Blubell77

As your footsteps padded softly against the ground, his shoulders dropped and his golden eyes locked onto yours with that familiar dizzying fixation. Even now, in the security of your established relationship, where the ghosts of his past no longer choked him: his love for you was an all-consuming fire. He still watched you sleep; still spoke such passionate confessions to you.

"Ah, my dear." He playfully gave a sweeping bow, the crimson silk trailing after his hand like spilled wine. "Did you come to see a more private encore? I am always happy to perform for my favorite critic."

You didn't answer right away; knowing he was being genuine. While you had a different idea of what 'private encore' would entail... Instead you closed the distance between the two of you, your gaze steady and unblinking. You stepped directly into his personal space, the unmistakable dominance in your aura immediately catching him off-guard. Pierrot’s head tilted slightly, his eyes wide and curious, but as you reached out and firmly grasped his wrists a sudden wave of fluster washed over him.

"Pierrot... I have an idea. What if tonight, your stage belongs to me...," you said softly, your voice carrying an unyielding weight that made his breath catch. "And... you're going to be my puppet."

Pierrot’s cheeks instantly flushed several shades darker through his mask. The bold performer in him stumbled, completely caught off guard by your sudden commanding advance. "M-my dear...?" he stammered, his usual polite composure fracturing into a soft and nervous flutter. Still, he couldn't deny: he was salivating...

You guided him back a few steps before he could regain his footing, until his spine pressed against the heavy, ornate wooden frame of one of his throwing knife targets. You uncoiled the crimson silk ribbons from his fingers, your movements efficient and deliberate, and looped them firmly around his wrists, and, with the help of a stool, secured them to the wooden frame above his head. You didn't bind him harshly enough to bruise, but you tied the knots with a tightness that stripped his hands of their power... Unless, bottom line, Pierrot decided he wanted to change that fact. Still, this didn't stop you from playing out the scene in your mind.

"Pierrot... you'r not allowed to touch me, not unless I command it," you instructed, running a single finger down the center of his chest and relishing in how he squirmed. How your lover was already shifting his hips in his costume. "And, more importantly, you are not allowed to look away from me. If your eyes leave min:, the show is over."

"P-please, my dear... I-I'll do anything you want, but...," Pierrot whined, his voice instantly turning high, needy, and incredibly desperate as he stretched against the silk. The sudden restraint and your intoxicating proximity were already driving him wild, and you really hadn't been able to spend much time with him the last couple of days with the workload. He began to squirm, his hips shifting restlessly. "D-don't tease me like this, n-not with the rule about not touching,” he paused, eyes rolling back at memories of you trembling beneath him. “...touching that beautiful, soft body of yours... i-it's not fair. I want to hold you. Please, let me hold you..."

"No.” You let it be a full sentence, stepping into the space between his thighs. "Tonight, Pierrot, we are going slow.Very... very slow. Breathe with me."

You enforced the tantric connection ruthlessly, leaning in until your nose brushed the smooth masked front his, demanding he match your long, deep inhales. Pierrot swallowed hard, whimpering softly as he fought his own frantic impulses. His chest heaved with instinct, memories of your intimacy, and fantasies he'd yet to play out... until his breathing finally synced with yours. The intimacy was suffocatingly thick and forced him to process every single micro-sensation. You leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his jawline, deliberately avoiding his mouth. An angel you were, being so kind as to give him a rewarding lick at the line where his mask met his skin.

"You are so beautiful like this," you praised. "So quiet... So mine."

"A-always, d-dear one," he choked out, begging shamelessly now, his voice cracking with a delicious, dramatic desperation—so desperate for what played in his mind to be a reality. NOW. "But please... the heat... it's too much. Don't leave me hanging like this, my dear. Touch me... please touch me with those wonderful hands of yours..." Pierrot practically drooled in anticipation.

You smiled, a wicked little curve of your lips, and unfastened the front of his trousers.

Free of his clothing, his inhuman anatomy was laid bare in the cool air of the tent. He was already weeping moisture, hot, and fiercely demanding at full-attention. His length was massive; a striking yellow that throbbed with his pulse and most filthy thoughts, and at the very base sat a heavy, prominent knot which was already starting to swell with his rising excitement.

