Storytime [Read Only] - Printable Version

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RE: Storytime [Read Only] - SolitareLee - 11-01-2020


The day after 'the incident,' Ren came into work in about half of her uniform. The top half. She considered this a perfect example of a compromise. The fact that the main part of her uniform was a dress did not seem to concern her.

It was almost impressive in the dedication towards impudence it implied; the dress wasn't torn, rather, the seam around the waist had been meticulously unraveled until she could pull the skirt portion clean off. She'd replaced it with the pants she'd been wearing yesterday, because she was not in possession of a large number of pants. They hadn't given her any; she just had the ones she'd come in with.

Other people got to wear pants. Uniform pants, even. Not her. She'd been religated to the realm of skirts, and she hated it. What had happened the day before, and the fact she limped when she walked, were perfect examples as to why.

"What," Gareth said, the second he saw her. "Just. What."

"S'a compromise," Ren replied, fully exasperated already. It was very obviously a compromise. He'd probably never heard of them.

"I gave you one request. Wear your uniform."

"Y'gave me a lot o' requests!"

"Did you do any of them?"

"Yea--" Ren paused to squint into the middle distance. She'd compromised on most of them. "I think I proly hit about 65%, all told?" She considered this admission a grand gesture, as she could have just lied. She'd had a little pep talk with the rats about not getting into other people's things, although she had certainly not limited them to her room or forbidden them from the kitchen. They had to eat, and sure as fuck no one was giving her enough to feed them. She could have kept a smaller group, and might have under different circumstances. But despite Gareth's dick-based overtures, she was still a prisoner with limited foods and two managers who ranged between hostile and disinterested. And no one to talk to. She did have some social needs, and if she wasn't going to get them from people, she'd need to at least have enough of a hive of rats to keep from going the rest of the way insane.

"Look," she said with a sigh at the expression he was making, which was very unimpressed with her 65%, no matter how far up it was from her previous 2%. "We both win. I'm technically wearnin' at least most o' th' uniform, an' also I'm wearin' pants. Look," she gestured downwards. "I'm even wearin' th' dumb-ass shoes. I hate these shoes." They were only one step up from heels in terms of impracticality in a workshop. "But I'm wearin' 'em."

"Did you tear the seam? It was just really important to you that I be able to clearly see the shape of your ass, huh."

That snapped Ren out of her tentative positive attitude. "OY! Watch where yer eyes're at!" she snapped. "This is workplace harassment, again!" There were probably other words for it, worse words, since he was technically her prison warden, but workplace harassment felt appropriately severe without being damning.

"I said 'able.' The option is there. That doesn't mean I'm taking it."

"Well... good," she said, shifting. It hurt to do so. She refused to wince. "Y'keep takin' the high road, boss, 'cause that ass is off limits. Two people asked me about th' damn limp. Been tellin' everyone there was a 'workplace accident.'" Her fingers curled quotations around the words, just in case the sarcasm dripping from her voice wasn't enough. "Yeah, there was an accident alright," she grumbled. "Y'tripped and fell into my ass."

She shoved past him, for a very limited definition of the word, but it sounded better than 'shimmied past,' and headed to her new work station. This one had not yet been set on fire, but it was probably only a matter of time.

"I agreed not to put anything in it," Gareth pointed out. "I could still spank you if you misbehave."

Ren went rigid in the middle of trying to figure out how to kneel on her stool, since sitting was out of the question, regardless of the presence of a cushion. "Oy!" she snapped. "Y'see this? I can't even fuckin' sit! I'm gonna hafta kneel on the damn stool! Keep yer hands to yer fuckin' self!" Her ass was still one giant fucking bruise from yesterday. He'd belted her, for fuck's sake.

"So I guess you'd better be good, then."

Ren leveled Gareth and his stupid handsome too-high-up dumb smug face with a glare that could have melted steel. It didn't seem to have much effect.

However, that day he'd just sort of laid out what she needed to do, and left some basic instructions--which she didn't even try to read, the font was so small--nearby. He was clearly trying to keep his hovering to a minimum. It was still irritating and intrusive, but as long as he wasn't talking at her, it could be considered almost manageable working conditions. It was too quiet. Every little noise seemed loud because of it, and they all distracted her. Work was slow and boring and frustrating as she took the machine apart to figure out what it was and attempt to decipher what was wrong with it. She certainly wouldn't be asking. The diagrams in the illegible notes were of considerable help, once she got around to realizing there was more than just words on the pages.

All in all, it was the single most peaceful day Gareth'd had since he'd been assigned her, she was certain. She didn't get a lot done; she'd mostly just disassembled whatever they'd given her, but nothing was on fire and the rats were mostly quiet. No one could possibly complain, she was sure.

---

The tentative, fragile, spun-glass peace lasted up just before lunch the next day, when Gareth spotted a rat dragging an entire still-wrapped sandwich along the floor to Ren's work desk. She reached down, not looking, and the rat placed it, with some difficulty, directly into her hand.

"Literally all you had to do was ask for a goddamn sandwich," Gareth exclaimed, exasperated. How hard could it be for her to use her words?! She had plenty of them! He'd heard many!

"My meals're rationed. Also, I'm workin'." She still didn't look up from whatever the hell she was doing to that poor glider she was supposed to be repairing, managing to unwrap the sandwich one-handed and take a bite.

