his come filling you up only sends you higher, shaking on the mattress as your orgasm rocks your body and your eyes roll back into your head.

You hear a howl louder than the rest, and your pussy squeezes against the knot inside of you once again as more juices come gushing out of you. Just like last time, you hear a roar at the same time as you scream, another orgasm hitting you completely by surprise. Maybe you pass out for a second, or two, or maybe for a couple of minutes, because when you come back to your senses, someone is pounding on your door and you aren’t sure you can get your legs to work to go see who it is.

“I know you’re home! Open this door so I can stuff your pretty cunt next and stop playing with a toy!” His voice is way too loud, there’s no way the rest of your neighbors didn’t hear what he just said, but fuck if you care.

“It’s open!” You cry back, your pussy squeezing around his knot once again.

But this time, you open your eyes in time to see him in front of you, the pink fleshlight held tight against his dick, still buried deep inside. He twists it around a little, and you let out an undignified cry of pleasure when the top of his knot presses against your G-spot. G

“You do not leave your door open again,” he growls.

The sound only makes your pussy squeeze again, he grunts, approaching you on the bed, his eyes blown wide and his fangs exposed. You shiver, rolling your hips to get more friction. He stops your movements with his claws on your hips, a threat, but one you aren’t going to listen to. You do it again and he moans, his teeth bared and his dick sending a new shot of come into your pussy. It’s starting to drip down, and he realizes the second it does.

He looks at your pussy, completely focused on his come dripping down. “Why are you dripping with come?”

“The fleshlight… Fuck. It’s enchanted. Good goddess… The fleslight... It’s a portal,” you struggle to say.

“Are you saying my come is IN YOU right now?” His tone gets higher at the end, and you nod, feeling too hot and bothered to form more words.

He clearly doesn’t care about your struggles, because next thing you know he’s pushing two fingers inside of you. The combination of his knot and his fingers is enough to send your body into another orgasm from the stretch.

But it doesn’t end there- he’s a werewolf in rut and you’re nothing but his toy right now. He starts finger fucking you as you continue to feel shot after shot of his come hitting deep inside. The feeling of his knot still buried in the fleshlight is pressing against your G-spot when he decides to press right there with his fingers as well.

You’d never felt anything like it, your whole body shakes with the force of it, and something inside of you breaks.

You lose consciousness of your body, of your mouth, of everything that’s not that point in your pussy and the way you’re gushing around his fingers, the way you’re… peeing? Fuck. You’re squirting all over him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your orgasm feels infinite as he keeps rutting against the toy and his fingers keep playing with your G-spot as if he’s playing a shooter game on his computer and pressing the left mouse button over and over. He does this until you’re crying and the pleasure is blinding. Even through the blinding pleasure, you’re still coming.

The bliss causes you to pass out again, which should have been expected by then.

You come back to him licking the tears away, and you can’t feel his knot inside of you anymore, but his fingers are still buried deep inside of you, making you moan. The sound alerts him of you being back in the land of the living, and he’s soon kissing your forehead.

“I couldn’t let my seed drip down,” he explains as if it’s the most logical thing, and you have no energy to argue. Apparently your body still has enough energy to clench around his fingers, though. “You like that? You like being stuffed full of come?” You shiver and he takes that as the ‘yes’ you were intending for it to be. His body moves over you on the mattress, and before you can process it, his dick is pressing against your opening: “Are you ready to feel it for real?”

He doesn’t wait for your response before he’s pushing his cock inside in one long and drawn out thrust. The feeling of him sliding into you causes your eyes to roll back while you moan and greedily push your hips up to get more of him.

You have to admit, your depraved ideas certainly have their perks sometimes.

And he can't even argue with that. Ever since he sent you away with that bill, his men have treated him like the enemy rather than their boss. They grumble under their breath, shooting him looks like he is a storm cloud hanging over their heads. They have become a flock of offended hens, huffing and puffing whenever they catch sight of him. Their loyalty to you has been a thorn in his side ever since.

You have been the thorn in his side ever since you first set foot in his brothel years ago, slipping through the front door like a breeze that none of them saw coming. You charmed your way into his men's good graces, winning over their hearts with a flick of your little finger. It got to the point where his men wouldn't even accept your money, brushing off your attempts to pay with dismissive waves and toothy grins. It was a rare sight, seeing the lot of them, usually gruff and hardened, melting under your influence like snow under a warm sun. They'd offer you drinks on the house, pull up chairs beside you for conversations, and treat you like one of their own, much to his growing frustration. He’d seen how their eyes would light up when you arrived, and the playful banter that used to fill the rooms whenever you were around. To them, you were a welcome break from the usual grind, but to him, you were nothing but a nuisance, one he couldn’t quite seem to rid himself of no matter how many times he tried to draw boundaries.