You adjusted your position, lifting yourself over him with the help of the wooden stool, and aligned your wet, aching center directly over the crown of his length. Now, you grabbed onto his shoulders for support; your scent invading all of his senses. Pierrot’s eyes shut instinctively as he anticipated the slide of entry.

"Open your eyes, Pierrot," you snapped at him softly.

His eyes flew open, the golden gaze intense and wildly adoring as he locked back into your stare. "I-I'm sorry—I'm sorry, my dear! Don't stop. Please, I'll be good—I'll be so good—just let me have you!"

You lowered yourself down to take him inch by agonizing inch, forcing your body to accommodate the long, massive stretch of his yellow cock. Pierrot let out a broken whine, the silk ribbons groaning above his head as his hands balled into tight fists. You began to roll your hips in slow, tantric circles, maximizing the internal friction—letting the sensitive nerves grind together with a sinful, heavy pressure.

"You're doing so well, Pierrot," you cooed, unhooking your right arm from around his neck so your delicate fingers could trace the tense, rigid lines of his collarbone.

"I-I can't... I can't hold it," Pierrot gasped, his face burning, his whimpering turning into a breathless chant of need. Between his thoughts, your slow devilish pace, and how good you felt; he was hardly lasting his normal pace. "My dear, please... it's too intense... I'm going to cum—I..."

You felt the sudden telltale hardening inside you, his internal temperature skyrocketing as he hovered on the very precipice of a ruinous and explosive climax. His hips gave a desperate twitch upward, trying to force the final friction-filled rub—

Right before he could cross the line, you hoisted yourself upward lifting yourself entirely off him, and using your stepping stool to stand back onto the ground of the center ring.

The sudden brutal loss of friction made Pierrot let out a sound that was half-sob, half-monstrous growl. He collapsed back against the wooden target. "No, no, no, my dear! Come back! P-please, dear one, l-let me cum inside... I've been good. Please!"

You admired the mess your monster was becoming—so desperate for you, your sex just out of his reach; your own breathing becoming ragged. "What did I say about your eyes, Pierrot?"

He forced his head up, locking his dark hungry eyes back onto yours. "I-I'm looking! See? Just... please... I'll be so good."

Pleased with this, you stepped back into his space, but instead of using your body, your hand wrapped around his rigid cock and gripped him firmly just above his swelling knot. You began to stroke him with that same agonizing slowness.

To heighten the torment, Pierrot parted his lips and his long, impossibly flexible yellow tongue slid out. It was massive and sleek, tasting the air as it slathered desperately toward you, whining around it as he tried to use it to worship any part of your skin he could reach... He was panting around his own tongue, stretching against his bonds until his toes curled; completely undone by the denial.

"Pierrot... you belong to me, don't you?" you spoke so gently, speeding up your strokes just a fraction, bringing him right back to the edge of that cliff where you wanted him.

"Yes—yes!" he cried out around his tongue, not bothering to pull it back in, his head thrashing. "M-my dear, please: let me break for you..."

"Not yet," you whispered. “You can do this...”

Just as his breath caught for the final plunge, you stopped your hand completely, clamping your thumb tightly over his sensitive tip, physically blocking the release you'd already denied him. A mental game that made him throb in your hand.

Pierrot let out a broken strangled noise, his entire body convulsing against the target. The denial was becoming a physical agony. A beautiful, torturous wave of unspent energy that washed back through his nervous system leaving him panting, sobbing, and utterly ruined.

“S-so cruel...” He whimpered, his long yellow tongue retreating slightly as a tear tracked a clear line down his cheek. "Y-you're driving me mad... dear one..."

Something shifted in the air.

The repeated cycles of denial, the overwhelming sensory overload, and the sheer desperation finally cracked something deep within his turbulent psyche. The whining, begging submissive suddenly went still. Pierrot’s head snapped up, his dark eyes blowing out completely to make way for a raw, feral hunger. No more was the soft, pleading desperation. The polite facade didn't just slip—it shattered.