Gareth let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you trying to get spanked again. Is that what this is."

There was a loud clank as her screwdriver hit something probably sensitive inside the glider. "OY! If you cause an explosion, I'm not takin' responsibility! I didn't break yer damn kitchen rule, this is Colin's sandwich." Colin fucking deserved it. Even Gareth had to know that. He was a prick, and Ren didn't appreciate his immediate decision on just how little she'd get to eat.

Gareth gave her a look, which she pointedly ignored.

"Come here," he said, and she worked to ignore the tone of his voice and any effect it had on her.

"I'm workin'."

"Stop what you're doing, and come here."

She paused, glancing over. Both his tone and expression fully registered, and the next thing she had to ignore was the shiver down her spine. "...I feel like it might be in my best interest not to."

"I feel like the alternative is that I come and get you, and I feel like you'll like that even less."

Ren paused to weigh her options. She was beginning to learn that, unfortunately, he absolutely was not bluffing about his willingness to do her violent, sexual harm. He wasn't really showing the guilt over sexually assaulting her that she'd assumed he would, possibly because she'd orgasmed at least twice. It was also possible that, as a succubus, he could either tell she was into it or just didn't have the moral qualms that kept other people from sticking their dicks randomly into other people's asses.

Either way, her ass was basically one big bruise, she couldn't walk, and she didn't even want to think about how much it would hurt if he went in for round two. She sighed, and began the arduous process of unfolding herself from her stool. "This is under protest," she informed him, wincing as she straightened, and more as she wobbled over to him. Her difficulty walking did not appear to have the desired effect of garnering sympathy. No surprise; as if he could ever feel sympathetic towards her.

Gareth turned his chair a bit more to face her, but otherwise remained sitting as she approached. It helped them be a little bit more at eye level, given how comically larger than her he was. However, once she got close enough, he just. Reached out and picked her up. She flinched away, expecting a blow the second his arms moved, but he grabbed her waist with both hands—they got way too far around her waist, why was he so big and why was she so small—and lifted her off the ground.

This actually helped, in that it took tension off her sore ass, but her flailing undid any usefulness for her.

"This is highly unnecessary!" she… yelped, although she'd never willingly describe it that way.

Still smiling that stupid cheerful professional smile of his, he laid her down over his lap in a horribly familiar position, bent over his knee.

"Wait no no no I still can't even sit," she wailed, gripping wildly at his trouser leg and contemplating tearing. He ran his hand over her ass, easy enough to do in her pants that she was wishing she'd just worn them under the stupid fucking skirt. It was gentle, but it still made her jolt in his lap, fear and something else. "Goddamnit," she swore. "I've been an angel." The insult was unintended this time.

"Are you going to do what you're told?" Gareth asked, hand still on her ass.

There was doubtlessly a correct answer to this. There was also, however, the truth. "Tha' depends entirely on wha' I'm told," she informed him, willing him to understand the difficulty in working under these circumstances… Prison, she meant, not folded over his knee, although if anything that made it more difficult.

In response, he patted her butt, not striking it by any stretch of the imagination, but she was sore and tense and she jolted anyway. "Well, if y'want me to lie," she snapped. She was more than capable of it, and it did seem to make everything easier, but she wanted… She didn't know what she wanted, but it involved not having to lie about everything to everyone, and still being listened to.

Stupid.

"I want you to do what you're told," Gareth informed her.

"Then tell me t'do things I'm willin' t'do!"

The pat was more of a tap now, enough to make her flinch and ache. "That's not how this works."

Her fingers clenched more into his pants, threatening tears with her jagged fingernails, but managing to hold herself back.

"I'm pretty sure this ain't how it works, either!" she snapped back, clearly incapable of anything resembling good sense. "Spankin' wasn't in th' worker's handbook I got!" She hadn't really gotten a handbook, but she had been informed, and while she'd stopped paying attention after a while, she was extremely certain she would have caught any mention of spanking or sodomy.

"And stubborn little bitches weren't in mine," Gareth said dryly, "but we're improvising."

There were rats in the room, and she could bend enough to each his arm, and also his leg was right there and only covered with trousers. There were a lot of options for violence, and she was considering each one in turn, in great detail. "Th' only reason I ain't bitin' y'right now is self-preservation instincts, I need y' t'know tha'." She could. She wanted to. She wasn't. It was an unfamiliar feeling. She hated it.

"Good! That means you're learning!"

It was incredibly difficult.

"Yer an asshole and I hate you."

"Get back to work," he said with a sigh, picking her up off his knee only to set her down in his lap. "And stop with the sass, or I'll find somewhere better for you to kneel."

She flushed. She was clearly meant to stand up now, and wobble back to her work station, but his hands were still loosely around her waist. In his lap, basically straddling one leg, was not a super comfortable place to sit, but neither was anywhere else. He was warm between her legs, and his hands loosely around her waist, not holding, but still… there…

"I was workin' in th' first place!" she argued, rather than standing up. "Yer the one who stopped me!"

"You were talking shit." It always startled her when he swore, but in a good way. It sounded better. "And making a show of disobedience."

"I'm always talkin' shit," she muttered.

"You also weren't doing the job you were assigned." She opened her mouth to protest. "I know what those repairs are supposed to look like."