"Come, then," the demon rumbles, jerking his head toward the entrance before opening it in front of you with a rough motion. The hinges creak in protest, blending into the noises of the traffic around.

"Where are the others?" you ask immediately, your gaze sweeping over the empty, dimly lit hall as you step through the doorway.

"I sent them home."

The deal he made with you spread through the brothel within a few hours. The whispers and knowing glances bounced from one monster to another like wildfire, and before the demon knew it, the place was unbearable with the sneaky exchanges. He felt like the butt of a joke, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Oh," you reply. The disappointment in your voice only adds fuel to his growing annoyance. "I wanted to ask Blake how his family gathering went."

Ezek scowls down at you. His features, all bones, seem haunting. The deep crimson of his skin darkens as he glares. "What?" he asks, irritated. Then, he shakes his head dismissively. "Don't answer. I don't care."

You huff in answer. "Rude."

He rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply as he gestures for you to follow him. The impatience buzzes beneath his taut skin, making his movements rigid while he leads you down the corridor. Each step he takes is purposeful as if he is trying to outrun his annoyance simmering just below the surface.

After he’d had enough of his men’s antics, he finally made the decision to call you. He swore he felt Hell freezing over when you answered the line, all chirpy and upbeat as usual. It was infuriating how effortlessly you managed to sound cheerful when he was at his wit's end at the brothel.

"What can I do for you?"

Ezek snarled before he forced the words out of his mouth. "I have a deal for you."

His idea was simple: you could come and go as you pleased for free, as long as you showed him why the monsters who were supposed to work for him and generate profit acted like you were the one who owned the place. It was a way for him to regain some semblance of control while getting rid of you for good.

"I will be there," you agreed.

The room he chose is simple, with low lights that cast a warm, inviting glow all over. Neatly arranged sheets lie atop the bed, their sweet scent filling the air and mingling with the subtle hints of something floral and fresh.

"I need the bathroom first," you say, already putting down your purse and making your way to the other door.

"Sure," the male grunts in reply with a hint of disinterest in his voice as he loosens a few buttons of his shirt. The fabric parts, revealing a glimpse of his skin.

He settles down on the bed, leaning back against the plush headboard while waiting for you. He can hear you moving around, and without realizing it, he steals glances toward the bathroom, his mind racing with thoughts he can't quite pin down. You are a lively little thing, radiating so much brightness that he has no choice but to feel both frustrated and intrigued at the same time. It doesn’t matter, though. After this night, he will show you that you have no place here, and everyone can move on without making his life impossible. The thought solidifies in his mind. He’s determined to reclaim his authority, to restore order among the chaos you've brought. This night will serve as a reminder to both you and his men that while your presence may be captivating, it’s also fleeting, a temporary distraction that he intends to put an end to.

When you appear at the doorway a few minutes later, he can’t help but be surprised at the sight of you. He expected you to go all out to impress him, but instead, you are clad in nothing but simple white underwear that fits snugly over your curves. Ezek feels a mix of admiration and irritation stir within him as he lets his gaze rake over your soft body. It’s disarming, and he can’t shake the feeling that you are effortlessly turning the tables on him, challenging his resolve in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

"What do you think?" you ask him with a big smile on your face. You twirl around to show him more, though there isn’t much to reveal when it comes to your underwear. It looks soft and comfortable, but his attention is quickly drawn to the plush curve of your ass before you turn back to face him. "I bought it just yesterday."

For a long second, Ezek is silent, taking in the sight of you. Did you really buy this for tonight? But he doesn’t voice any of this, though. While you’re nothing but an annoying little pest in his life, he has no desire to hurt your feelings or damage your self-esteem. Besides, he knows his men would burn him alive if they sensed he’d crossed that line. Instead, he clenches his jaw, torn between frustration and a reluctant admiration for your naiveness.

"You look stunning."

And he isn’t lying. Your natural confidence shines brighter than any lingerie ever could. The soft glow of your skin under the dim lights enhances your allure, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the thin fabric of your bra, clinging to you and showing off your hard nipples. It’s a sight that pulls his focus, stirring something deep within him that he’s too annoyed to confront. Even in something so simple, you manage to captivate him in a way he didn’t expect, and it leaves him grappling with a newfound awareness of just how potent your presence can be.

Moving on the bed, Ezek lets his legs fall onto the plush carpet as he leans slightly onto his knees.

"Come here," he commands, locking his gaze onto yours the whole time.

Maybe he is struggling to find his footing in this situation, but he sure won’t let you lead this dance between the two of you.

_

His long fingers grip your hips with bruising force, digging into the soft skin as he struggles to find control. It’s as if he can’t decide whether to stop you or urge you to move faster, making you bounce harder on his lap. It feels like his brain shut down the moment you climbed onto his lap an hour ago, and now all he can focus on is the heat of your body. Your warmth presses into him in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. Every shift of your body and every roll of your hips sends a fresh jolt through him, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or frustration that makes his grip tighten even more. Probably both. His breath comes out ragged, catching in his chest as he tries to steady himself, but it's a losing battle. Every time he thinks he is regaining control, you shift or press closer, and the edges of his thoughts blur again.