He let out a dark predatory growl that vibrated deep in his chest. With a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline, Pierrot wrenched his upper body forward. The wood of his target groaning, and with a sharp, tearing sound, his sheer brute strength strained against the silk tethers, pulling the knots tight but forcing his body close enough to close the distance you had put between you.

His long, wet yellow tongue lashed out, hooking around the back of your neck to close the mere inches of a gap. He dragged a thick, hot trail of saliva up your skin before his mouth slammed onto yours. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a feral possession. His tongue invaded your mouth, deep and heavy, marking you, tasting you with an overwhelmingly frantic hunger that made your knees go weak. You were forced to breathe through your nose.

He tore his mouth away, panting, his razored teeth bared in a manic protective grin. "No more games, my dear...," he growled, his voice dropping into a dark, unhinged register that seemed completely stripped of its polite cadence. "You are mine... You wanted a show? I am going to tear every thought you hold apart, until all you can understand is the feel of me."

The sheer animalistic intensity of this shift sent a thrill of pure electricity straight down your spine. Pierrot didn't wait for your permission anymore. He wrangled his hand, claws ripping at the aerial fabric until his right hand was freed. With no hesitation, your hunter hooked his strong arm around your waist and lifted you back onto his rigid, throbbing cock. Your monster claimed you with a violent, possessive thrust.

You let out a loud gasp as he buried himself inside you, struggling towards the base but he continued with an intense pressure. Pierrot filled you completely, stretching you to your absolute limits, but it was the heavy knot at the base that changed everything. With a monstrous urge to claim his prize, the knot slipped into you fully, locking himself tightly inside your body. You were fused together, trapped on his length, and unable to pull away even if you'd wanted to.

"Ah—Pierrot!" you cried out, your hands instantly gripping his shoulders as the sheer size of the knot stretched your walls to a bursting fullness.

"You're mine," he snarled against your neck, voice warping, his teeth nipping at your skin, branding you over and over. It was gentle, for the damage that he could inflict with his jaws—but you cried out from all the overwhelming sensations; unsure of where all-consuming pleasure ended and hot aches of pain began. "Mine, mine, mine."

He began to move his hips, but rather than a rushed explosion, he deliberately drew out the agony of the fit—wanting you every bit as crazed as you'd made him. The base of him kept you locked in a punishingly tight embrace, and every single millimeter he pulled back dragged against your most sensitive, swollen flesh. He moved with an intense grinding focus, shifting his weight to deliberately angle his cock against the sinful ridges of your most sensitive spot. The sheer mass of his knot anchoring you made every upward surge feel monumental, sending shocks straight to your core.

"P-Pierrot... please...please—!!" you gasped, the now completely turned as the sheer depth of his possessive rhythm began to pull you under its unwavering currents.

"You... you like it when I'm a good puppet... don't you, my dear?" he gruffed out darkly, his tongue trailing over your jaw, leaving a hot slick mark before tracing down to your collarbone. He paused his pacing just long enough to curl his hips with pressure, seeing just how much your body would greet his, letting you throb around him before he delivered another deep and punishingly slow thrust. "But a puppet can't do this, dear one... Only I... can make you feel like this."

The tent was filled with the loud wet and desperate sounds of your bodies melting together as one. Pierrot was panting above you, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying, beautiful possessiveness. He drew the sensation out pacing himself with an unhinged precision, matching the spasms and clamping contractions of your walls with deep possessive grinds that drove both of you right back to the edge of the precipice. He held you there—suspended in a shared breathless torment, savoring the way your body trembled around his massive length.

You were completely overwhelmed. Your cries of pleasure began to hold their own unashamed graveled undertone, your vision swimming as the intense friction of his cock dragged you helplessly into a shattering climax. Your walls clamped down hard, convulsing around him in violent waves. Pierrot growled out loudly in such a vice, the sight of you a glimpse of a heaven he hoped to spend an eternity in.

This tight, crushing squeeze of your orgasm was the final trigger for your lover. His body went completely rigid, his hips locking himself deep inside you as he erupted, pumping a thick endless torrent of hot release deep into your core.

He leaned back against the wooden frame, his climax so violent and prolonged that his vision blurred, his mind completely emptying out as he poured every ounce of his soul into you.