Oh, good for him. She fucking didn't. She hadn't even been clear that what she was doing was supposed to be repairs up until that exact moment. Admitting that would admit things she didn't want to, however.

"I'm improvin' them," she said, which was technically true. She'd noticed a lot of places where it was inefficient, and at least one of them was probably actually the break she was meant to be fixing. It would surely be fixed in the process, because at the end of the day, it would function. What more could anyone ask?

"You didn't ask first. Unimprove them and then fix them the way you were asked."

She balked at this, for several reasons. One was that she wasn't sure she remembered everything she'd done, enough to un-do them without breaking it even worse. Another was that she wasn't sure what it was supposed to be like. If she studied the diagrams for a while and maybe combined them in her own way, or was actually given access to a functional version to look at, she could possibly reverse-engineer what they wanted… But it all sounded awful and tedious and horribly unnecessary, and an awful lot like 'punishment' for not 'asking first.' Which she hadn't known she was supposed to do and would never do anyway. The whole thing was brutally unfair, and her urge for violence was rising rapidly in ways that sitting in her boss's lap could not halt.

"If I have to stop an' ask first every single time I wanna do anythin', I'll forget what I was doin' in th' first place!" she complained, which was a very real complaint that wasn't just 'I hate asking anyone for anything, they always say no and they're always mean about it and you'll just find away to insult me in the process because you're always doing that and I hate it and one of these days I'm going to cry and you probably won't even feel bad you'll just laugh and that's why I won't actually, fuck you.' It also wasn't anything about her unique work process, because she'd already tried to explain that several times within the first week and he'd just repeated over and over that here she needed to do things their way because there were regulations so it was pointless. It was all pointless, any conversation they could possibly fucking have was just—

"If they're that forgettable, they aren't very good," Gareth said, snapping her out of her mind-spiral.

"You lil shit," she snarled back immediately.
Insult her, hadn't she just thought? She tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the pang of genuine hurt in her chest, and focused on the sting to her pride. She was good, she knew she was, he was just an asshole, that was all.

"There's nothing little about me," he reminded her, as if she needed the reminder when she was still aching, still straddling his leg, his too-big hands still resting around her waist.

"Yer right!" she exclaimed, her temper overflowing and her voice rising. They were about five seconds from rat-adjacent violence. "Yer a ginormous shit! Yer th' biggest shit I ever fuckin' saw!"

"You're really angling for a mouth full of dick, aren't you."

She was worked up into enough of a tear that this didn't even slow her down. She'd process it later. "I ain't anglin' for anything' but you lettin' me make these lame-ass regulation"—this she said in a mockery of the way he said it—"gliders into somethin' useful that work!"

"They're already useful. Or would be, if they were repaired. Like they should have been a week ago." His grip was tightening slightly on her waist, as if predicting where her rise in temper was heading.

"I dunno, maybe if I could fuckin' sit right, I'd be workin' faster!" she snapped. "Besides, if y'want 'em repaired faster, th' best thing t'do is let me finish doin' it my way, 'cause at this point it'd take me at least three days t' safely rip all th' bits out an' put 'em back t'gether." And to figure out how he wanted it built in the first place with nothing to go off but some pictures and her own vague memories of a broken unit.

"Before I ruined your ass, you weren't working at all," he pointed out.

"I was workin' a lil," she protested. "...But it's true tha' my projected time t'completion has taken a sharp improvement," she admitted sourly. She was actually able to focus a little today, for one. Not right, not properly, it was too quiet and too loud and she kept getting distracted by the pain in both her ass and her growling stomach, which was starting to make her a bit nauseous as well. She was used to going a while without food, compared to most people. But if it got this bad, normally she'd be able to stop whatever she was doing and go dig through the trash or steal something. All she could do here was wait for her pittance at the allotted hours.

"Progress that'll surely be loss if y'jus' make me wreck it again an' then 'fix' it th' borin' way." She glared over at the three-quarters finished glider. She hadn't been proud of her work, per se, but she'd at least been of the opinion it was good. Unimpeachable, even. She'd thought she was on the long path to maybe some well-deserved praise, instead of… this. Always this. "It's not even really fixin'," she complained. "It's jus' makin' 'em slightly less broken. If you'd jus' let me—"

"Your job," Gareth reminded her, "is to return them to the condition they were in before they broke."

"That's boring."

"It's your job."

"It's b o r i n g," she emphasized slowly. "An' a waste of my considerable talents."

"Then it should have been easy. You could have been done by now, to move on to different things."

If he'd told her any of this at the fucking outset, maybe, instead of just given her what she now realized had probably been written instructions. Even then, though, it would have been tedious and hard to figure out. She doubted she would have been able to focus on something like that, distracted as she was. It was only because she'd found a small way to make interesting that she'd been able to push through at all.

"Differen' borin' things," she said, instead of any of that. "Besides. I saw an opportunity fer improvement! Makin' it work better is th' same as fixin'—"

"It's not. Why would I give you more difficult and interesting tasks when you haven't even proven yourself capable of performing basictasks?"

She wanted to cry. She wanted to hit him. She would only be doing one of them, because she would rather die or be tortured with his stupid giant demon dick than admit that hurt.

"You know I can do them!" She definitely didn't wail. There was no wailing quality to her voice whatsoever. "Yer th' one always talkin' about how smart I am! So smart in fact, it makes me a menace!" Why did he only say something good about her when he was using it to hurt her?

