𝔰𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢

The thrift store smelled of dust and old linen, a familiar scent of forgotten things. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just killing time on a drizzly Tuesday, my fingers trailing over scratched furniture and racks of faded floral dresses. Then I saw it, perched on a high shelf between a cracked lamp and a stack of National Geographic magazines.

It was a teddy bear, brown and a little lopsided, one black eye button slightly looser than the other. Its fur was worn soft in patches, especially around its rounded middle and the paws. Something about it stopped me cold. It wasn’t cute in a conventional way. It felt… present. I had to reach for it, standing on my toes to wrap my fingers around its soft body. The moment I touched it, a jolt went through me, a warm, static buzz that traveled up my arm and settled low in my belly. It was profoundly warm, as if it had been sitting in a sunbeam, not on a shadowy shelf.

“Oh,” I breathed aloud, pulling it close. It was the perfect size to tuck under my chin. I buried my nose in the fur between its ears. It smelled like cinnamon and something else, something dark and sweet, like wet earth after rain. I didn’t even check the price. I just held it to my chest, my heart doing a strange, thick beat, and carried it to the register.

That night, I arranged it on my pillow. It looked back at me with its kind, lopsided gaze. I felt a flush of embarrassment at the intensity of my attraction. It was a stuffed animal. But I couldn’t deny the pull. I slid into bed, turned off the light, and immediately curled around it, dragging it against my body. The warmth was still there, a soothing, radiant heat that seemed to seep through my thin sleep shirt and into my skin. I sighed, nuzzling into it, one hand clasping its soft paw. I’d never fallen asleep so quickly, so deeply.

It became my ritual. Come home from work, change, grab the bear. I’d watch TV with it on my lap, my fingers idly stroking its back. I stopped bothering with my old heating pad; the bear was warmer. Sometimes, in the dark, I’d catch myself talking to it, whispering stupid little secrets about my day, my stupid boss, the cute barista who never remembered my name. I’d feel a faint, comforting pulse of warmth in response, which I always chalked up to my own imagination.

A week later, the dreams started. Vivid, tactile dreams of being held down by something strong and impossibly soft, of a sweet, gelatinous substance filling my mouth, of pleasure so acute it bordered on pain. I’d wake up gasping, my pussy throbbing and wet, the bear clutched desperately in my arms. I’d feel disoriented, ashamed, and yet I’d pull it closer.

The change happened on a Thursday. The rain was hammering my window, and the wind howled like a living thing. I was particularly clingy that night, hugging the bear tightly, my thighs squeezing around its soft middle. I was half-asleep, adrift in a warm, dark sea, when I felt it.

A shift. Not a movement I made. A movement within.

My eyes flew open in the pitch-black room. The warm, plush body in my arms was… rippling. A slow, internal undulation. I froze, my breath caught in my throat. This was a dream. It had to be. Another one of those intense, fucked-up dreams.

“Wha—?” I managed to choke out.

The bear’s head tilted. The loose black eye button glinted in a sliver of streetlight from the window. Then, from its soft, rounded back, the fabric began to stretch. It didn’t tear. It distended, like skin, and from it emerged a smooth, dark brown tendril, identical in color and texture to its fur. It was about as thick as two of my fingers, and it moved with a liquid, intelligent grace, swaying in the air between us.

A sound leaked from my lips, a whimper of pure disbelief. I tried to throw myself backward, to scramble off the bed, but my limbs were locked in a paralysis of terror.

More tentacles emerged. Not just one, but several, from all over its back and sides. They were of varying sizes—some slender and whippy, others thick and muscular, one that was obscenely tapered and long. They filled the space above my bed, a quiet, writhing mass.

The bear’s body, now supported by a few of the thinner tendrils, lifted from the mattress. It hovered above me, its familiar, comforting face now a mask over something ancient and hungry. The largest tentacle, the thick, muscular one, slid forward. It didn’t feel like fabric anymore. It felt like warm, suede-like flesh, and it was radiating that same addictive heat.

It touched my cheek. I flinched, but it was gentle, almost a caress. It traced my jaw, then pressed softly against my lips.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The pressure increased, insistently. “Open.” The word didn’t come from anywhere. It just appeared in my head, a deep, resonant vibration that wasn’t sound, but pure concept. It was a command, soaked in that same dark, sweet scent.

My lips parted on a shuddering sob. The tentacle slid into my mouth. It was warm and smooth, and it tasted like that inexplicable scent—cinnamon, wet earth, sweetness. It didn’t stop. It pushed deeper, past my gag reflex with ease, an inexorable, slick invasion. I choked, tears springing to my eyes as it filled my throat, a solid, pulsing weight. This was deepthroating in its most literal, terrifying form. I couldn’t breathe through my nose; it was sealed by the girth of it. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

Just as panic was about to shatter me, it withdrew slightly, letting me drag in a ragged, wet gasp. The relief was instantaneous and profound. Then it pushed back in, establishing a slow, rhythmic pace. In, out. In, out. My own saliva dripped down my chin. The initial terror began to mutate, blurred by the lack of oxygen and the strange, intense intimacy of the act. A traitorous heat pooled between my legs.

While the thick tentacle fucked my throat, others went to work. Two slender tendrils, like clever fingers, slithered under my sleep shirt and pushed up my bra. They found my nipples, already pebbled tight from fear and the cool air. They didn’t just pinch or tweak. The ends of them bloomed open into warm, suctioning mouths. They latched onto my nipples, and a shockwave of pure, electric pleasure-pain shot directly to my clit. I screamed around the tentacle in my mouth, the sound muffled and guttural. They sucked rhythmically, pulling deep, sending jolts of agonizing delight through my entire nervous system.

I was dissolving. My thoughts were just shattered glass. No, yes, stop, more, what is happening, don’t stop.

The entity seemed to hear the chaos. The tentacle in my mouth withdrew completely, leaving me coughing and gasping. The suckers on my nipples released with soft, wet pops.

“Please,” I wept, turning my head to the side. “Please, stop.”

“Hush.” The conceptual voice was in my head again, not unkind, but utterly firm. A broad, paddle-like tentacle swept down and smacked my outer thigh. The spank wasn’t brutal, but it was sharp, a stinging reminder of its control. I cried out, but the pain flared and then melted into a deeper warmth. “You are mine. You bought me. You brought me home. You cuddled me.” Each statement was accompanied by another sharp smack on the other thigh, then across my ass. My skin burned. “You whispered your secrets. You begged for this in your dreams. I am giving you what you truly wanted.”

Before I could process the truth of that, my legs were being pushed apart. Not by hands, but by multiple strong, coiling tendrils that wrapped around my ankles and thighs, holding me open in a wide, vulnerable ‘V’. I was completely exposed.

The tapered, long tentacle I’d noticed earlier slid down my belly. It was slick with some kind of natural lubrication. It nudged against my pussy, which was dripping, embarrassingly, obscenely wet. The tip was slender, probing.

“No, not there, please, it’s too much—” I babbled.

It pushed inside. And it kept going. It was longer than any human cock, and it coiled inside me, filling spaces I didn’t know could be filled, stroking deep, hidden spots with its sinuous length. I shrieked, my back arching off the bed, held down only by other tentacles across my chest and waist. It began to move, a slow, corkscrewing motion that was pure, undiluted madness.

Just as the sensation became a towering wave about to break, another tentacle, thicker and blunter, pressed against my asshole. I clenched violently.

“Relax.” The voice commanded, and a strange warmth spread from the point of contact, a relaxing, numbing heat. My resistance melted. It pushed in, a slow, burning, exquisite stretch. The feeling of being filled in both holes, completely and utterly, shattered the last of my coherent thought. They moved in opposing rhythms, the one in my pussy coiling and uncoiling, the one in my ass pumping steadily.

The tentacle returned to my mouth, silencing my broken screams and moans. The suckers reattached to my nipples, pulling with fierce intensity. I was pinned, penetrated, and consumed on every possible level. Pleasure, raw and violent, built upon itself with no release, a feedback loop of overstimulation. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feelas it orchestrated my body into a state of continuous, shuddering near-orgasm.

It went on for an eternity. Just when I was sure I would die from the sensation, all the movements synchronized. The thrusts deepened, the sucking intensified. A final, powerful coil inside my pussy pressed directly on a spot that whited out my vision. My body seized, a silent, agonizing convulsion as an orgasm tore through me with brutal force. It was immediately followed by another, and another, waves crashing into each other until I was nothing but a shuddering, sobbing wreck.

As the last pulses of my climax subsided, I felt a swelling at the base of the tentacle buried in my pussy. It pulsed, and a flood of warm, thick substance filled me. It was copious, and it had a unique, gelatinous consistency—sweet jello cum, just like in my dreams. It packed me full, a claiming, breeding seal. The tentacle in my ass released its own load, the strange cum filling that channel too. Finally, the tentacles in my mouth and on my nipples released, and they all began to withdraw, slipping from my body with slick, wet sounds.

I collapsed into the soaked mattress, boneless, wrecked, every muscle trembling. The tentacles retracted into the bear’s soft back, vanishing until it was just a lopsided toy again. It dropped onto the pillow beside my head, its button eyes gleaming.

I lay there for an hour, maybe more, trying to piece my mind back together. My body ached in a dozen new ways. I was filled with its strange, cooling cum. I should have been horrified. I should have thrown it out the window. I should have called the police, though what would I say?

Slowly, painfully, I rolled onto my side. I looked at the bear. The warmth was still there, radiating from it. An overwhelming, addictive sense of peace and belonging washed over me, dulling the ache, muting the fear. I had never felt so completely sated, so claimed.

Tentatively, I reached for it. I pulled its warm, soft body against my ravaged, sticky one. I buried my face in its fur, now smelling even more strongly of us, of sex, of that dark sweetness.

A final, quiet concept drifted into my mind. “Good bitch.”

And I was. A deep, undeniable truth settled into my bones. I was its. This was what I had wanted when I’d pulled it from that shelf. This connection, this all-consuming possession.

“Yes,” I whispered hoarsely into its fur.

The next night, I came home from work, my body humming with a new kind of anticipation. I didn’t make dinner. I didn’t turn on the TV. I went straight to the bedroom, stripped, and got into bed, pulling the bear into my arms. I waited, my heart pounding not with fear, but with need.

As darkness fully claimed the room, the tentacles emerged again, gentle now, almost loving as they coiled around my wrists, my ankles, stroked my hair.

“Welcome home,” the voice purred in my head.

The five of you walked into the dimly lit club and were immediately engulfed with the sounds of an entrancing beat that dictated the flow of the crowd ahead of you. 

You, Soap, and Gaz had done a number of shots before leaving base under the amused gazes of your two commanding officers. Soap and Gaz were tied, each downing 6 shots, while you’d only been able to stomach 4 and kind of a half. You knew that if you’d had anymore in that short span of time, the boys might have to carry you out of the club.

It was Halloween night and the boys had all decided to dress as figures from classic horror films. Soap had decided to emulate Chucky, with a bright striped shirt, a pair of overalls and a cheap red halloween wig. Gaz felt that the Candyman might have been a good fit, so he tugged on a faux fear coat from who knows where, and donned a plastic hook for a hand. Your commanding officers however? The two had decided that Ghostface was the best fitting costume, seeing that there was almost always a duo behind the classic slasher. It was the quickest costume to get into. 

You, on the other hand, were absolutely sick of being in camo, stiff pants, t-shirts, and boots, so you decided to be a fairy. 

A bright pink fairy. 

You ordered the cutest flowy wig you could find, a pink flower crown, a sparkly pink mini skirt, a danceable baby pink pair of heels, a pair of pink wings, and a fluffy pink top that ruffled around your hips like the petals of a flower. You went all out with your makeup; layered on the blush, faux freckles, various shades of pink eyeshadow, lashes, and a soft neutral lip. 

To say you looked gorgeous was an understatement. You felt soft and feminine and surprisingly none of your teammates heckled you for being pretty in pink.

A part of you wondered what the club goers thought as they watched the lot of you walking in. A bright pink fairy with a group of slashers at her side.

Intimidating or ironic?

The cold air from outside barely had an impact on you, Gaz, and Johnny since the 3 of you felt a layer of warmth stemming from the liquor in your system.

