He can sense the demon observing him. As the silence stretches, Orthax lifts one elongated set of claws and twirls it slowly, conjuring a lone limb of smoke. The tendril extends towards Percy’s middle, nearing his—gods—flushed and painfully hard cock. But Orthax doesn’t touch it, still waiting.
Percy’s mind is abuzz with the aftereffects of pleasure from only moments ago, and he wants. But a part of him remembers that the demon has pushed him to this point for a reason. His pride, great and terrible thing that it is, won’t have him cooperate so easily now. He remains silent in the face of the shadow demon.
Though no expression can really be recognized on Orthax’s monstrous face, Percy senses something like amusement from the gleam in its beady eyes. A chuckle disturbs the empty void between them before tendrils of smoke once more reach out to restrain Percy’s limbs.
This time, a tendril spreads around the base of his head as well, to fix his gaze squarely downward over his own trembling body. His pale skin glistens with sweat, and turns rosy with lust as it nears his belly and cock. But, reaching the middle of his thighs, his flesh vanishes beneath the heavy darkness of tendrils that have wrapped all the up above his knees.
“Gunslinger,” Orthax’s voice rumbles with the same off-putting tone of amusement, “you made your deal with me. My mark is already upon you.”
And with that, licks of smoke approach the pale canvas of his remaining visible skin. One tendril, maddeningly, begins to toy with his cock. Percy’s muscles tense at the sensation. Velvet heat rubs against his oversensitized nerves, and in reaction Percy can see the flesh of his thighs trembling with pleasure. The marginal pain of being restrained, though, has moved Percy away from the edge of bliss he’d been so near before. Hazily, he thinks that he might yet outlast Orthax’s dark plans.
The tendril, then, traces down along the curve where his thigh meets his hip to slide deliberately toward the cleft of his ass. Percy’s gaze widens as the coils around his legs force his knees wide apart, and the tendril lowers to his entrance before pressing inside.
Percy sharply draws in a breath at the intrusion. He’s made to watch as the appendage starts moving… thrusting… pumping into him.
His whole body now shifts with each thrust, and his face burns as his limbs involuntarily sway with the momentum. Percy takes gulping mouthfuls of breath timed with the rhythmic motions.
“You made your deal with me,” Orthax repeats. “You have long been mine to rule.”
Percy is panting now, but his breath pitches up into a high keen when Orthax brings both clawed hands forward and drags the tips slowly, evenly over the thin skin of Percy’s inner thighs. Glowing pink trails follow after the pinpricks of each tip, leaving stark lines curving possessively around his flesh.
“You are mine.” Orthax lumbers closer, the mass of him near enough to Percy that it obscures the claws and tendrils claiming his hips. The demon’s beak slides along Percy’s neck, voice rasping in his ear in some farce of a lover’s whisper. “You are mine.”
Percy, try as he might, can’t gulp down his more vocal sounds any longer—more intense than his panting from before, he’s started letting out broken shouts for the tendril fucking him so completely. He feels Orthax’s claws roving over him; the scores of pain mix with thundering pleasure; he feels feverish, sweltering heat all around him. His leg muscles are beginning to ache with the labor of being spread and locked for so long, but no matter; nothing matters more than letting himself fall, than giving himself to these waves of feeling, than gasping in a breath and clinging desperately to Orthax’s—
A Filthy Lie (Orthax/Percy, NC-17, major dub-con) (4/6)
Percy’s mind is abuzz with the aftereffects of pleasure from only moments ago, and he wants. But a part of him remembers that the demon has pushed him to this point for a reason. His pride, great and terrible thing that it is, won’t have him cooperate so easily now. He remains silent in the face of the shadow demon.
Though no expression can really be recognized on Orthax’s monstrous face, Percy senses something like amusement from the gleam in its beady eyes. A chuckle disturbs the empty void between them before tendrils of smoke once more reach out to restrain Percy’s limbs.
This time, a tendril spreads around the base of his head as well, to fix his gaze squarely downward over his own trembling body. His pale skin glistens with sweat, and turns rosy with lust as it nears his belly and cock. But, reaching the middle of his thighs, his flesh vanishes beneath the heavy darkness of tendrils that have wrapped all the up above his knees.
“Gunslinger,” Orthax’s voice rumbles with the same off-putting tone of amusement, “you made your deal with me. My mark is already upon you.”
And with that, licks of smoke approach the pale canvas of his remaining visible skin. One tendril, maddeningly, begins to toy with his cock. Percy’s muscles tense at the sensation. Velvet heat rubs against his oversensitized nerves, and in reaction Percy can see the flesh of his thighs trembling with pleasure. The marginal pain of being restrained, though, has moved Percy away from the edge of bliss he’d been so near before. Hazily, he thinks that he might yet outlast Orthax’s dark plans.
The tendril, then, traces down along the curve where his thigh meets his hip to slide deliberately toward the cleft of his ass. Percy’s gaze widens as the coils around his legs force his knees wide apart, and the tendril lowers to his entrance before pressing inside.
Percy sharply draws in a breath at the intrusion. He’s made to watch as the appendage starts moving… thrusting… pumping into him.
His whole body now shifts with each thrust, and his face burns as his limbs involuntarily sway with the momentum. Percy takes gulping mouthfuls of breath timed with the rhythmic motions.
“You made your deal with me,” Orthax repeats. “You have long been mine to rule.”
Percy is panting now, but his breath pitches up into a high keen when Orthax brings both clawed hands forward and drags the tips slowly, evenly over the thin skin of Percy’s inner thighs. Glowing pink trails follow after the pinpricks of each tip, leaving stark lines curving possessively around his flesh.
“You are mine.” Orthax lumbers closer, the mass of him near enough to Percy that it obscures the claws and tendrils claiming his hips. The demon’s beak slides along Percy’s neck, voice rasping in his ear in some farce of a lover’s whisper. “You are mine.”
Percy, try as he might, can’t gulp down his more vocal sounds any longer—more intense than his panting from before, he’s started letting out broken shouts for the tendril fucking him so completely. He feels Orthax’s claws roving over him; the scores of pain mix with thundering pleasure; he feels feverish, sweltering heat all around him. His leg muscles are beginning to ache with the labor of being spread and locked for so long, but no matter; nothing matters more than letting himself fall, than giving himself to these waves of feeling, than gasping in a breath and clinging desperately to Orthax’s—
Nothing.