"Yes. Because you can't help doing whatever you feel like, whenever you feel like it."

That was the natural state of life. What was he fucking talking about. "You say good things, but yer tone always tells me yer sayin' it as a bad thing." He did this often, like when he called her a smart but really meant dangerous. "Also, I would like t' point out tha', on th' subject of people doin' whatever they feel like, whenever they feel like it, you've been holdin' me in yer lap this whole conversation, an' I am noticin' yer hand startin' to inch up." Normally, she wouldn't point it out, letting him grope her with some plausible deniability for both of them, but she was upset.

"This isn't doing whatever I feel like."

"Oh, righ', this is definitely under protest. An' if I do this—" She scooted backwards on his lap, even though it hurt, ignoring the way his thigh felt sliding between her legs. Her own thigh hit between his legs, not hard, but enough that she could feel the not-even-slightly hidden bulge between his legs against her thigh. "I can actually feel yer protest jabbin' me."

"If I were actually doing whatever I felt like, you'd be trying to scream." His voice dropped, quieter and lower and just a little gravely. Not quite a growl, but implying.

"Tryin'?" She was confused and alarmed by the way he was saying something horribly threatening in a tone of voice that made her insides twist.

"Yes. But some of us have self-control."

What would he be doing, that she'd be trying to scream, the implication being she wouldn't be able to? Was he implying torture, or sex, or some confusing in-between place that he seemed aware of that was still a mystery to her?

"Would you like to do what you're told now," his fingers were tighter against her waist and it felt like he was barely resisting the urge to pull her back, to grind her against him, and even though it would hurt she kind of didn't want him to have self-control, "or would we like a lesson in the consequences of doing whatever we want?"

She kind of did. She kind of didn't. She was curious. She was scared.

"...Is 'what I'm told' spendin' a buncha time re-breakin' this jus' so I can fix only th' parts I'm supposed to?"

"That, or you finish this, and then build an entirely new glider from scratch according to spec in order to replace the one you just turned into a pet project."

Hm.

That might be easier, actually.

Well, not easier, it would objectively take way longer and didn't entirely remove her diagram issue. But if he gave her construction diagrams and not repair diagrams, that might be more helpful? Maybe. It all sounded very boring and a terrible waste of time and while she could probably focus enough to finish this—maybe even today—she wasn't confident about her ability to construct a functioning glider using only their techniques… techniques she was unfamiliar with and seemed slow and pointless and frankly kind of stupid? She'd probably get frustrated and break it, and then they'd be back at square one.

"That' sounds borin' too. Is there an option where I jus' finish this, and y'see how much better it is, an' then that can be the new regulation an' I can jus' do 'em this way from now on?"

"Nope."

"Ugh! Fine! Borin' fuckin' asshole," she grumbled. She'd finish it, then, and try her best at building a new broken glider. It'd be like a jigsaw puzzle, maybe. Maybe if she thought of it like that. Maybe she could ask for a functional one to look at, too, if she was supposed to be building one from scratch. That could be seen as a reasonable request, right?

Gareth picked her up off his lap, rather than slide her slowly against his leg the way they both might have preferred, and sent her daintily on the ground. He did, however, give her ass a pat after he did so, making her jump, which hurt.

"Yer so dull!" Despite the fact he kept grabbing at her ass. "Y'coulda been like, fine, y'can do yer thing, but y'have to blow me, an' then we both woulda gotten what we wanted!" She straightened the upper half of her uniform over her pants. It didn't fall quite right due to the torn-off nature of the seam. "But noooooo." She turned around to face him, hands on her hips. "Now y'gotta run around with an erection that's real obvious in those pants by th' way." She pointed down at it. Looking wasn't helping.

"It's cute," Gareth said, leaning an elbow against his desk and his chin against his fist, "how you think you'd be an active party, and not just struggling while I fuck your throat."

Ren's throat went all dry and her face went all red and her insides went all twisty.

Oh. So, uh, maybe that was. What he'd meant. About trying to scream.

She cleared her throat, trying to pretend she wasn't probably visibly blushing. "W. Well, wha'ever, my point remains."

"At that point," Gareth continued gamely, ignoring her, "you wouldn't be able to get any work done until tomorrow again assuming you didn't need a sick day, so this is more efficient."

"H-how in th' sky would that prevent me from workin' all day?" she asked, despite any better judgment she might have had.

"I'd be at it for a good long while."

She stared for a moment, eyes glancing between the smug look on his face and, regrettably, the visible bulge in his trousers. She considered the size of her mouth and throat versus how huge he'd felt splitting her open the day before. She considered it in great detail, before clearing her throat again and rubbing at her nose, which did literally nothing to hide how red she was. She muttered something grumpy and incoherent and limped quickly back to her work space, shoulders tight with nerves.

---

She'd known focus would be an issue.

It had been an issue even more he'd inserted his dick into the situation—pun absolutely intended—and given her yet another thing to think about instead of where her hands were and what she needed to be doing. This was bad, as she was working on moving the fuel compartment into a much better location, weight-distribution wise, and it was not empty because she probably wasn't even mean to get close to the fuel, and anyway she was distracted and it got all over her hands and this uniform didn't come with practical gloves.

She maybe set herself on fire, a little. And also the table underneath the glider.