You are on his lap, riding him with a relentless rhythm. Your warm, slick heat envelopes him with every bounce. The sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin, fills the otherwise quiet room, blending with the soft creak of the bed beneath you. If Ezek could muster even a shred of sanity, he’d be irritated by the rhythmic noise. He sure will change every bed in this damn brothel the moment he can think again. But right now, every coherent thought slips through his grasp like sand. His fingers press deeper into your soft flesh, trying to steady you, or perhaps himself, as each movement sends a fresh surge of pleasure through him. It’s maddening, the way you ride him, guiding the pace with a confidence that both frustrates and excites him.

"Ezek," you moan above him. The high, desperate sound wraps around him like a vice, pulling tight, and he feels his erection jerk inside your wet, clenching heat.

A low growl rumbles from his chest. His teeth grind together at the way you moan his name, and then your hands slip from the headboard to wrap around his horns. The sudden, sharp tug on his skull makes his vision go white-hot at the edges as a shudder of raw sensation courses down his spine. His hips buck upward in a frantic, uncontrolled thrust that has him driving deeper inside you. The pressure of your grip on his horns leaves him reeling, forcing out another growl from deep in his throat as his body responds to you in ways he can’t quite rein in. He holds you down, forcing you to stay tight and snug around his cock as he grinds his hips up into you. He can feel the slick warmth of his previous release as it seeps out of your used hole, dripping around the base of his cock with every thrust. The sensation is filthy, spurring him on further to push into you with a rough determination that leaves your pussy clenching around him.

"Fuck," the demon snarls, his voice rough and guttural as he pushes himself up on the bed.

He moves with a sudden, feral urgency, crowding you beneath his larger frame. With a swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, forcing your chest down into the rumpled sheets while your surprised squeal echoes in the room. His palm presses down firmly on the small of your back, pinning you in place as he shifts one of your legs to the side, spreading you open. The position leaves your pussy swollen and easily accessible.

"Ezek!" His name falls from your lips like a breathless plea as he drives into you again. Your body arches instinctively, responding to the overwhelming pleasure. His hips snap forward with an animalistic force. Each stroke is deep and unrelenting as if he’s determined to imprint himself into every part of you. You can feel him everywhere, the heat of his body against yours, the way his presence fills the space around you, making it feel both electric and consuming.

The male leans over you, his breath is hot against your ear as he growls. "Cum around me, Y/N." The weight of his body presses down. Your ass is soft and plush against his pelvis. Each thrust drives him deeper, pushing you closer to the edge.

The demon's muscles are taut as he holds himself above you. He can feel the familiar tingle at the base of his spine, a sign that he is nearing his own release. His balls pull tight, the need to fill you up almost primal, urging him on with a ferocity that makes his heart race. He digs his fingers into the sheets, anchoring himself as he quickens his pace.

“Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and raw. "Let go for me."

The tight, urging command is the final push you need. He swears he could break his own teeth by the force he closes his mouth as your warm pussy clutches and pulses around him. The feeling of you milking his already sensitive cock snaps the molten heat pooling low in his stomach. It’s as if every nerve ending in his body ignites at once, stealing his breath away for several long seconds. The tight grip of your warmth around him pushes him to the brink, and he can't help but growl as he feels his release barreling toward him, unstoppable.

With a final, deep thrust, he lets go, filling you completely as he shudders in ecstasy. Thick spurts of his cum paint your tightening walls. The warmth of him floods you in waves that send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through both of you. He can feel the pearly white liquid drip down, smearing over your joined skin.

As he finally catches his breath, he collapses onto the bed next to you, chest heaving and the world still spinning. For a long while, both of you lie sprawled out on the bed, the air warm and thick with the mingled scent of your arousal. He turns his head to glance at you, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. The dim light casts a soft glow across your features, highlighting the contentment etched on your face. It’s a sight that sends a wave of satisfaction through him.

He takes a moment to soak it all in.

Until you break the silence.

“Do you think if I give you some time, you’ll be ready for another round?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your voice is hoarse, yet as cheerful and bright as ever.

The question catches the demon off guard, leaving him momentarily breathless as he stares at you in disbelief. “Wha'?”

You shrug with a playful glint in your eyes. “You are better than I thought.”

The praise ignites a fire within him, causing his blood to boil. His usual scowl returns, hardening the sharp lines of his features as he processes your words.

For a few silent seconds, you hold his gaze, tilting your head slightly as if trying to decipher his reaction. “That’s a no?”

The demon groans, frustration creeping into his voice as he glances up at the ceiling. “Go and find your boys.”

