Sanctuary [Closed]
She kept her angry yelling up as he released her neck, trying to flatten out and failing due to the grip under her hips. Reasonably, a part of her brain informed her, all that would have done was create a much more painful angle for her. It was clear where this was going, but she was just so fucking pissed. She'd had a shitty couple of weeks now she was going to get reamed by a demon-thing and probably knocked up with some Rosemary's Baby bullshit. Did abortions even work on demons? Augh!

Her shouting turned to an angry growl, almost a snarl, when he gripped her hair. It felt good, which just made her more annoyed at the moment. How dare he do something that felt good? She had an image of him wrapping his hand around the front of her neck from behind, pulling her up and backwards, hot breath and teeth... and felt herself moistening against the head of his cock.

Stop that, goddamnit!

She growled again, wriggling, but all it did was push her slightly further back onto his cock, so she stopped. Goddamnit. She should be thinking about surviving this, but she was getting less and less sure that was going to happen. What if it just wanted to keep her here and fuck her forever? If coming once wasn't enough, what guarantee did she have that anything would be?

"You suck!" she whined, sounding more upset than angry as reality began sinking in again. "Seriously! You're a jerk and I hate your stupid face!"
    Better. Still not ideal, but better. Still holding her hands at the small of her back, he let go of her hip for another experiment. The tips of his claws softly walked up her neck, toyed with her hair. Then he pulled it again, at the same time pressing his cock harder into her, trying to slowly work the head of it inside of her.

    If he could manage that, he thought the wiggling would be much less of an issue.

    He purred again despite his irritation, that rolling clicking sound. So soft and hot and tight around him, his grip on her ankles tightened.

    Still not making the sounds he'd liked before, but these ones were much less objectionable than the screeching. He would have liked to be able to do something with his hands besides holding her arms and her hair, but keeping her secured took priority. He rocked his hips, pulling out of her before pushing the tip back in, trying to see if he could get it any deeper on subsequent strokes. He didn't think that he'd be able to bury himself in her, any more than he had her mouth, but he'd like to see how deep he could get.
A shiver shot involuntarily down her spine at the sharp, light tickling of claws on the back of her neck. Even with only the very tip of him pressing against her, he could probably feel how the motion made her clench and loosen again. She regained a bit of her senses as he played idly with her hair, then lost them again when he pulled and pushed against her again. She grunted, mostly pain. She'd been recently occupied, but he was significantly larger in pretty much every way, and fear made her tense.

She heard him starting to purr again and scowled. Stupid asshole. "So happy for you," she grumbled out loud. "I'm glad you're having such a fantastic time, really. Fucker."

He rocked against her, and she could feel the withheld strength in his muscles. He could, she was fairly certain, shove his way in fairly effortlessly. She wasn't sure why he wasn't. It had been exactly what she'd been scared of; a fucking pneumatic ram (or maybe a pneumatic fucking ram) shoving right through delicate parts and leaving her to bleed out on the floor. Instead, thank god, he seemed content to prod. For now at least.

She let out a whine as she felt him push a little deeper in. The stretch was painful, but not overwhelming. And, surprisingly, not more than she could handle; at least so long as he stayed satisfied with a centimeter at a time. She didn't have a great deal of moisture to help him out--compared to how it could be, anyway--and she was clenched despite her attempts to make herself relax. She felt him slip further in, agonizing and slow and agonizingly slow. How much did he have in? It felt like half a mile... so probably like, the head, given her luck.
    It did not occur to him to try and make her relax, because tension seemed like the rational response to what was happening. The way she clenched around him felt good, besides.

    Could he hold her arms with his tail? That seemed like it would be uncomfortable. There were limits to how much his tail could bend near the base of it, mostly flexible near the tip.

    She hadn't been pulling her limbs at all, so he decided to risk it. As long as she didn't start clawing at him again…

    He let her arms and her hair go, content to let the front half of her collapse to the floor if she wanted. Not having to lean forward to hold her, he leaned back, pressed his hands against her ass to spread her open and better see what he was doing to her. When he pulled out he could see the way he'd stretched her out, the way she tried to tighten again; he watched the head of his cock slowly disappear inside of her, purring again, his wings flaring.