 The group found a booth that was tucked into a corner next to the dancefloor with clear visualization of all entry and exit points. You dropped your purse off at the table with the boys and made it your mission to lay eyes on the bar.

Once your eyes landed on the packed counter, you buzzed through the crowd in long confident strides, with a smile plastered on your face, and a bundle of  “excuse me’s” ready on the tip of your tongue. You squeezed your way through the bunch of people crowding the bar and rested an arm on the polished wood, readying yourself to order a round for the table.

You just barely flipped your hair off of one shoulder when your gaze landed on a tall, ever imposing ghostface making his way toward you. The liquor running through your system blurred your ability to make distinctions between who was Price and who was Simon. The black drapes that flowed over the man’s body ruined any chance of you clocking any distinguishing features. You’d hoped that the man would say something, so you could place his identity. 

Your lidded eyes traced their way down his massive body as he stopped and stood behind you, clearly at the ready like a guard dog. He pushed just a bit further forward so that he was right next to you leaning on the wooden counter. 

It wasn’t difficult for the man to take notice of the way your hazy eyes trailed down his body. 

Subtlety and drunkenness never mixed well, so your mind wandered. 

Either man could be perched next to you as your mind ruffled through a list of their shared traits. They were both large and intimidating and their presences had already commanded any room they entered. Being masked and swallowed by a sea of black increased the intimidation factor tenfold. 

Simon being masked was completely normal and had grown on you, but in the beginning it was unnerving and a point of anxiety for you, not being able to distinguish features and all. You'd grown to rely on reading his body language. Simon’s commitment to being masked had grown on you so much that you’d had a number of dreams of him masked, geared up and breathless, pressing into you.

The liquor was starting to warm your body in other ways and standing next to the unidentifiable behemoth of a man fluttered something deep inside of you. 

You hadn’t even realized that you were still staring at the man with lazy, doe-like eyes and your bottom lip tugged between your teeth. Your gaze flicked up toward his eyes and a warmth flushed through your face as you realized you’d been caught. 

You cleared your throat and flipped your hair in his direction with a soft smile and asked, “You playing babysitter tonight?”

His head tilted a bit under your stare and the action had you remembering what your purpose for being at the bar was. Before he could respond you turned and attempted to wave down one of the bartenders that was bouncing back and forth like a pinball in a machine.

“Depends. How much you plan on drinkin’?” He huffed and moved a step closer to you so that the sides of your hips bumped into each other. The closeness allowed him to rest his gloved hand along the small of your back. 

The palm on your back that was almost inappropriately close to your ass, covered a considerable amount of space and was warm as a furnace.

The touch had you wondering what it would feel like if he dipped it just a bit lower and cupped the plush flesh that sat just below. 

You pulled your lip harder between your teeth as your mind painted a picture of the gloved extremity sliding upward and around your neck or dipping even lower underneath your skirt. 

You should have been making an effort to find out who the voice belonged to and not fantasizing about the size of his hands. Your cloudy mind and the music around you made it hard to pinpoint how deep the voice was and whether or not it was a Manchester or London accent. 

He held his other arm out in front of him with his card in hand, name facing away from you and the bartender almost immediately turned his attention to the mountain of a man next to you. Your thighs clenched at how easily his action commanded attention.

“What can I get you, boss?” The bartender's gaze was locked onto your teammate but that black, masked gaze was frozen onto you, chin just barely jutting toward you as he waited for you to respond. 

Your breath caught in your throat at the action before you moved to answer the man.

“3 shots of Tequila and 2 bourbons, please.” The bartender nodded his head, went to work before grabbing the man’s card. 

The hand resting on your back rubbed a small affirming circle, before you felt a soft pat above your bottom and then a complete removal of the paw. You had to fight a whine from leaving your mouth at the loss of touch.

The length of time between your last passionate, touch filed escapade and now had left you absolutely craving any and every form of touch. It didn’t help that Price was always physically affectionate; a pat on the back here, a curt side hug there, a quick grab and shake of your shoulders as he applauded you for a job well done. His touch was always strictly platonic but your desperation had you searching for more. 

Simon on the other hand had to warm up to touching you but once he started he never stopped. You’d noticed he’d always find an excuse to get his hands on you but it was always under the guise of being work related. He’d always been thorough in checking your gear, yanking you in every direction he chose, warm hands checking the harness straps wrapped around your thighs and behind. It had always been done with a dark chuckle as he’d teased you for how flustered the action made you. He’d be quick to steady you on the heli as a soft apology slipped from your lips at the tough take off. He’d only ever reply with a deep hum and a firm squeeze to your shoulders. He’d grab your hips to yank you out of enemy fire instead of opting to use the straps on your gear and maybe even go as far as ruffling your hair when you popped off your helmet in safe zones. The type of touching that was taking place tonight was lingering and maybe even charged, but most definitely not innocent. That’s what your mind has told you at least.

“Good girl then.” The man hummed from next to you, appeased that you’d remembered his drink order. An aching want shot through you at the statement and your body lulled as your mind painted pictures of ways you could earn his praise. 

A quick flash of a hand in your hair, pulling, hard. 

A thought of a low voice groaning in your ear as you straddled and rocked on top of a set of solid hips. 

An image of your back pressed against a thick, solid body that rumbled and huffed with every press of their pelvis to yours. 

A choked gasp from a set of pink lips as you swallowed around a thick, leaking cockhead. No.

 A choked gasp from a set of pink lips tucked behind a thick beard as you swallowed around a thick, leaking cockhead. 

You were ripped from your lust and liquor fueled thoughts as the man bumped his hips into yours to get your attention. He hummed next to you, his hands gripping the tequila shots and with a quick jerk of his head, he motioned for you to grab the bourbons.

 The two of you turned away from the bar as he led the way over to where the rest of the team sat in the booth. They were already joking and laughing in their varying states of inebriation. 

Just as you thought, the crowd parted for the man without any hesitation or effort from him. 

When the two of you reached the table, Soap’s face had a slight flush to it, almost giving him a doll-like appearance that fit well with his costume. A light sheen of sweat began coating Gaz’s skin as it appeared he was fighting a battle between the liquor filled heat and the actual heat from the pelt that covered him. The other Ghostface, Ghostface #2, had his arms folded over his chest as he softly shook his head at a slightly slurred, heavily accented comment that fell from Soap.

Gaz’s attention landed on the pair of you walking over, “Ah yes! That’s what I’m talking about.” he clapped as you and Ghostface #1 placed the drinks down.

“A sight for sore eyes, you two are.” Soap chirped, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

You passed one glass of bourbon over to Ghostface #2 with a floaty smile and then tapped your hip against Ghostface #1’s while you moved his drink to his hands. You, Soap, and Gaz all moved to grab your shots with dopey, inebriated smiles on your faces. 

“Here's to those who wish us well, and those who don't can go to hell!”” You said as you raised your glass to the sky, smiling as your team cheered in agreement, clinked their drinks down on the table and threw the shots back with rough jerks of their heads. 

The Ghostfaces just barely tilted their masks up their faces and a small huff fell from your lips as your eyes strained in the dim light as you attemopted to see who was who. The light and the liquor tag teamed your struggle as you failed to see which one of them had a beard. As you lowered the shot glass to the table, shaking your body to fight the burn of liquor going down your throat, the song playing over the speakers shifted to a bouncy, higher tempo with a heavy bassline that had your hips moving with a mind of their own. A cheesy smile spread across your painted lips and a satisfied sigh fell from your lips as you patted Ghostface #1 Ghostface #2 on the shoulder with a nod of your head.

“If you guys need me, I’ll be dancing in there. Somewhere.” You motioned to the dance floor with a thumbs up and turned on your heels while swaying your hips to the beat. 

You swayed and rocked to the beat while you shuffled your way through the crowd until you were almost at the center. Your gaze was just a bit hazy as you took in your surroundings.

The crowd was a mass of shapes and colors. And animals too? It was Halloween so you shouldn’t have been surprised to see an inflatable T-Rex’s head bouncing and shifting through the sea of people. 

You shook your head and chuckled to yourself and you closed your eyes, letting the fuzziness of being tipsy take over you as you started to feel the bass that was flooding through the speakers. Your body had already started moving as you bopped to the rhythm. 

The center of the crowd was hot and packed but the people around you gave you enough space to dance alone without smacking someone with your wings. The music had you entranced on the floor. Hair was swishing, wings bouncing, and your shirt flowed with your movement as you swayed. 

You felt like you had not one care in the world. With the nature of your job, being in a crowd like this would have normally made you uncomfortable. You’d become used to being hypervigilant, overcritical, and overthinking, but something tonight told you to let yourself unwind. With some liquid courage, you let yourself kick back, hoping to enjoy yourself. Very rarely do you let yourself get this drunk, but it’s one of your favorite holidays and you’ve been working so hard these past few months.

Price smokes his cigars and sips his bourbon every chance he gets, Johnny and Gaz get blackout in the rec room watching rom-coms biweekly, and Simon… already has way too many unhealthy coping mechanisms to count so you are more than welcome to get drunk and dance around every once in a while. Plus if shit hit the fan, the guys would get you out of there in no time. You were more than capable of taking care of yourself, but you told them that tonight you were turning your mind off, and they listened.

You swayed and rocked to the beat, feeling light as a feather in the center of the crowd, like you were locked in your own little world before you felt a solid, warm presence at your back.

The liquor was already taking control so instead of looking behind you to see who had pushed themselves onto you, you leaned into the warmth. You’d missed the feel of a warm body behind you, so you rocked your hips to the rhythm. 

Hopefully the man wasn’t planning on just standing behind you, stiff as a board. You reached behind you and placed your hands on his hips, hoping to get him to move in time with you and the beat. The figure behind you slowly began to rock to the beat of the music, tensely, like he hadn’t danced in a while, but on beat enough for you to rock with him. 

A gloved pair of hands found their way onto your sides and you hummed at the touch. They slowly slid up and down your flanks until they finally parked themselves on your hips, giving the meat that rested there the slightest squeeze. The action pushed a soft sigh from your lips even though you should have been disgusted by the gall of the stranger. 

The man’s massive hands occupied so much space on your hips that you couldn’t help but to imagine what they would feel like as they pressed you face down, into a warm, plush bed.

The drunk part of you said that you were beyond touch starved and that you needed this. So you leaned into the touch. You pressed your body flush against his and felt just how large he was, not only tall but also wide and firm, an absolute unit. 

You loved it, mind already filled with all of the possibilities. Being tossed around like a rag doll, being picked up and used like a toy, being held down by his tree trunk of an arm and a tongue flitting through your folds. Your mind went haywire as you ground your hips against the stranger. Your body flushed with warmth as you felt your core heat up.

You could feel that you were rubbing against something thick. It wasn’t hard but it was definitely solid and surly heavy. Your ass was pressed against the man’s pelvis so there was no doubting what was pressing against you.

A soft moan slipped from your lips at the feel of him behind you. Just the feeling of the bulge that sat between his legs, had your mouth watering, suddenly feeling very empty. 

The music’s tempo had lowered to a much more intimate almost sensual pace. The two of you swayed in time with the rhythm and you felt his member twitch against you. The confirmation that you weren’t the only one being impacted by the heavy petting left you feeling devious. 

You bit your lip and pressed your hips further back into his so you could feel just how much of an effect you were having on him. You just barely heard a muffled groan as he tightened his grip on your hips and lightly rolled his own up into your plush ass. A pleased hum fell from your lips as you slowly wrapped your fingers in his gloved ones for support. You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to so you bent forward at the waist. 

“Fuuuuuck.” Muffled and long fell from his lips as he just tilted his head back. You shifted your ass against his bulge and shook your hips so that your ass shook against his front. 

“Bloody hell, love.”

You felt the bulk of your ass moving against his hardening cock and your mind loved that you could feel your impact on him. You could feel his cock twitching and swelling against you and you absolutely loved it. You just barely dropped your hips so that your ass could press up from the bottom of his clothed length before you swiveled them back up so that you were standing up straight again.

 A bratty side of you that had been lulling just beneath the surface was begging to take over. 

You wanted to play with him. 

You had to play with him. 

You know how good you looked bent over and you loved that you were putting on a show for him. You also knew that you wanted to feel just how big he was all over. 