“And what if I do that thing with my tongue again?” you ask. The sultry tilt in your voice sends a jolt of arousal and pain through his already spent cock, making it twitch in response.

Well, call him a machoist... "Give me ten minutes."

You narrow your eyes at his tall, sinewy figure. “You just said you’re not the wish-granting type.” His head snaps up, eyes gleaming red in the dying sun. “Oh,” you drawl as realization dawns on you, “common occurrence, huh?”

“I think I’ve been summoned more times to someone fucking up a genie summon than to someone summoning for me.”

“Oh, so you’re a loser,” you deadpan.

“And you’re trying to summon a genie,” he argues. His gaze is burning into your eyes. Goosebumps rise on your skin. You swear he notices because why else would his posture relax slightly, the tense line of his shoulders loosening just a little. “So,” he clears his throat, standing up straighter, horns nearly grazing your ceiling, “your wish?”

You pointedly look away from him, heat rushing to your cheeks, and press your thighs together. From the corner of your eye you see the mouth at his throat widen into a broad grin. Many more mouths on his body open up, all displaying some kind of grin, small or big, sharp and toothy or already cackling. “You know what—”

“That’s your wish?” he asks with mirth. “Now who’s the loser?”

You turn on your heel, grab the book of sigils from your bed and close it with a snap, gather the unused candles and the chalk and lay them carefully on top of the book. What a waste of time, you think with the sour taste of tears in the back of your throat. A goddamn demon making fun of you — that’s truly a new low. You gather everything into your arms, precariously balancing all the items that want to roll away from you as you turn to leave the room.

“Wait, wait,” he says. You don’t want to stop, but your feet do so on their own accord. The demon cocks his head to the side, gleaming red eyes raking over your body with a newfound hunger. You grip the book tighter to your chest, feeling naked all of a sudden. Then, he shrugs his shoulders. “Ah, what the Hell; I’ll do it.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m extending an olive branch.”

He has an ulterior motive, he has to, he’s a demon for fuck’s sake. But… you’re lonely. And it’s a little pathetic how you summoned a demon for companionship. You’ve dug this hole for yourself, might as well see how far you can keep digging. So, you set the books and chalk and candles in your hands down on the nightstand and reach out with the nose of your slipper to scrub a part of the chalk summoning circle away.

The demon, suddenly taller and wider and cloaked in shadows and smoke. There’s barely enough time for your brain to register he’s moved across the room when there’s a hot mouth on yours. His lips press against yours with bruising force, a tongue prodding at the seam of your lips and you can’t resist, don’t want to. It delves past your lips and presses against your own tongue.

Hands, so many hands on your body, grabbing and groping and ripping and tearing. Claws sink into the front of your shirt and pull it to shreds. They advance, pressing against your heated skin. You nearly squeal when something hot and wet drags across your nipple and jerk back from the demon. His grin is wide as his long, serpentine tongue retreats into his mouth and he raises a hand, palm facing you. A sharp-toothed mouth grins at you, slick tongue lolling out, curling around thin air. The demon reaches his hand out and the tongue drags across your torso, across your breast, and latches onto your nipple. You choke out a half-moan, half-gasp, back arching against him.

His mouth is back on yours, tongue prodding at your lips for entrance and you let him. The world sways under your feet and your knees give out. There’s a hand on the small of your back guiding you, until you’re splayed out on top of the covers. The demon does not pull away, his body following the curve of yours, leaning over you, one knee propped on the edge of the mattress. His hands, everywhere, fingers groping and tongues dragging fire across your skin.

When he pulls away, you blink away the fogginess in your eyes. The world slowly comes back into focus but he remains a splotch of bleeding black ink against the brightly colored wall of your bedroom. Hands on your knees and your thighs and your calves grab at the flesh, force your legs apart. Your muscles strain against the pressure. Cool air hits your cunt and you clench around air, buck your hips up. 

A mouth rests on your clit, its tongue presses against the sensitive bud. Your breath hitches in your throat. It’s thick and wet and so warm, dragging across your clit and down, until it stops at your entrance. You open your mouth to beg when fingers latch around your hips and twist your body abruptly. Your face smacks against the duvet cover as your body is angled, hips lifted and pulled against his body. He grinds his hard cock against your bare cunt with a cackling laugh.

“Please—” you mutter against the bed, blink away the mist in your eyes. This is pathetic, so fucking pathetic of you, begging for a demon to fuck you because you can’t get laid anywhere else.

The demon hums, almost purrs, and smacks a hand against your bare ass. You gasp into the mattress. “You’re so funny like this,” he says and you just know he’s grinning, every single goddamn mouth on his body is grinning, laughing at your pathetic neediness in the face of the demon pressing his cock against your entrance. “I mean,” he starts again, pushing his tip just past your folds and into your throbbing cunt, but not far enough to provide any relief, “you were going to waste a wish just to get some demonic dick? And here I thought people asking to be famous or rich was sad.”