    If there hadn't been a built-in time limit to how long he could play with her, he thought that he could happily keep doing this for a very long time.

    He reached further down to push her knees further apart, assuming it would be easier if her thighs spread wider. He'd liked the way she'd felt around him when he'd touched her neck before, so he ran his claws gently over her spine at the small of her back to see if she'd do it again. He'd only managed to get about four inches into her so far, still rocking his hips.
She hadn't been expecting him to release her arms so suddenly, and fell abruptly forward, nearly hitting her face on the ground. She only just got her balance, then shifted her arms to support her weight. She rested on her forearms, head against the ground, tangling hands in her own hair both out of frustration and for comfort.

He didn't seem like he was in any particular hurry, which she both appreciated and didn't. She appreciated it because anything that inadvertently lead to her not being a bloody pulp was at least somewhat good. However, it didn't do much to to subvert her "he almost certainly wants to do this forever" theory.

He pushed in again, a little further this time, spreading her cheeks apart as if to emphasize how wide she was being speared open. Her eyes snapped open as he rubbed past something that felt good on his way in. It was then that she realized that from this angle, she could see clearly between her legs, see... if not how much he had in her, at least how much he didn't. It was alarming, considering how it felt sort of like she had an entire battleship in there. Still, she could tell he was a while from bottoming out even in terms of how deep she was. He really was just going painfully slow.

Well. Better than painfully fast...

She watched for a moment, hypnotized by the slow in and out, astounded that the sheer girth of him was fitting into her despite her slim build. Then she felt claws on her spine and stiffened; fear. They raked lightly down the base of her spine and her back abruptly arched, pulling her head off the ground and back into the air. She clenched automatically around him, then whined at the pain it caused, trying to make herself relax again. Another stroke against her spine had her clenching again, this time right as he pushed in, and she let out a noise between whimper and moan as the head of his cock brushed against that Very Good Spot again. She let out a sharp huff of breath, wiggling her hips slightly, wondering if she could arrange herself somehow so that he'd hit it again.

Then she wondered, idly, if she could coax him into doing anything else that felt good. Most of the men she slept with couldn't be bothered, or were way too into it once she brought it up, but he seemed... suggestible, if not stupid. And he was only a man in the absolute broadest sense of the word, anyway. Tentatively, she reached back to find one of his hands, not sure what his reaction to being touched would be, considering she'd been clawing at him about five minutes prior.
    His purring grew louder at the way she seemed to spasm around him, and he started trying to adjust his timing so that he could thrust into that exquisite tightness again. Her wiggling this time was much nicer, the kind he'd liked so much when she'd done it before. He was trying to reach the point where he couldn't go any deeper, surprised that he hadn't reached it already. He just needed to know where that limit was so that he could move more forcefully without worrying about spearing into some kind of vital organ.

    When she reached back for him, he regarded her hand with suspicion, holding his own hands just out of reach. Last time she'd offered him her hands, it had been part of a trick. That seemed consistent with everything else she was doing – cute little wiggles and whimpers and moans. Pretending to play along with him so that she could run away again.

    … but this time he could keep hold of her ankles. And it had felt good, if he ignored his wounded pride and how it tainted the memory of her mouth on his cock. So maybe he could let her do it again, if he knew that it would be a trick, and made sure to keep his hold on her.

    He huffed, irritated by how arousing it was to remember her apparently-eager attention while her insides were squeezing his cock tight.

    He put his hand closer to hers so that it was in reach, prepared to take it back if she tried to do something he didn't care for.
She groped half-blindly for his hand, then looked over her shoulder when she couldn't find it. She wasn't really prepared for the sight. Even in this position, or perhaps particularly in it, he loomed. It had been hard to see much of anything but cock and pieces of body from where she'd been before, but now, the moonlight was coming in the broken window and, to her sharp eyes, put everything in clear relief. His skin really was a stony grey... that hadn't been a trick of the darkness. He continued to be ridiculously huge in general. His hair, she couldn't help but notice, shimmered pleasantly in the light, once again reinforcing her annoying desire to feel it.