There was some sick part of you that hoped that the man behind you was either one of your commanding officers. 

Price and his thick, solid, almost bear-like body. 

A man like that was built for endurance.

Built to sustain. 

Built to lead, to provide. 

You’d imagined being bent over his desk with the soft but strong press of his stomach against your back as he fucked you into the oak that sat in the center of his office. 

You’d spent nights with your fingers rubbing your clit imagining that it was Price’s tongue slipping through your folds as his beard scratched the delicate skin between your thighs. You'd thought about straddling those thick hips and thighs while taking him deep inside of you as he leaned back and lazily smoked a stubby cigar with a dazed look on his face. 

You'd wondered if he was the kind of man to shotgun the warm smoke from his cigars into your mouth as he planted you firmly onto his cock. 

You’d wonder what his already gruff voice would sound like as he huffed into your ear while his hips pistoned up into you. Would he be stern and mean? Would he tell you how good you were for him? Would he make you beg for it? Would he spit on it if you asked him to? 

The thought of your Captain and all the things you wanted him to do to you had your body rocking back even harder into the stranger as his hand made its way along your front, gently cupping your breast. 

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. The both of you were being bold tonight and you definitely didn’t have any complaints about it. Your mind was already cloudy with absolutely sinful thoughts and you knew it would never happen so why not indulge some of those feelings? Why not let someone touch you the way you’ve been so desperately craving for months? 

You brought your hand up to meet the strangers and placed yours on top of his. Even with your eyes closed you could feel the absolute mass that this man had to him. You gave his hand a squeeze, leading him to tightly grope your breast through your shirt. 

Your lip pulled itself between your teeth again and a hum slipped from your mouth. He just barely slipped a finger over your covered, peaked nipple and you felt your core flood. 

His other hand made its way up your chest until it rested on your neck. The action had you pressing your hips even further into him, trapping his growing cock between your bodies. 

Would it be bad if you asked him to squeeze? 

You wanted him to make everything even fuzzier. You wouldn’t need another shot if he just squeezed down on your neck. You wanted to beg him to squeeze, so badly. You wanted him to pull you closer and whisper in your ear all the things he wanted to do to you. You could feel how bad he wanted you, it wouldn’t be hard to make something happen. You wanted to hear his breath in your ear as he told you how hard he was gonna fuck you.

He was just so BIG. Absolutely solid and clearly strong. 

Could it be Simon? 

Simon the absolute tank of a man. 

Simon, your big boy with the skull face. 

Your big bad lieutenant. 

Oh you hoped it was him or John, touching you like this. 

Everything about him was large, his hands, his thighs, his waist. Surely his cock was too. It had to be, especially with the way he walked around. That walk could only belong to a man that was absolutely hung. 

 You had dreams about pressing your face into the fat bulge that sat between his thighs.

Hoped that you could get a decent view of it as he readjusted his hips in meetings.

Some part of you almost wanted to beg him to let you kiss it, anywhere, anytime, any place. If he wanted it in a meeting, in front of the whole team you’d do it there and then some.

You’d thought about him holding your head down on his fat cock. Choking and sputtering around his girth. Would he leave you struggling to catch your breath? Would he laugh as you sputtered and struggled around his length? 

You’d thought about what it would be like to sit on his pretty pink lips that he loves to keep covered up. 

You’d even thought about the way that the man would smell as he fucked you. 

Not wanting to ruin the fantasy, you kept your eyes closed, and slowly turned yourself around in the man’s grasp. 

You pressed your front to his, as you slid your arms up to rest behind his neck. His large hands shifted themselves to the plush fat of your ass. You rolled your body into his with the mellow beat that poured from the speakers and felt your breath catch in your throat as his hands gripped the fat of your bottom, and he pulled the two globes up and apart. 

You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your lips. Feeling electrified by his movements, you pulled a hand from the back of his neck and trailed it down his front. Eyes still closed, breath coming out in shudders, you pushed your hand in between the two of you and rested your palm along the man’s thick, very hard member. 

“Fucken’-” You could hear a strained huff leave his mouth at the contact. Emboldened by the shots you took earlier, you closed your hand around the man’s thick length and gave it a firm squeeze as you let out a soft purr next to his ear. 

“So big.” You hummed next to his ear as you felt his hips pulse into your grip. You just barely ran the top of your thumb along the man’s covered tip before you felt another presence at your back. 

“Ouuuu handsy as ever, Bonnie.” You whipped your head around and locked eyes with the smirking blue eyed Scotsman, whose face was even redder from the shots and the heat of the club. 

“Johnny. My god.” You sighed and turned your body toward him completely. “You almost scared me half to death.”

“Should be scared of that big beastie you’re about to fuck on the dance floor.” He laughed as he threw his arm around your shoulder. 

You turned your head to glance behind you, hoping to see exactly what the man you were dancing with looked like, but were quickly let down when you were met with a blank space behind you. You were a bit disappointed that you hadn’t actually taken the chance to open your eyes with the mystery man, but part of you loved the thrill of not knowing. 

Gaz popped up next to you without his massive coat on and wrapped his arms around the two of you, most definitely about to start professing his love for the two of you. His weight surprised you and you stumbled in your heels against Johnny. 

“So bloody happy-”, hiccup, “that you guys are my teammates.” Gaz’s head pops up and he points over to the table that you all were at previously, which has an almost clear line of sight to where you were standing in the crowd. He finishes his thought while pointing, “Them big fuckers too”. 

Your vision, cloudy as ever, lands on a pair of Ghostfaces. One leaning back in the booth with his legs spread wide, arm thrown over the back of the cushion, mask fixed on your group, and the other, sitting at the edge of the seat with his arms propped on his knees, hands clasped together and a predatory glare that makes itself known even through the blackened eyes. The sight was probably a bit frightening to the other club goers but in your state, you were moments away from bursting out into a fit of giggles. 

You leaned on Soap and almost burst out laughing at how red he was before you looked back over to the booth. You couldn’t help but to wave at the pair of slashers that occupied the booth. The two of them shared a weighted look, before they slowly rose from the cushions and made their way toward the rest of the team. You knew that their dark eyes were locked onto you. 

You weren't sure what you expected when you answered the ad.

"Help wanted. Farm work. Room and board included. Must be able to lift 50lbs and not scare easy."

The old farmer who met you at the gate had a grizzled beard, a wide-brimmed hat stained with sweat and years, and eyes that looked like they'd seen every season and then some. He shook your hand with a grip that was surprisingly firm for a man who admitted, right there on the porch, that his back had given out on him three winters ago.

"You're a godsend," he rasped, nodding toward the weathered red barn at the edge of the property. "Got four girls in there. Best milk you've ever tasted. But they're... particular."

You raised an eyebrow. "Particular how?"

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "You'll see."

The first morning, you walked into that barn with a bucket in one hand and a stool in the other, ready for the simple rhythm of squatting, pulling, and filling. What you found instead stopped you dead in your barn boots.

Bessie was the first to greet you. She had the wide, kind brown eyes of a Jersey cow, but her body—fuck—her body was something else entirely. Thick thighs that tapered into muscled calves and actual hooves, but from the waist up? A woman. A voluptuous woman with tanned skin, a swaying udder that hung heavy between her legs, and the most enormous, swollen tits you'd ever seen. Her nipples were the size of the end of your thumb, dark pink, glistening.

"New hand," she mooed, it came out as a moo-ugh, a throaty, needy sound.

Behind her, Buttercup, white with black spots scattered across her flanks and her full, round ass, pressed her udder against the wooden gate of her stall, her slit already wet as she shifted her weight.

Clover had auburn hair that fell in messy waves past her shoulders and teats that dripped white droplets onto the concrete floor in steady drips.

Daisy, the youngest, had freckles across her nose and her udder was so taut and distended that you could see the veins bulging under the skin.

You swallowed hard. "The farmer didn't mention you were... hybrids."

Bessie huffed. "The old man can't do it anymore. His cock stays soft. His hands shake. We've been aching, farmhand. Days and days of filling up with milk with no one to pull it out of us. We hate the machines, you see. Damn things, they lower the quality of our good milk." She shifted, and fuck, you heard the sound of her slick folds squelching together. "You look like you've got the stamina."

Your cock had already started to thicken in your jeans. You set down the bucket.

"Show me what you need."

Bessie didn't wait. She turned around in her stall, presenting herself to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her tail swished to one side, and there it was: her cunt, swollen and pink, dripping strings of translucent wetness down her inner thighs. Above it, her udder—four teats, each one engorged, the skin shiny and tight.

"Start with the milk," she said, looking back at you over her shoulder, her brown eyes half-lidded. "It hurts."

You dropped to your knees behind her. The stool was forgotten. Your hands—rough from a single morning of hauling hay—reached out and closed around the two front teats. They were hot. Hotter than you expected.

Bessie groaned. You squeezed, pulled, and a thick stream of white milk shot out, splattering against the metal bucket with a pssshhh. She jerked her hips back, almost knocking you over.

"Again," she gasped.

You worked her teats like you'd been doing it your whole life. Left hand, right hand, alternating tugs, getting into a rhythm. Squeeze-pull-squeeze-pull. The milk came faster, hissing into the bucket, filling it past the first quart mark. Bessie's whole body trembled. Her cunt clenched around nothing, pulsing with each tug.

"More," she whined. "Not just the milk. The other thing. The thing the old man can't do anymore."

You didn't need a diagram. You unzipped your jeans. Your cock sprang out—hard, veined, the head flushed and glistening with pre-cum. Bessie's nostrils flared.

"Oh, thank the pasture," she mooed. "That's a real one."

You lined yourself up behind her. Her cunt was soaking. You could see her inner lips—puffy, dark pink, wrinkled like rose petals —peeking out from her outer folds. The smell of her hit you: warm milk, earth, and a sharp, musky sweetness that made your balls tighten.

You pushed in.

Schlick.

Her cunt swallowed you whole. No resistance. Just wet, tight, clenching heat that pulled you deeper inch by inch until your hips slapped against her udder.

"FUCK," she bellowed, stomping one hoof against the concrete. "Yes, yes, yes—move, farmhand, move!"

You grabbed her wide hips and fucked her. Hard. Deep. The way she needed. Your balls slapped against her with each thrust, wet and heavy. Bessie was groaning, her head thrown back, her tits bouncing with each impact.

"Milk me," she sobbed. "Milk my cunt, not just my teats—both—I need—"

You reached around with one hand and grabbed a teat. You tugged it as you thrust. Milk sprayed sideways, hitting the wall. Bessie screamed.

"There—right there—I'm coming—"

She clamped down on your cock like a fist. Her cunt pulsed and gripped and milked you without you even moving. You felt your own release building, a heavy ache in your balls that spread up through your shaft.

You came inside her with a grunt. Hot ropes of cum flooded her pussy, mixed with her own slick, dripping out around your still-hard cock. Bessie sagged against the stall gate, panting.

"More," she whispered. "There are three more of us."

You pulled out of Bessie with a wet pop, your cock still slick with her milk-cum mix. She collapsed onto the hay, her udder now half-empty, her eyes blissed-out and glassy.

Buttercup was already pushing her way out of her stall, her white-and-black spotted body quivering.

"My turn," she mooed. "I'm so full, farmhand. Look."

She turned around and presented. Her teats were darker than Bessie's, almost purple at the tips, and her cunt... gods, her cunt was so needy, her inner lips sticking to each other with the sheer thickness of her arousal. A single drop of milk dangled from her left nipple, shimmering in the barn's dim light.

She bent over a trough, presenting herself at a better angle. You didn't hesitate.

You knelt and lathered her teats with your mouth first, because she whined when you touched her with dry hands. Your lips closed around her right teat, and you sucked.

Glug, glug, glug.

Milk filled your mouth. It was warm, creamy, slightly sweet—nothing like grocery store milk. You swallowed and kept sucking, your tongue circling the engorged nipple, feeling it harden further against your palate. Buttercup moaned, her whole body shivering.

"Fingers," she begged. "While you suck. Put your fingers in my cunt."

You shoved two fingers inside her without pulling your mouth off her teat. She was soaking, slick and hot and clenching around your knuckles. You pumped them in and out, crooking them slightly to hit that rough spot inside her, and she wailed.