“Please, just—” you clear your throat, swallow around the lump in your throat. You try to push back against his cock but he’s too strong, hands planted everywhere to keep you in place. A tongue wraps around your nipple and gently sinks its sharp teeth into it. Your breathing shudders and you clench around his cock.

“But to ask to be a demon’s cock sleeve just because you can’t get any from other humans?” The hands tighten around your flesh and abruptly pull you into him. His cock sheaths into your pussy in one swift thrust. You nearly see stars. He’s thick and big, and you feel so full, feel him in your goddamn throat. The pace he sets is frantic, brutal. Your thighs smack against his body with every harsh thrust and it’s so loud. Your cunt dribbles around his cock, hands fisted in your sheets, trying to find some leverage. Your cheek drags against the coarse duvet cover with every thrust.

Something prods against your clit with every snap of his hips, something long and warm. You struggle to rest your weight on one shoulder and reach down with your free hand. A hand smacks against yours harshly just when your fingertips graze the tip of another cock. You gasp against the bed, fingers tingling with pain and it earns another smack against your ass. “I want to cum, too,” he says. “You’re so fucking selfish, y’know? A selfish loser. How bad did you strike out with humans, huh? Ever say anything smart with that mouth of yours?”

The drag of his cocks are too much. You swear you feel every goddamn ridge against your walls, every vein catching against your clit as he thrusts. His pace keeps steady, slowly guiding you towards your orgasm, the coil in your stomach tightening.

You come with a gasp, breath shuddering. He doesn’t stop, just thrusting back in every time your cunt constricts around him. The hands — the hands are back — one is running its clawed fingers through your hair, others are positioned everywhere on your body, razors-sharp teeth grazing your skin. Tongues, wet and hot and soft press against you, lick the sheen of sweat from your skin. Your body sags, muscles sore suddenly. You try to swat at the demon with your foot.

He laughs, loud and scratchy, like a chorus of people. A hand connects with your abused cheek again and he drives forward, presses the weight of his body against yours. “I said I want to cum, too.” You can feel the hands against your body grin. “You can take it.”

The demon dives into your pussy with newfound vigor, clawed hands gripping your hips. Your thighs are wet, slapping against his body. The sound is so incredibly lewd to your ears and your face burns. Tears slip from your eyes, dot onto the duvet cover. A hand rests on your asscheek, hot tongue soothing the stinging pain from his slap.

It’s too much, too soon for your abused cunt. Your thighs shake and a sob crawls up your throat at the pace he sets, the way he drives his fat cock into your pussy, sloppy and fast, only chasing his own high. The bed creaks under his thrusts. Warm hands on your ass pull your cheeks apart. Something hot and wet traces around your hole in a lazy circle, then prods at it.

“W-wait,” you gasp.

The demon shushes you and a hand clamps over your mouth. A tongue presses past the seam of your lips just as the other one slides through the ring of muscles with ease. He ruts against your body, pulling you along with his motions. It’s too much. He’s growing erratic, his jerking and cock plunging in and out of your cunt with sloppy pace, burying himself into you to the hilt with every thrusts. He’s so incredibly deep and you feel the budding pull of your orgasm approaching again. His hot breath hits your heated skin, hands grabbing and groping but the mouths and tongues slack. The tongue in your ass grows. Your thighs strain and your cunt aches to accommodate his size and he’s so big, filling you to the brim, stretching—

Wait—

You clench around his cock and his tongue with a wail, a choked gasp as you come, stars in your vision. Your cunt pulses, pushes him out and pulls him back in as he thrusts into your warmth with an almost erratic pace.

He hisses something under his breath and buries himself into you to the hilt. His hips jerk as he spills into your cunt, flooding you. Teeth sink into your skin. The cock dragging against your clit does too, cum splattering against your torso, staining your bedsheets.

Your ears are ringing. Your thighs shake and your arms tingle from the forced position. It’s hard to think over the cotton in your head. Faintly, you register your chest heaving, trying to take in air. You need to pause. You need to recalibrate. Sleep.

The demon adjusts himself — fuck you nearly forgot about him, still buried in you — and slowly pulls out. His cum dribbles from your pussy and you almost want him to slide back in, all to beat this sudden feeling of loneliness. Fuck, he was right, you really are a pathetic loser.

You collapse onto your side, pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, press your misty eyes against your kneecaps. The taste of tears is bitter in the back of your throat.

A clawed finger prods at your thigh.

“What?” you mutter against your skin.

“So,” he says and he’s grinning, you know he is, “you have three wishes left.”

You raise your head to look at the demon perched on the edge of your bed, grinning mouths peppered around his body. He’s larger, wider. His horns are more filled out, arms thick, muscles bulging as he crosses them over his chest.