The silence of the circus tent slowly returned, save for the heavy, desperate sound of your shared, panting breaths. You knew your legs wouldn't support you, and you didn't dare ask to be let go of him in this state—not that you even wanted to. The knot inside you slowly began to subside and release its possessive grip. Gently, you reached up with trembling fingers and untied the crimson fabric from the his other wrist. Pierrot’s clawed hands immediately wrapped around your waist with a fiercely protective, yet utterly tender, grip. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Pierrot began to get lost in your scent, inhaling deeply as he savored your continued closeness.

The feral, wild energy slowly melted away and left behind the warm, deeply devoted monster underneath. He held you as if you were the only solid thing in the universe, his breathing slowing in perfect unison with yours. Your monster gave a soft, exhausted sigh. Pierrot's long tongue gave your cheek one final affectionately-long swipe from chin to hairline, effectively ruining whatever neatness was left of your face. It may have been wetter than he'd intended, but you were so... delicious.

You blinked through the dampness, letting out a laugh as you wiped your cheek. "Was that completely necessary?"

Pierrot pulled back just enough to offer you a brilliant, entirely unbothered goofy grin, his golden eyes sparkling as his sweet, polite disposition smoothly slid back into place.

The cool air conditioning offered a sharp, grounding contrast to the warmth radiating from the tall figure at your side.

“You sure this is how you want to spend your day off, Pierrot?” You watched him flip the heavy wooden chairs onto the cafe’s bar with effortless, liquid movements, his frame moving in stark contrast to the aggressive scrape of wood on metal. You followed in his wake, a damp rag in hand, wiping down the tables on the other side. “You really don't have to do any of this. I mean it.”

Your beloved monster finished his row and immediately shifted to the next, having memorized the precise choreography of your closing routine from weeks of religious, unblinking observation.

“Of course, dear one,” he beamed, the exaggerated curl of his lips stretching with genuine delight. “I am happy to do anything, so long as it means I am near you. Especially if it means I can carry some of your burdens.”

It was hard to argue with that. Having him split the closing duties meant getting to go home an hour earlier, but the protective instinct in you still flared.

“Alright,” you said, casting a cautious glance toward the dark front windows. “But remember, don't mention helping me like this when the shop is actually open. Technically, you aren't supposed to be in here at all.”

Pierrot let out a tiny high-pitched noise of pure ecstasy. He knew the rules of the human world—knew that a creature like him belonged in the shadows, far from the mundane routines of society. Secrets were kept safer there. But to hear you say it so plainly... to hear he was the sole exception to the rules? Ah, what a gift! Every soft word of validation you offered him was immediately cataloged and locked away in his mind like a sacred relic to be worshiped later.

You shook your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips at his sheer unadulterated devotion.

Once the cafe's doors were locked, alarms set, and the keys pocketed, the walk back to your apartment felt shorter than usual. Pierrot was mid-sentence, gesturing with his hands as he described his favorite territories in his homeland of Brazil. The way his golden eyes flashed and his face lit up whenever he spoke about things he genuinely treasured never failed to make your chest tighten with affection.

You reached out, your smaller fingers sliding into his large clawed hand. He froze for a fraction of a second before his grip closed around yours with a careful, trembling reverence. A bright flush crept up his pale cheeks, and his storytelling grew more animated, his voice dropping into those rich, low frequencies that you could listen to all day. He was hooked on the subtle rhythm of your body, practically intoxicated by the way he could sense your pulse fluttering whenever he leaned in close.

But as you turned the corner into the final streetlamp-lit stretch toward your building, Pierrot’s pace slowed...

His nostrils flared under his mask. Something about you smelled... different.

His golden eyes locked onto the side of your face. You were looking ahead, seemingly normal, but his hyper-acute senses were picking up a shifting chemistry. It wasn't the sweet, heavy musk of your arousal, nor was it the sharp, acrid spike of fear... Your heart rate was steady, yet a strange, metallic warmth was beginning to pool beneath the surface of your skin. Thick and terrifyingly appealing. He could practically drool at the thought, but first he needed to secure himself in knowing you were alright.