"Yes, yes, fuck—I'm gushing—"

Her pussy spasmed, and a rush of clear, sweet-smelling fluid poured out of her, splashing onto your wrist and the bucket below. You sucked harder on her teat, pulling a long, hissing stream of milk that filled the bucket to the brim in seconds.

Buttercup came again, her walls pulsing around your fingers, her thighs shaking.

You stood up, your cock aching, and pushed into her from behind. She was so wet that you slid in to the hilt. No resistance. Just tight, milking walls that pulled at you with every thrust.

"Harder," she mooed. "The old man couldn't—harder—break my cunt open, farmhand, I need it—"

You grabbed her hips and slammed into her, your balls smacking against her folds, the wet clap-clap-clap of your fucking echoed off the rafters. Her udder swung beneath her, teats dripping milk onto the hay.

You came inside her too. A second load, just as heavy, just as hot, filling her pussy until it dribbled down her inner thigh.

Clover was next. She didn't wait for you to get on your knees. She pushed you down onto a bale of hay, straddled your face, and lowered her cunt onto your mouth.

"Lick," she pleaded. "Lick my slit. I've been waiting so long."

You did. You happily lapped at her folds, tasting milk and sweat and that musky sweetness that was all her. Her clit was a hard, swollen nub the size of a grape and it bobbed against your tongue. You sucked it between your lips and she cried out, her thighs clamping around your head.

While you ate her out, you also milked her. Hands pulling at her teats, squeezing thick streams of milk directly into the bucket. She came screaming 'farmhand' , her pussy pulsing against your tongue, her juices flooding your mouth.

You flipped her over onto her side in the hay and plunged into her, deep and unrelenting, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open in a silent O of pleasure. Her cunt overflowed, dribbling milk and cum mixed into a creamy mess that pooled under her tail.

Daisy was the last.

The youngest. The tightest. She was shy at first, her freckled cheeks flushed, hiding her udder like she was embarrassed. But her need won out.

"Please," she whispered. "I've never—the old man couldn't—I'm still untouched down there."

You were gentle with her.

You massaged her teats one by one, rolling the engorged nipples between your thumb and forefinger until milk spurted out in thin, hissing arcs. She moaned, her head falling back. You milked each teat until they were soft and empty, her udder deflated and satisfied.

Then you spread her legs. Her cunt was tighter, pinker, the inner lips barely peeking out. She was wet, though. Soaking. Her arousal had dampened the hay beneath her.

You pushed inside her slowly.

"Yes," she gasped. "More—I want—all of it—"

You gave her all of it. Every inch. You fucked her slow at first, then faster, then more roughly, your balls slapping against her, her moos turning into shrieks of pleasure.

She came violently, her cunt milking your cock in hard, clenching spasms that pulled your own orgasm out of you. You came deep inside her, filling her pussy with your seed.

When you finally stood up, your jeans around your ankles, your chest sheened with sweat and milk, you looked around the barn.

Four stalls. Four satisfied, spent cow hybrids, each one sprawled in the hay, their udders drained, their cunts gaping and dripping.

The buckets—all six of them—were full to the brim with milk. Some had overflowed, but there was enough to fill the farmer's fridge twice over.

The old man appeared in the doorway, leaning on his cane. He looked at the buckets. At the pleased cows. Four girls, purring and twitching in their hay. Then at you.

"Hired," he said. "Permanently. And triple your pay."

You wiped a streak of milk from your chin and grinned.

"Deal."

------

And before you can think twice about it, you ask: “Do you… Do you like me?”

“No!” He exclaims, but his nose turns so red you can’t hold back a giggle, all the tension in your body melting at the realization that your feelings aren’t one-sided.

“You are a lying liar,” you say as you grab him by his head and pull him down enough to kiss his open mouth.

He groans against your lips and takes control of the kiss, deepening it and fucking your mouth the same way you wish he was fucking your pussy. You moan, trying to get him as close as possible to your body. He goes willingly, hugging you so tightly it’s almost hard to breath, but you’ve never felt so good before. You’ve been dreaming about kissing the stupid were-reindeer forever.

It gets heated fast, his hands under your thighs, urging you up until you are wrapped around him and your needy center is rubbing against his very hard dick. You moan against his neck, biting down and making his legs buckle under him, almost sending you both to the ground. You giggle as he walks to his room, his steps measured to not drop you as you continue kissing and licking the column of his neck.

“If you keep doing that this is going to end a lot sooner than we both expect,” he moans when you suck a bit harder, his dick twitching against you.

“I’ve been told were-reindeers have a pretty good refractory-period, we’ll be okay,” you mumble against his ear and drive right in to bite his neck again.

You know you are being a bit feral, kissing and biting until his neck is almost purple, the marks of your passion right there for everyone to see. It makes you hot, knowing you can mark him like that. He drops you to the bed, a very big wet patch against his jeans as he stares down at you.

You throw your shirt over your head and your bra follows. “Your turn,” you urge. You stare at him as he does as told, his furry chest making your heart beat faster.

He takes off his pants at the same time he does, and soon his body is covering yours, warm and soft as he starts kissing you again. It’s exhilarating to finally be kissing him, to finally be sharing him

He’s rubbing against your wet pussy, his dick sliding up and down your seam and the friction making your brain turn into jelly. In one of his thrusts, the tip of his dick slips inside your pussy and you groan like a whore, throwing your head back and clenching around him. He screams your name and you feel something very wet inside of you.

“Did you just come untouched?” You ask him, a big smile on your lips.

“No,” he answers with a mumble. You laugh when his nose starts shining bright red. “Ugh, I hate the fucking nose,” he says, burying his face against your neck, your hips moving against his dick still buried inside of you. He groans, and you feel his dick twitch, rapidly filling up.

“Fuck me, you silly were-reindeer,” you say, kissing his bright nose.

He pushes forward and you groan, his dick hitting deep and hard as he starts fucking you like a madman. You are chanting his name as he tells you how good your pussy feels, how fucking glad he is that you are willingly loving someone as silly as him.

And it’s perfect. It’s fun and hot and marvelous, and when you feel the telltale sign of your orgasm approaching, you try to tell him, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken groan that sounds similar to his name.

You came around him messily, convulsing under his body as he fucks you through it, and when you are trembling with aftershocks, his second orgasm fills you to the brim, until you are limp under his body and you can’t think of anything but his awesome dick.

“Wow,” you let out, breathing hard against his neck, licking one of the hickeys you left there earlier. He shivers and you giggle.

“I love you,” he whispers back, making your heart skip a beat again.

Three months.

Ninety-three days of watching your husband stride through the manor and ignore you.

Alaric didn't speak to you unless necessary. Didn't touch you. Didn't look at you — not really. His black-veined eyes would skim across your face like you were furniture, checking for damage, and then he'd disappear into his study or into the mist-shrouded forests surrounding his estate.

You tried everything.

Lavender pastries cooling on his desk when he returned from hunts. Silk robes that slipped off one shoulder when you served his wine. Soft touches to his arm that he didn't flinch from but didn't lean into either.

Nothing.

Tonight, you'd overheard him speaking with his father's enforcer in the library.

"She's adequate. The debt is paid. That's all that matters."

Adequate.

Not lovely. Not wanted. Not his.

You'd fled to your shared bedroom — his bedroom, really, since he hadn't touched you in it — and packed a small satchel. Coins you'd saved from household allowances. A wool cloak. Bread wrapped in cloth.

You'd wait until midnight, when he would be busy patroling. Then you'd slip through the garden gate and never look back.

Better to be a runaway bride than a ghost in someone else's house.

Midnight bled into 1 AM.

The moon hid behind clouds. Your boots sank into wet earth as you pushed through the hedges toward the crumbling wall where ivy had weakened the mortar.

Freedom tasted like rain and terror.

You were halfway through the gap when cold fingers closed around your ankle.

No — claws.

"Where," came the voice from behind you, "do you think you're going?"

You screamed. He dragged you backward through the gap like a caught fish, thorns tearing at your cloak, your shoulder scraping stone. When you landed on the wet grass, Alaric stood over you — but not the Alaric you knew.

His usual controlled stillness had shattered. Chest heaving. Eyes burning with something that wasn't rage but desperation. His dark hair was tangled. Mud streaked his boots up to the knees.

He'd run after you.

"I asked you a question." His voice was deep and husky. "Why would you leave me?"

You scrambled backward on your elbows. "You don't want me there."

"I don't — " He laughed. "I don't want you?"

"You never touch me." You broke. "You never look at me. I cook for you, I wear the gowns your mother chose, I warm your bed alone, and you — you said I was adequate. Like a servant. Like a — "

"Because if I touched you," Alaric snarled, dropping to his knees between your spread legs, caging you against the mud, "I wouldn't stop."

His hips pressed into yours and — oh.

Oh...!

The ridge of his cock, even through leather trousers, was obscene. Thick as your wrist. Long enough to press against your lower belly. And something metal caught against your inner thigh as he shifted.

"You think I didn't notice?" He grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to his. "The way you leaned into my arm. The way you licked your lips when you poured my wine. I stopped looking because every glance made me want to pin you to the dinner table and fuck you until you fainted."

"You what?"

"I'm a monster, sweetheart." His thumb dragged across your lower lip, pressing in just enough to wet the pad. "And monsters don't get to want things. So I stayed away. Let you think I was cold instead of starving."

Your pussy throbbed, a heavy pulse that soaked through your undergarments.

"I'm not leaving," you whispered.

"No." His pupils dilated. "You're not."

Alaric ripped your cloak open. Buttons scattered into the grass. His claws made quick work of your dress's bodice, tearing linen and lace until your breasts spilled out, nipples pebbled from cold and desire.

"Look at you." He cupped one breast roughly, thumb grinding across the areola until you arched. "Three months without permission to taste, and you're already dripping for me."

"I'm not — "

He shoved a hand between your legs, palm flat against your soaked undergarments. When he pulled back, strings of your slick stretched between his fingers.

"Not wet?" He showed you the evidence, then brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean with a groan. "You taste like honey and sin. Spread your legs, wife. Now."

You obeyed.

He tore your undergarments off — didn't bother unlacing, just ripped them at the seam. Cold air hit your exposed pussy. Your outer lips, plump and flushed. Your clit, already peeking from its hood. The darker color of your inner folds, glistening.

"I've imagined this." His voice dropped. "Every night. Your tight little hole gripping my cock while I pound you into the mattress. But the floor — " He shoved you onto your back in the mud, moss cushioning your spine. " — the floor works better. No escape."

"Alaric — "

"Husband," he snarled. "I am your husband."

His trousers came undone with a tug. His cock sprang free and you gasped.

Massive. Veined. The head flushed an angry purple, already leaking pre-cum that beaded on the slit. And through the shaft — just below the glans — a silver barbell pierced through the flesh, each end capped with tiny onyx beads.

"My kind mark ourselves." He stroked himself once, watching you watch. "To claim what's ours. I had this done the week we married. Been waiting to use it on you."

He crawled over you, knees nudging yours wider apart. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance. The piercing caught on your inner labia.

"Last chance." His jaw was tight. "Tell me no and I'll stop. I'll walk away and we'll pretend this never happened."

"Don't you dare walk away. I want my husband."

He snarled and pushed.

The stretch was immediate. He was too big, too thick, and the piercing scraped against your inner walls like a built-in stimulator. Your pussy clenched hard enough to hurt.

"Relax, sweetheart." He grabbed your hips, thumbs digging into the divots above your pelvic bone. "Relax or I'll tear you."

"I can't — "

"You can. You will." He pulled back an inch, pushed forward two. "Fucking hell, you're tight. Squeezing me like a fist."

The sounds — gods, the sounds. Every thrust produced a wet shlick as your body desperately lubricated itself around the invasion. His balls slapped against your skin. The piercing rubbed against your g-spot with each drag.

"There." You clawed at his shoulders. "There, there, don't stop — "

"You like that?" He angled his hips differently, driving deeper. Your vision whited out. "Like my pierced cock dragging against that sweet spot? Feel it — feel me inside you."

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against your lower belly.

You felt him. The bulge of his cock moving beneath skin and muscle, visible as a ridge pushing against your abdomen each time he bottomed out.