“What?” you croak out.

“See? I’m much nicer than a genie. I’ll throw in a freebie and not twist your words into horrifying wishes.”

You trace the carvings on the shiny black box with your finger.

It opens smoothly. Inside, an almost translucent blue dildo rests on a velvet pillow. Oh, my, you think. It’s smooth to the touch, soft and almost jelly-like. It jiggles when you tap the pad of your finger against it. You giggle and tap it once more just for the sake of poking it. The slime flops its head against your fingers.

Oh, it’s… alive? Sentient? You don’t know exactly what to call its state of being. The slime dildo jiggles once and jumps in place once. Oh, okay, you think and hold up a finger. “Let me just close the store, yeah?” It doesn’t respond, doesn’t move again but the head of it is tilted your way, as if staring at you as you move through the store to lock the front door and flip the sign on the window.

It patiently waits where you left it. You stop in front of it and cup your hands. “I don’t want the store to get messy. Or break anything. There’s uh—” you swallow and holy shit, you’re having a conversation with a dildo-shaped slime you’re not sure is actually alive, “we can go upstairs.”

The slime doesn’t move for a moment as if considering your offer. Maybe? Shit— you make a mental note to read up on slimes and slime farms. Your teacher did briefly go over slimes while you were under her apprenticeship but that was also the day you’d latched onto the idea of customizing your wizard robes if you ever graduated. Oh, you can recall the original designs you’d drawn up in class even now, something more lingerie-adjacent than the long and heavy robes of her discipline. Where’d you put that babydoll-inspired robe you’d unpacked the other day?

You nearly startle out of your skin when the weight of the slime lands in your open palms. It wobbles in your hands briefly before it assumes its shape. You take that as a yes to your proposal and weave your way through your store towards the stairs to the second floor. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a wild horse as you ascend the stairs, turning off the lights as you reach the top.

You place the slime onto your coffee table. Your nerves are wrecked already. “So,” you start, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, “is this good enough? How is this even going to— What are we — me — we? What—” you press your lips together and take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Now what?”

The slime leaps forward until it reaches the edge of the coffee table, just a hair’s breadth away from your thigh. It jiggles, its head pressing against the slit in your wizard’s robe. You reach down and drag your fingers along its shaft, the bulging vein on its back and swallow around the lump in your throat. You want to lean down and drag your tongue across it.

The slime presses forward, between your thighs and rubs its head against your clothed cunt. You drag your fingertips down the length of its smooth shaft. It jiggles and pushes harder against your body. It’s pleasantly cool to the touch. It’s a little too thick to wrap one hand around, but you do your best. You move your hand slowly up and down the thick shaft. Precum pools at the tip and dribbles down the curve of the head and you feel compelled to lean down. You drag your tongue up the slime’s shaft — feel the slightly tacky cum on your tongue — from its balls to the very tip and dip your tongue into the slit. The slime jiggles in your hand. That’s good, you assume. It hasn’t pulled away or melted into a puddle yet. Slowly, you wrap your lips around the mushroom head tip and take it into your mouth.

The slime jiggles and pulls out of your mouth abruptly. “What?” You wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your robe and the slime jiggles again. It swings its whole weight forward and flops pathetically at your robe. “Oh.”

You shrug off your robe and hastily pull down your underwear, kick them out of sight. The slime jiggles as if appreciating your nudity and pushes itself against your body again. The sensation is odd. It’s both firm and soft, almost like you could run your fingers through its body. It burrows between your thighs and wiggles upwards until its head hits your clit. You gasp and reach to rest your weight onto the coffee table before your knees give out. It pulses, wiggles, dragging its smooth body against your clit. You wrap your legs around it and slowly lower your hips.

The slime jiggles, wiggles against your thighs, almost as if thrashing around and you unlock your legs with haste. You stare at it, legs open, pussy wet and waiting for it, so many questions on your tongue. Maybe there’s a spell somewhere to get over this language barrier because it’s clearly intelligent and your skin is on fire and if it starts teasing you now, you might just smite it and finish the job yourself.

It positions itself against your hot, wet cunt and you exhale a breath of relief, head thrown back. It moves, positions itself, the head pressing against your entrance and you roll your hips minutely to beckon it.

It sheathes itself in your cunt with one harsh thrust. You yelp, try to reach for the edge of the table to find an anchor but its pace is too much, too harsh. The table legs drags against the floor from the force of its thrusts into your waiting cunt. Your mouth drops open, stifled, breathy moans escaping your lips as you try to pull yourself together and figure out which way is up, where to grab. It thrusts harshly and you nearly topple off the table, manage to grab onto the edge and roll knot your stomach for more leverage. Your knees drop to the plush carpet. The edge of the coffee table rams into your hips with every thrust from the slime buried into your cunt, bullying it like a jackhammer. Your sweat-slick skin drags across the glass surface. It’s thick and big and you swear you feel it in the back of your throat. Your head is spinning, the pleasure overwhelming. The coil in your core snaps abruptly.