Before he could ask, you swung open the heavy front door of your unit, and the sudden transition into the warm hallway triggered an abrupt, unmistakable cramp deep in your abdomen. Your stomach dropped. A sudden familiar rush of dampness registered, and your eyes widened.

Oh, no. Not right now.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind you, you dropped your bag on the entryway table and bolted. “Don't come in!” you spat out, lunging down the short hallway and throwing yourself into the bathroom, slamming the door and twisting the lock just as a fresh wave of heat and pain blossomed in your abdomen.

Out in the living room, Pierrot stood frozen. The sudden burst of movement had put his predatory instincts on high alert, but it was the scent that followed that made his breath hitch.

The air in the small apartment suddenly filled with the rich, unmistakable aroma of fresh, hot blood.

An animated, desperate whine tore from Pierrot's throat. To a creature like him: blood meant trauma. In his world it meant torn flesh, violence, and danger for humans. He crossed the apartment in massive strides, his large, gloved hands thudding softly against the wooden bathroom door.

“D-Dear one? Querida?” he begged, his voice pitching high with a puppy-like distress—so much so he'd slipped into his native tongue after not hearing from you. He pressed his forehead against the wood, the frame groaning slightly under his weight. “A-are you hurt? Please... l-let me in! I smell blood—I-I smell flesh! D-did something strike you, my dear? P-please, m-my dear, let me see i-if I can do something to help! I don't have the same knowledge as Doctor, b-but I'm sure I can do something...”

Inside, you were sitting on the toilet, head in your hands as you listened; utterly mortified. Of course your monster lover could smell it. You tore into the cabinet, ripping open a pad, your face burning hotter than a furnace. “Pierrot, please stop: I'm fine! I'm not dying!”

“B-but the blood, dear one,” he pouted loudly, a miserable, scratching sound coming from his long fingers against the door. “It is fresh. A-and so sudden. A-are you injured... s-somewhere inside, perhaps? Please, my love, do not keep me out while you bleed!”

Realizing he was on the verge of taking the door off its hinges out of pure and ignorant panic, you quickly cleaned yourself up, swallowed two ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet, and unlocked the door.

The moment it swung open, Pierrot dropped to his knees, his massive frame suddenly making himself as small as possible. His golden eyes were wide, wet, and franticly scanning your body for any sign of wounds.

“Hey—hey, love: look at me. I’m okay,” you soothed, your frustration melting at the sight of his genuine concern. You took his large hands in yours, guiding his heavy, trembling body away from the bathroom and toward the large mid-century lounge sofa in your living room. You pushed him down onto the soft cushions, sitting right beside him, making sure to keep a reassuring hand on his chest. This seemed to help ground your sensitive lover when his thoughts began to spiral... sometimes.

“I am not hurt, Pierrot, I promise,” you explained softly, taking a deep breath trying to swallow down your embarrassment to help educate him. “It’s called a menstrual cycle. Human women... well, our bodies essentially prepare to grow a baby every month. And when we don't get pregnant? Well, the uterus basically gets pissed off, sheds its inner lining, and cleans itself out. It’s just blood and tissue. It’s completely normal. No biggie.”

Pierrot listened with absolute rapt fascination, his large golden eyes blinking as he processed the biological anomalies of human women.

“Every month, my dear?” he asked curiously, just above a whisper—ever so careful as your heart rate still seemed elevated.

“Yup. Every month,” you confirmed, wishing it weren't true. But alas.

“I-is it... painful? Are you suffering? How long does this shedding last?” The questions tumbled out of him in a rapid-fire succession.

“I mean, sometimes it cramps, yeah, but I just took medicine so I’ll be fine for a bit. It lasts about five to seven days, and no, I am not bleeding to death. Besides, my body makes plenty of blood to replace it.” You answered him just as quickly, trying to demystify the whole ordeal. Honestly, you were glad for the rapid pace. It meant the conversation would likely wrap-up much sooner.

As the realization finally settled into his mind—that you were safe, that this was a natural, recurring cycle of human life and creation—the tense panic melted from his shoulders. However, his pale cheeks began to flush a deep, dark crimson. He leaned back against the sofa, that glowing golden gaze dropping to your lap.