"Oh my god — "

"That's right." He pressed down on your hand, making you feel the depth. "I'm splitting you open. Every inch. Every vein. And you're taking it because you were made for me. My wife."

Your orgasm built without warning, started in your toes and spiraled upward. Your pussy lips clung to his shaft, the inner tissues flushing, your clit grinding against his pubic bone with every thrust.

"Close." You couldn't catch your breath. "Husband, I'm — "

"Not yet." He pulled out entirely.

The sudden emptiness made you sob.

He flipped you onto your stomach, hauled your hips up, and drove back inside in one brutal stroke. This angle was worse — deeper. His piercing caught on your cervix's edge, sending jolts of pain-pleasure through your spine.

"Now." He leaned over your back, teeth grazing your ear. "Now you come."

His hand snaked around your hip. Two thick fingers found your clit and pressed down in hard circles.

"That's it. Squeeze me. Milk my cock like the desperate little wife you are."

You climaxed, your whole body convulsing, inner walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses, a gush of fluid splashing against his thighs and the wet squelch-squelch-squelch of him fucking you through it.

"Good girl." His voice was feral. "Now mine."

He pulled your hair, forcing your back into a bow, and drove as deep as anatomy allowed. His balls tightened. His cock swelled impossibly bigger. And then, with a guttural roar that echoed through the trees, he came.

Hot jerks of seed painted your walls. The first spurt hit your cervix. The second, third, fourth — so much you felt your belly swell slightly, felt the overflow drip down his shaft and your thighs.

His piercing tugged with each pulse of his release.

You collapsed together in the mud, his softening cock still buried, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

"I would have burned the world," he whispered, "if you'd left me."

You turned your head just enough to kiss his jaw. "Then don't give me a reason to run again."

He pulled out slowly. The pop of the piercing clearing your entrance made you both groan. He then gathered you against his chest, heedless of the mess.

“First: you kicked me two seconds ago,” he tells you, his mouth frowning on a cute blueish pout.

You chuckle caressing the side of his face. “Aww, poor troll, did your human girlfriend hurt you?” You use your most condescending and teasing tone, laughing harder when he growls.

“That’s a second offense there, girlfriend.” His tone is borderline dark, and you have to press your thighs together to avoid whimpering. Fuck, he knows exactly what that tone does to you.

“You didn’t explain what I did!” You tell him when he grabs both of your ankles, parting your legs slowly.

He stops, looking up at you with a smirk and dark eyes. “You walked around the house with those tiny shorts tempting me as I was at a meeting, now is my turn to tease you.”

You are shocked by his words, what does he mean? He gifted you those shorts! “What? I was wearing your gift!” You know he’s not buying your lie, a green eyebrow arched as he smirks. You did put on those shorts on to tease him as he was in a video-call with his boss. And you might have moved your ass a bit more than necessary in front of him as you passed. Guess you aren’t as subtle as you thought.

“Turn on the mic, and don’t let your followers know what is happening under the desk. If you are good I’ll even let you come…” You shiver at his promise, knowing fully well what he’s capable off. He’d played with you countless times, and some of those, when you had been particularly bratty, he’d edged you until you were crying. (You loved when that happened.)

“But I…” You try to argue again, not really putting any effort behind it. Your pussy is already wet just thinking about him playing with you under the desk as nobody notices. It scratches a part of your exhibitionism kink you didn’t know you had.

He grunts: “Now, darling.” And your whole body melts, your legs parting as you comply.

You turn the mic on and start talking about some stupid thing that happened when you went shopping a couple days ago, a naga almost running you over with a shopping cart. There’s laughter on your chat as you sort out the different things you need for your trip to the mine in the game.

He caresses your legs, softly inhaling against your skin and kissing every inch of skin he can, getting closer and closer to your center as you try not to sound breathless over the mic. People seem obvious to what’s happening under your desk, and you can feel your pulse accelerating by the idea of somebody realizing. You don’t want that… but the thought of it makes you want to moan.

His rough tongue hits your pussy suddenly, and you have to bite your lip hard not to let out a sound. Your character in the game moves to the side and the chat asks what’s happening. You let out a giggle, telling them you accidentally pinched your side with the chair and you can feel the huff of silent laughter against your most sensitive skin as your troll boyfriend laughs. The fucker…

He starts slow as you keep playing, talking about non-sense and trying to keep using your cheerful tone. His tongue feels divine against your hole, you can feel the gush of juices running down your pussy just to be caught by his dexterous tongue. You have to bite your lip a couple times to avoid letting out a loud moan.

Every time you stop talking, he stops his ministrations, and you have to hold back a whimper and a plea. You try to remain focused, but you know you are fucking it up, some low level monsters almost killing you as you fumble with the mouse to change from your pickaxe to your sword.

You move your hips against his face, trying to rub your clit with his nose and he nips at your labia, making you jump a little. A warning. You can’t take as much as you want, he’s the one in control… The reminder only makes you want to do it again, but he uses one of his hands to anchor you to the chair.

He pushes two big fingers inside of you, stretching you as he finger-fucks your welcoming pussy. You are praying to whoever is listening that the lewd sounds of your wet pussy aren’t being caught by your mic, but at that point you aren’t sure you even care.

You try to remain cheerful, but with each movement of his fingers in and out of you, you can feel your climax getting closer and closer, his rough tongue feels amazing against your clit and you are seconds away from coming.

He pinches the outside of your thigh, pushing you away from your impeding climax, and making you let out a low whine that has your face turning as red as a tomato as he stops his movements, looking up at you and someone in the chat lets out a thousand questions about what’s happening.

That happens at least ten more times. You don’t know how much time passes, you only know the feel of his tongue against your pussy and his fingers rubbing against your G-spot. With each second, you are more incoherent, and your movements are more sharp. Your brain is jelly as you keep talking, making every single noob mistake you can as he edges you, denying your orgasm every time you feel it coming.

You are desperate and trembling, your brain disconnected when you decide enough was enough. “Fuck,” you mumble, and then louder you say: “Sorry guys, an emergency came up, see you tomorrow!” You rush out as you close all windows on your computer and let out the longest and most lewd sound ever.

Your troll looks up at you with amusement in his eyes, his fingers curling inside of you as he rubs your G-spot over and over. Your eyes roll back into your head and you push your legs over his shoulders, grabbing his hair and pushing his head harder against your needy pussy.

“Please, please, please… I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be good. Let me come, please!” You know your words mean nothing, but when he pulls back a fraction just to say: “Come for me,” you are done.

Your hips rock against his face, and the second his tongue makes contact with your clit, you are coming all over his face, gushing juices all over and screaming at the top of your lungs. The orgasms with him are always incredible, but after all the teasing and edging, that one is earth-shattering.

He chuckles when you come down from your high, probably looking pathetic and sweaty. “I know you lied, darling, I know you won’t be good for me.” He cleans some of the mess you made with his hand, taking licking your juices off it as you pant.

“But you love when I’m bratty,” you let out in a whisper. You feel boneless, your whole body spent as he pushes back your chair and stands up between your legs. His hips are at face level now, and you are already salivating thinking about the possibilities.

“Yeah… I really do. Now… What are you going to do about this,” he points down at his very hard and very angry-looking blueish dick.

You smirk up at him, not getting up from the chair as you open your mouth and look at him from under your lashes. He smirks, grabbing your head with his big hand and feeding you his cock.

The tide pools glowed faintly in the moonlight, their shallow waters catching silver reflections as you sat on the damp sand. The cave behind you was a place you'd discovered months ago—your own private pocket of the coast where no one ever came.

Except tonight.

He surfaced like a wet dream.

Broad shoulders first, water sluicing down the carved planes of his chest, then the sharp V of his hips before his tail flicked lazily beneath the surface. His hair was the color of kelp, dark green-black and plastered to his temples. His eyes—wide, curious, the blue of deep ocean—locked onto yours with the uncomplicated delight of a golden retriever spotting its favorite person.

"You came back," he said, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach flip.

"I said I would." You pulled your knees to your chest, suddenly aware of how thin your tank top was, how the night air had tightened your nipples into obvious peaks.

He hauled himself onto the rock beside you, water streaming off his torso. His tail transformed as it left the tide—scales dissolving, legs forming, until he sat beside you naked and unashamed, all that golden-brown skin and the heavy softness between his thighs just there.

Azur. That's what he'd told you to call him. He'd found you swimming three weeks ago, nearly drowned you with his enthusiastic questions about "land-walker things." You'd kept coming back because he was unique in a way that made your heart clench and your belly to ache with happy laughter; like the ocean had sculpted him from beauty and curiosity and forgot to give him a filter.

"I brought you something." He held up a pretty shell. "It matches your face-color. When you get all... pink."

"You mean when I blush?"

"Yeah! That." He grinned, and your thighs pressed together without permission.

You took the shell, your fingers brushing his. He was warm. Mermaids—mermen—whatever he was, he ran hot, like the sea had lent him its hidden fires.

"Azur," you said. "You said you had questions."

His whole body perked up. "So many. I've been thinking, which you know I'm not very good at—"

"You're fine."

"—but I can't stop wondering about your body. How it works. Where things go." He tilted his head, and a droplet of seawater slid down his neck, over his collarbone, down the ridge of his pectoral. "You told me about me your mouth, and your stomach!" he grinned. "Stomach is like a storage for food and then... your... bottom-hole. For waste to leave the body. But there's more, isn't there? More you kept hidden."

Your face burned. You'd known this was coming. The last time he'd asked, you'd deflected, too shy to pull down your bikini bottom and just show him. But tonight... the way he looked at you like you were a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve... tonight felt different.

"Yes," you whispered. "There's something else."

He scooted closer, legs folding under him, his cock (it was a challenge not to ogle at that massive shaft) thick even soft, resting against his thigh, swaying with the movement. He didn't seem to notice or care. His attention was entirely on your face, waiting.

"Will you let me see?" he pouted. "You never let me see..."

"It's not easy..."

"Why? I will not hurt you. I will never hurt you!"

"Fine but... but you have to be gentle," you sighed. "And you have to let me explain. No grabbing."

"I would never grab without asking." His brow furrowed. "I'm not a monster."

"I know." You exhaled, then hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. "I'm going to take these off. And you're going to look. And then you can ask questions."

He nodded, solemn as a child being given a task. You lifted your hips, shimmied out of the shorts, then hesitated at your underwear. Thin cotton, already damp from your naughty thoughts and him. Unaware, Azur watched, his chest rising and falling faster now.

"The last layer," you said, and pulled them down.

Cool sea air hit your pussy—your outer lips, the neatly trimmed thatch of hair, the inner folds still tucked together. You spread your knees, just slightly, and his breath caught.

For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then:

"Whoa."

You laughed, nervous, and started to close your legs.

"No, no, wait." His hand shot out, stopping just short of your knee. "Can I—closer? I need to see properly. I thought it was only one hole... But there's..." He squinted, leaning in until his nose was nearly between your thighs. "There's folds. And... is that two openings? I see something small and then something bigger but they're so close together I can't—"

"It's three," you said, and your voice cracked. "Three holes. The one in the front is my urethra, for pee. The middle one is my vagina. That's the one for babies and... and for pleasure. The one in the back is my anus. That's for waste."

He sat back, eyes wide. "Three. You have three holes in that one spot?"

"All right there, sort of... yeah."

"And they're all different?"

"Very different."

He made a sound—something between a groan and a marvel—and crawled forward until he was lying on his stomach, his face inches from your exposed pussy. His cock had begun to stiffen, rising from between his legs, but he seemed unaware of it. All his focus was on you.

"Can I touch?" His voice had dropped, gone rough. "I'll be so careful. I just—I need to feel it. The way it's built. It's nothing like what I have."

"Okay," you breathed. "But slow. And listen to me."

His fingers—broad, calloused from gripping rocks and coral—reached out. The first touch was a single fingertip to your outer labia, tracing the curve of your left lip. You shivered.

"That's the outside part," you said. "The outer lips. They protect everything inside."

"They're soft." He sounded awed. "Like the inside of a mussel shell but warmer. And wet already. Leaking... Is that... is that from the sea?"

"No." Your cheeks burned. "That's from me. My body makes its own wetness when I'm... when I'm aroused."

"Aroused." He tested the word. "That means you want this? You want me touching you?"