He was holding his hand purposefully out of her reach. She pouted and whined. It just seemed so unnecessary to be that mean to her on top of everything else. What did he think she was going to do, judo throw him out of her cunt and across the church?! C'mon!

He seemed to put that together himself, and, glaring pointedly at her, put it back within reach. Rather than snatch it, she twisted to grab it gently. She straightened her back more, moaning in pain and wincing as this stretched her in a new direction. It would be worth it, though, if she could just get him to cooperate. She guided his hand gently forward. When it was close enough, she grabbed it with her other hand as well and guided it onto the front of her neck. He'd understood the concept of not strangling her to death earlier, and he'd had his whole weight to worry about then. She had confidence he could figure it out, and meanwhile, the new angle was painful but good. She tried to shift her knees a little wider to get comfortable, find a good angle to arch her back in if he took the bait and tightened his grip around her neck.
    Was this struggling? This didn't seem like struggling. It didn't seem more comfortable for her, either, though he had no particular complaints about the way it felt with him inside her.

    Putting his hand on her neck made the whole situation even weirder. The front of her neck. Her throat? Was that it? The floor wasn't the important part, or her neck, but her throat specifically?

    His typical interaction with throats was slashing them, and it had never occurred to him that they could be so complicated and particular. None of it explained why she'd encourage him to do it to her again.

    He tightened his grip to pull her closer, and he realized that he could nuzzle at her hair this way. She still smelled like sex, sticky spots on her skin. He wasn't sure where else to best to hold her, so he pressed his hand against her lower stomach as he thrust upward, harder than he'd done before. In this position, her ass stroked those parts of his shaft not yet inside her. His wings beat once, thrusting again, purring directly into her ear.
He seemed a bit perplexed by this turn of events, but as she predicted, more than willing to roll with it. She let out a moan when he gripped her neck tighter, relaxing into it. She might as well enjoy it, right? She tried hard not to think about the prospect of maybe being fucked to death and just enjoy the sensations, sliding her eyes closed.

Her back touched his chest, and it wasn't uncomfortable, but he felt colder the more she heated up. And, at the very least, this was giving her a good full-body warm up. She wouldn't freeze to death, probably. Probably. His hand on her stomach was cold as well, as was his cock inside of her, though that could barely compete with her own growing heat.

He could nuzzle pretty easily against her hair and the top of her head in this position, and did. The sensation made her hum, a happy sort of noise. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but she liked it. She kept one hand on his over her neck, both so that she could encourage him to grip tighter and so that she could fwap him if he suddenly started strangling her. Breathplay with a demon sounded like a super bad idea. She was still trying not to die.

Her other hand she let trail backwards and then up, tracing over his shoulder, the back of his neck, curiously. Then, finally, into his hair. She splayed her hands into it as he thrust suddenly, dramatically up inside of her. Her back arched away from him slightly and she groaned loudly. The new angle made her light up inside; in a few strokes he'd be properly soaked. Then it would get easier, she told herself. And the beating of his wings unexpectedly thrilled her as well, the sensation of air around her coming alive with movement.

He thrust again, and she sort of whined, sort of moaned, still unable to decide if she was feeling more pleasure or pain. At the moment, however, both were starting to be much more welcome.
    She was hotter and wetter and his cock could drive deeper and, yes, this position was much better, obviously, assuming she didn't somehow find some way to go scrambling away from him. He held her neck a little more gently than she tried to indicate, still not trusting it not to snap in his hand. She seemed to like the nuzzling, and her hair felt nice. He was wary again of her wandering hand, until her fingers spread out over her scalp and through his hair. He shuddered, tilting his head so her fingers would touch around the base of his horn.

    Thrusting and rocking as she got wetter, he finally ran out of room inside her. He was legitimately shocked by how much of it she'd managed to fit in such a small body. He rocked back, nearly pulling out of her entirely, so that he could thrust hard back into her with one long stroke. He pressed his hand against her lower stomach at the same time, and he could feel the thrust of his body filling hers up.

    She was just so soft, had so much give while he had none at all.