You cum with a low moan, pussy clenching around it like a vise but the slime doesn’t stop, just keeps rutting into you as you come down from your high and spills. It’s warm and gooey and it dribbles from your cunt as the slime eases itself to a slower pace until it stops, buried inside you to the hilt. You feel full, so deliciously full and fuck, maybe it’ll stay there forever. You wouldn’t mind it, you think. It could rut into you while you’re talking to a customer and you’d be forced to keep your poker face or fold like a goddamn house of cards with your client watching your depravity.

Your cunt flutters at the thought.

Slowly, you lower yourself off the coffee table and onto all fours, ass up in the air, and press your face against your folded arms, take deep, even breaths to get your head on straight again.

The rug underneath you feels nice. Smooth. Soft, if not a little gooey. It moves, undulates underneath you, rises until it brushes against your collarbones.

Wait, what?

You pull your face away from your arms and blink a few times to get rid of the shapes in your vision. Your rug isn’t your rug. It’s dark blue, almost liquidy in consistency and it bubbles and laps at your body like waves at the beach. It’s cool to the touch.

Your cunt feels strangely empty all of a sudden. You clench around thin air with a frown and slowly sit up. The slime-like liquid on the floor wiggles as you adjust your legs — it’s the same blue hue as the slime that should be buried into your cunt. Oh, so they don’t last forever. You feel a strange sense of loss at the realization; they’re just here to fulfill an itch, then. And then they’re gone.

You should pull yourself together, get up and clean this mess up. No point in crying over something that’s over.

The slime warbles and then, something breaches it. A single thick tentacle rises from the pool that’s overrun your living room. It turns its head as if looking around and you take that time to reorient yourself. The slime gift from your client has melted into a puddle that’s overrun your living room. Something not quite of this world has used it as a portal. That opens another can of worms about slimes and portals and you should really write down how a tentacle appeared from the melted body of a slime from a nearby farm but— it looks remarkably phallic in shape. Its head is pronounced, almost mushroom in shape like male genitalia. The light streaming in from the window next to you illuminates the ridges on its body, the texture reminds you of snake scales.

You shift on your knees, your cunt aching.

The tentacle snaps around. It slowly crosses the space between you and itself, more and more of its body rising from the pool. It’s tall and thick. There are ridges on its back, and you swear they would feel so good dragging against your clit —

It lowers its head in front of your face where it hovers for a few long moments. Slowly, you reach out and drag the tip of your finger down its body. Bingo. Scale-like small ridges decorate its body.

There is movement in the corner of your eye. More tentacles rise from the slime, these ones smaller and leaner. They slither across the mass of slime and glide onto your skin, wrap themselves around your legs, creeping towards your pussy. You rise onto your knees to give them more leeway.

More tentacles shoot out from the pool on your floor and tangle around your arms, pull them together over your head. Others latch onto your skin. They traverse the expanse of your body, warm and slick, prodding and poking and squeezing. One slides underneath your breast and loops over it. Its tip circles your nipple and you gasp at the sensation, throw your head back and arch your back, nearly hitting the coffee table. A thin, glimmering tentacle shoots out, wraps around your torso and across your neck before the back of your head can actually collide with glass. It pulls you forward just as quickly, onto your knees.

The large tentacle is hovering right in front of your face now. It bumps its tip against your forehead, your cheek, your nose and then against the seam of your lips. They part involuntarily and it dives in. You feel the ridges on its stomach against your tongue but the moan gets stuck in your throat.

It eases itself out of your mouth and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact. Seriously, what’s with these things not wanting your mouth? It’s an extra hole for them to use and abuse so why are they rejecting it?

The tentacle dips down and you feel the ridges caressing your skin as it glides towards and across your cunt, dragging the ridges on its stomach against your clit and something between a moan and a gasp escapes your throat involuntarily.

You’re suddenly hauled up and backwards until your back collides with your couch. Your legs are pulled apart to expose your weeping pussy to the head tentacle. It lowers itself to your cunt’s level as if studying it. It gives an experimental nudge against your slit and then presses forward harder. The very tip slides in with little effort and then it’s pushing ahead, wiggling like it’s trying to force itself inside.

Your chest is heaving, short, shallow breaths escaping you as you desperately try to push against the tentacle but the others keep you rooted to the spot. It’s torture and agony and bliss all at once as the thick tentacle prods at you. Just a little push and it can fuck you within an inch of your life, until you beg and beg and beg it for more, to fill you up and keep you stuck on it for as long as it wants, do whatever it wants.