"Yes, Azur. Very much."

He smiled brightly and returned his attention to your pussy. His finger parted your outer lips, exposing the inner folds, the darker tissue that glistened in the moonlight.

"Oh," he whispered. "Oh, that's beautiful. Look at these little... what are these? They're like petals."

"My inner labia. They're more sensitive."

He traced one with his fingertip, feather-light, and your hips jerked. "You felt that?"

"I felt that."

"Good? Bad?"

"Good. Keep going."

He explored with methodical fascination. Parting your folds, exposing your clitoral hood—"What's this little pearl?"—then gasping when you told him to press gently on the hood, to roll the bud beneath his finger. Your clit, you explained. The center of most of your pleasure. He circled it with his thumb while his index finger slipped lower, found your vaginal opening, and stopped.

"This is small. How does anything fit in there?"

You laughed. "It's my pussy. Or cunt. It stretches. When I'm aroused, it opens up more. And when I'm with a partner, it makes room."

He pushed his finger inside, just the first knuckle and you both groaned. Him from the sensation of your heat squeezing him, you from the sudden fullness.

"It's tight," he moaned. "And so hot."

"Keep going. Slow."

He sank deeper, one finger to the second knuckle, then all the way to his hand. You were dripping now, your wetness coating his skin, and he watched with rapt attention as he pulled out and pushed back in.

"There's a spot," you gasped. "On the front wall. Curl your finger toward my belly."

He tried, missed, tried again. When he found it—that spongy ridge of nerves—your back arched off the rock.

"There!" you cried. "Right there."

He rubbed that spot in slow circles, his thumb still pressing your clit, and you saw stars behind your eyelids. But he wasn't done exploring. He pulled his finger out, examined the slick coating, then licked it.

"You taste like the sea but different," he said. "Sharper. Sweeter. I like it."

Then he lowered his head.

His mouth replaced his fingers, lips closing around your clit, tongue pressing flat against the hood. You screamed, muffling it with your own hand as he lapped at you like a man dying of thirst. He didn't know what he was doing, not really, but his instincts were good. He sucked gently, licked broadly, nuzzled his nose into your folds while his hand came up to press against your lower belly, holding you down.

"Azur—I'm going to—"

"Mmm?" He didn't stop, just hummed against your clit, and that vibration shattered you.

Your orgasm ripped through without warning, your walls clenching around nothing as he watched, enraptured, his face wet with your juices. He kept licking through it until you had to push his head away because it was too much.

He sat up, grinning, his chin glistening. "That was incredible. You made that sound, that high sound and your whole body shook. Does that happen every time?"

"Every time I come, yeah."

"Come. That's the word for it." He tucked it away like a treasure. "I want to make you do that again. But first—" He looked down at your chest. Your nipples were poking through your shirt. "What are those?"

"My breasts."

"No, I know that. I mean the little bumps." He pointed at your nipples. "They got hard when I was touching you down there. Do they connect?"

You pulled your shirt off before you could lose your nerve. His eyes went to your breasts, devouring them with his stare. Your boos were sensitive, the nipples peaked and dark against your areolas. He reached out without asking, then stopped.

"May I?"

"Yes."

He cupped one breast, marveling at the weight. Then he lowered his head and took your nipple into his mouth. Your hand flew to his hair, holding him there as he sucked experimentally. His tongue circled the areola, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you gasp. He pulled off with a wet pop.

"It's like a little button," he said. "And when I suck it, you make that same breathy sound. Does it go all the way down to your cunt?"

"Everything's connected," you managed. "Nerves. They all talk to each other."

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention; sucking, licking, gentle bites that made your hips rock against nothing. His cock was fully hard now, jutting up between you, the head flushed and glistening with a bead of fluid. You'd seen it before, in passing, but never this hard and swollen. It was bigger and longer than any human you'd been with, and there were ridges along the shaft, like the rings on a shell.

He released your nipple and sat back, his gaze traveling down your body. Past your breasts, your stomach, the hair between your legs. Then he reached around and grabbed your ass, lifting your hips.

"Turn over," he said. "I saw something earlier."

"Azur—"

"Please. I won't hurt you. I just want to see."

You turned over slowly, kneeling on the rock with your ass in the air. The position made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but his hands on your hips were warm and steady. He parted your cheeks, and his breath came out in a rush.

"There it is," he murmured. "Your back hole. Waste hole?"

"You found it." Fuck... you were so embarrassed. "Can I roll back now?"

"Wait... this is different. Smaller than your cunt. Tighter. And the skin around it—" He traced the wrinkled rosette with his thumb and you flinched. "Sorry. Too much?"

"Just sensitive. That hole... most people don't put things in there without preparation."

"But it can go in there? Things?"

"Yes, but it takes time. And lube. And trust."

He stroked the outside of your anus, not pressing in, just feeling the texture. "It's beautiful," he said, and meant it. "All of you. Every hole, every fold, every little bump. I thought I knew bodies. I thought fins and gills and tails were complicated. But you—" He shook his head. "You're a whole world."

You felt tears prick your eyes, ridiculous and overwhelmed. "Azur..."

"Can I go inside?" He helped you turn over, settling you on your back. "In your pussy. The one I put my finger in. I want to put something else in there now."

Your heart hammered. "You want to fuck me?"

"Yeah. That. I want to fuck you. If you'll let me."

"I'll let you. But you have to listen to me. Every step."

He nodded, positioning himself between your legs. His cock rested against your thigh, heavy and hot, and you could feel the ridges dragging across your skin. He was bigger than you'd expected and for a moment, fear flickered.

"Put some of your wetness on yourself," you instructed. "Spread it around."

He reached down, gathered your slickness from your folds, and coated his cock. The sight of his huge hand wrapped around that shaft, stroking, made your mouth water.

"Now the head," you said. "Just the head. Press it against my opening."

He leaned forward, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding his cock. The broad tip nudged against your vaginal entrance. You both looked down at the point of contact, your wet flesh stretched around the first inch of him.

"Push," you said. "Slow. Stop when I tell you."

He pushed. Your body resisted—he was big—but your arousal had made you ready. The head popped past the tight ring of muscle, and you both groaned.

"Fuck," he breathed. "It's—you're—I can feel every part of you. Squeezing me."

"Give me a second." You panted, adjusting to the stretch. "Okay. A little more."

He sank deeper, inch by inch, his jaw clenched with the effort of going slow. When he was halfway in, you felt him bump against your cervix and gasped.

"That's as far as you go," you said. "Don't push past that. It hurts."

"I won't. I won't ever hurt you." His voice was strained. "Can I move? Please? I need to move."

"Yeah. Pull out a little, then push back in. Slow and steady."

He obeyed, withdrawing until just the head remained, then sliding back in. The ridges on his shaft dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back. Each thrust created a wet, shlicking sound; your slickness coating him, his skin slapping against your inner thighs.

"Is this—" He thrust again, careful. "Is this good for you?"

"So good. Faster."

He picked up speed, his hips finding a rhythm. His balls, heavy against his body, slapped against your ass with each push. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he made a sound like a wounded animal.

"Your legs," he said. "They're holding me. I like that. I like being inside you. I like the way you feel—all hot and soft and squeezing."

You reached down and touched your clit, rubbing in circles while he fucked you. The dual sensations; his cock stretching you, your fingers on that bundle of nerves built something enormous in your belly.

"I'm close," you whined. "Don't stop."

"I won't—I can't—" He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath ragged as he kissed your mouth. "What do I do? When you come? Do I keep going?"

You whimpered and kissed him back amid pants. "Yes. Keep going. Don't change anything."

Your orgasm hit like a wave—not the cliché rise and fall, but a crash. A splintering. Your vision whited out, your pussy clenched around his cock like a fist and you sobbed. Azur watched you fall apart above him, his hips still thrusting, his eyes wide and awed.

"You're shaking," he said. "Your whole body. It's like you're having a fit."

"It's—good—" You couldn't form words. Your thighs trembled against his hips, your fingers dug into his shoulders, and he kept moving, kept fucking you through the aftershocks.

"I'm going to come too," he said, and there was a question in it. "Where do I—"

"Inside. Come inside me."

He groaned, buried himself to the hilt, and let go. You felt the pulse of his cock, the heat flooding your cunt, the way his entire body went rigid. And then he collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you, his face buried in your neck.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The tide lapped at the rock below. Somewhere, a gull cried.

He lifted his head, and his eyes were shining. "I like your pussy," he said. "I like it a lot. Can I explore your back hole next time?"

You laughed, exhausted and happy. "Yeah. Next time."

He kissed you and pulled out slowly. His cum trickled down your thigh, and he watched it with scientific interest.

"That's mine," he said. "Inside you. That's—" He shook his head, smirking. "I don't have words for how that feels. I'm not smart enough."

"You're smart enough," you said, and meant it.

He curled around you, his body warm against the cold night and you fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat—slower than a human's, like the deep pulse of the ocean itself.

In the morning, he'd have more questions. And you'd have more answers.

But for now, you just lay there, tangled together, his cock soft against your thigh and your pussy messy and sore with the memory of him.

˚꒷︶︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒦♡₊˚˚꒷︶︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒦♡₊˚˚꒷︶︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒦♡

My reaction to this himbo merman request:

Seven days have passed since your arrival. Seven long days. The setting sun marks the final count down to the ceremony. Once moonlight touches the land, it will begin. He has you tended to properly–his beautiful queen. The perfect ceremonial dress to replace those rags you would never wear again, lest someone in his kingdom decided to sew together to shreds they have been ripped into. His throne is brought out to sit in the center of the space so the two of you can take to it together once you’ve been betrothed. A show of unity with his new queen.

He takes a deep breath of the evening air. He’s been preparing you since your arrival. Morning, afternoon, night, the times he can find you and have you–stretching your sweet, weeping cunt with his fingers so you will be prepared for him. You’re still coming to terms with your new betrothal, he knows that. But you will be a queen! His queen. He’s memorized your scent and the taste of your sweat along your jaw and throat. He’s let himself go as far as your sweet collarbone, but nothing further. His patience has worn thinner and thinner each time he sees you, but he cannot break tradition. Supple, sweet thing that you are. He just makes sure your cunt is prepared for him.

Over.

And over.

Until your thighs are slicked with a sweetness he tastes only on his fingers.

He stares up at the twilight sky with a big, toothy grin. Torches are lit in scarcity and set up around the stone circle he will stand in with you so very shortly. His people begin to gather, ready to witness their new king and queen come together under the ceremonial moonlight. A new era. You’ll be bred until the sun rises to ensure his seed takes.

His hum vibrates the air.

Last night, he had to leave you early, and it’s been killing him. Each night he leaves you, his cock strained within his trousers, skirts, even just a towel–it kills him. Sweet thing. He’ll have you soon enough. But last night was special. He had to prepare you for tonight. 

For all the times you’ve tried to escape over the last seven days, it was richly satisfying feeling your body shudder and writhe when he stretched you around two fingers only to stop short. In the new gown he had made for you, your wrists bound behind your back for security, he lapped at the sweet, salty taste of you on your neck, fingering you, rubbing your pretty clit–he stopped just at the pinnacle of your sweet release. Legs trying to kick, hands trying to get free–no, no, sweet thing. He laughed into your throat, dragging his tongue up to the shell of your ear. You tried to pull away from him as you always did. There, but not where his fingers stayed stuffing your pretty cunt full.

Well, for a mere moment longer.

You’ve been gagged for your ill-words, training before the ceremony, so all he heard when he pulled his fingers out of you early was a pained whine. The pulsing of your pussy stays until his fingertips are out, and then you’re writhing in confusion. Adorable confusion.

But he palms your ass through your dress instead and gropes at your tits, looking for the nipples he will be lapping at in less than a day’s time from then. A bite mark lines along your shoulder while he breathes you in.

“No, no. I want your cunt weeping for me tomorrow, my betrothed,” he hummed. “I will make you whine and shake until the sun rises. Mine to claim. Mine forever. I will breed your sweet pussy like it was meant to be.”

His fingers brushed over your clit again, earning him a pained whine and a thrash of you in his grasp.  

He left you as you were. He had trusted assistants to tend to you. You would stay bound to ensure you handled nothing yourself. And with all your poorly devised escape attempts, he chose not to risk it. You were room-bound until just that afternoon, bathed and dressed for the ceremony. His queen! His. 