    He did it again with a beat of his wings, and again, reveling in the feel of those long hard strokes. He remembered the way she'd looked when he'd spread her open, and so he tried pulling out entirely, waiting just briefly before tightening his grip on her throat and ramming back into her. He let out a little cry, nearly overwhelmed by the way it felt to impale her when she was so tight and swollen with arousal.
He had essentially bottomed out, but she could tell very clearly he still had more dick left. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be needing it inside her. He also wasn't gripping her throat that tight. Tight enough to feel good... and she could and did push up against his hand when she wanted, pretending he was squeezing tighter. But once again she noticed how concerned he seemed with not breaking her in half. She appreciated it, mind, it just confused her.

So did the way he leaned against her hand, like a cat... or like she did, if she was being perfectly honest, when someone rubbed her head just right. She traced her fingers cautiously around the base of his horn, remembering how cats could suddenly decide they hated the way you were touching them and turn angry in a split second. But his hair was so soft compared to the rest of him, and his horns were so strange. It was, perhaps, a little difficult to maintain a proper level of intrigue and curiosity while getting spread open by an entire tree log worth of monster dick--or so it felt anyway--but she was managing a bit.

There was just so much of him, and the way he felt inside her, pushing everything else aside, spreading her open to accommodate... but then reaching then end and just stopping, not hammering against it. Each long stroke ran inches across a place inside her that felt like a glowing weak spot; when his head prodded it and slid past each time she couldn't help but writhe and groan.

Just when she was getting into it, he pulled out. She let out a confused little whine, trying to glance back over her shoulder, just before he hammered back into her. He shoved the full length into her in one brutal thrust, striking against her cervix but only just. His grip on her throat tightened at the same time, and the combination made her scream, not even slightly out of fear. Her back arched and her hand tightened uncontrollably in his hair, gripping it the way he'd gripped hers.

She didn't even wait for him to pull out again, writhing, tiny little mini-thrusts backwards against him, panting. Little whines if he took longer than she wanted to thrust again, whimpers when he bottomed out inside her, stretching her unthinkably wide.
    His purring turned growly, aggressive, nearly panting in her ear. He pressed his forehead against her hair, leaning hard into her touch. If she'd just wrap her hand around his horn, he thought that he would like that, rub at his scalp and pull at it a little.

    So good, the way she'd gone soft all over, not-quite-limp to let him take her. That subtle difference in the way she moved between trying to get away and trying to get more – he'd identified it, now, why he liked one kind of squirming better than the other. Caught up in the moment, he forgot his foray into cynicism, basking in the feeling of having conquered her utterly. The intoxicating arousal of believing that she enjoyed being the source of his pleasure in this way, wanted his cock stretching her open and marking her as his.

    He'd thought that he couldn't want her more than he had when she'd a mouthful of cock, but she proved him wrong when he pulled out and she whined. Would she do it again, would she whine and beg and seek him out?

    He wouldn't be finding out, because he hadn't the strength of will to slow down. Not when she keened, a subtle contrast to her earlier noisy yowling. She gripped his hair, holding on to him now. She was practically riding him with the way she rocked, filling him with victorious pride and a foreign sense of affection. Those long thrusts from before were too slow, the head of his cock moving faster and faster over those last three inches of her, usually stopping short but not always.

    Even that little bit of self-control was difficult.

    He roared, but it was a strange and clicking roar; he let her neck go, but wrapped his arm around her, his hand gripping her shoulder and his forearm pressed against her throat instead. His other arm had wrapped around her waist, his feet pulling her ankles further apart where they knelt, his wings curling around them both. He'd buried himself as far as he could safely manage as he'd started to climax, holding her entire body close against his so she couldn't possibly move or seek the slightest respite. His cock twitched again, and again, pumping her full of cold until it dripped out onto their thighs and the floor beneath them. His roar settle to a rumble, a full-body vibration to match the way he shuddered, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.
She had barely enough presence of mind to pray that he didn't lose control utterly as he slammed into her, thrusts turning hard and fast and much less careful. And it hurt, it did, her moans taking on an edge of wailing, but it also felt so good.

She dropped her hand from his where he gripped her neck, letting it fall down to where he had her speared open. Feeling how much of him was down there was amazing and terrifying, particularly when she slid over the base of his thrusting cock and realized how much was left. But after that moment's exploration, she focused on her own clit, groaning and clenching down tighter around him as he thrusted.