She let out a startled shriek when it happened, not realizing her hands had a fine layer of fuel on them, used to wearing her own protective gloves and shocked when the fire was burning and not just startling.

Gareth was on her before she could even register any pain, smothering the fire in a blanket he must have had at the ready for how fast he was with it. He wrapped it around her hands, tightly, inadvertently binding them together in the process, and only then turned his attention to the fire on the desk, shoving the glider out of the way and then smothering it as well.

"Is it really! So difficult! Not to burn things!" he exclaimed through clenched teeth, his attention returning to her bundled hands. He knelt down onto the ground in front of her so he could reach better. Because of how she was kneeling on the stool, it actually put him a little bit below her. She could see his horns very well. They were really pretty from this angle, and so was his hair, actually, she hadn't realized how long it actually was when he kept it pulled back and she was looking from so low, but—

"How did you even start a fire while working on a fucking glider—"

Oh he was still yelling at her.

"It was an accident!" she protested quickly, all too aware of the threats that had been made vis-a-vis workplace accidents. Despite her earlier interest, she didn't want to get fucked as punishment again, when she'd been trying so hard to be right. "I was distracted!"

"By what, exactly."

Ren swallowed. Which was what she'd been thinking about so intently that she hadn't noticed the smell of fuel. Which she definitely couldn't fucking say. "Uh. ...Thoughts."

"About what, though," her kneeling boss asked, frowning. He'd unwrapped her hands and was examining them, carefully. His hand were very warm, and rough. His nails looked like they'd been meticulously filed down. Maybe they should have been claws. "Is it important?" His frown deepened, and he looked up at her, black eyes on hers. "Is something wrong?"

Lots of things were wrong, all the time. What a stupid question. What a dumb pose. This was so dumb, haha, she needed to throw herself out a window to get away from how silly it all was. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She cleared her throat again.

"I." Her voice cracked a little. "Uh." God. Help. "I plead the fifth again?" It was definitely all very incriminating.

Something in her face or her voice must have given her away, because his expression faded from concern to something resembling slyness.

"Were you trying to figure out if your throat can accommodate enough dick for me to rest my balls on your chin?"

Her whole body twitched, and if she hadn't been red before, she was now.

"N-No!!"

"Because the answer is no," he said, smiling again.

She yanked her hands out from his, rubbing them together nervously. "F-fuck off!"

"You're not hurt, somehow. Get back to work and stop thinking about my cock."

"I wasn't even!" she protested, glaring away towards a wall, her hands laced together anxiously.

"You're a terrible liar," he observed, and she flushed darker, glared more. "I bet you touched yourself in your room after work, thinking about how much you loved it when I fucked you up the ass."

Her whole body spasmed, the stool rocking dangerously. Gareth grabbed a hold of it to keep her from falling over entirely.

How could he just!! Say things!! Like that!! Like they were normal things to say out loud!!!

"Is that why you can't sit still; are you wiggling around so it hurts nice?"

She was definitely going to combust or kill him, and combusting hadn't worked. She all but threw herself at him, thinking she could take advantage of the way he was down on his knees to knock him over. Instead, he caught her, as secure on one knee as he seemed to be standing, if not more so.

"So forward!"

"I'm gonna kick yer ass!" she yelled, still bright red. "Hol' still!" Her flailing was very violent, but not altogether useful. It only increased in volume when he stood up, but he held her out at arm's length, and she couldn't reach him and this was deeply humiliating.

"I'm sure you are," he said, and then he turned her around as he brought her in close, pressing her back against his chest. Her wiggling was now much more problematic, as it was essentially rubbing. Furiously, she bit at his arm, genuinely trying to do some kind of bodily harm. He growled, and she felt his dick rub against her ass, through his pants and hers.

She stiffened up, briefly stilling, then began to flail even more, trying to kick at his legs. "You stop that!"

"You like the way that hurts, don't you?" He thrust up against her again, sliding between her cheeks, as if for emphasis.

"You shut up!" She kicked at him more, managing to land a blow to something. His knee, maybe.

"You know, if you're good, I'll be nice and let you lick it."

Her whole body shivered again, hopefully unrecognizable in the midst of all the flailing. "You wish!" she yelled. "You fuckin' pervert!"

"Don't lie. I saw the cute way you were blushing." She blushed more, both at the accusation of blushing and, worse, of being cute. He'd said he was cute in her uniform, too. She was certain he was just saying it to fuck with her, or to insult her or something. It wasn't true. "You keep biting, though!" he observed as she attempted to chew through his sleeve and into his flesh. "Maybe I should tie you up again and just rub it on your face."

Oh god, that was so hot. No! Focus! Grievous bodily harm! Violence and anger! "G-getcher paws offa me! I'll show you bitin'!" she snarled, then bit down as hard as she could on his arm.

One arm still around her chest to push her back against him, he reached down to cup between her legs. His hand was hot and her pants weren't really that thick, and he thrust against her ass again, leaned down to bite her shoulder. She could feel the sharp points of his teeth through her shirt.

She made an incomprehensible noise, loud with the force of her yelling but not really yelling. She went stiff, and then kind of limp, trying not to squirm against his cock or his hand or his teeth. She wanted to grind against his hand the way he was grinding against her ass. She wanted—

"If I get into these pants of yours, how wet are you going to be from thining about getting your face fucked?"