The moon creeps out as the night dawns across the sky. It’s a clear night–a sign of a trusted, blessed betrothal. Meant for each other. It’s all he knows as he stands there burning beneath his traditional royal robes. They hang rich in browns and greens that you will soon wear after tonight finishes. His crown is tipped back on his head. His long gray hair is hanging back so he can see you in all your beauty. 

It’s a simple ceremony. He explained it to you last night whilst he trained your cunt. He will recite the traditional betrothal passage of his people, you will strip naked, rub yourselves with the special, ceremonial oil, and then you will consummate your marriage. Allowing him to claim his queen for all to see. So not a soul thinks otherwise that you are his. That you are their queen.

You’d shuddered in what could’ve only been sheer excitement. He’s been shuddering and shaking at the thought of it, too. Finally claiming you beyond those moments he’s been stealing until then.

Mmmm. He closes his eyes and can taste you, smell you, feel you.

You’re his.

And at the loud bell ringing out behind him, it’s time to really make you his.

His people come alive again at the sight of their future queen. You’re brought out with two warriors on each side, but he does not see them really. You’re such a small thing compared to the rest of the trolls. Even those on the scrawnier, smaller side. 

You wear a sheer white dress that takes in the moonlight like it’s part of it. Nothing covers you underneath. No longer will you wear such pointless layers unless it’s cold or you’re required to be in such royal robes–he declares it then. Seeing the perk of your nipples rubbing up against that sheer material while you heave excited breaths, oh, he’s a man knowing such rich patience. Patience that burns in sheer temptation and primal claiming as all look upon you. Your sweet pussy visible. The curve of your ass. Those pretty tits. Their queen. His queen.

Your wrists are bound to a small bouquet of wildflowers, bringing them together in front of your stomach. You don’t meet his gaze when you’re deposited in front of him. It matters not. He takes a deep breath and recites the passage he’s known by heart the second he knew you to belong to him. It rings out in the thickening air. Every breath he takes, he smells you; aches for you in a way that’s getting closer and closer and closer.

You’re shaking. Such a nightly breeze does bring a chill to humans before trolls, but he is going to warm you up shortly. 

When he finishes the passage, you sniffle.

He pulls the bouquet out from between your bound wrists. 

“Shhhhh, sweet thing,” he coos. “I will warm you up shortly.”

He pulls at the ropes, watching them fall free. You remain still–good girl–when he reaches up and unties the top of your dress. The imperfect ribbon falls away, and it expands the collar so nothing remains upon your shoulders. Nothing remains upon you. In a mere movement, a single tug of that ribbon, you’re naked. Shaking. The moonlight bathing your pretty self for him to see completely. 

He brushes the backs of his fingers underneath your tits, and you jolt. You sniffle again, but he reaches for the oil whilst dragging his knuckles down your stomach, down where you will soon swell with his kin, down to where your pussy waits for him.

He cups your cunt, rubbing his middle finger through your folds. Wet. 

Good, pretty thing. He grins, taking a deep breath of you. One last deep breath before the oil takes over. Scented like the forest and the wildflowers you hold, a rich undertone of musk amongst it, he opens the top of the bottle. He moves his hand from your pussy and unclips the top of his robes. They fall open to show where your fallen eyes are already seemingly waiting to see his fat cock.

Your eyes widen.

“My queen,” he breathes to you. He dumps to bottle over the both of you, stepping forward to let it catch along his front and yours. As you flinch at the sudden splash, he turns to the crowd of your people. “Our queen!” His voice booms across the space now erupting in cheers. His heart thrums in adrenaline-fueled, animalistic excitement. “Now, let us consummate.”

He has to bring your hands to him, but that’s alright. He’s too busy rubbing the oil in over your tits to care. Groping at them, bare, watching how you move with his rough motions. Your body shaking before he even gets to your nipples. Rolling them between his fingers and thumbs until your knees buckle. Yes, yes, yes. He groans, moving closer, sliding his hands down yours sides to feel you. Yes! You’re so soft. You’re so warm. You’re so sweet. You turn, but he catches you, hauling you back against him.

How he wishes you aligned better so he can feel your ass on his cock while you writhe as you are, but he cannot change that. So he merely holds you against him, working his hands back up to your tits to feel you. Really feel you. Your heart pounding in pure excitement at your betrothal. Your heaving breaths that grow when he gropes at your tits and tweaks those pretty, sensitive nipples that make you bark out a shrieking, sweet sound.

He must have you. He walks you over to his throne. Step by small step. He will have you. His cock throbs for it. Leaks for it. His queen! He doesn’t wait. His. You’re his! He lifts you up to the seat of his throne, many gathering closer to witness their king and queen coming together. Yes, yes, yes. He pushes you forward, your hands resting on the sides of the back as you cannot reach the grand top of the throne. Not with how he pulls your hips back and knocks your knees apart. Legs apart.

A gargantuan hand on your back angles your hips back for him to see you. All of you. That goddamn pretty pussy and tight asshole. He groans, spreading you so he can really see you. His cock twitches; he knows many are leering, but they’ll know better in a moment. Your sweet, sweet cunt. He rubs his thumb over it, spreading what wetness drips out of you all over yourself.

“Oh, my queen,” he groans, stuffing his thumb into your cunt and feeling you stretch around him. How you careen back and mewl, hanging your head whilst shaking it. Another sniffle escapes you, but he wiggles his thumb and reaches out, finding that tiny clit that will make you really scream for him. “Look all around you at who you rule now. Who serve you.” He pulls his thumb out and brings his hands to you on either side of your pussy. He uses his thumbs to spread you, keeping that angle back while he comes forward. “My sweet, sweet, sweet queen.”

He fists the base of his cock with one hand, the other resting on your ass. Precum beads at his tip, and he wastes no time. He brings it to you with a jolt from you. He smears it over your hole, mixing the two of you together already. You’re puny, really, but he’s been training you. You needn’t a cock before when his fingers are so sufficient. Sufficient enough. So he presses his tip to your cunt, and–oh. You stretch around him with a tension down your spine and a harsh breath through your teeth, but you take him. Tight–as all humans are with trolls–and wet and so warm. Smooth and silky. He groans, grabbing your hips with both hands and holding you steady. More. More. More–take me, my queen. He pushes in, further, more. More. More. Watching you swallow his fat cock more and more.

“O-Oh my…I…it….” is all you stammer in a pleasure-strained voice.

“Oh, it will fit, my queen,” he muses. He snaps his hips forward that last little bit, and proves himself right. Right then. His balls smack against your cunt, wet, and he throws his head back. Sweet fuck! You’re perfect. Utterly perfect. Your toes curl and you claw at the sides of the throne. “See?” He squeezes your ass. “You were made for me.”

He reels his hips back, dragging his cock out of you until just the tip stretches you nice and wide, and with a snap of his hips, he claims you. His queen. Screaming and thrashing on his throne, the sounds of wet thrusts echoing out amongst the excited crowd. He pistons into your pulsing cunt. You’re perfect. He can still smell you through the oil, more than he’d ever thought he could. And he basks in it. In you. Every second as he claims you.

The sounds–the screams, the shrieks–they leave you so beautifully. Falling into sin and desire at his very cock. Your asshole twitching and clenching while your pussy pulses. Your sweet walls squeezing his cock even more than they were when he first slid in. But you’re dripping down your thighs, now. You’re sucking him back in, needing him. He grins, taking another deep breath that’s just you, and reaches around you. 

Cum. He rams into you again. You lurch on the chair, your tits pressing up against the back with your face turned, cheek against it, too. He reaches forward and holds the back of your head, fucking you into the throne. Rubbing your clit. Pounding into your pussy.

He feels it. Ah. Hahaha! He feels it! That ripple of pleasure that’s not quite so delicate. It ripples through you, yes, but your body convulses. His cock hitting spots you never knew were possible, never knew existed in such a lonesome life before he found you. Even if you decided to leave after he’s gone, no cock will ever be enough for you now. He knows it. You know it, surely. The way the tears spill and your eyes roll back. Yes. You won’t leave. His queen. His wife. Soon, the mother of his children. He ruts into you as deep as he can go and rubs at your clit.

Pulls and pulls and pulls that aching, throbbing pleasure from your human self, and almost laughs when it hits you. You’re just so pretty. So perfect! Your hips press back as it happens. Your back arches and the scream that erupts from you is a delicious melody. He chases it. Pushes the sweet song out of you while you gasp and scream. And you don’t break. You cum over his cock, gushing along his girth and eyes falling shut whilst they stay rolled back. A vicious, undeniable claim of pleasure.

He sucks his thumb into his mouth and hooks it with only a probing touch at your asshole. Your eyes fly open, and your mouth falls to say something, perhaps, but no. He fucks you harder, not needing to chase the rip of pleasure he feels after yours. He holds it back for only a little while, embracing the sensation of you. Your asshole fluttering around his thumb, your cunt squeezing his cock, his balls slapping against your cunt with every thrust. How you shriek at the back of the chair, trying to find something to hold onto, but alas, he fucks you through the next orgasm that tears through you. Tears skim down your cheeks, yet you drool and mewl.

He wastes no time, then. Rutting into you with fervor. Yes, my bride. Yes, my queen. Hooking you as he has you so your hips stay just like that for him. So you’re angled just so rightly for his cock. His balls ache and tighten, but he doesn’t quicken his pace; not yet. He’ll fuck you relentlessly momentarily. First, however, comes the next lay of claim. And he throws his head back as pleasure hits. It’s blinding, and he shouts out the sacred words. His. You’re his! Their new queen! They bounce around in an echoing shout from your people, a rippling effect coming the same as you, the same as him.

He slams in deep, and holds you still while he cums. An unapologetic thrum of pleasure tearing through him. He’s going to empty his balls in you tonight, and it starts with this. Spilling inside your cunt with thick, white, claiming spurts of his seed. It leaks out of you in excess, but he’ll give you more to keep. More to plug up whilst he fucks your mouth and ass. More to keep in once the ceremony finishes, too, to ensure something has taken. And if not…he intends to fuck you every second of every day he can find.

Your thighs quiver, and you lick the drool from your lips, but it already falls down your chin. He pulls out of you with a whip of his hips, stepping back for all to see his claim laid. Dripping out of you and down your thighs. Quivering. How pretty all of you quivers. He fucks your ass on his thumb whilst the crowd looks in.

His!

He steps back in, his cock never falling soft, and slides it right back into you. You twitch and whine, but you’re already drooling again once he starts to thrust. 

 “Mine,” he declares as the moon above and all around them have declared it as such. “Mine, forever, my queen.”

His, forever.

You cum around his cock again.

And again.

He seats you on it as dinner is served. Sitting back on his throne, your legs splayed open on his, ass nestled up against him. Speared on his cock. Perfectly. You lean back against his chest drinking the wine he gives you. Taking bites of the food he feeds you. He gropes at your tits and rubs your clit, milking orgasm after orgasm out of you until there’s a puddle on his lap. His cock keeps his cum in until he fucks into you and refills you, acting as a personal plug during the feast portion. You have no complaints. You do not curse him, do not run, do not writhe lest he’s wringing another sweet orgasm out of you and you’re falling back against him, back arching, body spasming.

He hums in such happiness, it does not feel real. You smell so good. You’re littered with his bite marks and where he’s sucked the skin to mark you as his. Bruises on your hips. Nail marks on your thighs. Your clit swollen from his fingers and, earlier, his tongue making you shriek when he lapped at you from behind. Your cunt stretched and stuffed, claimed by him. 

His queen.

He pours some more wine into your mouth, watching it dribble down your chin and down to your heaving tits.

“My queen, you make such a mess of yourself,” he teases, taking in a deep breath that’s just you. His timing comes purposefully  beyond such teasing with spilled wine. You cum–again. Another making you throw yourself around and fucking yourself on his cock. “My beautiful wife.” he brings three of his fingers to your clit and pats at it. At you. You shake, but he shakes with laughter at how amusing you are now. So eager for more. He holds up a piece of braised meat to your lips. “Eat more, you need your energy. The night has only begun.”

You bite down and swallow like you’re following a command.