He kept speeding up, each thrust hitting her as deep as he could go, or at least, as deep as she could go, and she kept clenching down, a viscous cycle coming to an obvious conclusion for both of them. He released her neck for only an instant, though she let out a cry of protest in that second, then wrapped his arm around her, clutching her tight against him. He felt like ice against her burning body, but she didn't mind, her full focus on sensation and her hand and his cock bouncing her and--

She came before him by a short margin, screaming to the heavens as his wings wrapped around her, like a protective little cocoon. Small spaces were a thing she loved, and there was something so beautiful about the wings, about the way he held her, wrapped around her like he wanted to hide her from the world.

He was so far into her and she was clenched so vice-tight around him that there was essentially nowhere for his come to go when he came, trailing so close on her orgasm that she was still in the middle of it when the cold liquid began shooting into her. It was a small mercy; it meant that it was already pouring out around his erection when she began to come down from her high and the reality of the situation sank in.

She was already shaking a bit from the force of her orgasm, now she began to shake more violently, in earnest, dread settling into her heart. Maybe they were incompatible. Maybe this wasn't some kind of horrible demonic impregnation ritual. Maybe she hadn't just gotten knocked up with the anti-christ and fucking enjoyed it thoroughly. She tried to tell herself that and didn't believe a word of it.

Her hand was still in his hair... actually, in the force of her passion, she appeared to have gripped his left horn like a fucking handlebar for leverage. She released it slowly, trailing her hand through his hair one more time before dropping her arm. It was the way he held her that made her chest ache along side the fear, purring against her back, wings still wrapped around her. She sort of wished they could freeze like this, so she didn't have to deal with the aftermath of what had happened.

Hmph... Well, maybe she had about two minutes before he recovered and started up again. She was already sore, the cold deep inside her making her muscles ache. Maybe she'd never have to deal with the consequences, because maybe she wouldn't be living long enough. That thought didn't cheer her any. She felt tears burning in her eyes, which was enough to make her angry with herself all over again. What had she said about crying because of men?! Admittedly, this was only barely a man, but the same rules applied!

She wanted to push against him again, hit him out of her own frustration and hatred, but instead stayed limp in his arms, at least momentarily defeated.
    He was utterly blissed-out and content, letting out a deep sigh as he kept holding her for a moment. His tail swayed in slow, happy arcs. He would have liked to stay like that for a while, enjoying her heat and her smell. Maybe have her again, eventually. Make her lick his cock again, or try licking her instead of just his tail, or even just keep filling her like this. But the sun would come, and there wasn't time. Someone would arrive in the morning, and finding her at all would see him replaced, let alone finding her trapped on him.

    He sighed again, wings uncurling to fold behind him. His hold on her loosened, and he carefully took his feet off of her ankles. He slid his softening cock out of her, nuzzling at her neck and giving it a tentative lick of affection. He tried to set her as gently as he could on the floor, turning as he did so he could see her better. He rocked back onto his back toes, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, looking her over with his tail still swaying.

    There was something wrong with his memory. He wasn't sure what, but he could tell. But he wanted very much to remember this. Weak and soft and slender little human with her skin all flushed red, clawmarks in her skin and glitter on her mouth and her cheeks and her chest, silvery seed leaking out of her and soaking her thighs, limp and worn out on the floor.

    It would have been better if she weren't obviously crying and trembling with fear.

    He exhaled a huff of resignation through his nose, standing up with the full awareness that she might go darting off again. He returned to where he'd abandoned his cloth, tying it back around his waist and awkwardly trying to use it to rub their mingled fluids from him.

    … it wasn't like anyone ever saw the inside of the thing. It'd all just be stone, soon.

    He picked her hoodie back up, and made his way back to her with it. He crouched in front of her, and tried to drape it over her legs. That wasn't how she'd worn it, but he wasn't sure he could get it back onto her. He wanted it to be as clear as possible that she should take it with her when she went. He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, trying to figure out how to convey appreciation. He settled on running his claws through her hair again, and licking the side of her face.