"F-fuck off," she said, although it lacked the force of her previous curses when all she could think about was how good his hands had felt against her the first time.

"So, soaked, then."

She was speechless, for once, uncertain of what to say other than more swearing, not sure how to get out of the situation and less sure that she wanted to.

He rubbed hard through her pants, and she bit her lip not to moan. "You want to be good and get on your knees for me?"

Visions of him above her, of finally seeing what he'd wrecked her with before, of him rubbing up against her face like he'd said, all danced through her head.

If she got to the point where he could actually feel her wetness through her pants, she would literally die on the spot.

"I have never been good a day in my life an' you fuckin' know it."

She could feel his smile, with his lips pressed against her ear. His hand slipped back and forth between her legs. "I bet you'd be real good at kneeling at my feet, if you tried it." Her mouth fell open just a little, from shock and definitely not withheld moans, at all. "You can wait there with that big mouth of ours wide open so I can fuck it at my leisure."

She snapped her mouth shut, terrified that he'd seen, somehow. She was imagining it, though. She couldn't stop. Could it even fucking fit? She shouldn't be thinking about this!

"You are th' absolute worst boss."

"But what does that make you, when you're so wet I can feel it through these tight pants you insist on wearing?"

Nooooooo, please let that be an exaggeration and not true. She couldn't tell. Everything felt kind of sticky.

"A… victim of circumstance?" Her voice squeaked.

"I think it makes you a fucktoy who knows what she really wants." Gareth's voice was a filthy purr against her ear. She bit down on her moan halfway through, turning it into a groan that could have almost been a protest. He rubbed harder against her, and she couldn't help rubbing back, stifling a louder moan. "Aw, look at my cute little fucktoy squirm. You miss being full of dick; I can tell!"

Her breath was coming in pants now, which she was trying to ignore. The pressure felt so good, and she really wanted him to slide his hands into her pants. She tried and failed miserably to pretend she wasn't writhing against his hand. "Nnnn. Ah. F-fuck you," she panted

As if he could read her thoughts, he slid his hand up, and then into the waistband of her pants, and down. She jolted towards his touch, finding his hand with her clit before he could even finish reaching down. She moaned louder, unmistakable.

"You have to beg better than that. Otherwise, I'll just keep making you wiggle around for me like the cockhungry little toy you are."

She was practically incoherent, so she had no idea how he expected her to do that, even if she would have been willing to, which she strongly was not. "F-fuck, fuckin' hell, fuck, shit, fuck," she rambled, just rubbing herself against his hand, the pads of his fingers pressing against her just right. They were so much larger than her own tiny digits when she pressed there—which wasn't often to begin with, when she so frequently had better things to be doing—rough and calloused and she thought she maybe wanted them more than anything right then.

He slid his hand out of her pants, and her cry was one of distress. "Use your words and tell me what you want," he instructed her.

He knew what she want! He was a fucking succubus! And he was narrating it! Things sounded way better when he said them, anyway! If she said anything, it would just sound dumb!

"Yer an asshole!" she complained instead, catching his hand with hers so it couldn't escape further, though she also couldn't pull it closer to where she wanted it.

"Hm. That doesn't sound like 'please fill me with your dick so I can fulfill my purpose as your own personal fucktoy' to me."

She shook again, a full-body tremble that raced through her. "I. I, I." That would have sound terrible if she'd said it, even if she could, which she couldn't.

"Get on your knees properly and I'll let you earn it with your mouth a different way."

She couldn't. There was no way she could.

"...F-fine, okay."

Alright, so maybe she could, apparently.

He set her down, but on her feet. She stayed there for a moment, shaking against him. She could feel his erection poking her in the back. Was she seriously about to…?

This felt different than just antagonizing him until he fucked her, again and harder. This was something strange. Turning around meant she wanted to see him. Kneeling down meant a lot of things. Submission and implied hunger and…

She did want him, she was realizing. It was terrible and awful and she would berate herself for it later, for the implied weakness of desiring someone who hurt her so much.

But this kind of hurt was different. It didn't make her chest hurt. It made it feel something else entirely, something still kind of painful, like straining against her rib cage.

But she wanted it. She wanted so many things and couldn't have any of them and this thing she could maybe have, if she just turned around and knelt down.

She turned, haltingly, and slowly started to kneel. Her knees hadn't even touched ground before she was wincing. Straightening up, bright red, she grabbed the pillow off her stool and put that under her knees as she knelt down. She was sore and her knees were all bone and the stone floor was hardly soft.

She was shaking, and he didn't seem to mind, if he noticed at all. He always looked huge, but now he looked huge, looming above her like a threat. Her eyes were just at dick level and she could see the outline of it as it pressed insistently at his pants. She kind of wanted to touch it, kind of wanted to lick against that outline, but she was frozen still, fists tightly clenched, in terror and shock and disbelief at what her body was doing and her mind was thinking.

His hands went to his belt and her trembling only increased, nerves tightening. He undid it so casually, and then his fly, and he was pulling it out and

There was no way that was going to fit in her mouth!

Or anywhere! How in God's name had it gone up her ass?!

Her mouth had dropped open slightly in pure shock as she stared at too much hard, red skin in front of her.

"Open wider, cutie," he said, and the nickname somehow embarrassed her further, as if that was the thing to focus on in this situation. "I don't think I can make the whole thing fit the way I did with your ass, but we can try."

