Page 7 of Lake of Sin

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I whimpered. My back ached as it was forced to arch, and the angle forced my face to smash against the warm thigh. Curled hair pushed into my mouth. A smear of saliva dribbled from the corner of my mouth.

Marchosias made a pleased sound and used both its hands to drag my body back along its thigh. It reached around and pressed its index finger to my lips. I licked out with a moan. Its finger pressed against my teeth and gently edged them open, and I allowed it: I opened wide and rocked forward to urge it inside.

It was as wide as a cock, larger than a human’s but smaller than Asmodeus’ had been. And so instinct took over. I licked itsfinger, gentle around the tip like it really was a cock. I pooled more saliva into my mouth and then sank low, stopping before the second knuckle. Marchosias made a sound of approval. I must have looked whorish. Pathetic. I was arched and rubbing my dry cock along its skin, ass spread, and eyes closed, moaning wantonly. It hadn’t even fucked me yet.

Marchosias let me work for a few minutes, and then it pinched my sides. I flinched, hands racing down to press uselessly against the forefinger and thumb keeping me still. I barely had time to do much else before Marchosias began fucking my throat. Slowly, at first. No deeper than I had gone myself. Every thrust made it slicker, and when it pushed against the sphincter of my throat, I gagged and convulsed. But I couldn’t get away, not with how I was being held. I bucked, struggling. Marchosias only pressed forward until the second knuckle had slipped over my lips.

I went limp.

I focused on breathing. Tears pooled involuntarily in my eyes, and I felt my mouth flood with stringy saliva. Marchosias pulled its finger free, and I felt every ridge of its skin, the bones of its fingers, the sharp tip of its nail drag over my bumped throat and swollen tongue.

I let out a muffled,“Ah!”

Marchosias said nothing and made no sound as it pressed that slicked finger back against my hole. I whimpered, and its other hand wrapped around my waist, poised to tear me off its thigh.

“Wait, wait,” I mumbled, incoherent. Logically, I knew my body had recovered from its prolapsed state. Even the cuts that proved I had summoned Marchosias were almost nearly healed. But Ifearedto be filled up as intensely.

I was so tense I hadn’t realised Marchosias had paused as I’d asked. I craned around to look at it. Its face was blank, not angry.

Unmoving it said, “It only works if you want it. I do not wish to break you. I wish for you to prove to me you are ruled by your pleasure.”

My breathing grew rapid. My eyes flicked down to the finger pressed against me and then back up to the demon’s eyes.

“You can’t take it?” Marchosias asked. Its tone had shifted—to a teasing, questioning tone. Could I take it? Of course I could. I had taken more! It stroked my head, down my spine. I shivered and arched involuntarily towards its touch, and I felt my hole pucker.

I moaned, head drooping. Why had I bothered to resist? I knew myself too well, and I was the slut Marchosias wanted to see writhing on its fingers. “Fuck me,” I said. “Please. Stretch me on your fingers. I want?—”

But Marchosias knew what I wanted. It pushed forward. Sturdy pressure popped my hole open, the edges wrapping tightly over the demon’s nail bed. Marchosias wriggled the tip just slightly, and that was enough for my body to remember. A kind of heat doused my body, an arousal so sudden that I felt my hole open to accommodate more of Marchosias’ finger. It did not wait, pressing in over the first knuckle, and from there, it began to move back and forth. All the while, it held my lower half wrapped in its right hand.

“Ah, ah!” I cried out. When I swallowed, I felt that the back of my throat was bruised from the earlier throat fucking. I felt my body tensing; I kept clenching over the width of its finger, hands pressing down against the hold it had around my waist. But nothing I could do would convince it to stop. Marchosias kept making humming noises. The occasional mocking moan would escape its lips seconds after a real one ripped through me. I threw my head back, and that was when the demon repositioned, forcing me to sit upright.

It still held me, allowing me to grow accustomed to the new angle.

But then it let go.

There was nothing beneath my feet. It had dropped me on its finger, and there was nothing I could lean on.

Gravity forced me to slide slowly down onto its finger until the whole thing had impaled me. I whimpered. Pain became pleasure, and then pleasure became too much: the feeling was overwhelming. I jerked to get away—which only made it worse as the finger began to move. My prostate jumped as my cock twitched. Slack-jawed, my head fell back. I gasped. It took its other hand and used one finger to press my chin up ever further. My watery eyes turned to tears as I arched, and gravity made them fall in time with my shuddery breaths.

I was an object, small and portable, and Marchosias was going to use me.

“Fuck yourself,” it commanded.

I weakly tried to bounce. The effect was shameful: I ground my hips, thrusting down and up a mere inch before gravity took over.

Fullness filled my belly, and I groaned, gripping my stomach. There, I could feel the bulge of its finger pressing into my guts.

“Fuck.F-fuck.”

“As you wish.”

A sharp intake of breath. “W?—”

Marchosias held me in place, suspended perfectly in the air with my legs flopping about. It slowly dragged its finger all the way out of me, and it popped free with a wetshlick. A moment later, it drove back in, just as achingly slow, then out again a fraction faster and in with the same slow, rough force.

And then it threw all caution to the wind and slammed into my ass.

---