    Then he stepped back, still crouching, bringing his knees together and resting his hands on top of them. He put his chin on the back of his hands, and drew his wings in close. This way he could watch her go, right up until he couldn't see anything.
Nothing about anything made sense anymore. Not the affectionate way he nuzzled against her. Not the gentle way he set her onto the ground. Let alone what happened next.

She slumped against the ground, vaguely aware she should probably try to run. But her legs felt like rubber, and he'd caught her easily the last time, when she'd still been in peak condition. She doubted she would get very far. So she just stayed slumped on the floor, trying to recover, physically and mentally. Relieved that he wasn't already fucking her again. Still reeling in shock. Tired, really tired, because she hadn't gotten much rest before she bolted, and then it had been running through the rain and climbing and getting fucked stupid by a battering ram.

Nothing made sense, especially not when he wandered off and came back with her hoodie. Not when he knelt down and akwardly tried to put it on her like a blanket. She stared at him in abject bewilderment. He brushed against the side of her face with his thumb, then ran his claws gently through her hair. She shivered, and he licked her face, and for a moment, she was worried he'd get randy again and start all over. But instead, he stepped back, and sort of... knelt down, watching her.

She stared back, confused beyond words.

She looked down at the hoodie, then held it up in front of her, examining it as if looking for the trap. She stared back up at him again.

Slowly, nervously, she unzipped it and wrapped it around her, rather than pull it over her head and be unable to see what he was doing for even a moment. The damp, baggy hoodie was torn in at least two places, but it still mostly covered her. Now the inside was smeared with glittery semen, which was also staining pretty much all of the insides of both her legs. Her face was probably a mess with it too. And her hair.

He still wasn't moving.

Not taking her eyes off of him, she backed up slowly towards the window. He didn't move to stop her. She gripped the wood and pulled herself up. When he still didn't move, she scrambled rapidly up to the top, stiffly and a bit awkwardly, sore in strange places. Finally, when she reached the top, she turned to look at him one last time. He still hadn't moved. He was just watching her.

She was almost certainly pregnant with something terrifying.

She shook her head, turned, and scrambled out into the night.


Her day had gone so well, comparatively speaking.

She'd gotten clothes. She'd gotten food. She'd even gotten money. And she hadn't had to rob a single person, which had been her plan. She'd been fully intending to go around asking to borrow cell phones and running off with them, a con that would be easier to pull now that she looked like she'd been hazed by a sorority. Instead, she'd gotten lucky the first time and wound up not needing any of that.

She'd gone to a library. She had food, money, an emergency jar of frosting, and, most comfortingly of all, a pocket rat, who had been resting happily in the pocket of her normal, not oversized, not rapist hoodie.

Unfortunately, her luck didn't hold, because of course it didn't. It never did. She didn't have luck so much as she had an ancient curse, probably.

It was night, and she'd hidden under an overhang, since it was threatening to rain again and still quite puddle-y. She wasn't going to risk any fucking churches, that was for damn sure. That turned out to be a mistake, because as it turned out, human traffickers took their jobs very seriously. She was recognized.

Her plan had been to take off, and lose them in back alleys again. It had worked the first time.

The first time, however, they hadn't shot at her.

She had absolutely no fucking idea why they did it. Surely she'd be useless to them dead. Surely the sound of gun fire, even though it had been bizarrely quiet, would attract attention, even in this dark, seemingly abandoned side of town. But they had, and it had grazed her leg, and now she was limp-running and trailing blood, soaking the leg of her too-large jeans. Now she wasn't scared of being re-kidnapped; she was scared of being killed.

And she couldn't outrun them.

It was the stupidest idea, but it fixated in her panicked mind. She knew where something more dangerous than a man with a gun lived. And she knew how to get in.

That was why she was now crawling through the same fucking hole she'd crawled out of 18 hours prior. A quiet bullet buried into the wood near her shoulder before she managed to throw herself through the hole, tearing her sleeve on the broken glass. She fell to the ground with a pained thud, quite the contrast to the delicate drop from before.

It wasn't quite sanctuary, but it would do.

Unfortunately, large, angry men didn't need to climb twelve feet straight up. She heard them smashing through the half-rotten wood on the window below, the shattering of glass.


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