Bright red and terrified and more turned on than she'd possibly ever been in her entire life, she opened her jaw as wide as she could, worried it still wouldn't be enough. He would definitely stop if he dislocated her jaw, right?

"See, I knew you could be a good girl if you put your mind to it."

The tip pushed into her mouth, stretching her lips as she opened her jaw as wide as she physically could, trying to avoid any tooth-on-cock contact. She had enough experience to know that at least. He put his hand on top of her head, not quite tangling into her hair, not yet, but it was so warm and it felt so good and she moaned a little around him. He thrust in just the smallest amount, the tip of his cock shoving against her tongue.

He looked. So, so good. Above her like that, the hugeness of him felt exaggerated, as if it needed it. She felt tiny, a sensation helped along by the way he was stretching her jaw as wide as it could go. He slipped further into her, against the entrance of her throat, and she gagged immediately. He laughed, and she flushed darker, as if embarrassed by her own perceived lack of skill. As if this was something she'd ever spent much time practicing! Oh, sure, she'd done this more than anything else in the category, but still! None of them had been eight foot tall half-demons! Half-succubi! That felt important!

"Open up your throat," he instructed. "Like you're yawning." He thrust his cock against the inside of her cheek, bulging it outwards, making her strain not to let him hit tooth. He did this for a while, his hand sliding down from her head, cupping her face. His thumb traced the outline of his cock through her cheek. It still felt affectionate. She would have melted for that feeling, for being attractive, for being desirable, for being wanted.

He pushed back against her throat and this time she tried to yawn, struggled against her own gag reflex, trying not to tremble. She felt every centimeter as the head of his cock pushed down her throat, stretching it painfully.

She was hardly screaming, or trying to. All she was trying to do was breathe.

"Through your nose," he instructed, as if he could tell her difficulties. "It's a bit hard, but if you focus, you can still breathe through your nose."

She struggled to do so and still keep her throat open, that yawning sensation while trying to suck in air. It was extremely difficult, but she tried. Then she started to gag, and it clenched and spasmed her throat around him which just made it feel worse, and she gagged harder, and she could feel a retch coming and was terrified that she might throw up what little sandwich she'd managed to eat, although vomiting was generally a rare occurrence for her.

He pulled out entirely, and she gasped for breath and stability, her jaw aching. Before she could recover, he rubbed his dick against her face, smearing her with saliva.

It was so ludicrously huge. How was she expected to fit that down her throat?

"You're so cute when you're struggling to take my dick," he told her, and she shivered, flushed and still a little confused and a little scared. It felt like she couldn't think straight. Couldn't do anything other than kneel there and try to take it.

She wanted him to call her cute more. She wanted him to say other nice things about her while he worked his cock down her throat. She wanted to struggle and fight and suffer and for him to ignore it, cooing praise while he destroyed her.

These were all very confusing thoughts, and she had no idea what to do with any of them.

Tentatively, she stuck out her tongue, twisting her face just so that when he thrust against her, he'd thrust against her tongue, trailing saliva down his length. His grip on her head shifted to push her against his dick, growling a little as her mouth opened against him. He thrust lengthwise against her lips and tongue and he tasted like salt and heat and pleasure.

He moved her head to be straight again, hands gripping into her hair a bit, and pushed back into her mouth. She couldn't move back away from him because of his hand in the back of her hair. He just shoved into her, slowly, inevitably, right back to her throat and then in while she struggled not to choke. Her eyes started to water a bit as he began to thrust, just a few inches into her throat.

He thrust harder, almost experimentally, shoving his cock further down her throat, and her cry of protest was utterly muffled.

"All you have to do is hold still and take it," he said, his tone teasing. "I know you're terrible at holding still. Look at your squirm. How happy are you to be my cocksleeve, finally? I'm sure you've been thinking about it all day. No wonder you couldn't focus on work."

She whimpered around him, and gave up on dignity, sliding her own hand down her pants to find that she was, in fact, soaked with her own arousal. So much so she could barely find any friction against her clit, which so hard it practically throbbed. She tried to rub against the ball of her hand, trying to mimic things he'd done to her.

"Aw, look at you. You're so happy to finally get your mouth used right, you can't even control yourself!" She couldn't. She apparently didn't have the self-control he talked about to begin with, and had lost whatever sense she'd had in the first place. "You just love the taste of my cock so much, don't you! It's all you want to eat. What a good little fucktoy you are, trying so hard to take it when you're so small and my dick's so big."

She moaned around him, halfway to a whimper. How did he make horrible things sound good? She wanted to strain against him, wished he could fuck her face harder, make her scream the way he'd promised. She might die of humiliation but at least it would feel great on the way out.

"You couldn't even talk even if I wasn't filling your mouth, could you? I'm just fucking all the smarts out of that pretty little head; there's no room for brains, just my cock."

Her moan was louder this time, desperate, as she shoved fingers into herself in an attempt for stimulation. She was so aroused she couldn't think—wasn't that what he was saying?—all she wanted was relief, release—

"All that genius and what are you best for? Being my cute little cocksleeve."