Now that the terror of your potential death was gone, his more primal senses took over. The scent of the blood drifting from you wasn't the scent of a dying prey animal anymore. It was yours. Rich, clean, deeply concentrated, and fundamentally tied to the raw, fertile essence of your humanity. For a creature who spent his life craving the flesh of humans, the scent was so sweet in comparison... so heavy and intoxicating that it made his mouth water...

His stare became dazed, sharp teeth beginning to peek out as his mouth watered.

He would never, ever harm you. He loved you more than his own monstrous existence. But the realization that you were shedding this vital, hyper-concentrated essence naturally... without a single scratch on your beautiful skin...

A dark heat flooded Pierrot’s veins. His breathing turned shallow, his pupils dilating until his golden eyes were almost entirely black. He leaned in close, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that made your core throb.

“...Can I.... taste it?”

Your brain short-circuited. Your face exploded in a violent blush, and you instinctively slammed a throw pillow over your face, shrieking a muffled, “NO!”

Pierrot flinched back instantly, his expression drooping with a look of profound guilt. “Oh—oh, forgive me, dear one! I-I have been insensitive,” he stammered, pulling his hands back to his chest so as to not to upset you any further. “It must hurt you so much, as it is a time of sickness. I-I shouldn't ask to take from you, n-not when you are fragile. Forgive me.. I-I'm so sorry.”

You pulled the pillow down slightly, peeking out over the top of it, your heart hammering against your ribs. “N-no... it’s not that it hurts.”

Pierrot blinked as he tilted his head, thoroughly confused. “Then, sweet one... it is a forbidden thing among humans? A-a taboo of the flesh?”

You let out a heavy groan, dropping the pillow entirely and leaning your head back against the sofa. “Well... yes and no? Most human men think it’s gross. They think it’s like... morbid or dirty? I don't fucking know. Society kind of teaches people to hide it and treat it like it’s some shameful, disgusting secret, or something.”

As the words left your mouth, you paused. Saying it out loud to a monster—a creature who literally existed outside the boundaries of human judgment—made the whole concept sound completely ridiculous. Why was it shameful? It was just a body. Your body. And looking at Pierrot, you didn't see disgust. You saw a hunger so pure, so adoring, that it made your skin tingle.

Besides, a stray memory floated to the surface of your mind: an article you’d read months ago mentioning that orgasms were actually a proven way to relieve menstrual cramps... Did you really care if you let him? It was also comforting to know that, should you be uncomfortable: you knew Pierrot would stop immediately. No pressure, no guilt. 'No' was always a full sentence with him when you drew hard boundaries.

You looked at him, your gaze lingering on the sharp line of his jaw, the dark flush on his cheeks... The heavy, throbbing ache between your thighs wasn't just a cramp anymore. Your hormones were peaking, and the sudden, shameless weight of desire was pulling at you. You could always say no, you reminded yourself.

“If we do this...” you began, your voice dropping just above a whisper, “there are strict ground rules, Pierrot.”

His head snapped up, his golden eyes igniting with a sudden fierce hope.

“We go to the bedroom, and put a beneath me on the bed—I'm not ruining my sheets. And if I say the word 'stop'—for any reason, even if you are in the middle of it—you stop. Instantly. A-alright?”

Pierrot scrambled off the couch, dropping to his knees before you, his hands wrapping around your waist with a frantic, eager reverence. “Y-yes! Yes, anything, my dear! I will be good. So, so good for you. I will not spill a single drop where it does not belong. P-please, let me serve you.”

The heat in the bedroom was palpable, the set-up an awkward blur that you didn't look back to. Pierrot had practically been a whirlwind of help. And now? You laid back against the dark fabric of the towel, your hands gripping the sheets as Pierrot crawled over the mattress. He moved like a shadow, parting your legs with a tenderness that made your throat tight. He didn't look at you with the clinical discomfort of a human; he looked at you like you were a feast, a goddess offering up a sacred vintage wine for him. Only him.