The head breeches your cunt and it slides all the way in with one thrust. You gasp at the sensation, chest heaving and try to breathe through the obscene stretch, the obscene sight of its shape in your stomach but it has other ideas. It starts moving, slow and deliberate as it pulls back and then dives in again, setting a ruthless pace. You’re so wet, so slippery and it almost slips out of your cunt. You dribble around it, the sound so obscene and lewd in your ears. It’s the only sound in the room other than your moans, your babbled begging for it to just take you already.

Its size is overwhelming but it feels so good, bullying its way into your cunt and drawing those ridiculous wet sounds and moans and gasps, pleading from your lips. You’re almost in tears at the euphoria, at the way this tentacle claims your cunt for itself, at the way the others hold you back and spread out to take and take and use you up like the goddamn fleshlight you are. You’d let it use you as a fleshlight again and again, fuck, maybe this one can stay and display you as a freak show to any potential client. The thought of someone staring at the way this thing defiles your holes, their cock in hand, maybe even trying to join — it sends you over the edge.

You cum with a swear on your lips, a half-baked cry stuck in your throat. Moments later, the tentacle spills into your cunt. You’re so full, you’re so incredibly full. Its cum, as translucent and pearly as itself dribbles onto your couch, slipping out from around its thick body. Your chest heaves as you try to pull yourself together, tears brimming in your eyes.

The tentacles around your legs tighten. They pull your body along like dead weight, off the couch and onto the slick floor. Your hands are maneuvered with your body but there’s no weight left in your arms and your jaw nearly collides with the floor. The tentacles yank your body upright at the last moment, tightening around your limbs to hold you on all fours without leaning any weight on your weak limbs.

Your legs are pulled apart. Tentacles press against the skin of your ass, massaging and groping and prodding.

The thick tentacle still buried snugly in your cunt purrs. Something prods at your ass. Its smooth tip presses against your puckered hole and you do your best to relax every muscle in your body. It teases for just a moment before it slides through slowly. You moan at the sensation, at being so full.

It moves first, slow and deliberate, delving deeper into your ass and then pulling back. The head tentacle in your cunt moves in tandem with it. They’re so deep, so slick you want to cry because it’s too much but they feel so good, fucking you so thoroughly in tandem. They move, they all move, every single goddamn tentacle wrapped around your body, your limbs, your tits, their tips move, sliding back and forth across your skin. One pinches your nipple and you mewl, mouth agape to take in air and cry out.

A tentacle roughly pushes into your mouth, slides down your throat and pulls back to fuck it. Your face is wet and your vision is blurry, it’s too much, one stuffing itself and its pretty cum back into your aching cunt like it wants to live there, another thrusting into your ass with vigor, you feel them both, at the way they rub against your walls, against each other. Another in your mouth, pumping into your throat, so many caressing your body.

They pause for a fraction of a moment but it's enough to have you crying out for any stimulation. They dive in with newfound vigor, like they haven’t been fucking you stupid for who knows how long now, stuffing themselves so deep into your pussy and your ass and your throat. Your eyes roll back and your whole body tenses for a moment before you come the hardest you’ve ever come. You clench down at the tentacles, and nearly scream. The tentacle in your mouth pulls back and you hear your own pathetic voice, begging and pleading and babbling for more, more, please, please, please before there is a weight on your tongue. The tentacle spits its cum onto your tongue, thick and glossy, dribbling past your open lips and down your chin.

The world comes back to you in small increments. The sound of birdsong on the other side of your window. The feeling of something pumping into your ass at a languid pace before it stops and slowly pulls out. Something shoved deep inside your cunt so far you feel like you’re about to burst. The grip on your body is tight but pleasant, almost massage-like. You blink the tears from your eyes and sniffle, try to breathe.

A wail escapes your throat when the head tentacle pulls out of your pussy with an audible pop. Its cum shoots out of you, an obscene amount dribbling onto your rug, pooling between your legs, running down your skin, hot and sticky. Your breath shudders in your throat as the tentacles ease you onto your knees. More and more dribbles out of your gaping pussy, and you almost want the tentacle to shove itself back in and take you until you can’t think anymore, pump you full of its cum again and again and again until the world comes to an end.

The tentacles on your body loosen their grip. The one around your tit gives it another squeeze and flicks your nipple and it shoots a jolt to your core. More cum dribbles from your pussy as the feeling passes and your muscles relax, fatigued and aching and sore.

The pool beneath your knees shrinks. You turn despite your screaming muscles to see the tentacles retreat into a summoning circle in the middle of the pit of slime one by one. Before long, the pool dries up entirely and the circle on the floor disappears.

You should really write down a note to get in contact with the slime farm to get to the bottom of this. Instead, you scoop up a handful of pearlescent cum from the floor, and try to shove it back into your cunt.

—a/n: anon is on, feel free to comment, go nuts, describe how many times this made you cum, god I hope it made sb cum