She jolted against her hand and struggled to get his cock deeper and wished she could speak so she could beg him to say it again. To call her a genius, to call her mind brilliant as he fucked her clear out of it. She wanted it harder, rougher, hurting more, counteracting with those sweet and disgusting words. She was trying to beg, but she couldn't form words around his length, could barely move at all other than to grind desperately against her own hands.

"Are you trying to tell me how much you love my cock? I can tell. Your mouth is so much better like this, you know; your voice is beautiful when it's strained around dick. Cute little mouth on a cute little thing, finally finding what it's good for."

She cried out around his cock, eyes watering and jaw straining not to clench as she came, bucking violently against her own hand.

He pulled out of her mouth and she coughed, then panted, face burning. She was still too far out of her mind to think, to speak, just like he'd said. All her brilliance gone, just thinking about how hot he was and how good he felt against her and how much better an orgasm she could have had if it had been his hands and not hers.

He picked her up, to her shock, lifting her up off her knees and off the ground, and then used one hand to yank her pants down, revealing the way she was dripping down the insides of her thighs. She had just come, sure, but she wanted him to do it, and had no complaints when he pulled her closely and slid between her thighs. Or, more accurately, lowered her thighs down around his cock. It felt better sliding between her legs than his knee had.

"What do you think?" he mused. "Can we make it fit?"

She sincerely doubted it, but was willing to give it the good ol' college try. "I-if you go slow," she suggested, face burning and voice quiet and hoarse, almost shy. "And I remember not t' yank on yer horns."

He seemed delighted by that, although she didn't know why or which part. "You go ahead and hold on again and I'll go nice and slow."

She didn't necessarily want him to go nice and slow, but she definitely needed him to. She reached up nervously, gripping onto his horns where they wrapped down around his ears. It stretched the remnants of her uniform up, revealing her thin stomach.

Why was this so much more embarrassing when she was facing him?!

She just looked down so she didn't have to look up, watching as he angled his cock up, pressing the head against her. Her eyes widened as she felt nothing but stretching, watching in shock as it slowly began to, somehow, slide into her. The sensation was overwhelming, but when she squirmed, all it did was make him slide in faster as her come dripped down his length.

"Oh!" she whimpered as he speared her open. "Fuck! Why does it feel bigger now that I know how big it is!" Now that she could look down and see it, see how much there was length, watch it, impossibly, disappearing into her.

"You're just so nice and tight," he purred, leaning down closer, making her support more of her weight on her arms or risk sliding roughly down onto him. "You're the best little fucktoy a monster could ask for."

"Nnngh!" she cried out, shuddering around him, knowing he could feel now the things his words were doing to her, the way she clenched around him. "Y-yer a shitty monster, all rules 'n' order an' makin' me do embarrassin' stuff," she protested. Shouldn't he dislike being considered a monster? She didn't think of him that way; she didn't think she did.

He thrust into her and she cried out, arching against him. "You're going to get fucked in half by a monster and you're going to love it," he promised, and she knew immediately he was absolutely right.

"Nnn, aah, oh god, fuck, why did I think this was a good idea, oh god," she cried out as he bounced her up and down, feeling for all the world like he was pulling all of her with him. "Aaaahnnnn, fuck, deeper, please!"

He thrust harder, deeper, shoving at her core, and she cried out plaintively, begging and protesting all at once.

"You didn't think," he growled against her ear, "because I skullfucked all your brains away, remember?"

"Nnnnnnnnngh," she whimpered, a protest dying away. "Fuck, god, fuck, shit, fuck—" Her hands spasmed against his horns, pulling her closer, why was she so close to his face in this position now, god, facing him was just too much. "Yes, god, f-fuck all th' smart outta me, fuck, why do I do this to myself, god, do I have a grudge against my own ability to sit, fuck me, oh fuck me, shit, fuck,"

He was shoving into her harder now, faster, so hard she couldn't think at all, her whole world was just burning pleasure and pounding muscle and she never wanted it to be anything else.

"You're addicted to monster dick, is what you are, you can't get enough of it, can you? That's what makes you my good little toy, you're going to take it even when you know it'll hurt, won't you?"

Her cry was almost orgasmic, her grip on his horns tight but her arms weakening, leaving her sinking lower onto his cock, letting him shove up into her fuller and rougher, threatening to break her. "Ah, fuck, g-god, yes! I am! Fuck, oh god, fuck, p-please, touch me, I'm so close, please, ah, please, I need it!"

One of his hands left her hips to rub the pad of his thumb against her clit, easy to find when she was being stretched so unbelievably wide. He pressed it down and his cock ground against it as he fucked her and her cry was almost a scream as her senses were overwhelmed. His other hand left her hip and she slid roughly down on him. He reached up and wrapped his hand around her neck and thrust harder against her core.

"F U C K" she screamed, giving up on his horns for fear of wrenching them in her overwhelming pleasure, wrapping her arms instead around his neck and pulling herself up and closer, pushing herself hard against his hand around her neck. He shoved up into her, growling into her ear, and as she clenched wildly around him, coming what little brains she had left out, she could feel him start to fill her.

It dripped out of her, down onto him and her legs and the floor, and she shivered and shook around him, uncertain of why she couldn't breathe, if it was his grip around her neck or if his dick was somehow hitting her lungs, or if it was something else altogether, the after effects of an overwhelming orgasm.

"What a good girl," he purred into her ear, and she whimpered her response, wondering dazedly why this was the one time she managed to be 'good.'

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