Ah, sweet thing.

He pulls another orgasm out of you before you can take another bite.

And how easy it is for him to take his new queen.

He sends his best guard to do it, knowing he won’t touch you. It only takes one; between your feeble human frame against his guard, you are no match for a troll. He smiles down at you when you’re hauled in off your feet, your dress covered in mud, and your face glistening with tears down to the gag shoved in your mouth. You’re a sad plop onto the floor, your wrists unnecessarily tied behind your back. No position for the future queen to be in, but alas. He burns beneath his royal robes. 

The ground shakes beneath him as he steps from his throne. Grins pass around his throne room whilst he approaches his soon-to-be-wife. Sweet one. He watches your eyes widen and well with tears. Oh. He kneels and twists himself to get close to you. You smell sweet with the earthiness of the mud. He’s done his due diligence, he knows you’re his to claim first and what will be your only and last. 

He hums at your tits pressing up against the floor, peeking out of the shitty collar of those rags he will replace at the earliest convenience. All the clothing they house fits trolls, not humans. 

“Pretty one,” he muses, hooking a single finger underneath your chin to keep your pretty eyes on him. You’re quivering, and he burns to feel that on his cock. “You’ll be the most perfect queen. We will marry under the full moon in seven days, and you’ll be mine.” He skims his eyes down along your writhing frame to your sweet bottom. His hand encompasses all of you, and you clamp your eyes shut as he gets a handful of you. Oh. He takes a deep breath in closer, shoving his nose into your neck. Delicious. He can’t help himself. He feels another vicious shudder as he drags his meaty tongue over your delicate throat. A sob trapped within making it tremble and move. “Come with me to my chambers, pretty human. I will introduce myself to my betrothed. Show you the ways of your new people.”

Your sob cuts through the throne room. Ah. He wastes no time plucking you up from the floor, hoisting you over his shoulder. You have meat on your bones, but you’re still just so delicate. There’s attempted strength behind every squirm, but he merely has to squeeze even the tiniest of muscles, and you relent. Sobbing, pleading into the meat of his shoulder as he holds you. He reaches up to swat that out of you, spanking your bottom through your rags. 

You lurch and shout, sniffling next to his long gray hair. But his hand remains on your ass. Squeezing and groping. 

“The ways my cock will break you, pretty one, I cannot wait to train you.” He kicks the door open to his room, and throws you down onto his bed. “Now, the ceremony, see, we will be married in front of my people–our people.” He crawls up with you, a hand pinning your waist down. You clamp your eyes shut, but he advances, watching how your tits move with every heaved breath. “The moonlight will bless us, and then we will strip and bathe beneath the light, rubbing the sacred oil on each other, and then…then, we will consummate our marriage until the sun rises.”

You’re shaking like a leaf underneath him. Oh. But you’re so pretty. And look at you! Squirming about like that. He aches to see what’s underneath your muddied dress. But the ceremony…the rules…. He skims both hands up along your sides, straddling you. His cock aches beneath his robes, and the tent it makes has your cracked eyes staring down at it in what surely is just awe. 

“Ah, don’t worry. It will fit inside your tight cunt. I will make sure of it,” he hums. “Alas, we cannot test it now. It’s imperative we wait until the wedding night.” He skims his hands up higher. Your eyes shut again as he brushes his massive thumbs over your tits. What he’d give to tear that thin material to shreds to see you now. But he can’t. He leans over you again and buries his face against your soft, warm chest. “We cannot risk offending the traditions. No. No. Pretty one, we will have to wait, unfortunately, before I can press your pretty legs back and devour that cunt. I will spend days between your legs to taste your sweet pussy, until you weep along with it. How I have thought about you every day, every night….”

He breathes you in deep and slow. Your chest stammers on your next breath, and, oh, it’s a sight to watch. Your back bows, but there’s nowhere to run when sandwiched in like that. So…soft…. And you smell so, so sweet. He lets his tongue roll out to meet you. Goosebumps rise over your skin when he laps at you, tracing the press of your tits up where such cleavage is left bare to tease him. 

“I cannot wait to fill you with my kin,” he growls, nipping at the sensitive skin. It makes you shriek and scream, so he does it again. Biting and marking his soon-to-be-wife as his. He’s already getting a crown made for you. And pretty jewelry you’ll wear like netting and cuffs so there will never be a mistake made about who you belong to. Should they miss the consummation ceremony, of course, but it will be mandatory attendance. “I will press you on your pretty back and bend your legs over yourself, mmmmm, and fill up your pretty pussy until it leaks my cum. Again and again and again.” He moans into your tits, groping at them roughly. His cock aches in temptation. He cannot. He knows. Oh, he knows. But he wants to feel you. Wants to make your pussy weep for and squeeze him. “Over my throne, within our feasting hall, tied up in pretty ropes to keep that tight ass up for me. Oh. Pretty thing that you are. I have thought about you endlessly.”

He needs you. Oh! He needs you! He moves down over your stomach, sniffing through your dress. Delicious. The burn to fill you up grows. Seven days is so long to wait, but he must. He must! Then he can pump you full and fuck you how he wishes. And you will be such a great queen…so perfect to breed. 

He presses his nose against your lap, and he can smell you so sweetly. Yes, yes. Your pretty pussy hiding just underneath there. Taunting him. Tempting him. His heavy balls throbbing and his cock leaking so steadily. He grips your thighs through your dress and squeezes. You sniffle and try to move your legs, but he holds you steady.

Sweet, untouched–he can tell. He knows. The moonlight creeping in reminds him of his duties, and he takes another, shuddering inhale to memorize you. And he presses his mouth open against you, where he ought to taste your dripping cunt under his tongue. 

He cannot fuck you. He feels you writhe again. No, he cannot fuck you. But you are such a tiny human compared to his troll stature. He is so…big. Even his fingers. And his cock…. Oh, it will be so unkind to you to not prepare you, wouldn’t it? He cannot slip his cock into you, no. No, certainly not. But….

He groans when looking up over you. The wet of his tongue making your chest glisten, the bite marks left as small indentations across such sensitive skin. 

“Shhhh,” he soothes, crawling back up over you. “Shhhh, my betrothed. Shhhh.” He situates himself on his side and rolls you onto yours. Your back is to his chest, and he wraps and arm around you to grope at your tits over your dress. You shudder once again, and he keeps his nose buried in the nape of your neck. “I cannot fuck you now, pretty one, but I would be remiss to not prepare you, would I not? Your sweet pussy…I would break you if I tried to fit myself into you as is. Shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

He skims his other hand down, and the mud-caked bottom of your dress rustles. You thrash, but, ah, he has not even started yet–did you even know the pleasure of an orgasm yet? Such loneliness out on your family farm for the last twenty-five years. Poor thing. You surely know nothing. He’ll show you. Oh. He skims his fingers up between your clamping thighs, but he merely nudges up and parts them on his own. 

“No need to be worried,” he coos, breathing you in again. Dragging his rough tongue over the curve of your neck, and feeling you shiver. “I will train you every night, every morning, every afternoon. I will take care of you. You will be prepared for me when I claim you on our wedding night.”

And how he will claim you! Rough and dirty, until your sweet pussy squirts all over him and turns the two of you into messes. And again. And again, until you’re nothing but the next orgasm he can fuck out of you.

His cock twitches at the thought. It travels down to his achy balls when his fingers finally find you. Oh. You thrash again, but there you! You’re so warm and soft. He rubs his fat middle finger over your sweet pussy, rubbing every inch to feel you. Parting you, memorizing where he is going to dive his tongue into the first chance he gets. A finger does not count. No, he is being so proactive! He’s preparing you, yes. 

He gropes at your tits harder, making your back bow, and he can’t decide what to feel first. Your clit or that tight hole he’s going to stretch around his cock? He goes for your clit, first, finding the sensitive bundle of sweet nerves to rub the rough pad of his finger over. He is going to make you fucking scream and cream until you cannot give him any more. Yes. Yes. He finds it, certified by how it’s swelled underneath just the brush of his finger, and you curl away, mewling behind the gag that’s making you drool down your cheek. 

Yes, yes, yes. He drags his tongue over your throat again, rubbing your pretty clit harder. 

“Oh, sweet one. Pretty one. My queen.” He’s been searching for the perfect queen for so long, and then fate thrust you onto his path. You should’ve been married and with kin already, but no. No. “You were put before me to claim, and I will.” He slides his finger down to find your cunt weeping. Yes, that’s it, sweet human. He smears it over his fingertip, teasing your hole with slow brushes to gather it up. His mouth waters, but he merely takes a taste of you up there again. “I will claim you when we wed, and I will claim you every morning, afternoon, and night after. Amongst our people, amongst my men, so they know you’re mine. Fated as mine. They will watch me fuck your sweet pussy, your tight asshole, and that pretty mouth so they never dare to question our love. I will plug your cunt so you hold my seed and we can grow our family quickly. Oh, sweet one.”

He ruts against your ass, and pushes the tip of his finger against your cunt. You shriek, shuddering already. And he skims his hand down from your fine tits and presses against your cunt through your dress. Rubbing where he’s certain your clit is–yes, yes. You weep around his finger more, gushing wet and letting his finger push in more. More. More. So wet, so warm. Stretching gradually as his gargantuan finger takes you. And takes you. And takes you until your sweet cunt and full down to his knuckle. Ah, just like that. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Feeling your cunt flutter around him, your legs kicking nowhere, your ass pushed back against him. 

A moment. He lets your pussy relax around his thick finger. And with a grin, he sucks a spot onto your neck to mark you clear as day, and then he moves his finger. The slow movements make the squelching quiet, but he hears it. And he can smell your arousal as he wiggles his finger back and forth inside of you, stretching you out and making you tense up and tremble. Your thighs move between parting and closing, and he moans, rutting up against your ass more. The fabric is bared just enough of it for him to get a small glimpse at your soft skin there, the dress draping over his forearm while he pulls his finger out to the fat tip. 

Then he laps at the indentation of his teeth on your neck, and he stuffs his finger back into you. You shout, but as he curls his finger and finds that spongy spot inside of you, it melts into such a pretty sound. Oh, yes. Yes, there you go, pretty thing.

He shifts, shoving his other hand up your skirts. He feels all of you, rubbing at your defenseless clit with rough circles whilst pumping his finger into your sopping wet cunt. You’re practically pulling his finger back in for him, already knowing what fate has in store for the both of you then, yes? Ha. Pretty thing that you are. You like the pleasure then, surely. 

“See?” he coos next to your ear. Your back starts to arch and your cunt flutters. “Told you I would take care of you. Doesn’t this feel good, my betrothed?”

He fucks his finger into you harder. You’re spasming. Close, already. Wow. Perfect. He will be able to wring orgasm after orgasm out of you with how sensitive you are. And he groans at the mere thought–one of many he’s had so often since seeing you. 

“Look at you.” He laughs. You’re thrashing again, but it’s involuntary this time, he knows. He feels it in a harsh spasm on his finger and the sounds you’ve fallen into making are rich and sinful. You’re sobbing still, but your eyes have rolled back. You’re pressing your tits out like you’re just asking him to suck on them and fuck them until your face is painting in his seed. “Ha. Ha. My sweet thing. My betrothed. Yes, prepare for me. Like this. Yes, yes.”

Your whole body jerks as he fingers your sweet cunt. You take it. Falling into a broken shout that is hardly muffled behind that gag. And he doesn’t stop. You’re convulsing around his finger, there, what has to be your first ever orgasm tearing through your sweet self. From your drooling mouth, your heaving tits, arching back, clenching stomach, pulsing cunt, and quivering thighs. Your legs curl up as it reaches you, and the squelching of his finger gets louder. 

You cum with a visceral, beautiful scream.

See? Preparing you! And look at how you handled that! 

He keeps his finger on your clit and fucks you through every clench of your pussy as your orgasm ruins you. Without stopping. One is not enough–no. He will not be stopping when he fucks you, so preparations must continue. He keeps his fingers where they are, still, the wet, obscene sounds breaking out inside his chambers as your whole body tenses up. 

You kick one and writhe, but then you’re there again. So quickly. Spasming. Climaxing.

Gushing over his thick, pistoning finger.

Ah. Only seven days! He prods at your cunt with another gigantic finger.