When he nudged your underwear aside, the scent hit him full force. Pierrot let out a low, vibrating growl of pure worship and possession.

Then, he let his bright yellow tongue slipped out.

It was hardly human. Uncurling from his mouth, thick and easily the size of a man's forearm. The sheer, smooth weight of it pressed against your inner thigh first, tasting your skin, before sliding up to press directly against your aching center.

You gasped, your hips jerking off the bed as the massive, velvety muscle made contact. It was incredibly hot, sliding over your sensitive flesh with a slow, deliberate lap. Pierrot closed his eyes, a shudder wracking his large frame as he took the first taste of your rich metallic heat. Mixed with your arousal? Gods he was practically drunk from such a taste. The flavor was sweeter than anything he had ever encountered in his existence, thick with life, carrying the very signature of your beautiful soul.

He began to work in earnest, his abnormally long tongue wriggling deep inside of you, filling you completely in a way no human anatomy ever could. The deep, rhythmic suction of his mouth against your clitoris, combined with the thick, sliding pressure of his tongue stroking your internal walls, sent a violent shockwave of pleasure straight to your spine.

You suddenly forgot about the towel. You forgot about the blood. You forgot about every fucking rigid, sterile rule society had ever tried to teach you about your own god damned body. You were raw, you were open, and you were being consumed with an adoration that bordered on the divine. You buried your hands in his gorgeous white hair, tugging him closer, your moans filling the quiet room as he drank from you, his tongue swirling and pressing until your vision blurred with your own version of intoxication.

The medicine had definitely done its job, but this was a different kind of pain relief—an intoxicating release that shattered your cramping muscles and replaced them with a desperate, heavy ache for more.

Pierrot pulled back for a fraction of a second, his face completely smeared with your dark, glistening essence, looking wild, terrifying, and utterly beautiful. His breathing was a ragged.

“P-please, my lady,” he whimpered, his thick length straining almost uncomfortably against the restriction of his trousers, weeping with his own desperate need. “Please, let me have you. Let me join with you, my love, so we can become on. I will be gentle, ever so gentle with you.. I-I promise.”

“Y-yes,” you sobbed out, pulling him up by his shoulders. “Pierrot, I want you inside me, please.”

He shed his clothes in a frantic blur, pressing his massive, burning body down against yours. This was hardly the first time you'd seen one another naked. But,t rue to his word, he didn't plunge into you with reckless abandon. He guided himself to your slick, readied opening and pushed his abnormally shaped cock inside with a slow, agonizingly sweet deliberation.

The friction of your cycle made the fit unbelievably tight, hot, and intensely lubricated. Every slide of his thick length sent a wave of friction through your sensitive nerve endings that had you crying out his name already. Pierrot buried his face in the crook of your neck, his sharp teeth nipping gently at your skin, his hips rolling in a heavy, hypnotic rhythm that rocked the entire bed.

It was passionate, steamy, and utterly uninhibited. You moved together in the dark, skin slipping against skin, the heavy scent of iron and sex binding you together. You arched into his touch, feeling entirely beautiful, entirely claimed, and completely free in your own skin. When your climax finally hit, it was a seismic contraction that tore through your lower abdomen, a beautiful, pulsing release that had Pierrot growling into your shoulder as he filled you with his own thick, burning heat.

Your room settled into a quiet, warm sanctuary. You curled yourself against Pierrot’s chest, the black towel folded up and tossed into the hamper, your body feeling blissfully light, relaxed, and entirely cramp-free.

Pierrot was humming a soft, rhythmic tune you didn't recognize, his long fingers gently tracing patterns along your bare arm. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself, like a cat that had successfully claimed the most premium of meals.

“You know, love,” you humored while tracing a finger down the center of his chest, a sly smirk playing on your lips. The pink on your cheeks betrayed you. “You might have just ruined me for my usual go-to. Who needs a heating pad when I have a sexy monster boyfriend?”

Pierrot paused his humming, his golden eyes bright with a sudden eager spark. He shifted slightly, and you felt something thick and hot press firmly against your thigh.

He leaned down, nipping your earlobe with a soft, rumbling chuckle. “Dear one... if it was that effective, I-I could always go again.”