bimbo bratz doll

It's so cute, the way the one on the right panics and tries to get away from just a little flick. The one on the left flinches, but she looks more surprised than hurt; she maybe bites into her gag a little harder, stays a little tensed up so she doesn't flinch again.

"Yeah? You don't like it when I hurt your nipples?"

But the one on the right -- look at the way she curls in on herself, the way she tries to twist away. I love the way he grabs her tit to keep her still, to keep her from hiding again the mattress.

"You're okay, baby, you're okay. That's just the start, sweetheart, you might want to toughen up a little."

He's going to have to find something else to use on her friend. He's going to flick her clit next, see if she stays quite so stoic through that.

But the other girl... yeah, he thinks he's found his way in. 

"Next time you decide to get bratty with someone, you might want to play your cards a little closer to your chest, honey. You still think I won't be able to break you?"

*

Buy my books on Amazon

He’s flat on his back, head hanging just off the edge of the bed so you can straddle his face properly. No pillow. No mercy. You sink down without warning, knees bracketing his ears, and the second your dripping cunt meets his mouth, he lets out a filthy, muffled moan that vibrates straight through your clit. “Fuck—yes,” he groans into you, words slurred and wet, tongue already pushing past your folds like he’s trying to crawl inside.

His hands clamp onto your ass, fingers digging in hard enough to leave prints, yanking you down until you’re smothering him. Nose buried in your slit, lips sealed around your clit, he’s sucking like he’s pulling your soul out through your pussy. You grind slowly at first, rolling your hips, smearing slick across his chin, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He whines, high and desperate, hips jerking up off the mattress, dick already leaking pre-cum in thick beads down his shaft because he’s too fucked-out to touch himself.

Every time you lift just enough for him to breathe, he chases you, tongue lashing, trying to drag you back down. “Stay—fuck, stay on my face,” he begs, voice wrecked and garbled against your cunt. “Use me—ride it, baby, please—” Spit and your arousal drip down his temples, into his hair, pooling on the sheets. He’s a mess: cheeks flushed dark red, eyes rolling back behind fluttering lids, tears leaking from the corners because he’s so overwhelmed he can barely breathe.

You pick up the pace, fucking his tongue now, grinding your clit hard against the bridge of his nose while his lips suck sloppy and obscene. The wet, filthy sounds fill the room: your slick smacking against his face, his choked moans, the creak of the bed frame as he bucks uselessly beneath you. He comes first, untouched. Hips snapping up, dick pulsing, thick ropes of cum shooting across his stomach and chest while he sobs into your pussy. The vibration of his cries tips you over.

But he's just so... Pathetic.

You can't help feel bad for him.

Your fingers tease up his chest as he tries to talk to you, you smirk as you watch him start and stutter over his words, his tail curling between his legs as he starts to whine a little.

You pity him enough you let him fuck you.

He's lapping at your pussy like it's his last meal, claws holding your thighs open as he thanks you over and over again.

You tell him to shut up and keep eating you out, your hand reaching and grabbing the top of his head as you push your hips up into his face, groaning as his tongue makes you reach a climax.

You don't even fight him when he starts to needily nibble at your neck and shoulders, his thick cock poking at your entrance as he pleads.

He's so pathetic, he's sobbing at this point as he slides in to you. Your tight warmth around his thick girth making him lose it.

He barely last long, a few messy and sloppy thrust and he pops his knot into your cunt, swelling up and filling his load into you.

He's sobbing uncontrollably as he holds you, his tail wagging.

You weren't complaining much, the feeling of him deep in you, his load filling your insides... It was bliss.

But you knew you were going to have to train him to last a bit longer.

One victim was always staked out in the middle of the clearing face down, and the other was always left face up; nobody knew why, but nobody ever questioned it, either. This wasn't some ritual that had been passed down to them through a mythical communion with beings from on high--it had been discovered through trial and error, and the errors had been grievous and costly both to the victims and to the small community they saved with their sacrifice. Nobody was going to argue with the Beast of the Woods over his preferences, not when so very much rested on placating him.

So yes. Two victims, always fertile, always naked, one face down and one face up. Both of them were bound to a series of six stakes, hammered into the ground on either side of their head, waist, and feet, and the face-down victim always had a pole slipped into the ropes around their ankles that was then adjusted so the glass phallus attached to the other end entered their cunt. Nobody understood why this was so important either, although privately some of the elders believed that the scent of arousal attracted the Beast to the clearing instead of the village beyond. All they knew was that the consequences for forgetting any aspect of the ritual could be catastrophic.

They certainly didn't need to worry about the pole remaining too still to generate the desired effect. The moment they heard the first howls, both victims--they were women this year, although the Beast didn't seem to care so long as they were capable of bearing children--began to writhe and thrash in their bonds, their sincere desire to serve and save their village overtaken by the desperate and primal instincts of their prey drive. There was nowhere to hide in the clearing, and just listening to the booming resonance of the Beast's cries told them there was no hope of fighting him. They had to flee, and that meant trying to extricate themselves from the ropes and that meant the pole wriggled and squirmed its way in and out of the victim's cunt. And whether that attracted the Beast or not, he soon arrived.

Nobody knew what he looked like. Nobody was allowed in the clearing after nightfall on the evening of his visit--not that it was an edict that required much enforcement, but once in every generation it seemed like someone was foolish enough to try to see for themselves and brave enough not to flee into the night when the Beast howled, and what happened to them was usually enough to discourage anyone else. The face-down victim never had a chance to see--the Beast always approached them from behind, sliding the curved phallus out of their cunt and replacing it with a cock that seemed endless in its length. And the face-up victim, well….

It wasn't exactly that they came back simple. It was more like they came back a tiny bit lost in distraction, their minds endlessly turning to what they saw and finding themselves more than a little disoriented in their efforts to find their way back to the everyday. They were always well taken care of, their sacrifices honored, although privately some people noticed the way they looked at each other and suspected their reveries might not be so painful. And nine months later, when they welcomed a new child to the community, it was treated with all the reverence and respect due to the kin of the Beast.